“Then why have you taken the task?” Ahearn demanded with a roll of his eyes. He gave the Hawk a playful nudge. “Time enough that you engaged in such play, is what I say. I began to fear that I had pledged my blade to a monk.” He shuddered in mock horror at the prospect, then chuckled along with Sebastien.
The Hawk did not smile, nor did Alasdair who was of a far more serious temperament than these two.
“Her father is displeased,” Alasdair noted grimly. He had not moved from the portal and now folded his arms across his chest. “There will be trouble for us all if she appears thus again.”
“She will not,” the Hawk said with resolve.
Ahearn feigned a pout. “Surely you cannot have tired of the charms of women so quickly as that?”
“Surely you would not spurn the first woman to catch your eye so quickly as that?” Sebastien protested.
“Of course not,” the Hawk said, his plan clear. “On this night, I will claim a bride.”
Stunned silence filled the stables and the Hawk almost smiled.
“Marriage?” Ahearn gasped and shuddered elaborately, the very word anathema to him.
“I knew it well,” Sebastien murmured. “I knew the moment his gaze fell upon her. She is that old crone…”
Ahearn brightened. “The tale recounts that they recognize each other upon sight, that the flame is so kindled.”
“Do not repeat such folly!” the Hawk retorted sharply. “She is an alluring maiden, one I intend to wed, no more than that.” In the face of his men’s doubts, the Hawk continued. “It would be irrational to believe such whimsy. I know myself to be a supremely rational man. Is it so uncommon that a man of my age should choose to take a bride?”
“It is uncommon enough that you should give a care for women,” Ahearn commented wryly.
“I thought we had come to Abernye to lull the MacLarens into believing us content and complacent,” Alasdair observed.
Ahearn nodded agreement. “Aye, to coax them to greater confidence afore we make our final assault.” His expression turned thoughtful. “Or is that plan to change now that you will have a bride to sate?”
“So we planned and so we will do,” the Hawk affirmed. “My taking of a bride changes nothing, save that it will only encourage the MacLarens’ confidence further.”
Sebastien smiled, his manner mischievous. “So, it was but coincidence that you claimed no bride until you found one young enough that she might be Adaira reborn?”
The Hawk granted him a quelling glance. “Inverfyre was not secured.”
“It still is not,” Alasdair insisted. “We are but days from reclaiming its very heart! Would you bring a woman into the midst of this battle? Would you compromise all for the sake of your desire?”
“He can do naught else,” Sebastien whispered. “She is the mate to his soul.”
“He could claim a bride in a month,” Ahearn retorted. “The lass will not spoil in so short a time as that!”
“I claim a young bride because I have need of sons, and I claim this one because she pleases me,” the Hawk declared, his voice rising with an anxiety he would not name. “There is no old tale at work here, and there is no threat to our scheme! Where is your confidence in my leadership? Is it so thin as that?”
“I would not have you distracted now, when victory is so close.” Alasdair shoved a hand through his hair with dissatisfaction. “God forbid that we should lose this war for the sake of your prick,” he muttered, then turned away. Ahearn hooted with laughter, but the Hawk did not share the jest.
He angrily pursued the Scot, catching Alasdair’s shoulder and forcing him to turn. “Her presence will persuade them further that my ambitions are sated. The choice is a good strategic one.”
The mercenary held the Hawk’s gaze for a charged moment, then bowed his head. “I pray it shall be so, my lord,” he murmured.
“I know that it will be,” the Hawk said. “Our scheme cannot be thwarted at this late date.”
Ahearn cleared his throat. “All the same, I feel compelled to observe that there is no need to actually wed the maiden.”
“You could simply steal her,” Sebastien suggested cheerfully.
“Or partake of the feast she offers while all others sleep,” Ahearn added with a grin. “It would be so much less complicated, my lord.” The pair nodded to each other, in perfect agreement as to the proper place of women in a man’s life.
