Highland Hawk: Highland Brides #7 (30 page)

But when he burst into the shop, he had found it empty.

'Twas obvious that whoever Cat had seen had no desire to talk to him. On the other hand, maybe any sane person would run for cover if an oversized stranger burst into his place of business growling a threat.

Haydan rubbed his eyes as fatigue washed over him. Sleep was what he needed to solve this puzzle. He closed his eyes to achieve that end, but Catriona appeared immediately in his mind. Her face was ashen, her smoky eyes wide with shock.

Why? What was she scared of? What were her plans?

She had seemed tense during their practice that afternoon, but in his own deluded mind he had hoped that mayhap she had felt a bit of the same passion that haunted him, had been plagued by the raw force of her needs. But then she had excused herself, saying she wished to rest—only to journey secretly to Burnsvale. What had she accomplished there? And why would she risk her own safety for such a sojourn?

True, she seemed to think herself invincible at times. But surely Marta worried. Yet even on the night Cat had spent with him, the old woman had seemed unsurprised by her absence. What had she said? 'So you finally return?'

Haydan sat up abruptly.

Return from what? Catriona had said that Marta was asleep when she left. Therefore she would surely be surprised to find her granddaughter gone. Unless her disappearance was a nightly occurrence!

But no. That could not be. Where would she go?

His stomach coiled. Was she with another? But nay, she had been a virgin in his bed. Surely she would not save her innocence for a score of years only to toss it carelessly aside now.

Surely not—but he was already out of bed and striding down the hall toward Catriona's chamber.

"Sir Hawk!" Catriona stopped abruptly, slamming her heart against her ribs.

"Good morningtide." He looked tired and sharp-edged and strangely dangerous.

"What are you doing at my door?"

He smiled, but the expression curved his lips and did not touch his eyes. "I trust you slept well."

"Aye. Of course."

"You must be famished."

"What?"

"You went to bed straightaway after our practice."

"Oh." Her heart cramped in her chest. Did he know? She stared at him, trying to determine the truth. He stared back, his gaze icy cold. "I am quite hungry."

"Then I shall escort you to the hall to break the fast."

" 'Tis not necessary, Sir Hawk. I have no wish to distract you from your duties."

"Don't you?" he asked, his gaze level.

She caught her breath. "Nay," she managed. Her throat felt tight with fear, but he only smiled.

"In truth, lass, young James needs more freedom. And 'tis good for him to be with younger companions. Mayhap I tend to hold the reins too tight."

" 'Tis only to keep him safe."

"Of course," he said and offering his arm, ushered her away from her door.

The great hall was lively and loud, but they found a spot not far from James's raised dais.

The lad sat with one slim thigh thrown over the arm of his chair as he and a fair-haired boy threw quail bones to the hounds.

Haydan and Catriona shared a trencher of quail and venison, and though her nerves were stretched as tight as a psaltery's strings, it had indeed been a long time since she had eaten, and her stomach cramped with hunger.

In a moment, her mug was filled with honey mead. Raising it to her lips, she drank.

"Lady Cat."

She glanced breathlessly to the side. Blackburn's pale- faced priest inclined his head.

"Sir Hawk," he said.

"Father Matthew," Haydan greeted.

Matthew? Matthew! Catriona's breath stopped in her throat as her gaze went to the priest's copper-bright curls. Her memory screamed of a throbbing member pointing at her like an accusatory finger.

Fayette's lover! Father Matthew. She coughed, choking on her mead as she tried to make sense of the swirling dichotomies. The warrior was kind. The physician was cruel. The priest was immoral. Was no one what he seemed?

"Are you well?" Father Matthew asked with concern in his eyes as he patted her back.

"Aye. Aye. 'Tis just... I seem to have swallowed wrong."

He nodded. "You gave me a fright lass. What with last night and now this morn."

"Last night?" Haydan asked, his voice a deep rumble beside her.

"Aye. Our Catriona is quite bold to travel to Burns- vale without an escort, is she not?"

Chapter 24

"Burnsvale?" Haydan said.

Catriona couldn't speak, couldn't move, couldn't think.

