by Lois Greiman
“Then she would speak of his recovery, his insatiable appetite for herring pie, his smile.” Her brow furrowed at her private thoughts. “He is a bonny child,” she whispered.
Haydan stiffened. “You see him now?”
She didn’t answer, but kept her gaze on the far wall.
“Rachel,” Haydan rasped, gripping her arm. “Where is he?”
“Not among friends. And yet he laughs, though they keep him confined.”
“Abducted!” Haydan hissed, fear snaking through him like hot venom.
Rachel turned her gaze on him, her expression flat.
“Why?” Haydan asked. “Who are they? What do they want?”
But in that moment she closed her eyes and shook her head. “I know not. It might be that I am entirely wrong.”
“What would they want?” he repeated, his fingers stiff about her slim arm.
“She is special,” Rachel said.
“Do you think I do not know—” Haydan began, but he stopped abruptly. “Are they holding the lad until she gives herself up to them?” His heart was slamming against his ribs. “Might she be the princess of her wild tales? Perhaps they want her for that reason.”
Rachel scowled. “She did not turn her back on Liam and me when we brought her nothing but trouble. How much more easily would she risk her life for her brother?” She was silent for a moment. “Could it be that she is to deliver another in exchange for her brother’s safe return?”
Haydan remained unmoving, unable to speak as his own horrid fears were voiced.
“Has she been spending time with anyone in particular?”
Darkness settled steadily into Haydan’s soul. “Nay. It cannot be,” he murmured. “James is watched every minute. As is she.”
“Is she? Every minute? Who is watching her now?”
“Galloway.”
Her eyes were unearthly steady. “I saw the way you looked at her, Hawk. I doubt you would trust any man to watch her sleep.”
His body felt leaden and heavy, his mind as slow as a dirge. “What do you suspect?”
‘The same as you.”
“Nay!” he rasped. “She would not—”
“Sir Hawk.” Liam’s voice was casual, though his expression was no longer cheerful as he stood beside his wife. “I would challenge you to a duel, but me daughter is too young to lose the father she adores.”
Hawk turned his scowl on the roguish Irishman.
“You are squeezing me wife’s arm,” Liam explained.
Haydan lowered his gaze to where his hand gripped Rachel’s arm, then turned with a start and hurried away.
The floor rang beneath his heels. Darkness consumed his mind, and in a moment he stood before Catriona’s door.
“She remains inside?” he asked.
Galloway straightened. “Aye.” He did not ask where she might have gone, but Haydan could see the question in his eyes.
“No noise?”
“What?”
“You have heard no noise?”
Galloway frowned. “Nay.”
“And the other nights?”
“Your pardon?”
Impatience rolled inside Haydan like a dark cloud, but he clenched his jaw and slowed his speech. “Have you heard noise any of the other nights?”
“Nay. All is quiet.”
Haydan’s mind spun as he stared at Cat’s door. What secrets were hidden behind that solid portal?
“Is something amiss, sir?”
Haydan turned his gaze back to the younger man. “Guard her door,” he said. “And do not, under any circumstances, fall asleep. Make certain no one goes in or comes out. Do you understand?”
“Aye, sir,” Galloway said.
Haydan turned rapidly away, but the young man stopped him. “Sir?”
He turned back with a scowl.
“What am I guarding her from?”
Terror coiled in Haydan’s belly. “Herself,” he said and hurried away.
Outside, it was cool and damp. Mist lowered like a lace curtain over Blackburn’s courtyard. Haydan wrapped his cloak about himself and waited. His eyes burned and his knee complained, but he stayed on his feet, for hunkering down against the stone behind his back invited sleep. And he could not afford to sleep. Not when he had no answers.
As the night dragged on, his muscles stiffened with cold and immobility. He shifted slightly in the shadows of the tower, flexing an arm and wondering for the hundredth time if he were insane. After all, he had no concrete proof that anything was amiss. The fact that Catriona religiously denied it should surely set his mind at ease. And even if it was not the truth, even if there were some trouble in her life, ‘twas not his trouble.
But from the start her eyes had haunted him, and now he had collaboration. Rachel Forbes was not called the Lady Saint for nothing. She had seen something in Catriona’s eyes, had sensed something just as surely as Haydan had.
There was a sadness there, a fear just below the surface. True, she smiled and she laughed, but it was not quite right, not quite true. He could hear it in the melody of her voice, could feel it in the touch of her hand.
Only on one occasion had she seemed untroubled. Only when he held her in his arms, when she had forgotten all and lost herself in pleasure, had she seemed whole and at peace.
Never, not if he lived forever, would he forget the feel of her against him. The satin-soft slide of her hair against his chest, the husky murmur of her sigh in his ear.
He could hear it now, he thought, and reached for her.
Haydan awoke with a start. Good Christmas, he was losing his mind. Mayhap the rumors were true. Maybe she truly was an enchantress. Maybe she had ensorceled him and—
And what the hell was that?
A movement halfway up the wall?
He froze, his heart pumping hard and fast.