“A stolen or illicit coupling would only create difficulties betwixt her father and me,” the Hawk said and Alasdair nodded in grim agreement. “Marriage it will be and the ceremony will be this night. We shall return to Inverfyre with time enough to prepare for the assault on the new moon.”
Recognizing his tone, the fighting men stepped forward, their expressions solemn. Over the years, they had come to understand that though their comments were welcome while various strategies were discussed, the Hawk did not change his mind once his choice was made.
“What are we to do?” Ahearn asked, his playful manner dismissed.
“See to the ale, if you will.” The Hawk quickly considered the tasks to be accomplished and chose the man with the appropriate skills for each one. “No doubt some wench in the kitchens can be distracted long enough to suit your purpose. I hope that you have brought an herb that will be of use in this.”
Ahearn nodded with confidence and headed for his saddlebag. “I have brought the very herb that will be of aid.”
“No doubt you intended it for some prank upon the rest of us,” Sebastien said and Ahearn chuckled.
“A devious mind has its place, as you can see.”
Ignoring this exchange, the Hawk indicated Sebastien. “Fetch the priest to the chapel at midnight, and see he makes no sound to alert the keep.” That man nodded curtly.
“Alasdair, I would bid you secure the doors to the chapel, lest we be disturbed during the festivities themselves.”
That man nodded in his turn.
“And I assume the gatekeeper will grant you no argument.”
Alasdair nodded. “The gates are as good as ours, my lord.”
“Good. Ahearn, ensure the horses are ready, if you will. We ride forth immediately after the nuptial vows are exchanged. With Fortune beside us, we may not be pursued before the morn.”
“By then it will be too late,” murmured Ahearn with a wink. “The match will be made and consummated.”
Sebastien cleared his throat pointedly. “But will you not have need of a bride, my lord?”
The Hawk allowed himself a smile of anticipation. “I shall fetch the lady myself.”
The men nodded and departed, leaving the Hawk to ponder his choice. On this night, Aileen of Abernye would become his own. The prospect gave him more pleasure than any conquest had in a long time. He felt a flicker of uncertainty, for Inverfyre was not yet completely won, but pushed it aside. His wife would be safe, because he would ensure that she was so.
Instinct had never served him wrong and it told him without a doubt that this was the sole woman he should wed. The nonsense of an old tale was of no import to his decision at all.
The ale tasted sour to Aileen that night so she put hers aside. Perhaps it was solely that she did not wish to purge the taste of the Hawk’s kiss from her lips.
The conversation flowed around and over her, so much nonsense in her ears as it never was. She still simmered, still yearned, still did not know what she wanted.
All the same, Aileen feared that she knew the source of her discomfiture well enough. Indeed, she glanced down the high table and unwittingly caught the Hawk’s gaze, and heat flooded her.
His gaze was brooding and she had the eerie sense again that he could read her thoughts. After a moment, he lifted his cup to her, though whether in salute or mockery she could not guess. Aileen looked away as her face burned.
Clearly, she was unwell.
Blanche granted her stepdaughter a smug glance. “Your color is high this night, Aileen,” she called down the ta
ble, her gesture coaxing Aileen’s complexion to an even more rosy hue as every soul took a look.
“Have you seen, how do you say, a ghost?” She turned to the Hawk, reaching over her husband to tap the Hawk’s forearm with her fingertips. “Her mother claimed to speak with spirits and ghosts. Of course, we have long waited for the same madness to appear in the girl.”
“Blanche,” Nigel protested. “Mhairi had the Sight.”
“S’il vous plait, Nigel, you must cease this talk.” Blanche pouted prettily. “Only ignorant peasants believe such superstitions. Although it is painful, you must accept your wife’s weakness. This is what a man must do, non?”
Aileen’s father flushed, his expression grim when Blanche appealed again to their guest.
“Do you not agree?”
The castellan whispered something to Aileen’s father and that man rose abruptly to his feet, though Blanche barely noted his murmured excuses or his departure.
