Claire Delacroix (9 page)

The Hawk merely nodded again, then offered her a white linen chemise of his own and a pair of dark chausses. “It is hardly feminine garb, but it is the best that can be managed afore we reach Inverfyre.” He granted her a glance. “You will appreciate that I did not ride to Abernye with the intent of claiming a bride.”

“What changed your plan?” she asked, her annoyance clear.

He stepped forward and caught her chin in his hand. “This did.” He brushed his lips quickly across hers and heard her catch her breath. It was but the barest taste of her, but enough to make his desire rage.

She shivered beneath his embrace, unable to hide her intuitive response to his touch, and he knew again the sense of his command over himself slipping away. He repeated his gesture, unable to resist the softness of her lips. He wanted to bed her on his cloak, here in the forest, not a dozen paces away from his men.

The woman wrought a madness within him with her kiss, a madness he would welcome when they were alone together.

As they were not yet.

Reluctantly, the Hawk broke their embrace and stepped back. He sealed her lips with his thumb and held her gaze. “Or perhaps I should say that you did.”

The lady’s lips twisted wryly. “No man has ever lost his wits over desire for me.”

The Hawk nigh smiled. “I count myself fortunate that these hills are full of blind men.”

Aileen took a step away from him, her wariness such that he let her go. “You will turn your back,” she insisted, twin spots of color staining her cheeks. “For you are not blind and I will not relieve myself beneath your eye.”

The Hawk straightened, giving her a stern look that spoke volumes.

“Where would I run?” she demanded, flinging out one hand. “Where would I hide that four warriors could not find me?”

Her frustration made him recall an old jest that what a woman desired most was her own will. Was his lady annoyed with him because he had granted her no choice in this? But how could he have done so? Though he was not averse to risk, he had been in no mood to risk losing her.

And he would not lose her now. The Hawk turned so he could see her from the corner of his eye, folded his arms across his chest and waited.

“Will you not turn further away?”

The Hawk shook his head. “No.” He met her outraged gaze. “This or I watch you openly.”

The lady inhaled sharply, her eyes sparkling in her indignation. She was infinitely desirable in her fury. “You are a barbarian,” she muttered and he grinned.

“You are fetching when you are irked. Calm yourself, lady mine, or we shall consummate our match here and now.”

Aileen glared at him. She pivoted without another word, lifted his cloak so it did not brush the ground, and squatted.

Content that there was indeed no chance she could get far even if she did try to flee, the Hawk watched the sky turn blue overhead. It would be a bright day, and one in which they would have to move carefully so as to avoid being noticed. He was tempted to whistle, for he was much encouraged that the lady cared enough about his presence to be annoyed with him.

His mother, after all, had long said that hate and love are but a whisker apart.

A moment later, the Hawk felt the weight of his fur-lined cloak pressed against his arm. His heart thumped with the import of that—his bride was nude and near his very side.

“I cannot keep it from the forest floor while I dress,” Aileen said. “Please do not look.” He accepted its burden, knowing she would not welcome his urge to gaze fully upon her. He examined the cloak’s hem with apparent interest, fully aware that Aileen was not two paces away from him and that his imagination had probably not done her justice.

He ached to look. The shadows in the lady’s chambers had hidden her too well, to his thinking, and he was cursedly curious. A mere glance would have sated him—perhaps not, but that was what he told himself. He knew that in her current mood, though, she might despise him forever for stealing a glance.

She doubtless thought he had stolen too much already.

All the same, he heard the draw of every lace, even over the thunder of his heart. He heard the slide of linen against her bare flesh and believed his gallantry was hard won. He noted the flick of her hair as she pulled it from the chemise.

“Have you a comb?”

“A wooden one, unfit for a lady,” he said by way of apology, but retrieved it from his saddlebag all the same. He could not keep himself from watching as she shook out her golden tresses. Her hair fell to her waist and was more curly than he had expected, its tangled mass inviting his hands to trail through its length.