A shadow was slipping sideways not far from James’s window. But it could not be, for ‘twas several rods above the ground. He blinked, trying to clear his head, to focus his thoughts. But in that instant the shadow was gone; faded into nothingness. ‘Twas naught but his imagination.
But his gut told another tale. ‘Twas Catriona, escaped from her room!
Chapter 26
Haydan launched himself from the wall. His knee locked, nearly spilling him to the hard-packed earth, but he caught his balance and hurtled toward the keep. Throwing open the door, he rushed inside.
The stairs flew beneath his feet. The floor echoed with his panic.
The king’s guards jerked to attention when he charged into view. He delayed not an instant, but burst into the room. The door ricocheted off the wall.
In the midst of his gargantuan bed, James sat up with a start.
“Hawk?” His voice wavered in the near darkness, and by the light of a single flickering candle, Haydan could see the boy’s wide eyes.
“James.” His own voice sounded husky and breathless as he slowed to a walk. “You are well?”
The boy’s brow puckered. “Aye. I am well.”
Haydan paced to the windows. They were broad, stained in bright hues and veined in lead. They were also closed and locked.
Haydan checked each one before striding to the boy’s bed.
“And you?” the lad asked.
“What?” Haydan calmed himself, forcing his movements to slow. One of the guards, he noticed, had followed him inside.
“Are you well?” James asked. “I could call upon Physic.”
“Physic?” Haydan asked. The boy never called Blackburn’s healer Physic. Leech was his favored name for the sickle-nosed physician. Suspicions bloomed like wild thistles in Hawk’s head. It would not be the first time there had been an impostor in the young king’s place. Could such be the case again?
“You do not remember who Physic is?” the boy asked.
Haydan stared at the boy suspiciously, but the lad had James’s whip-quick mind and his sleepy eyes were full of growing mischief just as they should be. Still, he could not be
too careful.
Haydan turned to the guard. “You may return to your post. All is well.”
The guard nodded once and disappeared, though his expression showed some doubt as to Haydan’s sanity.
James looked no more certain.
“Tell me, Sir Hawk,” he said, bending his knees to circle his arms about the mound they made in the scarlet blanket. “Do you plan to tell me why you are here, or shall I guess?”
Yes, the lad had the Stuart attitude.
“Guessing might be more fun,” Haydan said, trying to soothe his impatience. It refused to be soothed. “But I fear I have no time. So I ask you this, Your Majesty: Long ago, when your life was in danger, with whom did you travel to the Highlands?”
“You forget?”
“Nay.” Haydan forced himself not to grit his teeth, but rarely had the lad’s tongue been more annoying. “I but want to hear it from you.”
James grinned as if this were some new game. ” ‘Twas Lady Shona of the clan MacGowan who took me under her wing.”
Haydan nodded, but perhaps that secret had eked its way into common knowledge, so he frantically searched his mind for one more suitable question.
“And when you escaped from Warwick,” he said, narrowing his eyes at the lad, “how—”
“I slid down the garderobe,” interrupted James. ” ‘Twas filthy.” He grinned. “But quite ingenious.”
“I was going to ask how you were dressed,” Haydan said and held his breath, for this was a part of the story that did not please the king so greatly. He would not readily have told another, even in an effort to use the impostor’s identity for a night of sport.
The boy scowled. “This game is becoming less amusing.”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Haydan said, with every muscle taut with the wait. “But ‘tis important.”
James hesitated an instant, then, “I was dressed in naught,” he said, his face coloring slightly. “Between the slide down the latrine and the river’s wild current, my garments abandoned me completely, traitorous things. Now what is this about?”
“Your safety,” Haydan said. Relief flooded him in a wild rush, but he held it at bay. Yes, the king was safely abed, but there was much else to learn. “Make me one promise.”
“I shall not,” James said, sitting straighter. “Unless you tell me truly why you are here.”
He thought fast. “I heard Shona’s foster son has arrived with his family. I but wished to be certain that you were still you and he was still he.”
“Kelvin is here?” James spouted, swinging his legs out of bed.
“Aye,” Haydan said and strode swiftly toward the lad to urge him back onto the mattress. “But he will not have forgotten any of his wayward thoughts before the morrow. There will be time aplenty for the two of you to cause trouble then.”
“Does he still look like me?”
“Regardless how he looks, you will not be trading identities with him again,” Haydan said, settling the blankets over the boy’s narrow chest.
The lad smiled impishly. “You would not know if I did.”
“I would know,” Haydan assured him, and giving in to a weakness for one instant, he swept the boy’s hair back from his brow. “Now for the promise. Say you will not allow anyone in through this window.”
The lad’s brows shot up. “Anyone such as whom?”
“Anyone.”
He should have expected the grin. “But what if some daring lass climbs up to my window and begs for my help? I can hardly turn her away.”
“Are you expecting this lass tonight?”
James scowled as if disappointed by the truth. ” ‘Twould seem unlikely.”
Haydan forced himself to relax. “Then promise you will let no one in, lad, I beg of you. At least until the festivities are finished.”
The boy shrugged. “As you wish.”
Haydan nodded. “Sleep then,” he said and turned away.
“Sir Hawk,” James called.
