Highland Hawk: Highland Brides #7 (34 page)

"Oh, she is more than a tumbler, Mother," Shona said. "She is a juggler and an artist and a... a magician, is she not, Hawk?"

Was it the truth? Haydan wondered. Had Catriona told him everything? It seemed right. It felt right. And yet—

"Haydan."

"What?" he growled, and his family laughed at his snappish mood.

"It seems our Hawk has found his prey," Roderic said.

"From what I hear, she is more the huntress than the hunted," said his daughter.

"Secrets," a woman murmured.

Haydan spurred his gaze toward Rachel, but her own attention was captured by her mother, Fiona, the renowned Lady of the Forbeses. The two turned as one toward him.

Their combined attention hit him like a rock to the gut. He had spent some years with Lady Fiona. 'Twas she who had nursed him from a failing lad into manhood. And never in those years had he managed to keep a secret of any substance from her. 'Twas eerie, is what it was.

"What can I do, Haydan?" she asked softly.

The bard's song came to an end.

Haydan shook his head. "All is well, Lady Fiona."

"Are you certain?"

It was then that he noticed that Catriona was gone. Panic ripped through him. He snapped his gaze to the king, and there she was, seated beside him, their heads together as they talked.

Haydan was on his feet in an instant.

"Haydan?" Rachel said.

But he was already fighting his way through the crowd.

"Kelvin is here," James whispered.

Catriona sat very still, barely breathing. "Kelvin?"

James grinned. "My twin," he said, but then leaned closer still and laughed. "In truth, he is Lady Shona's fostered son. But he could be my own double."

She stared at him, her gut twisted in hard knots.

"When I sneak from the castle, 'twill be that much easier if Kelvin is in my chambers while—"

"Nay!" she snapped. Then she forced her voice to soften and her fists to open beneath the table. "Nay, Your Majesty. We must not involve others." Especially not Haydan's beloved family.

"Then how—"

"I will think of a way," Cat said, and her gut tightened another turn.

"When? 'Twill have to be soon. My birthday is only—"

"Your Highness," Haydan interrupted.

Catriona tried to look nonchalant as she turned her gaze to him. Dressed in a bright ceremonial plaid and deep blue doublet, he was bowing toward them.

"Your guests are requesting that you play the psaltery."

The boy made a face. "Now?"

Haydan moved closer. "The crowd is getting restive."

"Aye." Lord Tremayne appeared beside him. "It might be wise to remind them that we are a cultured lot and not a mob of wild barbarians."

James grinned. "I like wild barbarians."

Tremayne straightened, his cheekbones shining as sharp as blades in his parched face as he turned toward Haydan. "I have warned you to keep your savage kin away from His Majesty."

"There is naught like music to soothe the savage soul," Haydan said, and canted his head toward James. "A tune, sire? Mayhap sung in Latin?"

"French is more lively," James said, his eyes mischievous

Haydan bowed again. "French it is. Cockerel?"

The guard stepped up, psaltery in hand, as if snapped straight out of Haydan's imagination.

James took it as he rose to his feet.

Lord Tremayne cleared his throat and lifted his chicken-thin neck. "King James of the royal Stuart line will now gift us with a song," he called.

There were cheers and whistles before James settled onto the edge of a table and struck the first notes. They sailed clear and sweet across the wide hall, and soon his words joined in a language Catriona could not identify, but only appreciate, for he had a fine voice and a gift for emotion. Her own raw feelings welled like tears inside her—feelings of loyalty and love and honor.

"You are well?" Haydan asked.

She forced herself to turn toward him with a smile. "Aye."

Their gazes met. She caught her breath as a crush of new feelings and a hundred vivid memories assailed her. She could not betray him. There had to be another way.

"Haydan," she whispered.

But he lifted his gaze past her shoulder. "Is there something you need, Lord Tremayne?" he asked.

"We should have held the festivities at Stirling," said the old man. " 'Twould have been easier to guard him."

"You needn't worry," Haydan said. " 'Tis my responsibility."

"Aye. And your neck if anything should happen to him," Tremayne said. Turning, he wended his way through the crowd.

"Lady Cat," someone called. "Give us a performance."

"Aye," James said, his song finished. " 'Tis my birthday, you know."

