Beyond the Highland Mist (11 page)

“Rather like the Hawk, I believe,” Lydia remarked. “He told me once that he knew he was good-looking only because of the way women fussed over him. That if women hadn’t made such a hubbub, he would have just considered himself reasonably neat and clean—”

“Reasonably neat and clean?” Adrienne said incredulously. “The man is flawless from head to toe! He makes David and the Greek gods and Pan seem all out of proportion. He is raw sex in a bottle, uncorked. And somebody should cork it! He’s—
accck!
Bah!” Adrienne spluttered and stuttered as she belatedly realized her words. Lydia was laughing so hard, tears misted her eyes.

When Lydia was able to draw a breath, she gave a pleased sigh. “Well, that’s a relief. I wasn’t sure you weren’t immune. He thinks you are. Don’t worry. ’twill be our wee secret, dear Adrienne, and do come sit beside me so I can tell you how glad I am that you’re here. I’m only sorry I wasn’t here to give you a proper welcome when you arrived. From what I’ve heard, they all botched things quite terribly.”

Adrienne found herself wanting to rush headlong into the closest thing to mothering arms she’d ever known. Her hardened heart slipped on treacherously thin ice—dare she? Dare she not?

Behind bushes of blood-red rhododendrons a shadow flinched.
I hate her! Hate her!
Esmerelda’s hand trembled as she raised the tube, then steadied it sharply. She would dispatch the enemy, and end her torment. She puckered her
lips around the mouth of the tube, keeping level the tiny instrument of death. She drew a deep breath and forced a sharp burst of air from tight lips. A tiny dart erupted from the end of the hollow chute, as small as the stinger of a bee. Esmerelda watched as the dart flew home to embed itself in the pale flesh of Adrienne’s neck. She smiled with satisfaction as Adrienne slapped briefly at the wound, as if shooing away an irritating midge. Esmerelda squinted hard—she could see the glistening tail of the dart shine in Adrienne’s neck as she spoke to Lydia. Done. The deed was done.

“Where is your husband, Lydia?” Adrienne slapped sharply at her neck. “Midges? Already?”

“We have our share. ’Tis the reason for the nettings upon the beds during this season. A bit of mint seems to keep them away. I stuff some in my pockets and tuck a leaf or two in my bodice.” She offered a few leaves of her own and Adrienne accepted them gratefully. “As to my husband …” Her eyes grew dreamy. “That impossible man left me over thirty years ago. He died right after Hawk was born.”

“How?” Adrienne wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. The sun was too hot suddenly.

“ ’Twas in battle for the king, and in his dying he made a pledge, or so King James said, of fifteen years of his son’s life in service to the Crown, in exchange for the king’s protection of Dalkeith. In fact, Sidheach’s service ended only recently.”

Adrienne wrinkled her brow in confusion. Lydia’s bright flowers suddenly melted into a dizzying wash of color.

Lydia explained patiently, “Dalkeith is a rich keep. There was no man to protect us when my husband died. I was left
with a wee heir of two months. Whether my husband actually made the pledge or James just invented it, I’ll never know. I doubt my Douglas would have pledged our son to King James in any manner, but one rarely wins an argument with a king. I wasn’t ready to wed again, my grieving for my husband was deep. The king’s men protected Dalkeith until I doffed my widow weeds. But James gave us his protection on the condition that the Hawk report to Edinburgh on his eighteenth birthday, for fifteen years of fealty. As he claimed my husband promised him.”

“You don’t believe your husband pledged the Hawk?” Adrienne asked, her vision growing cloudy. She blinked hard a moment and her vision cleared.

Lydia’s lovely face grew pensive, and for a long moment it seemed she might not answer the question at all. Adrienne could see memories flitting across her brow, some good, some obviously painful. “My Douglas was the second offer of marriage I received, Adrienne.”

“And the first?” Adrienne asked, trailing her fingertips in the cool, sweet water of the fountain and then dabbing a few droplets at her temples.

“King James.”

“Ah! A man scorned.”

“Decidedly scorned. And not a bit forgiving. King James had set his mind on me and was not to be dissuaded. It was in my sixteenth summer, and I was at court with your mother, Althea. We both received many offers of marriage that season, and James was one of my most ardent admirers. I didn’t take him too seriously, he was, after all, the king. It was only later that I discovered just how serious he was. But it was too late. I had set my mind on the Douglas when I was but a wee lass. And the Douglas, well, let’s just say it was
short work persuading him.” Her green eyes twinkled with fond remembrances.

“So the king hates the Hawk because you turned down his offer of marriage? That seems incredibly childish.”

“He is. James was spoiled since the moment he was born. He was coddled and pampered and pandered to endlessly. By the time he was of age to marry, he had been doted on ceaselessly. He had never heard the word
no
in his entire life and had no intention of ever hearing it. He found it simply incomprehensible that a woman would choose to be a mere earl’s wife when she could be queen of all Scotland.”

Adrienne thought briefly about the royals in her time. How very much one had sacrificed to be princess and one day queen. Lydia had made a wise choice when she’d married for love.

“What truly undid him was that he was foolish enough to announce to his court that I was going to be his queen, even after I’d declined his marriage proposals on several occasions. I wed my Douglas the day following his ‘proclamation,’ although we didn’t know the king had actually gone so far as to announce his intentions publicly until weeks later, when the news finally reached Dalkeith. My husband said we’d made a powerful enemy that day. But I think neither of us knew how truly vengeful he could be. I suspect there are many things about his service to James that Hawk will never speak of. ’Tis rumored James held threats of destroying Dalkeith over his head unless Hawk obeyed his every whim.” Her voice slipped a confidential notch. “Hawk doesn’t know it, but I sought audience with James, myself, shortly after I began to hear tales of his servitude. I begged him to relinquish his claim on my son.” Lydia’s eyes clouded. “He laughed and told me that if I had wed wisely
the Hawk would have been the king’s
son
instead of the king’s servant.”