“Aye, lad?”
“You worry too much,” he said and turned his back to the door.
Hawk stepped into the hall.
“All is well?” asked a guard.
“Aye,” Hawk said and strode away, his mind spinning.
Was he insane? He had been so sure. So certain that Catriona’s sadness somehow involved the king. But she had not been in James’s chambers. Had he imagined the shadow on the wall? Maybe, but he had to act as if he had not. He did not know why Catriona was prowling the halls, but he would soon find out. First, he had to figure out where she was, though. He could go to her room and wait for her return, but there was no reason to believe she would ever admit to her activities. Nay, he must catch her in the act. But where was she?
He tried to remember where the shadow had been; where it had disappeared.
She was in this wing, but beyond that he knew little. He could only search. For one moment, he debated calling assistance. But he could not. Though his soul ached with his own weakness, he could not allow others to know of her activities, for if he was right—if she planned some evil against the king—
Haydan closed his mind grimly against the thought and continued his search.
The night dragged on forever as he listened for any sound, checked every shadow. But he found nothing, until finally, his mind burning with questions, he paced toward her room. There was naught to do now, but wait at her door and—
A noise! Just around the corner.
He stopped abruptly and pressed his back against the wall. A creak filled the darkness. He waited, breath held. Was it she? Had she turned the other way?
But suddenly a shadow appeared. Without thought, without warning, he grabbed hold.
There was a gasp. She tried to jerk away, but the effort was small and he held on.
“What… what do you want?”
Coldness settled into Haydan’s gut at the sound of her voice. He pulled her closer. “You!” he growled.
She stiffened, and then, like a wilted flower, she collapsed.
He felt her fall. She’d been wounded, he thought, and bent to lift her into his arms. But in that instant, she kicked out wildly. The first strike hit his thigh. The second was more effective. Fire burst in his knee. He staggered back against the wall with a rasp of pain.
It took him a moment to realize she was scrambling away.
“Nay!” he growled and threw himself after her.
His fingers tangled in something, and he pulled. She shrieked as she was yanked against his chest. “Let me—” she began, but he jerked his fingers from her hair and clasped his hand over her mouth.
From somewhere down the hall, he heard a door open. Squeezing her closer against his chest, he propelled her around the corner and pressed his back against the wall. Pain pounded his knee like the strike of a blacksmith’s hammer. He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip.
She mewled against his palm.
“Quiet!” he growled.
Her elbow slammed against his ribs. He sucked in his breath, but kept his hand steady.
From around the corner, two voices piped up in question.
He had no choice but to propel her forward, his hand still pressed against her mouth as he steered her away from the voices and toward his room.
Hell would surely have been no farther, but he managed to force her inside finally and close the door behind them.
He turned her loose. She spun toward him and backed away.
“I’ll know why,” he said.
Even in the darkness, he could see her eyes widen, could hear her sharp intake of breath. “Haydan?”
“Aye.” He filled his lungs with air and willed himself to disavow the pain. “I’ve waited a long while for the truth. I will know it now.”
Silence answered him, then, “The truth?”
Anger made him take a step toward her. Fear made her back away.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Truly? So you always sneak
from your window in the wee hours of the morn?”
He could hear her breathing. “I did no such thing.”
“Aye, you did.” He took another step. She retreated. “Repeatedly, I think. I will know why.”
“You’ve no right to question me.”
“I do, for I am the king’s guard. Do you disremember?”
“I’ve done naught to disturb the king.”
“Nay, only to disturb me, lass. Why were you in that room?”
“I am sorry.” Her voice was breathy.
He scowled. “What?”
“I did not mean to hurt you. Indeed…” He could see her hands meet in the darkness. “I did not think you would find out.”
“Find what out?”
“You cannot blame me, Haydan. I was not meant to be alone.”
Silent moments ticked away as he debated her words. “Do you mean to say were… seeking companionship?”
“Aye.”
He stared at her for a moment, and then he threw his head back and laughed.
“What is so amusing?”
“I have heard better lies, lass.”
“You think I lie? Then here is the truth, Haydan the Hawk. I gave myself to you, thinking we shared something special betwixt us. But since that night you have repeatedly turned me aside. And now I find… I find I cannot bear to be alone after—”
“Don’t!” he warned in a low hush.
Her breath hissed between her teeth. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t lie to me, Catriona. Not now. Not after you kicked me in the knee. ‘Tis not nice.”
She raised her chin. “I am not lying.”
“Oh? Who were you with this night?”
A moment of silence; then, ” ‘Tis none of your affair. I gave you a chance, but you did not take it. Thus I will find another. ‘Tis the way with women.”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
“Lady Fayette offered herself to MacKinnon but he turned her aside—that’s why she goes to others. ‘Tis the same with me. I thought you cared for me, but it seems you only wanted my innocence. Others are not so choosy.”
His stomach twisted at the thought of her with another. Rage boiled like black tar, but still he wanted her, whore or saint. Even now, when he was filled with anger and pain and roiling frustration, his senses were filled with her. “You forget,” he said. “I did not think you were a virgin, and still I wanted you.”
