The Highlander Series 7-Book Bundle

by Karen Marie Moning

  “Know one thing, Lord Douglas, and it’s all you’ll ever need to know. Remember it, should you someday think I may have changed my mind. I won’t. I despise you. You took from me what you had no right to take. And there’s nothing you can ever do to earn my forgiveness. I hate you!”

  “Despise me as you must,” he said quietly, still staring at the forge. “But you can never leave me now. That’s all that matters.”

  Double, double toil and trouble;

  Fire burn and cauldron bubble …

  SHAKESPEARE, Macbeth

  CHAPTER 19

  TWILIGHT CREPT UP FROM THE OCEAN AND OVER THE CLIFFS with purple impatience that stained the walls of Dalkeith a dusky crimson. In his study, Hawk watched the night seep through the open doors on the west end.

  She stood on the cliff’s edge, unmoving, her velvet cape tossing restlessly in the wind. What was she thinking as she gazed blindly out to sea?

  He knew what he’d been thinking—that even the wind sought to unclothe her. He tortured himself with the memory of the sultry rose peaks he knew crowned her breasts beneath the silk of her gown. Her body had been shaped for this time, to wear clinging silks and rich velvets. To be a fine laird’s lady. To mate a proud warrior.

  What the hell was he going to do? Things couldn’t go on like this.

  He’d been trying to provoke her, hoping she’d make him angry so he could lose his head and punish her with his body. But time and again when he’d pushed she’d given him only cool civility, and a man couldn’t do a bloody thing with that kind of response. He whirled from the door and squeezed his eyes shut to erase all haunting memory of the vision of his wife.

  Weeks had passed since that day by the forge—weeks lush with fragile days and delicate dawns, ruby nights and midsummer storms. And in those passing days, those jewels of Scotia’s summer, were a thousand sights he wanted to share with her.

  Damn it! He pounded his fist upon his desk, sending papers fluttering and statues scurrying. She was his wife. She had no way back to wherever she’d come from! When was she going to accept that and make the most of it? He would give her anything she wanted. Anything but to leave him. Never that.

  His existence had all the makings of a gilded, living hell and he could find no exit.

  As swiftly as it had assailed him, his rage evaporated.

  Adrienne, his lips formed the word silently. How did we come to this impasse? How did I make such a mess of it?

  “Walk with me, lass,” he said softly, and she whirled upon the cliff’s edge, a breathtaking flutter of silver and cobalt blue. His colors, the Douglas colors. Unwittingly, it seemed, she wore them often. Did she even know that she donned in vivid splashes the very threads of the Douglas tartan, and that no name could have branded her more certainly his lady?

  He waved a dismissive hand at his guards. He needed to steal precious moments with her alone, before he left. After hours of struggling, he had reached many decisions. First and foremost being that he was long overdue for a visit to Uster, one of his many manors and the most troublesome. He simply couldn’t keep neglecting his estates in his lovesick idiocy. The laird had to put in the occasional appearance and take an interest in resolving his villagers’ concerns.

  Besides, he was making no progress here. If she chose Adam in his absence, then he could just die inside and get on with the pretense of living. It was how he’d survived the first thirty-odd years. What kind of fool had he become to expect the rest to be any different?

  “Laird Douglas,” she clipped.

  In silence they walked the cliff’s edge together, toward the forest.

  “I will be leaving for a time,” he said finally as they entered the forest.

  Adrienne stiffened. Was he serious? “Wh-where are you going?” And why did it disturb her so much?

  He took a sharp, indrawn breath. “Uster.”

  “What is Uster anyway?”

  “One of my manors. Seventeen manors belong to Dalkeith. Uster holds the villages of Duluth and Tanamorissey, and they are an intemperate lot. ’Twas a problem even when the king’s men held Dalkeith.”

  When the king’s men held Dalkeith.

  When her husband had been the king’s whore.

  In the last weeks the heat of Adrienne’s anger had cooled, leaving a poignant regret. Hawk had mostly avoided her, except for the occasional times he’d seemed to be trying to pick a fight with her for some reason. She’d half expected him to lock her in his room, but after that terrible night he had retreated carefully to his study by the sea. There he’d stayed every night—so quiet, so beautiful, and so alone.