Adrienne rubbed her neck and blinked hard. Her vision was blurring alarmingly and her head was pounding. “Public humiliation,” she said thickly. “Never met the man who took it well.”

“I believe ’tis also why King James ordered the Hawk to wed on his command,” Lydia continued softly. “Just another subtle way of prolonging his revenge. I think he felt almost cheated by my husband’s death, and I’ve often wondered what he might have done to us had my husband lived longer. What a bitter man he’s become.” Lydia shook her head. “I’m glad it was you, Adrienne. The king would hate it if he knew how lovely and how very
not-mad
you really are. You are exactly what the Hawk needs. No timid lass, or simpering addlepate, but a woman with true mettle and depth.”

Adrienne flushed with pleasure. The added heat did alarming things to her head. “You said you wed again. Do you have other children?” she asked, trying desperately to hold on to the gist of the conversation.

The smile returned to Lydia’s face. “Oh, aye. Adrian and Ilysse. They’re in France with my sister, Elizabeth. In her last letter she warned me that Adrian is becoming an incorrigible rogue and she’s just about given up on civilizing Ilysse.” Lydia laughed. “Ilysse can be a bit high-spirited and unmanageable at times. You would like her.”

Adrienne wasn’t certain how to take that, so she didn’t comment. Besides, she wasn’t feeling at all well. Her vision was now double, her stomach a roiling agony, and her mouth felt dry as cotton swabs. She struggled to swallow. “Wallah hubbah hah?” she croaked.

“Adrienne?” Lydia gazed at her with concern. “Adrienne!”
She placed a hand against the younger woman’s forehead. “You’re burning up!”

Adrienne groaned as she pitched forward and collapsed on the cobbled walkway.

“Hawk!” Lydia screamed.

“P
OISON.
” H
AWK’S FACE WAS GRIM AND DARK.
H
E CAREFULLY
studied the tiny dart the aged healer had laid upon the cloth.

“Callabron.” The healer combed his fingers through his long white beard and lowered himself into a chair by Adrienne’s side.

Hawk groaned. Callabron was not a gentle poison.
A
vicious and slow toxin, it would cause lingering pain for days before it ended in death by suffocation as the toxin slowly paralyzed the body from the outside in.

The Hawk knew there was no cure. He’d heard of the toxin during his service to King James. It was rumored to have claimed the lives of many royal siblings. When one sought to remove a future king, one took no chances with a poison that might fail. Hawk dropped his head in his hands and rubbed his sore and bleary eyes furiously. The intensity of the heat from the high flames wasn’t helping. But the
heat would help her, the healer had said. It might break the fever. Still … she would die.

Take me, just leave her unharmed!
Hawk wished with all of his heart.

“We can ease her pain. There are things I can give her …,” the healer said softly.

“Who?” the Hawk raged, ignoring the old man. “Who would wish to do this? Why kill her? What has she done?”

The healer flinched and squeezed his eyes shut.

In the doorway, Lydia drew a labored breath. “ ’Tis Callabron, then?”

“Aye. The skin has blackened around the opening, and those pale green lines streak out from it. ’Tis the deadly bite of Callabron.”

“I won’t lose her, Hawk,” Lydia demanded.

Hawk raised his head slowly from his hands. “Mother.” The word was a plea, hopelessness in and of itself.
Mother make it better.
But he knew she couldn’t.

“Some say ’tis more humane to end the suffering in the early stages,” the healer offered very softly, not meeting the Hawk’s gaze.

“Enough!” the Hawk silenced him with a shout. “If all you can bring is gloom and doom, then get thee gone!”

Pride and indignation stiffened the healer’s back. “Milord—”

“Nay! I’ll have none of it! We’ll not be killing her! She won’t be dying!”

“Perhaps the Rom might know of some cure,” Lydia suggested softly.

The healer sniffed disdainfully. “I assure you, milady, the
Rom
know nothing of the sort. If I tell you there is no cure, you may rest assured that none could heal her. That vagrant band of cutthroats, cheats, and lightfingers certainly
couldn’t—” The old healer broke off abruptly at the Hawk’s dark look.

“ ’Tis worth trying,” the Hawk agreed with Lydia.

“Milord!” The healer protested vehemently. “The Rom are no more than shabby illusionists! They are—”

“Camping on my land,” the Hawk cut him off sternly, “as they have for over thirty seasons, with my blessing, so guard your tongue well, old man. If you’re so certain they know nothing, why should you care if they come?”

The healer sneered. “I just don’t think wild dancing and chanting and nasty-smelling bits of mummified who-zits and what-zits would be good for my patient,” he snapped.

The Hawk snorted. It was obvious the healer knew nothing of the truth about the Rom, the proud band of people who’d fled country after country seeking only the freedom to live as they chose. Like so many who dared to fight for what they believed, they were frequently misunderstood and feared. The gypsy tribe that camped at Dalkeith was a tight community of talented and wise people. Although arguably superstitious, the Hawk had found many of their “instincts” accurate.

But this healer, like so many others, was afraid of what was different and thus condemned it. Ignorance translated into fear, which quickly became persecution. The Hawk leveled a steely glare on the old man and growled, “Anything that might heal
my wife
would be good for her. I don’t care if it’s mummified toad brains. Or mummified
healer
brains for that matter.”