"Aye, I saw her in the village last eventide," said the priest, who then turned to address her. "Indeed, I thought to make certain you had an escort for the return trip, but I lost you in the crowd. I am glad that the good Lord has brought you safely back to the fold."

"Aye." She choked the word. "Aye. I am fine."

" 'Tis a relief to hear it," he said and turned to stride away.

Catriona turned back to her meal, grappling wildly for something to say.

"You went to the village?" Haydan asked.

" 'Twas a fleeting whim," she said, forcing a laugh.

"But to travel after dark without an escort?" He shook his head. " 'Tis not safe, lass."

" 'Tis not every day that I perform for the king's birthday," she said. "I thought to purchase cloth for a new costume."

He was silent for a moment, his eyes steady as an osprey's. "And did you accomplish your goal?"

Memories flashed through her mind—damp lips against her neck, fingers pawing at her hair, threats whispered like endearments in the dark. "Nay." She stifled a shudder. "Nay, I did not."

His gaze didn't shift a mite.

What did he know? Had others seen her there? For one panicked moment of relief, she had thought it was Haydan running toward her when she'd left the blacksmith's shop. She wondered now if it had been one of his men. Cockerel perhaps, for his dress had been quite cavalier. But no. He had been too large, and no matter how hard she tried to visualize a face beneath the hat's bold, black brim, she could not. Dear God, she should have told Hawk immediately that she had gone to Burns- vale.

She forced herself not to squirm beneath his unflinching gaze.

"I fear I am too particular. I found no cloth that seemed suitable. But I did manage to speak to the smithy about Celandine's injury."

"Oh?"

"Aye. He thought it did not matter if she were shod immediately or not."

"He said nothing else?"

"About what?" The words quivered slightly despite her best attempt to smooth them.

"About your mare."

"Oh! Well, 'twas late. I did not want to take more of his time."

"But so long as you had gone all that way—"

"Lady Cat!" James interrupted, bubbling with youthful exuberance as he bounced up. "I wish to show Fletcher what I have learned."

She jerked her gaze gratefully to the lad, though she could not, for a time, drag her mind with it. "What you have learned?"

"My new horsemanship skills," he said, his tone exasperated.

"Oh." She breathed the word in wild relief. "Of course," she said and snapped to her feet.

"You needn't go immediately," Haydan said, looking up from beneath lowered brows. "The lad can wait a moment or two."

"But I am the king," James reminded.

"Aye, he is the king," Cat agreed, and bunching her skirts in her hands, fled the hall.

Once outside, she drew the damp air deep into her lungs and prayed for strength. Haydan suspected something. But what?

"Lady Cat," James said, looking up at her with gleaming eyes.

"What?" she asked, glancing at him frantically.

"I asked how your Celandine is faring."

"Oh. Very well."

They reached the stables in a moment. The lad named Fletcher rushed ahead to open the gate and inclined his head when she stepped through with the king and his guards.

James chattered away as Bay was saddled, and soon they stood upon a mossy sward. James was astride in a moment and riding around her in wide circles.

"He is a grand steed," he called, grinning as he flashed by at a centered canter.

"Aye." Her stomach twisted at the sight of his smile. What evil did Blackheart plan for the lad? Surely not death. Surely not.

"We shall have the power we so richly deserve."

He only hoped to abduct the king, hold him for ransom. Nothing more, she told herself, but her gut cramped even harder with the pain of her treason. "James!"

"Aye?"

She had said his name more forcefully than she had planned and calmed her voice now. "What would you do if brigands fell upon you?"

He stopped the steed and drew an imaginary sword. "I would slay the bastards and—"

"Nay!" Panic again, like the flash of too bright lights. "Nay, Your Majesty," she said, lowering her voice and slanting her gaze to his guards, then back to the boy king. If she must deliver James into Blackheart's evil hands at least she would give him some hope of escape. She would take him on Bay and pray for his safe return. "You must flee."

"Flee?"

"Aye. Your steed's speed is your best defense."

"Am I mounted on Bay?" he asked and grinned.

"Aye." She pushed the terror from her mind, concentrating on what she could. "Aye. Bay is beneath you." Walking over, she grasped the gelding's reins. "He is powerful and you are light, but he will do as you command if you are forceful. You must flee."