  “Hawk?” she began tentatively.

  “Yes?”

  “What exactly did the king’s whore do?”

  Hawk stiffened. Could this be the chance he’d been waiting for? Perhaps he could dare to hope after all. His laughter was full of bitter self-mockery. “Are you quite certain you wish to know, lovely Adrienne?”

  Lurking behind a towering oak, Esmerelda studied Adrienne’s silvery-blond mane, silvery eyes, sparkling face. What did the Hawk see in that skinny, pale girl he couldn’t find in Esmerelda’s sultry embrace?

  For the first time in weeks the guards were gone and the bitch walked unprotected enough that Esmerelda could strike and flee into the shelter of the dark forest. Her beloved Hawk might suffer a time of mourning, but he would find solace and sweet passion in Esmerelda’s arms once the soil stilled upon his wife’s grave.

  She raised the arrow with a hand that trembled. Frowning, she dug the edge of the notched head into her fleshy palm until blood welled in her tawny-gold skin. She grimaced against the pain, but it steadied her nerves. This time she would not fail. Esmerelda had chosen her weapon carefully. Poison had proved too chancy—her drawn and corded bow would send the arrow flying true, with force enough to lodge in the flesh and bone of Adrienne’s breast.

  Esmerelda dropped to her knee and coiled the leather cord tighter. She notched the bow and took sight as Adrienne stepped into a clearing. She nearly faltered when she saw the look on Hawk’s face as he gazed at his wife. He loved Adrienne as Esmerelda would have loved him; a wild, claiming, know-no-bounds kind of passion. With this realization, any compassion Esmerelda may have felt for Adrienne evaporated. She steadied the bow and took aim at Adrienne’s breast. With a soft whoosh, the arrow flew free.

  Esmerelda swallowed a frantic scream. At the last minute the Hawk turned, almost as if he saw her lurking in the shadows or sensed the arrow’s flight. He moved. No!

  “Ummmph!” Adrienne gasped as Hawk flung one powerful arm across her face and thrust her against a tree.

  Adrienne struggled against his back, but he was an immovable mountain. Was this how he intended to win her back? After weeks of careful restraint, was he taking her into the forest to rape her?

  “Oooof!” His breath hissed out softly, and she pushed harder at his back. “What are you doing, Hawk?” she demanded, but still he said nothing.

  Hawk shuddered, battling the pain as his eyes scanned the trees. He felt his strength ebbing, but he couldn’t give in to the weakness yet. Not until he found and stopped whoever was trying to kill his wife. But the bushes were still. The assailant, for whatever reason, had fled. Hawk felt relief rush through him as blood gushed from his wound.

  When he swayed and crumpled at Adrienne’s feet, she screamed and screamed.

  In the shadows, Esmerelda pressed a fist to her mouth. She could feel Hawk’s eyes searching the very spot in which she cowered, but the shadows were too dense for even his eyes to penetrate.

  He turned, and in profile she could see the arrow, still vibrating from the force of flight, just above his heart. She closed her eyes and swallowed tightly. She’d killed him! The arrow was wickedly notched and would be impossible to remove without ripping open his chest. She had deliberately designed it to do even more damage in the removing than in the entering. Even if it didn’t kill the victim going in, it would certainly kill him coming
out.

  Esmerelda melted to the forest floor and crawled through the underbrush until she was certain she was safe. Then she surged to her feet and ran blindly, her crossbow forgotten on the damp forest floor. Branches slapped her face. A scream gathered and clotted in her throat. Esmerelda swallowed a bitter sob as she leapt a fallen log.

  A hand shot out lightning-quick, halting her abruptly. Adam pulled her to him with a biting grip on her neck.

  “Where have you been, lovely whore?” His eyes were preternaturally bright.

  She panted into his face.

  Adam glowered and shook her cruelly. “I said, where have you been?”

  When she still didn’t answer, Adam slid his hand up her neck to her throat and squeezed. “Your life means nothing to me, Gypsy.” His eyes were as icy as his voice.

  Haltingly, Esmerelda told him everything, begging Adam to save the man she loved, to use his unnatural powers and restore his life.

