by Lois Greiman
The truth had been so close-—he wanted to shake it from her. “I thought you said he was with distant cousins.”
Her gaze snapped back to his. For a moment, he could feel her fear as easily as he could feel her arm beneath his fingers.
“Nay!” she said, then calmed her voice and began leading her gelding toward the stables. “Nay. I said he is with Hertha and John.”
“I must have been mistaken.” He had lied, and for a moment she had feared that she had been tripped up. She was not telling the truth about Lachlan. But why? “Is that why you spend time with James?” he asked. “Because you miss your brother?”
“I think, at times, there is little difference between royalty and peasantry,” she said. “He reminds me much of Lachlan.”
“Have you taught your brother to escape from brigands?”
She stumbled. With his hand on her arm, he kept her from falling and, without thinking, pulled her up close to him.
Her rasped breath brushed his throat. Her eyes, impossibly entrancing, seemed to pierce his very soul.
He all but quivered with their silent appeal.
“Why do you teach the king to flee from brigands?” His stomach felt like a sailor’s knot. What the hell did she know that he didn’t? And why, oh God, why would she not let him help her?
For a fractured heartbeat of-time, he thought she would tell him the truth. But finally she pulled out of his grip. His heart ripped with the separation.
“He is our king,” she said, her voice flippant, her eyes haunted. “I thought there would be no harm in teaching him what I could.”
He wanted to rail at her. But even if he had the strength to threaten her, he feared she had the strength to withstand him if her need was real enough. “No harm,” he said. “I only wondered why.”
“No reason.” He could see the tension in the way she moved her hands. For a woman whose every movement was poetry, she looked as stiff as a wooden doll. “I am merely fond of him.”
“And he of you. Since his brother, the Duke of Ross, died, I think he is lonely. Indeed, I believe he cherishes you much as he would a sister.”
Did she blanch? And if so, why? Might she be planning the king some harm? But nay! ‘Twas absurd. She had been fond of the lad since their first meeting. He knew that.
But something was afoot, and it was his task to find out what it was. All he need do was stay with her, remain by her side, and prevent whatever evil she was dreading. But when he glanced into her eyes, he remembered the problem with that plan. He had vowed to stay away from her, to keep his distance, for he could not remain within arm’s reach and not touch her. Yet he had vowed to his king that he would protect her, as he had vowed to protect James. And whatever she had planned certainly involved the king in some way.
Therefore he had no choice, really.
Turning Bay into his stall, Catriona began to loosen his girth. But her movements seemed no more fluid than they had earlier.
“Here.” Haydan nudged her hands aside. “Let me do that.”
His shoulder brushed hers and he gritted his teeth against the impact. ‘Twas just a wayward touch, nothing more. Nothing significant. He pulled the saddle from the gelding’s back and set it aside before turning to remove the bridle. But in that moment their hands brushed, fingers against fingers, flesh against flesh.
Haydan drew sharply back, holding his breath and praying for strength, but when he looked into her eyes there was no strength in all the world.
“Haydan.” She said his name like a prayer.
“Aye.” He could barely force out the word.
“Was it so bad? Our… joining. Was it so wrong?”
Nay. It had been right. The most right of his life and she was so near, so close. He could have that perfection again. He had but to reach out and—
“Nay!” Haydan jerked back his hand. How had he strayed so close to her?
She started at his sudden movement, but he did not apologize. Instead, he paced the narrow, high-walled stall like a fractious steed.
“Nay?” Her voice was small, her eyes slanted like a wide-eyed kitten’s. “Then can we not—”
“Nay! Good saints, Catriona!” He raked splayed fingers through his hair. “What do you think that I am? A stud to rent?” He paced the stall again. “A beast who can have you, and care naught about either the morrow or the consequences?” He paused. “Not care about the sadness in your eyes?” He had not meant to say that.
“I am sorry,” she murmured.
