Beyond the Highland Mist (38 page)

How could she bear the looks on their faces when she did it? How would she endure the hate and betrayal she would see in their eyes?

Adrienne stood alone in Lydia’s lovely bedroom, amidst slowly cooling round irons and discarded choices for underthings and half-empty cups of tea, left undrunk in nervous anticipation.

The time was nearing.

And her heart was freezing, breath by bitter breath. She shivered as a crisp breeze tumbled through the open window of Lydia’s bedroom. She crossed the room intending to close it, but froze, one hand upon the cool stone ledge. She stared mesmerized into the night.

I will remember this, always.

She drank in Dalkeith, committing each precious detail to memory. The full moon held her spellbound as it bathed the ridge in silvery brilliance. It seemed closer to the earth and so much larger than usual. Maybe she could step into the sky to stand right next to it—perhaps give it a firm nudge and watch it roll across the horizon.

Adrienne marveled at the beauty of it all.
This place is magic.

She had a perfect view of the feast from the window. The ridge was alive with hundreds of people spread about the fires on bright tartans, talking, feasting, and dancing. Wine, ale, and Scotch flowed freely as the people celebrated the
harvest to come. A rich harvest, her husband had seen to that.

Children played children’s games, running and squealing and circling back to loving parents. And the music … oh, the music drifted up to the open window, blending with the soft roar of the ocean. The powerful hypnotic beat of the drums, the pipes and wild chanting.

Between the two circles of fire, she could just make him out, the laird of Dalkeith-Upon-the-Sea was dancing with his people, his head tossed back, adding his deep butterscotch cry to the song. Her husband. At least she’d gotten to love him for a while—maybe not forever, but…

The beat of drums intensified, and she watched him circle the fire. So primitive and savage, yet so incredibly tender and loving.

I adore this place
, she thought.
If I could have ever dreamt a place to go, back in the twentieth century, I would have dreamt this one.

She let her forehead fall against the cool stone wall a long moment and squeezed back the tears. “I love him more than life itself,” she whispered aloud.

And
that
had been the deciding point.

“Nay.” The Hawk raised his hands in mock protestation. “You must leave me with strength to wed and bed my wife, this eve,” he teased the laughing women who tried to lure him into yet another dance.

Despite the disappointed looks and saucy remarks about his virility, the Hawk made his way higher up the ridge. He’d seen Lydia wander that way with Tavis while he’d been dancing. He paused a moment and looked back at the castle, his eyes searching the windows intently. There it
was. Lydia’s room, his wife’s silhouette visible against the brightly lit window. He watched her turn her back. She was on her way.

A chill slithered up the nape of his neck as he studied her back. He watched a long moment, and when she didn’t move, he wondered what she was doing.

I should have insisted she keep the guard with her.

Will they button my gown for me?
she’d teased, and a swirl of jealousy at the thought of any of his guards touching his wife’s silken skin had sealed it.

He could watch every step of her progress from the ridge, and the castle wasn’t entirely deserted. The ridge was a short walk, a few minutes or less.
She should be fine.
Yet he worried …

“Have you seen Grimm?” Lydia touched his arm lightly to get his attention.

Hawk tore his gaze from the window. “Nay. Have you?”

“Nay. And that worries me. He’s your best friend, Hawk. I thought he’d be here. What might have kept him?”

Hawk shrugged and glanced quickly at the castle. Ah, finally. The candles were out and his wife was on her way. Lydia’s room was full dark. Suddenly Grimm seemed inconsequential. Even his irritation at Grimm’s lies slid off his shoulders with the thought of his beloved Adrienne.

Tonight I will bind her to me for all eternity
, he pledged silently.

“Hawk?” Lydia waved her hand in front of his face and he dragged his gaze from the castle with an effort.

“Hmmm?”

“Oh my,” Lydia sighed. “How you
do
remind me of your father when you look like that.”

“Like what?” Hawk drawled, watching the front steps for the first glimpse of his wife.

“Like some savage Viking set to conquer and take captive.”

“I’m the captive in this, Mother,” Hawk snorted. “The lass has fair spelled me, I think.”

