Night Hawk'S Bride (Tyler) (Harlequin Historical Series, No 558) (12 page)

The mantle of snow transformed Night Hawk's property from magical to mystical. It looked as if heaven had touched earth at this exact spot.

“You shouldn't be here, Marie.” Night Hawk stalked from the stable, his face a stony mask. There was no telling what he thought. She thought of him last night in the dark and how she'd desperately hoped—

Something squawked, a sharp intelligent cry. A hawk, blue feathers bright against the stark white world, hopped on Night Hawk's gloved left hand. One wing hung useless at its side as the creature cocked his head, looking at her.

“As you can see, he's doing better.” He turned away, as if they were strangers. As if they hadn't shared tender intimacies.

“Wait.” She slipped off Kammeo's back.

Night Hawk acted as if he hadn't heard her. Tall, proud, shoulders unbowed by hardship and heartache, he strode through the double doors and out of sight in the dark interior.

The hawk cried, and his low voice answered, soothing.

“I heard you brought down the cougar with a single
arrow.” Marie dared to follow. “You saved the settlers from a terrible threat.”

“Go home, Marie.” He said the words kindly.

That only made them hurt more. It took all the strength she had to step closer when the fear in her heart screamed at her to run away. “The settlement's children might not be grateful to you. School was canceled last week because the cougar became so bold, and now vacation is over.”

Was that a twinkle of amusement in Night Hawk's eyes?

“And think of poor Webster, shown up by a civilian. His pride may never recover.”

Had Night Hawk's mouth twitched in the left corner, as if he fought against a smile?

Encouraged, she waited by the table, the bird's nest between them. “Papa actually paid you a compliment.”

“Me?”

“Shocking, I know. He was impressed with your skills. And combined with the fact that you saved his life, he likes you.”

“Not as a suitor for his daughter.” He laid a small fillet of smoked meat in the nest and the hawk dove at it hungrily. “There is nothing new to say, Marie.”

“Yes, there is.” She reached out, but he moved back.

“You would give up too much being with me.” He ran one gloved finger across the crown of the hawk's head, then headed for the door.

She took a steadying breath, not sure at all how she was going to do this.
Just tell him.
She didn't want to
think about her failings. About the way she'd run from him in the meadow when he'd only been doing the right thing.

She wouldn't run. Not this time. “I owe you an apology. I thought that you'd rejected me. That because I wouldn't tell my father, then that meant I didn't love you.”

A muscle pulsed along his jaw and he swung away from her into the wintry whiteness. “You are ashamed.”

“I failed you.” She couldn't lie. “I've never felt this way about anyone, and it's frightening. You are my heart. It's scary to love someone this much.”

“No more. I cannot listen.” The right thing to do was to walk away. To make sure nothing remained between him and the colonel's daughter. But the honesty of her words left him reeling.

Her touch to his shoulder set him on fire.

“I have to know something. Please, just tell me the truth.” She paused, and only the quiet whisper of falling snow filled the charged silence between them. “I've been struggling all my life to earn my father's love. I can't spend the rest of my life doing that for you.”

“Are you saying that's what I've done?”

“No. But I'm afraid you will.” The sadness in her voice broke his heart. “I'm afraid that's what happened between us.”

“Marie, that's not why I haven't wanted to be with you.”

“Then what could it be?”

The truth weighed heavy as a stone on his chest.
“You have a chance to marry a man who has more than a barely profitable farm and a herd of horses. I may not be the man you want to be with.”

Pain clouded her eyes, but it was anger that drove her forward and made her hand fist. “You truly think I'm ashamed of you.”

“I think you cannot tell your father because you know I'm right.”

“You're just as bad as Papa is!” She grabbed his arm and pushed hard, knocking him back a few steps so she could march by. Snow flew from her heels and her breath rose in great billowing clouds.

“I can't believe this. After all we—” She grabbed Kammeo's mane and mounted with one swift leap. “You don't even know me. Or you'd know that I could never be ashamed of the most amazing man I've ever met. The one I wanted to marry. To father my children. To grow old with.”

Night Hawk stared in amazement. He'd never seen a woman so furious.

“Too bad my one true love is a stupid jackass.” Marie spun Kammeo around on her haunches and sent the mare flying across the snow-covered meadow.

What did he do now? Feeling as though he'd been struck by a summer tornado, he whistled to Shadow and leaped onto the tired stallion's back. They'd been without sleep through the long night, but the valiant horse managed to catch up with Kammeo on the road to the fort.

“Marie, I'm sorry.” He called out the words so she could hear them above her galloping horse.

“Tell that to the next woman you make fall in love with you.”

Her words cut like a tomahawk. “I want only you,
shaylee.
”

“Don't call me that. Not ever again.” She pressed Kammeo harder.