“Sorry!” he rasped, wanting to shake her, to hold her, to take her in his arms and kiss her until she told him everything there was to know about herself. Until he could heal her wounds, soothe her worries.
“I think it best if I return to my room,” she said.
“Nay!” he growled and nearly winced at his boorish tone. What was it about her that forever made him act the fool? Perhaps he was entirely wrong. Perhaps she had no troubles beyond loneliness for her brother. “What of our performance?” he asked, carefully softening his tone.
She scowled at him. “You have been wounded,” she said, her tone cool now. “Surely James will understand why you cannot perform.”
She was drawing away, emotionally and physically. And Haydan’s soul ached with the distance.
“But he is the king.”
“Your pardon?”
“He is the king and it is his birthday,” Haydan said.
She continued to stare at him, her expression haughty, but finally she closed her eyes and shook her head.
“I cannot make sense of you, Haydan the Hawk. I cannot—”
” ‘Tis because I make no sense.”
She did not disagree. She only stood in silence, watching him.
He blew out a hard breath. “I have fought battles and schemed schemes for king and country, and never have I been defeated. But when you are near…” He scowled and wished he had not started down this road, wished instead that he could pull her into his arms and lose the last of his shaky sense in her warmth. “When you are near I am besotted and lame and bumbling. Like a foolish lad yet to be tested in his first battle.”
She still stared at him, her brows slightly raised.
He lowered his still more. ” ‘Tis not all my fault, you know. Not a man at Blackburn has had a grain of sense since your arrival. There are those who think you enchanted.”
“And what do you think?”
He tightened his fists and wished to hell that he could take back the entire conversation. “I think ‘tis time we practice,” he said and forced himself to move closer.
“I think ‘tis a poor idea.”
“Why?”
“You are a wise man. I believe you know.”
“I myself am often surprised at what I do not know,” he countered.
“Do you want the truth then, Haydan the Hawk?”
He wanted to say no. But he was trapped in her eyes, in the husky tone of her voice, and for a moment he could not speak at all.
“Tell me truth,” he said.
“I want to feel your magic again. I care little for your honor or mine. I want you as I have never wanted another.”
The air made a painful escape from his lungs.
” ‘Tis strange,” she murmured. “All these years that I have fought for my virtue. And now, when I no longer wish to fight…” her eyes looked unusually bright.
“Don’t cry.” The words sounded panicked to his own ears. “Please. Truly, lass, I do not think I could bear it if you cry.”
She raised her chin. “And what would His Majesty’s fierce captain do if I shed tears?”
He tried to muster a wee bit of pride, but there was none to be found. “Anything you wish,” he admitted.
She laughed, though the sound was wobbly. ” ‘Tis unfortunate for me, then, that I am not the crying sort.” She drew a deep breath, making him wonder how close she was to the end of her resources. “And just as unfortunately, I made a vow to the king.”
Haydan nodded. “As did I.”
They began their practice in a sheltered grassy spot immediately, yet every time Hayden touched her his will weakened a bit more until finally he found to his wordless, surprise that he could not let her go at all.
They stood face to face, his hands on her waist as the world faded to nothing. There was only her, her sadness, her strength, her eyes, drawing him closer still.
“I think he is busy,” said a voice from behind Cat.
Haydan dropped his hands and looked over Catriona’s shoulder.
“Lassies!” he said, and his heart leapt at the sight of the three young women who stood before him.
Chapter 25
They came in a blur of colors and scents, three maidens rushing toward the Hawk with smiles and laughter as they piled into his arms.
Catriona watched in aching surprise, but in a moment the nearest maid turned toward her.
“Catriona,” she said, her voice low and husky.
It took Cat a moment to realize that this lady dressed in silks and an elegant coif was the same woman who had danced barefoot and wild at her campfire a lifetime before. “Rachel?” she asked.
The dark-haired lady laughed even as the other two turned toward Catriona, and now she recognized them also—the auburn-haired Shona, and the sunlight that was Sara. A trio of stunning women who had loved a man called Haydan the Hawk long before Catriona had met him.