"I've nothing prepared," she demurred.

"Then what has Sir Hawk been doing in your company?" someone called. " 'Twas said he was practicing to perform for the king."

There were several cries of assent.

"Nay," Haydan rumbled, but just then the great arched doors burst open. There was a clatter of hooves and suddenly Bay danced into the room. Atop his broad, bare back, Shona grinned. Firelight flashed off her auburn hair.

"Move the tables," someone yelled, and a dozen servants rushed forward to do just that.

"What the hell are you about?" Haydan asked, his voice grim as he strode up to his niece.

"What else but making trouble?" someone called. " 'Tis her right by heritage."

Laughter rolled through the hall.

"Your steed, Lady Cat," Shona said and slipped from the gelding's back.

James's eyes seemed lit from within as he trotted over. "Come, Hawk," he urged. "If you perform the trick now I'll call your vow fulfilled."

The gelding danced in place, lifting his heavy hooves in a spirited piaffe.

"Lady Cat," the king pleaded. " 'Tis no reason for you to wait for the actual day of my birth. Perform for us now."

She nodded, but Hawk shook his head as he stared at her. Still, she approached him. Their gazes locked. She could feel his emotion, and then he reached for her. His hands touched her waist, and he lifted her. The crowd fell silent, and he set her gently upon the gelding's back.

The onlookers laughed. Catriona pulled her gaze from Hawk's with an effort and took the reins from Shona. Riding sideways on Bay's broad back, she let the steed circle the narrow area at a mincing trot.

"I fear this has caught me most unprepared," she announced. "But as I've been repeatedly informed, 'tis His Majesty's birthday celebration," she said and glanced pointedly at James.

The boy grinned, others chuckled.

"So I will do what I can," she said. Setting Bay in a circular pattern, she tugged his head into a deep arch then leaned toward his ear. "Steady now," she commanded. He rocked along, his mane swishing in a slow cadence as she slid toward the middle of his back. "Haydan the Hawk," she called. "I am a bit thirsty."

From the corner of her eye, she saw Hawk lower his brows.

"Might you throw me a mug?"

"Aye. And it might crack you on the pate."

"I had planned to catch it. There." She pointed vaguely as the gelding continued to circle. "That one will do fine. Toss it to me on my next trip round."

Her back was turned for several seconds, and when she faced him again, he had indeed retrieved the mug.

"Excellent," she said. "Now toss it to me."

"Is Physic in the hall?" someone asked.

Laughter rolled around them, but Hawk tossed the requested item. She managed to catch it as it soared over Bay's croup and raised it high for the crowd to see as they continued their circuit. "Another," she called. Another mug soared. The execution was better this time. The third, better still. In a moment she tossed them into the air one at a time, so that they flew in a circle as Bay continued his rocking course. The crowd gasped and stared. But she had not been sought by kings for such an elementary performance, and so she rose slowly to her feet. 'Twas no simple task, but finally she was standing, rocking along as the horse galloped and the mugs soared. The mob broke into a roar of approval, but she was not yet finished. Stepping cautiously backward, she balanced precariously on her steed's rolling rump. A hundred nobles held their breath. A hundred servants gaped.

The turn was not as difficult as it looked, yet when she pivoted about to catch her mugs in the opposite direction, she was grateful for the gasps of amazement.

The floor blurred beneath the gelding's clomping hooves, the mugs blurred before her hands, but she did not notice, for this next part would require all her concentration. She waited, letting Bay lope about the hall twice more as she gathered her courage and fortified her mind. Then, just before she was even with the king, she leapt.

Tucking into a ball, she spun into the air and landed on the dais only inches from the startled boy. The mugs fell into her hands like autumn apples. The crowd let out a single gasp of surprise and burst into applause.

Catriona bowed. "Your mead, Majesty," she said, and handed James the mug.

He gazed into it with wide eyes. " 'Tis full!" he gasped. The crowd echoed his shock.

Catriona smiled as she lifted her own mug to her lips, but at that moment a flash of movement caught her attention. She lifted her gaze to the back of the room only to see Lord Drummond escort Fayette from the hall.

'Twas nothing extraordinary about it. And yet, there was something about the way the two moved that sent a shiver of something down her spine. Where were they bound? Why leave now, when all the others were distracted?