  So she knew his identity. He wasn’t surprised. The Rom were well versed in the ancient ways. “If you know who I am, Gypsy whore, you know I don’t give a damn about your wishes—or anyone else’s, for that matter. And I certainly don’t care about your pretty Hawk. In fact, the Hawk is the son of a bitch I came here to destroy.”

  Esmerelda paled.

  “Come,” he commanded. And she knew he didn’t mean it the way he used to. Not anymore.

  CHAPTER 20

  WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE DOESN’T WANT TO SEE ME? I WANT to see him, so let me in,” Adrienne argued. “Unless, of course, he’s given you orders that he specifically doesn’t want me to come in the room,” she added coolly. Hawk would never do that.

  Grimm didn’t budge.

  “He wouldn’t! You can’t be serious. H-he …” She trailed off uncertainly. The Hawk wouldn’t refuse. Well, he hadn’t yet, but …

  Obdurate Grimm, his eyes grave, blocked the door.

  Adrienne peered at him intently. “Are you telling me that I have been forbidden to enter my husband’s room?”

  “I have my orders, milady.”

  “I’m his wife!”

  “Well, maybe if you’d bloody acted like his wife before now he wouldn’t be in there!” Grimm’s eyes flashed angrily in his chiseled face.

  “Oh!” Adrienne stepped back, startled by his fury.

  “I did my friend a grievous wrong. I made a horrible wish that I would take back now with all my heart, if I only could. But I can’t.”

  “You’re the one who wished it!” Adrienne exclaimed.

  Grimm continued, unwavering. “And had I known how terrible was the wish I made, how far-reaching and painful the consequences would be, I would have taken my own life first. I am no captain of the guard.” He spat his disgust upon the cobbled stone. “I am no honorable friend. I am the lowest droppings from the foulest beast. I wished you upon my best friend, may the gods forgive me! And now he lies wounded by an arrow meant for you!”

  Adrienne’s eyes widened in her pale face. “I’m not so bad,” she whispered.

  “You, milady, are the iron maiden without a heart. You have brought him nothing but pain since you came here. In all my years with the Hawk, I have never seen such suffering in his eyes and I won’t tolerate it even one more day. He would climb into the very heavens and pluck down the stars, one by one, to bestow upon your shining brow, and I tell him you are not worth it. You scoff at his romantic feelings, you shun his freely offered love, you scorn the man himself. Doona tell me you’re not so bad, Adrienne de Simone. You are the worst thing that’s ever happened to that man.”

  Adrienne bit her lip. Grimm had such a slanted view of things! What about all the unfair things the Hawk had done to her? She was the innocent one!

  “He burned my queen! He stole my freedom, and he trapped me here.”

  “Because he cares for you and refuses to lose you! That’s such a terrible thing? He used his own body to save your life. He placed himself like the truest shield before you and took the arrow meant for you. Well, I say better he had let it find your breast. ’Twould cease his torment and he wouldna be bleeding inside or out!”

  “I didn’t ask him to save me!” she protested.

  “Just the point. You didn’t have to ask him. He gave it freely. As he would give you everything. But you condemn him, though you know nothing of the mighty Hawk! Tell me, had you seen the arrow flying for him would you have sacrificed your life for his? I see from your eyes you would not. I’m sorry I wished for you and upon every star, every night for the rest of my worthless life, I’ll be wishing to undo the wrong I’ve done. Now get out of my sight. The Hawk won’t see you now. Perhaps not ever. And ’tis good for him not to. Perhaps in time away from you he’ll heal in more ways than one.”

  Adrienne raised her head proudly and met his blazing eyes. She refused to show the pain that closed around her heart. “Tell him I thank him for protecting me. Tell him I’ll be back tomorrow and the next day and the next, until he sees me and allows me to thank him myself.”

  “I’ll tell him no such thing,” Grimm said flatly. “You’re no good for him and I won’t be stringing him along in your game.”

  “Then at least tell him I’m sorry,” she said softly. And she meant it.

  “You doona have enough human compassion to feel sorrow, lass. Heart of ice in a body of flame. You’re the worst kind. You bring a man nothing but a brief sip of sweetness, then a keg full of bitter dregs.”

  Adrienne said nothing before she fled down the dim corridor.