” ‘Tis me,” Rachel said. “But what might you be doing here?”
It seemed like many long years ago that this same woman had called herself Flora and traveled with Cat’s gypsy band; long ago that she had saved Lachlan from sure death. Yet for a moment it seemed that those years were but minutes, and Catriona wanted nothing more than to fall into her arms and beg for advice, for help.
But she couldn’t afford that weakness.
“I have come to perform for the king,” she said.
“So we are to be privy to the Lady Cat’s renowned performances?” Shona said, then gave Sara a slanted glance. “Mayhap you had best send your Boden off hunting on that day, cousin. You know how his eyes wander when there be a bonny maid around.”
Sir Boden Blackblade, Catriona remembered, was about as faithless as a deer hound, dark, adoring, and looming.
“Mayhap ‘tis your Dugald we’d best send to hunt,” Sara countered. “What with your sharp tongue, he—”
“All is well, I hope.”
Catriona returned her gaze to Rachel, who seemed to have no qualms about interrupting her cousins’ banter.
“Aye,” Cat’s tone was surprisingly light, though Rachel’s bright, otherworldly eyes continued to pierce her. “Aye. All is well.”
“I do not have a sharp tongue,” Shona said, then turned to look at Catriona and scowled. “Still, it would not hurt to keep Dugald otherwise entertained, I suspect. What of you, Rachel? Shall we invent something to occupy your Liam’s time?”
But the woman did not turn from Catriona. “Your grandmother? She is doing well?”
Catriona forced a laugh. “Of course. She is as strong as a Highland gale.” And just as eerie as this woman, when there was a secret that needed keeping. “She will outlive the lot of us.”
Rachel smiled, her eyes softening. ” ‘Tis glad I am to hear it.”
“We might have an archery contest at the same time as her performance,” Shona suggested. “Dugald is far too vain to miss such an opportunity.”
“Unfortunately, so are you,” Sara said.
“So I am sharp-tongued and vain?” Shona asked, raising a brow at her fair-haired cousin. “I fear you have—”
“Haydan,” Rachel interrupted smoothly. “I have spent many a weary hour with my vociferous cousins in the past few days. Mayhap you could take them to the great hall and…” She shrugged. “Get them inebriated?”
Haydan scowled, flicked his gaze to Catriona, then back to Rachel. “I fear I have duties to—”
“But surely nothing more important than entertaining your nieces,” Rachel interrupted. Her gaze was sharp as a hunting raptor’s in her angelic face. “Truly,” she said. “If I have to spend another minute in their bickering company I shall not be accountable for my actions.”
“Bickering!” Shona said, offended.
“You do bicker,” Sara admitted.
“One cannot bicker alone,” Shona said. “Indeed, you—”
“Ladies,” Rachel interrupted. “And I use that term with the utmost levity. Can you not see what is afoot here?”
Sara grinned. “Our Hawk is falling in love?”
Haydan started in surprise. “What the devil are you talking about?”
Shona laughed. ” ‘Tis fairly clear, Haydan. She is talking about you and the Gypsy lass.”
“I—” he began, but Rachel was already shooing them away.
“Go now,” she ordered her cousins. “You see what you can wring out of him; I’ll talk to the Cat.”
For a moment Catriona thought he would argue; then he raised his arms to the women he called nieces.
“Come, lassies,” he said. “I go to reprimand your husbands for turning you loose on Blackburn.”
“What about getting us inebriated?” Shona asked, taking his arm. “Dugald would be quite jealous.”
“Just what I want,” Haydan murmured as he turned with them on his arms. “A drunken assassin angry at me.”
“He’s not an assassin anymore,” Shona reminded him.
“I am so relieved.”
“Aye,” Sara added. “And he hardly ever kills anyone when his wife makes him jealous. I am certain you are quite…” Her voice faded as they walked away.