“The mug was empty when you threw it, was it not, Sir Hawk?" James asked.

"Aye, it was."

"Impossible!" someone said.

Voices buzzed around her, but all her attention was focused on the distant door as she hurried through the crowd. A few questions and awed comments came her way, but they let her pass until finally she reached for the door. The hallway was empty.

Voices to her right. She spun toward them, rushed around the corner, and careened to a halt.

" 'Tis none of your affair, MacKinnon," said Lord Drummond, his dark eyes angry, his grip tight on Fayette's arm as she cowered against the wall. "The lady wishes to spend some time alone with me." He pressed closer to her, his gaze not leaving MacKinnon. "Don't you?"

She didn't speak, but her eyes were wide, her face ashen.

"Is it true, lady?" MacKinnon's voice was low.

Fayette opened her mouth, but Drummond tightened his grip on her arm.

"If you care not for your own well-being, then think of his," he snarled.

Silence echoed in the hallway.

"Release her," MacKinnon demanded.

"Who will make me? Her husband? But wait." Drum- mond's eyes narrowed. "She is not wed. Not to a single one of the bastards she has bedded. 'Tis a wanton she is. Free for the taking and therefore—" he began, but in that moment MacKinnon charged.

His roar of rage echoed against the stones, his fist struck Drummond's ear. The dark lord was slammed against the wall, and Fayette, finally set free, spun out of his grip with a shriek of terror.

Chapter 28

"Cat!" Haydan roared and pushing past the crowd that milled through the doorway, he leapt toward the source of the scream. Down the hallway, around the corner.

She was there, standing well out of harm's way. One glance told him that, freeing his attention to the two men who were locked in battle.

MacKinnon slammed his forehead against Drummond's nose. The dark lord screamed and stumbled back. MacKinnon leapt in, but Drummond sidestepped and swung. His knuckles grazed MacKinnon's jaw. He was knocked hard against the wall, but in a moment he was up. Rocking unsteadily on his feet, he stumbled toward Drummond. The dark lord swung, making a solid connection with MacKinnon's face and drawing back again.

"Samuel!" Fayette screamed, and at the sound of her voice, something seemed to spur through MacKinnon.

Gathering his balance, he lunged toward Drummond and swung in two rapid, solid hits.

Drummond tottered backward and MacKinnon leapt in with a snarl. But in that instant, Drummond pulled a knife and straightened, effectively stopping MacKinnon's rush.

The crowd gasped.

Fayette whimpered.

Haydan shifted his gaze to her. Her sleeve was torn and her tears were for MacKinnon, that much was certain.

"Stop them," someone rasped, but in Haydan's mind, he saw Catriona in the same position. Terrified and hurting, awaiting a hero.

"Drop the blade, Drummond," Haydan said.

The dark baron only laughed as he circled his smaller prey.

MacKinnon moved with him, his gaze never leaving the knife.

"Drop the blade," Haydan repeated, and bending slightly, pulled his own dirk from his boot. "Or I'll kill you where you stand."

Drummond paused and shifted his gaze sideways, but in that instant, MacKinnon launched forward.

His blow pistoned Drummond against the wall. The knife sailed upward, struck the wall, and fell harmlessly to the floor.

MacKinnon struck again and again, and finally Drummond slipped helplessly to the floor.

"Samuel." Fayette stepped forward, her voice weak.

MacKinnon shifted his gaze to her for a moment, and then, like a drunken soldier, he stumbled through the crowd and away.

Haydan turned toward Cat, but she stood with her back against the wall, her eyes wide with horror as she stared past Drummond.

"What is it?" he rasped, reaching for her.

She said nothing. Faces blurred as he skimmed his gaze over the crowd. Lord Spectacles looked sick. Tremayne outraged. Father Matthew crossed himself, and Hogshead looked giddy with drink or incoherence as he fingered his own jeweled knife before slipping it back beneath his doublet.

"Catriona," Haydan said, rushing his gaze back to her as a trio of woman assisted Fayette through the crowd toward her chambers. "What's wrong?"

" 'Tis naught," she rasped, and jerked her gaze to his.

He gritted the word. "You looked as if you might faint."

" 'Tis just...'Tis just... memories," she whispered, and then her knees buckled, spilling her against him.