His chausses fit her snugly through the buttocks, emphasizing her curves, and she had rolled the hems up for they were too long. She had pushed up the sleeves of the chemise and tied the neck lace tightly in an attempt to disguise her charms. The morning sunlight, though, silhouetted the curve of her breasts beneath the linen, and the sight tightened the Hawk’s own chausses.

Aileen noted his glance and quirked a brow as she braided her hair, securing its glory once again. “Your garb is not so large as to be overwhelming. It has long been said that I am a woman wrought cursedly tall.”

The Hawk snorted. “Tiny women are oft sickly or too coy in their manner.” He slanted her a telling glance. “I cannot fathom why a man would take such a creature like your step-mother to his bed.”

Aileen froze in the midst of knotting the tether for her braid. “You did not find her alluring?”

He arched a skeptical brow. “I would not turn my back upon such a viper, not if I had any token of value she desired.”

The lady’s smile was all the more beguiling for being unexpected. The Hawk lifted his hand, intending to touch her cheek as he marveled, but she abruptly sobered.

Her manner changed as if she recalled that she had no reason to smile.

Or as if she feared his touch. He swung the cloak around her shoulders again, and deliberately fastened it at her neck. He lingered over the task, reveling in the scent of her and the softness of her so close at hand.

She watched him with that same wariness in her eyes. “Is our match no more than a jest between you and your fellows?”

He met her gaze in surprise. “We exchanged vows, and a vow is not to be broken. I intend this to be a marriage in truth, lady mine.”

She licked her lips, clearly choosing her words with care, and her gaze flicked away from his. Still she voiced the question that plagued her and he admired her determination. “Will you beat me?” She swallowed. “I know a man has the right...”

If this was her fear, he would see it dismissed this very moment!

“Never,” the Hawk declared with such resolve that she could not doubt his intent. “No man of merit beats a woman.”

There was a welcome glint of amusement in her eye, though stills she did not smile. “But I have heard that you are not a man of merit.”

He chuckled despite himself. “Nonetheless, I pledge this to you.”

She tilted her head to regard him. “And of what value is your pledge, then, if you are not a man of merit?”

The Hawk sobered. “It is of every value, and I shall prove it to you. Indeed, lady mine, I shall prove to you that the evidence of your eyes is more compelling than the rumor gathered by your ears.”

She studied him, her expression inscrutable, and he could not keep himself from asking. “I thought you wished to wed and be away from Abernye,” he suggested cautiously. “I thought you did not find my touch offensive.”

“I thought a man asked a woman’s father for her hand.”

“The end is the same, lady mine,” he reminded her. “And there is no delay in this. I have little taste for loitering when my decision is clear.”

“And what of my decision?” she murmured. Before he could reply, she sighed and glanced into the forest, a small frown marring her brows. Resignation claimed her then, and her shoulders drooped, though he never would have imagined that she would surrender any battle so readily.

“I forget myself. If you do not intend to beat me, then I suppose my lot is more fortunate than that of most women. One way or the other, we shall make a match of this, I suppose.” Aileen granted him a smile so sad it fair tore his heart in two. “I should have liked to have been courted, but God knows, I must be content with what has been granted to me. A thousand women would likely be pleased to take my place.”

The Hawk feared she might weep, but his wife brushed past him them and headed back to the horses, stepping with care around the worst of the brambles. The Hawk watched her, feeling more a cur than ever he had.

A courtship, to his thinking, could be arranged.

Especially if the prize was his lady’s favor.

* * *

Aileen cursed herself for the remainder of the day. What impetuousness had claimed her, that she had matched wits with the man? It was too tempting by half to talk to him, especially when he spoke to her as if she was someone possessed of intellect. Yet each time she bantered with him, she revealed more of herself and undoubtedly dissuaded him of the notion that she was passive and amenable.

And trustworthy. Aileen gritted her teeth at her own susceptibility to the man’s charm. She could not take the words back: she could only hope that she was more successful in future.