Lydia’s laughter tinkled merrily. “Good. ’Tis as it should be, then.” She gave him a brisk kiss. “She’ll be here any moment.” Lydia straightened his linen that didn’t need straightening, smoothed his perfect hair that didn’t need smoothing, and in general clucked over him like a nervous hen.

“Mother,” he growled.

“I just want you to look your best—” Lydia broke off. She spared a nervous laugh for herself. “Just look at me, a jittery mother, all in a tizzy at her son’s wedding.”

“She’s already seen me at my worst and loves me in spite of it. And what are you doing fussing over me? I thought we weren’t speaking. What plans are you devising now?” he demanded. He knew her too well to believe she’d just capitulated quietly to his plans to leave this evening.

“Hawk,” Lydia protested, “you wound me!”

Hawk snorted. “I’ll ask you again, what nefarious plot have you devised to try to keep us here? Did you drug the wine? Hire ruthless mercenaries to hold us captive in my own castle? Nay, I have it—you dispatched a messenger to the MacLeod telling them now might be a good time to lay siege to Dalkeith, right?” He wouldn’t be surprised if she’d done any of those things. Lydia was formidable when she set her mind on something. Nothing was beyond her if it might mean keeping Adrienne by her side.
Like mother like son
, he acknowledged ruefully.

Lydia glanced studiously away. “I simply refuse to think of you leaving until the time comes that you try to. Until then, I intend to enjoy every last moment of my son’s wedding.
Besides, ’tis apparent Adrienne has no idea what you’re planning. I’m not so certain she won’t side with me,” she snipped pertly.

“Here she comes.” Tavis interrupted their squabbling and waved their attention to the stone stairs that cascaded into the upper bailey.

“Oh! Isn’t she lovely?” Lydia breathed.

A collective sigh ruffled the night and blended with the fragrant breeze dappling the ridge.

“Could be a princess!”

“Nay, a queen!”

“Prettier than a fairy queen!” A wee lass with blond ringlets clapped her hands delightedly.

“The Lady of Dalkeith-Upon-the-Sea.” A crofter doffed his cap and clasped it over his heart in a gesture of fealty.

Lydia’s smile faded as she watched Adrienne head for the stables.

No one spoke until she reappeared a few moments later, leading a horse to a nearby wall. “But what? What is that… a horse? Ah, I suppose she’s riding a horse up,” Lydia murmured, perplexed.

“A horse? Why wouldn’t she just walk? ’Tis fair short space to cross, I’ll say,” Tavis wondered.

Beneath the brilliant moon they could clearly see her stepping up on a low stone wall and mounting a horse—wedding dress and all.

Hawk’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. His body tensed and he stifled an oath when he saw Rushka, who had been standing silently beside them, trace a gesture upon the air. “What are you
doing?”
Hawk growled, closing his hand around the Rom’s arm.

Rushka stopped and his brown eyes rested on the Hawk with deep affection and deeper sorrow. “We had hoped he
wouldn’t come, my friend. We took all the precautions … the rowan crosses. The runes. I did everything I could to prevent it.”

“Who wouldn’t come? What are you talking about? Prevent what?” Hawk gritted. Every inch of his body was suddenly alive. All day something had been gnawing at him, demanding that he take action, and now it exploded to a fever pitch in his blood. He’d like nothing more than to take action—but against what? What was happening? The thunder of approaching horses rumbled the earth behind him.

“He comes.” Rushka tried to retrieve his arm from the Hawk’s deadly grip, but dislodging a boulder from his chest might have been easier.

The clip-clop of horses’ hooves canted up the ridge, drawing nearer.

“Talk to me,” Hawk gritted, glaring down at Rushka.
“Now.”

“Hawk?” Lydia asked, worried.

“Hawk,” Tavis warned.

“Hawk.” His wife’s husky voice cut through the night behind him.

The Hawk froze, his gaze locked on the elderly Rom who’d been like a father to him for so many years. A flicker in the man’s eyes warned him not to turn. To just pretend nothing was happening.
Do not look at your wife
, Rushka’s eyes were saying. He could see her, mirrored deep in the Rom’s brown eyes. Not turn around? Impossible.

