Beyond the Highland Mist (25 page)

“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.

Hawk cursed himself for a hopeless romantic fool.

“The harvest will be rich this Samhain,” Grimm remarked.

“Aye, that it will, Grimm. Adam.” Hawk nodded curtly to the smithy, who was approaching, the field of gold parting for his dark form.

“You’re leaving the game? You admit defeat, dread Hawk?” Adam gazed mockingly up.

“Don’t goad the devil, smithy,” Grimm warned tersely.

Adam laughed. “Bedevil the devil and devil be damned. I fear no devil and bow to no man. Besides, this concerns you not, or little at least—certainly not so much as you appear to think. You vastly overrate yourself, gruff Grimm.” Adam held the Hawk’s gaze, smiling. “Fear not, I will care for her in your absence.”

“I won’t let him near her, Hawk,” Grimm hastened to assure him.

“Yes you will, Grimm,” Hawk said carefully. “If she
asks
for him you will let him near her. Under no other circumstances.”

Adam nodded smugly. “And ask she will. Again and again in that husky, sweet morning voice she has. And Grimm, you might tell her for me that I have coffee from the Rom for her.”

“You will not tell her that!” Hawk snapped.

“Are you trying to limit my contact?”

“I did not agree to provide you with a messenger! Yet—what will be will surely be. My guard stands for her, but it’s you I will look to if she comes to harm.”

“You give her into my keeping?”

“Nay, but I will hold you responsible if harm should befall her.”

“I would never let harm come to any woman of mine—and she is mine now, fool Hawk.”

“Only in as much as she wants to be so,” the Hawk said softly.
And if she does, I will kill both of you with my bare hands and rest easier at night, dead inside.

“You are either impossibly cocky or incredibly stupid, dread Hawk,” the smithy said with scorn. “You will return to find the flawless Adrienne in my arms. Already, she spends most afternoons with me in your gardens—soon she will spend them in my bed,” Adam taunted.

The Hawk’s jaw clenched, his body tensed for violence.

“She didn’t ask for you, Hawk,” Grimm reminded tonelessly, shuffling from foot to foot.

“She didn’t ask for him, captain of the guard?” Adam asked brightly. “Captain of honor, captain of truth?”

Grimm flinched as Adam’s dark gaze searched his. “Aye,” he said tightly.

“What a tangled web we weave….” Adam drawled slowly, the hint of a smile on his burnished face.

“What passes now between the two of you, Grimm?” Hawk asked.

“The smithy’s a strange man,” Grimm muttered.

“I would wish you Godspeed, but I believe God suffers little, if any, commerce with men such as us. So I wish you only a warrior’s farewell. And never fear, I shall keep safe the lovely Adrienne,” the smithy promised as he patted Hawk’s stallion on the rump.

Shadows flickered behind the Hawk’s eyes as he took his leave. “Watch her, Grimm. If there are any more attempts on her life, send word to me at Uster,” he called over his shoulder as he rode away. His guards could keep her alive, in that he felt secure. But now there would be nothing to keep her from Adam.

As Grimm watched his best friend leave, Adam studied the stoic warrior. “She didn’t ask for him?” he mocked softly.

“Who the hell are you, really?” Grimm snarled.

“T
RY A BIT MORE STEAMING WATER,”
L
YDIA DECIDED, AND
Tavis obliged.

They both peered into the pan. Lydia sighed. “Well, drat and blast it all!”

“Milady! Such language for a woman of your position, I’ll say.” Tavis rebuked.

“It certainly doesn’t act like tea, does it, Tavis?”

“Nay, not a bit, I’ll say, but still no reason for you to be unladylike about it.”

Lydia snorted. “Only you, dear Tavis, dare criticize my manners.”

“ ’Tis because you’re usually the spit of perfection, so it fashes me more than a wee bit when you sally.”

“Well, stir it, Tavis! Don’t just let it sit there.”

Tavis flashed her a disgruntled look as he began to stir the mixture rapidly. “These talented hands were made for
curing the richest hides in all of Scotia, not stirring a lady’s drink, I’ll say,” he grumbled.

Lydia smiled at his words. How he went on about his talented hands! One would think they were made of purest gold instead of flesh, bone, and a few calluses. She glanced at him a pensive moment while he stirred the brew. Ever faithful Tavis by her side. Her mornings and afternoons wouldn’t be quite so rich without the man. Her evenings, well, she’d spent her evenings alone for so many years that she scarcely noticed it anymore—or so she liked to believe.

“Why don’t you marry?” she had asked Tavis twenty long years ago, when he’d still been a young man. But he had only smiled up at her as he’d knelt by the vats where he’d been soaking a deerskin to buttery softness.

“I have all I need here, Lydia.” He spread his arms wide, as if he could sweep all of Dalkeith into his embrace. “Why would you be shooing me on?”

“But don’t you want children, Tavis MacTarvitt?” she probed. “Sons to take over your tannery? Daughters to cherish?”

He shrugged. “The Hawk is like a son to me. I couldn’t ask for a finer braw lad, I’ll say. And now we’ve the two wee ones running about, and well … you’re without a husband again, Lady Lydia …” He trailed off slowly, his strong hands rubbing and squeezing the hide in the salt mixture.