The Hawk shrugged, his gaze unswerving from Aileen. “I was raised in Sicily,” he said quietly. “I learned there that many matters in this world are not readily explained.”
“Ah, but talking with the dead!” Blanche rolled her eyes and laughed. “What could this be but madness? The woman was folle!”
The Hawk did not share in the jest. “I would not presume to judge a woman, not only deceased and mourned, but unknown to me, as well.”
It was apparent to Aileen that the Hawk counted Blanche in the same company as himself and she was touched that he so defended her much-maligned mother.
She could not fully hide her smile of pleasure and knew he noticed her response, for his eyes gleamed.
Then he arched a brow and Aileen feared that he anticipated a reward from her. There was but one way to ensure the man could not addle her wits further.
Aileen pushed to her feet and cleared her throat with purpose. “Clearly my color is high because I am unwell,” she said firmly. She forced a smile. “I must have caught an ague. Please excuse me.”
“Of course.” Blanche flicked her hand in the same way that she dismissed her servants. She placed a hand upon the Hawk’s arm with unwarranted familiarity, clearly pleased that they were more or less alone at the high table together.
“The mother was mad,” she whispered loudly. “It was, how do you say, une tragédie, all the more so because none of them will acknowledge the truth of it.” She sighed and smiled, then fluttered her lashes at their guest. “Of course, my lineage is impeccable.”
Aileen turned her back upon the cooing pair and crossed the hall. She was well aware of the gazes and whispers that followed her as she ascended to the solar, but she had no care for gossip. One gaze—and she knew well whose it was—bore into her back, but she refused to acknowledge it and him.
Sicily. That might explain some of the mystery of this man. It certainly explained his dark-haired and dark-eyed companion, if not the others.
And perhaps his necromancy. Was Sicily not said to be a breeding ground for witchery and magic? If a man was to learn in any corner of Christendom how to infect the thoughts of others, it would be there, Aileen was certain of it.
But she was a sensible woman of the country. She would drink a hot posset and sleep deeply this night. That would purge the Hawk of Inverfyre and his sorcery from her thoughts. That would destroy the memory of his infernally tempting kiss!
Some errant sound startled Aileen to wakefulness in the deep hours of the night. Her eyes flew open.
Intruders! This was the first thought she had, yet it seemed all was as it should be. The ladies’ chamber was dark, for the night was moonless and the braziers had burned down to coals. The rhythmic breathing of the women around her filled her ears. It seemed a higher number of them than usual snored this night.
Aileen took a steadying breath. Had her fright been wrought of no more than a bad dream?
All seemed tranquil, and indeed, she could not have named the sound that had roused her. No shouts rent the air, and there apparently was not another soul awake. Aileen peered into the shadows and was certain she discerned the lump of Blanche in her own bed, two of her women sharing the mattress with her.
The others lay on pallets around the great draped bed, as did Aileen. Blanche had a dozen women who waited upon her. Aileen had had one, but when that elderly nursemaid had passed away during her mother’s last days, she had not chosen another.
If her father’s new bride did not fret for the weight of his purse, Aileen would. Each soul housed within these walls had to be fed and clothed and shod, after all. Abernye’s sheep could not be shorn weekly simply to sate the new lady’s lust for the trappings of a wealth Abernye did not possess.
As her fears eased, Aileen found she could not sleep. In the middle of the night, one’s worries tend to take on a force of their own, and thus so did hers. Aileen’s thoughts churned, restless, and she began to fret that Blanche would see her father impoverished. The prospect made sleep impossible.
Blanche would see Nigel destitute, his spirit broken. She would leave him starving and garbed in rags, she would take every trinket from Abernye. She would take Abernye itself, down to the last morsel of bread. Aileen could envision Blanche plucking it from her father’s hand, from his very mouth. She would laugh as she left him for another richer man, she would grind his shattered heart beneath her heel…
Aileen heard a stealthy footstep.