Hawk tugged his furious gaze from Rushka. He turned on one booted heel, slowly.

His wife. And next to her, upon the Hawk’s own black charger, sat Adam. Hawk stood in silence, his hands fisted at his sides. The ridge was eerily still, not one child peeped,
not one crofter breathed so much as a whisper or troubled murmur.

“Lorekeeper.” Adam nodded a familiar acknowledgment to Rushka, and Hawk’s gaze drifted between the strange smithy and his Rom friend. Rushka was white as new-fallen snow. His brown eyes were huge and deep, his lean body rigid. He did not return the greeting, but cast his eyes to the ground, signing those strange symbols furiously.

Adam laughed. “One would think you might have realized that it hasn’t helped so far, old man. Give it up. Not even your…. sacrifice…. helped. Although it did mollify me slightly.”

Lydia gasped. “What sacrifice?”

No one answered her.

“What sacrifice?” she repeated tersely. “Does he mean Esmerelda?” When no one responded, she shook Rushka by the arm. “Does he?” Her eyes flew back to Adam. “Who are you?” she demanded, her eyes narrowing like a mother bear’s as she prepared to defend her cubs.

Rushka dragged her against him. “Be still, milady,” he gritted. “Do not interfere in that which you don’t understand.”

“Don’t tell me what I—”
Lydia began heatedly, then shut her mouth beneath the Hawk’s lethal gaze.

Hawk turned back to Adrienne and calmly raised his hands to help her dismount, as though nothing were amiss.

Adam laughed again, and it made Hawk’s skin crawl. “She goes with me, Lord Buzzard.”

“She stays with me. She is my wife. And it’s Hawk. Lord
Hawk
to you.”

“Nay. A vulture, a sad scavenger to pick over the unwanted remains, Lord Buzzard. She chooses was the deal
made, do you recall? I saved your wife for a price. The price is now paid. You’ve lost.”

“Nay.” The Hawk shook his head slowly. “She chose already, and ’twas me she chose.”

“It would appear she
un
chose you,” Adam mocked.

“Get off my horse, smithy. Now.”

“Hawk!” Rushka warned, low and worried.

“Hawk.” It was Adrienne’s voice that stilled him. Froze him in mid-step toward the smithy. Until now, the Hawk had been focusing his attention and anger on the smithy. And he knew why. It was the same reason he had delayed turning around when he heard the horses approaching. The reason why he’d looked at Rushka instead. He was afraid to look at his wife, of what he might see in her lovely eyes. Might she truly have unchosen him? Could he have been so completely wrong? He paused, hand on his sword hilt, and forced his eyes to hers. The insecurity that had seized him the very first day he’d found his wife at the smithy’s forge reclaimed him with a vengeance.

Her face was smooth and void of emotion. “He speaks the truth. I have chosen him.”

Hawk gaped at her, stunned. Not so much as a flicker of emotion in her silver eyes. “How is he making you lie, lass?” Hawk refused to believe her words, clinging to his faith in her. “What is he threatening you with, my heart?”

“Nothing,” Adrienne said coldly. “and stop calling me that! I have never been your heart. I told you that from the beginning. I don’t want you. It was Adam all along.”

Hawk searched her face. Cool, composed, she sat the mare like a queen. Regal and untouchable. “And just what the hell was Uster, then?” he growled.

She shrugged, her hands palms up. “A vacation?” she replied flippantly.

Hawk tensed, his jaw gritting. “Then just what were the stables this afternoon—”

“A mistake,” Adam cut him off flatly. “One she won’t be repeating.”

Hawk’s gaze never wavered from Adrienne’s. “Was it a mistake?” he asked softly.

Adrienne inclined her head. A pause the length of a heartbeat. “Yes.”

The Hawk saw not so much as a flicker in her face. “What game play you, lass?” he breathed, danger emanating from every inch of his rigid stance, charging the air around them.

The night hung still and heavy. On the ridge not one person moved, riveted to the terrible scene unfolding.