How keen were the Hawk’s wits? She suspected they were sharp indeed. How attentive was he? Would he even notice if her manner changed? Many men took little note of women, much less of their changes of temperament.

Aileen feared this man might, for he seemed most observant. All the same, she had to try to hide her intent to escape from him. She had to remember to act meek and agreeable, regardless of what he said or did.

It would not be easily done. His was a dangerous allure, that much was clear. There was something about the Hawk that tempted her to speak her thoughts in truth. Perhaps it was his lack of censure for her words, perhaps it was that half-smile or the way her heart leapt when he looked at her with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. She liked his pledge to not beat her—and worse, she believed it.

It was nonsense, of course, but Aileen almost thought him a gallant knight bent upon winning her affections. She almost believed that he wished to make a marriage in truth.

Then why the sorcery? And why did he deny it? It could be no accident that he no longer forced his kiss upon her.

What of his reputation, and his own threats? He must be behaving other than he was, as well, in an attempt to gain her trust. Aileen dared not be beguiled. She had to escape him, and do so before he enchanted her completely.

* * *

Aileen’s scheme grew more clear as they rode persistently south. Every day, by her reasoning, they traveled closer to the king’s own court. If she could only escape the Hawk, she could make her way to Stirling and throw herself at the mercy of the king. Surely a bishop would take her pledge that her match with the Hawk had never been consummated, surely someone would believe her.

She could not imagine that any honest soul would give credence to the Hawk’s view, or that no one would defend her against such a man as he.

She knew that a dispensation could be had from Rome for a match unconsummated or one made between a man and woman too closely related. She was not a cousin of the Hawk, sadly, so the argument of consanguinity would not aid her. She was certain, though, that she had heard once of a woman abducted who had seen her match dissolved.

All she had to do was escape. Evasion of four men bent on observing her would not be readily done. Worse, she saw that the Hawk was by nature wary. They halted seldom and only for short periods, and she had no respite even when the Hawk slept. There were always two men awake, and at least one watched her exclusively while the other stood guard.

The party rode through forest when they traveled during the day, and Aileen was certain that they circled around villages and keeps where awkward questions might have been asked. Sometimes she smelled a distant wood fire, though she gave no hint that her blood quickened at the presence of others who might lend her aid.

She might have to wait to escape until they reached Inverfyre, which was certain to be little more than a circle of men’s tents. By then, the Hawk would trust her fully.

She would make certain of it.

O
n the second night after they had left Abernye, the Hawk took guard and watched the moon wane from last quarter. There was only a sliver of it left and anticipation quickened his pulse. He sensed that his men were increasingly tense as the final battle with the MacLaren clan drew near. He, too, was impatient to see the matter resolved, especially now that he had a bride.

It was time to fill Inverfyre with children and laughter, instead of talk of war and fear of pillage.

It was time to claim the last piece of Magnus’ Armstrong’s original holding of Inverfyre. The MacLaren clan had claimed the original site of the first keep and chapel. They launched their assaults from there, they had built a wooden keep of sorts there, and the Hawk was prepared to claim what was rightfully his own.

He watched his bride sleep as the night slipped away, then roused the company just before the sky brightened. The men saddled their horses with gruff haste, their breath fogging the morning air. The lady made no complaint, as the Hawk was beginning to expect of her, and swung into his saddle at his gesture.

He admired her lithe grace when her gaze was averted and regretted that there was yet another matter that must wait. He would court her abed, not pounce upon her in the forest.

Even if the waiting killed him.

They made good time, but halted in midmorning and hid themselves in the woods. The men were restless and unlikely to sleep at this hour, though it was treacherous to continue. The further south they rode, the more dense the settlements and the more likely they would encounter a shepherd before they even realized a town was near.

The Hawk sat back on his heels beside his wife and strove to put her at ease. “I must apologize, lady mine, for years of battle have dulled my manners,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I have failed to introduce you to my men.”