Catriona turned her gaze nervously to Rachel. ‘Twas not on some silly whim that the Lady Saint had sent her cousins away. That much she knew.
” ‘Tis good to see you, Catriona,” Rachel said.
“And good to see you.”
“Is it?”
“Certainly. Why would it not be?”
“I thought mayhap we were interrupting at a bad time.”
“Nay.”
“Then you’ve had plenty of other time for loving our Haydan?”
“You have more imagination than I gave you credit for, Rachel. Indeed, there was a time when you first danced that I thought you had none at all.”
Rachel laughed. “You love him,” she said without a hint of doubt.
Uncertainty coiled through Catriona, but she struggled to maintain the lie. “I fear you’ve gotten the wrong impression.”
Rachel raised her dark brows. “I rarely do.”
Her eyes were wide, amethyst in color, and all-knowing. Catriona turned her own downward. She had lived with her grandmother far too long to think she could look into that sort of eyes and not give up her secrets. Best then, to let herself be distracted by her feelings for Haydan.
“In truth, he does not love me,” Cat said softly.
“Nay?”
Catriona shook her head. “He is a knight in the personal service of the king, and I am…” She shrugged. “A Gypsy.”
“And for that reason he does not love you?” Rachel asked and hooked Cat’s arm with her own. “Truly, it might be that you do not know our Hawk as well as you might think. Come, let us discuss him at length.”
As Haydan strode down the hallway, candlelight flickered in his wake. The hour was late, but Catriona was finally safely abed, and he could wait no longer. Stopping before an arched door, he raised his hand to rap on the timber, but it opened before his knuckles struck wood.
Rachel stepped silently into the hall. “The babes are fast asleep,” she murmured and motioned him to follow her. “Have you, perchance, seen my husband?”
“Aye. He is playing tables with my guards in the hall.”
“How big are they?’
“Bigger than he.”
She sighed. “Any sign of violence?”
“Not yet. I wished to ask you something.”
“Aye. She is.”
> “What?” he asked, glancing down at her.
“Catriona.” She hurried down the stairs. “She is in danger.”
Haydan drew a deep breath. “I do not know if I should be spooked by your gift or horrified that you have come to my own conclusion.”
“You’ve little time to be either spooked or horrified.”
His gut clenched. “How much time?”
“In truth, I do not know.” Hurrying through the doorway of the great hall, she came to an abrupt halt as her gaze skimmed the faces there—a few noblemen, old Marta, and a trio of guards who were scowling at a dark-haired man with a scoundrel’s grin.
A sliver of a smile played over her lips as she watched her husband. Liam the Irishman, he was called. A bigger rogue was not to be found, and yet she had tamed him. “You love her, don’t you?” she asked, not drawing her gaze from the gamblers.
“I fear you have your cousins’ sense of the ridiculous. I am but determined to protect her, for I think of her like a daughter and—”
“Like a daughter?” She raised her brows at him. “If I thought that were true, I would be praying night and day for your immortal soul,” she said and turned her uncanny eyes on him.
Still, he could not admit the truth—not to her, and certainly not to himself.
“What kind of danger is she in?” he rasped.
“Grave danger.”
Frustration cracked through him like the lash of a whip. “What sort of grave danger?”
“I do not know.”
“Do not know? You are your mother’s daughter, as eerie as she. Surely you know.”
“Why is Lachlan not with her?” she asked.
Haydan drew a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. “She said he stayed behind with Hertha.”
“She adores the lad,” Rachel said. “And yet she barely speaks of him.”
“Could it be—” He paused, pain twisting his soul. “Could it be that he is dead, and she cannot accept it?”
Rachel remained silent for a moment then shook her head slowly. “Nay. I do not think so. I did not feel that sort of empty sadness.”
“Might he be ill?” Haydan guessed.
“She would never leave him.”
“Mayhap he is wounded and recuperating.”