  “Where is she? Is she all right? Who’s guarding her?” Hawk tossed restlessly in bed, kicking the coverlet off.

  “She’s fine, Hawk. Two guards are outside the Peacock Room. She’s sleeping.” Grimm fidgeted with the bottle of whisky the healer had left on the table, then poured a generous dollop into his glass. He moved abruptly to stand beside the hearth.

  Hawk watched Grimm curiously. His loyal friend seemed unusually tense—probably blaming himself for not being there to prevent the attack, Hawk decided. He studied his bandaged hand carefully. “She didn’t ask about me, Grimm?”

  The silence grew until the Hawk reluctantly dragged his gaze from his hand to Grimm’s rigid profile. When Grimm finally glanced up from the flames, the Hawk flinched at the sadness he read in every line of his best friend’s face. “She didn’t even ask if I was going to be all right? Where the arrow hit? Anything?” Hawk tried to keep his voice level but it broke harshly.

  “I’m sorry.” Grimm drained his glass and poked at the red-hot embers in the fireplace with the toe of his boot.

  “Bloody hell, the lass is made of ice!”

  “Rest, Hawk,” Grimm spoke into the fire. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. You came too close to dying tonight. If you hadn’t raised your hand in defense, the arrow would have taken out your heart rather than just pinning your hand to your chest.”

  Hawk shrugged. “A wee scratch on my chest—”

  “Hell, a hole the size of a plum through the palm of your hand! The old healer had to pull the arrow through your hand to get it out. And you heard him yourself. Had it gotten lodged in your chest, which it should have but for uncanny luck, there would have been naught he could do to save you, cruelly notched as it was. You’ll bear scars and pain in that hand for life.”

  Hawk sighed morosely. More scars and more pain. So what? She hadn’t even bothered to see if he was alive. She could have at least pretended to be concerned. Visited briefly to maintain the pretense of civility. But no. She probably hoped he was dying, for with him out of the way she would be a very wealthy woman. Was she even now lying in the Peacock Room, counting her gold and her blessings?

  “Not even one question, Grimm?” Hawk studied the silky hairs around the bandage that covered almost his entire hand.

  “Not even one.”

  Hawk didn’t ask again.

  “Grimm, pack my satchel. Send half the guard and enough staff to ready the manor house in Uster. I leave at dawn. And quit poking at that
blasted fire—it’s too damned hot in here already.”

  Grimm dropped the poker to the stone hearth with a clatter. He turned stiffly from the fire and searched Hawk’s face. “Are you going alone?”

  “I just told you to ready half the guard.”

  “I meant, what about your wife?”

  Hawk’s gaze dropped back to his hand. He studied it for a moment, then glanced up at Grimm and said carefully, “I’m going alone. If she couldn’t even be bothered to see if I lived or died, perhaps it’s time I quit trying. At the very least, some distance may help me gain perspective.”

  Grimm nodded stiffly. “You’re sure you can travel with that wound?”

  “You know I heal quickly. I’ll stop at the Rom camp and get some of the camomile and comfrey poultice they use—”

  “But to ride?”

  “I’ll be fine, Grimm. Stop worrying. You’re not responsible.” Hawk didn’t miss the bitter smile on Grimm’s face. It comforted him somewhat to know that his friend was so loyal when his own wife couldn’t be bothered to care if he was dead or alive. “You’re a true friend, Grimm,” Hawk said softly. He wasn’t surprised when Grimm hurried from the room. In all the years he’d known him, words of praise had always made the man uncomfortable.

  In the Peacock Room’s massive bed, Adrienne tossed restlessly, maddeningly awake. At this moment she was quite certain she would never sleep again. Her mind would never find respite from the bitter, icy clarity that raged through her brain, recoloring her every action since she’d arrived at Dalkeith a vastly different hue.

  Hawk and Grimm rode out as dawn rose over the lush fields of Dalkeith. Satisfaction surged through Hawk as he surveyed his home. With his years of service to the king finally at an end, he could at last see to the needs of his people and be the laird he was born to be. Now he wanted just one more thing—for Adrienne to truly be a wife to him in every sense of the word, to help govern Dalkeith by his side. More than anything he wanted to see their sons and daughters walk this land.