" 'Tis what I am repeatedly told," he said, his tone registering his disappointment. "But if I am to flee at the first sight of trouble, why do I bother with the swordsmanship Sir Hawk insists on teaching me?"

"He is wise," she said. " 'Tis good to be prepared for any eventuality. But you must flee if you can. Promise me."

He shrugged, looking perplexed. "As you wish."

"But what if someone is holding your reins, just as I am?"

James scowled; then brightened as her earlier lessons came back to him. "The courbette?"

"Aye," she said, relief sluicing through her. "Though he is no horse of war, he is still stronger than any man. If he leaps, the brigand will forfeit his hold. Try it."

"With you holding him?"

"Aye. Try it."

He grinned, then catching his lower lip between his teeth, he concentrated and cued.

Bay settled back lazily on his haunches.

"Nay!" Catriona chided. "You must seize him by the reins even as you command him with your legs. Do it again."

James settled deeper into the saddle, his wiry body tense, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Bay flexed his neck, snapped his forelegs into the air, and leapt, yanking the reins from Cat's hands.

Her fingers stung.

"Excellent. Excellent!" she cheered, pacing back up to him. "But what if there are brigands behind you?"

"The capriole?"

"Aye. Aye. He will leap and kick out behind. But you must not delay lest—"

"Did you see me, Sir Hawk?" James asked, lifting his gaze past her head to where his guards stood.

Dread coiled in Cat's stomach as she turned her attention to the towering captain of the guard.

"I did." He stepped away from the other soldiers as he looked from her to James. " 'Twas quite impressive. But I have just heard news that you have more visitors arriving."

"Visitors?"

"Aye. They are some miles off yet. But Andrew thought he saw your mother's royal banner."

"Mother!" James was sliding out of the saddle and over the gelding's rump in a heartbeat. Then he was off, running toward the turrets with his guards jogging behind him.

Catriona caught Bay's reins and failed, though she tried, to turn toward Hawk.

Silence stretched to the breaking point between them.

She cleared her throat. " 'Tis sad that there must be a festival in order for him to see his mother."

"Politics dictate much," Haydan said. "The queen's marriage to the Earl of Angus has made many nervous. There are those who would not have her visit at all what with her husband's loyalty to the English."

" 'Tis sad," she said again. Her voice quavered like a loosened bowstring. "A boy should be with his kin."

Haydan stepped up close. His arms quivered with the need to turn her toward him, to demand that she tell him all. But he had made that demand innumerable items—it had availed him little. And if he touched her again all sense would be lost, burned away by the fire-hot desire she caused in him.

"Aye. A boy needs his kin," he said, struggling to keep his tone light. Her lips might have learned to lie, but her eyes had not. " 'Tis not too late to send for your brother, Catriona."

A tiny noise escaped from her.

"What say you?" he asked and caught her arm to turn her toward him.

But she had already pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. In a moment she gave him a painful smile. "If only I could."

He held his breath. The truth! He could feel it like an arrow in his gut. "Why can't you?"

Her eyes! So huge and sad it seemed that all the world was lost in them.

But in an instant she shook her head and laughed. He felt her drawing away from him as surely as if she had pulled her arm from his grasp. "I am but being silly. I will see him soon enough. He is happy with his aunt."

The truth had been so close-—he wanted to shake it from her. "I thought you said he was with distant cousins."

Her gaze snapped back to his. For a moment, he could feel her fear as easily as he could feel her arm beneath his fingers.

"Nay!" she said, then calmed her voice and began leading her gelding toward the stables. "Nay. I said he is with Hertha and John."

"I must have been mistaken." He had lied, and for a moment she had feared that she had been tripped up. She was not telling the truth about Lachlan. But why? "Is that why you spend time with James?" he asked. "Because you miss your brother?"

"I think, at times, there is little difference between royalty and peasantry," she said. "He reminds me much of Lachlan."

"Have you taught your brother to escape from brigands?"

She stumbled. With his hand on her arm, he kept her from falling and, without thinking, pulled her up close to him.