She caught her breath and listened. A second step sounded upon the wooden floor. Whisper-quiet, it would never have been discerned by one lost to dreams. All the same, it was weighty. The slow creak of the floor could mean nothing else.
A man was in the ladies’ chamber!
Aileen’s heart began to flutter. She lay upon her side on her pallet, not daring to move even as her thoughts flew. Hers was the last in a row of pallets occupied by sleeping women, and even as she wondered what to do, the sound came again from behind her.
Aileen strained her ears, struggling to locate the intruder precisely. Was this a thief come in the night for her stepmother’s gems? Or did one of the maids have a lover? Possibilities abounded, but in Aileen’s heart, she knew who lurked behind her.
And she feared the Hawk’s intent. Perhaps Blanche had invited him to visit her.
Perhaps he had invited himself.
She could not decide what to do, what she could do to deter him. She had no weapon and she knew that he would be far stronger than she.
The silence stretched long, no other step sounding. Where had he gone? Had he left? Had he merely come to view his prey?
In the end, she could not tolerate the uncertainty. There was only one way to see whether he had left, without alarming him that she witnessed his presence if indeed he was still in the chamber.
Aileen sighed deeply and nestled into her linens, as if soundly asleep.
She heard nothing.
She pretended to snore.
Still, there was not a sound.
Slowly then, she rolled over, eyes closed, feigning that she moved in her sleep.
Nothing echoed in the chamber.
She was half-certain that he had left, as quietly as he had come, though she could not guess his scheme in so doing. All the same, she waited, breathing deeply as if lost to dreams.
The footstep did not sound again.
Aileen waited and breathed and curtailed her desperate desire to look with only the greatest difficulty. The moments stretched out to eternity. She could have screamed in vexation.
When she could bear it no longer, she opened her eyes the barest slit.
Her eyes widened in astonishment, then, for she stared directly at the Hawk of Inverfyre’s wicked smile. He lay beside her, fully garbed, the length of an arm between them.
Aileen made a most odd gurgling sound, so astonished was she. She should have heard him breathing! She should have felt his heat! He quickly unfastened his cloak as she gaped mutely at him, and new fear helped her find her voice.
She made to yelp b
ut the sound never passed her lips.
He moved with lightning speed, his gloved hand clamping over her mouth and his weight settling atop her. She bit his hand, futilely finding only the leather between her teeth, and knew then why he had worn the gloves.
That he had schemed some fate for her—for her!—awakened her terror.
Aileen struggled, cursing the fact that the other women had left a space around her, due to her own lie that she was ill. She could not even kick one to wakefulness and it was the fault of none but herself! She fought her assailant, knowing all the while that her efforts were hopeless.
He bent and placed his lips against her ear. Aileen’s heart thudded so loudly that she feared she would not hear whatsoever he said. He braced his weight over her, pinning her in place but not crushing her.
A traitorous pulse within her quickened.
“They will not awaken,” he said with confidence. His breath tickled against her ear in a most distracting way and she felt her blood heat with unwelcome desire at the low timbre of his voice. “The ale was tainted this night with an herb that induces sleep.” He kissed Aileen’s temple with a familiarity undeserved. “I should have known that you, lady mine, would defy expectation and not drink the ale.”
Aileen made a sound of protest beneath the weight of his glove.
“On the other hand, it poses a greater challenge for you to be awake…and I greatly savor a challenge.” He kissed her earlobe with leisure then, sending heat coursing through her. Aileen trembled beneath his sure touch, then struggled anew, as much against her own response as his confidence. She felt the sign of his own ardor against her belly and froze in terror.
“There are two courses open to us, Aileen,” he murmured with an ease that the lady in question did not think the situation deserved. “One, far more pleasant, requires your cooperation in leaving this chamber quietly. We shall simply walk to the portal, you and I, in a most civilized manner.”
She shook her head with vigor.
“I thought you might not cede to that.” He sighed, as if her reluctance was inexplicable.
Stolen Brides: Four Beauty-and-the-Beast Medieval Romances Page 68