The fort loomed in plain sight, guarded by soldiers. He hesitated, not wanting to damage Marie's reputation by having others witness an obvious lover's quarrel. Yet his heart broke watching her go, long wavy hair trailing in the winds, shrouded by the mystical beauty of winter.

Snow tumbled harder, and it was the coldest he'd ever felt.

He turned toward home, unable to chase her. To pull her from her horse and into his arms and hold her until she saw reason.

A sharp cry rang overhead, cutting through the thick mantle of falling snow and the forest's reverent silence. Night Hawk's spine tingled. He knew even before he gazed upward into the dizzying snow what he would see.

The dark majestic wings of a hawk soared overhead, circling patiently through the storm. Although the flakes buffeted it, the great bird glided with amazing ease as if it were more spirit than animal.

Not his spirit guide, but his father's. The knowledge left him trembling as the gray hawk circled again. What had he told Marie?
My father would never have allowed me to marry you.
Gray Hawk was a fair and a compassionate man but had he lived, he would have refused Marie as a daughter-in-law.

Was that why the hawk circled overhead, calling out to him? To tell him to find a woman who would not have to give up privilege, a comfortable life and her father in order to marry him?

The great bird made one final revolution. Instead of circling again, the magnificent hawk headed straight toward the fort and disappeared behind the tall watch-tower.

Night Hawk shivered as the icy wind buffeted him. He waited and watched, but there was no sign of the bird. It was as if it had vanished into the clouds, a spirit guide after all.

Maybe Marie was his destiny. Maybe the hawk had come to tell him that a man should never turn away his
kammeo.
But he should be like a warrior of the honorable Hawk clan and fight.

 

What did he think she wanted? Another man? What other man? She had been turning down beaus and her father's top choices for the past five years. For what? To have a quick affair as an act of rebellion?

That's what
he
thought—that man who needed a swift smack upside the head with a stick. A
big
stick.

Marie's stomach churned as she stepped into a fresh pair of crinolines. Oh, she knew what his problem was. And he was trying to blame her for his shortcomings.

A thousand gentle memories threatened to break apart her tirade, but Marie was strong. She wouldn't let the images of him tending the wounded hawk or the tenderness of his lovemaking sway her from her path. She was angry, and she intended to stay that way. Come hell or high water.

“Marie Janelle, you're taking too darn long.” Henry was clinging to his anger at her, too. “Our dinner guests are going to be here any minute.”

“I don't think you want me to greet them in my undergarments.”

His curse was drowned out by a loud knocking on the front door.

Henry didn't need to worry about firing her from the school and sending her away. Because she was never going to see
that man
again. The one who drove her completely insane. The one who made her more angry than she'd been in her entire life.
Ever.

Her stomach twisted with a faint sickness, and she steadied herself against the bed. When she saw herself in the beveled mirror, she looked pale.

It just went to show how much
that man
had upset her. Between him and her father, she'd been half-ill all day. Not even an afternoon nap had helped.

Voices rumbled through the floorboards, merry and congenial. The last thing she felt like was having more people at the supper table, but Henry loved to entertain.

She selected a gown she knew her father despised, a gray damask that set off her dark hair and eyes, with touches of light blue. It was a spinster's dress, he'd told her the first time she'd worn it to supper.

Good.
Being a spinster sounded just fine to her.

Finally ready, she headed down the stairs. Voices rose to a near crescendo, and it sounded as if more people were arriving. What was Henry doing? Throwing a full-fledged supper party to celebrate the cougar's capture?

It wasn't as if he'd invite Night Hawk to supper. At least there was one bright spot. She'd never have to see Night Hawk again.
Ever.

Marie rounded the corner and descended the last steps. Mrs. Olstad rushed past, efficiently distributing steaming cups from the gleaming silver tray she carried. The din of too many voices, the competing scents of eggnog, whiskey, wood smoke and perfume assaulted her. She wanted to head back upstairs and hide in her quiet room.

The door breezed open, admitting more revelers, and the party silenced. The cold breeze enveloped her, and Marie turned to see a man dressed in a black jacket and trousers like any of the guests. Except there was something different about him—something proud and noble.

Night Hawk. Marie's knees buckled and she sat on the bottom step. The silence in the room grew thick and uncomfortable, then Henry wove through the crowd, hand outstretched.

“Night Hawk. Welcome. This is the hero of last night's expedition. The man who saved my life and countless others. This supper is in his honor.”

Applause broke out, but Night Hawk appeared indifferent. He shook Henry's hand and accepted a cup of eggnog. Others crowded around him, asking him questions about the hunt. The colonel stood at the warrior's side, like two old army buddies.

Papa likes him.
The anger within her shattered, leaving her trembling. What lay beneath the anger frightened her more.

What if Henry could learn to accept Night Hawk as
a son-in-law? Then nothing stood in the way of their love but her pride and his scarred heart.

The last thing she wanted to do was to spend the rest of her life trying to earn another man's love—not even Night Hawk's.

S
he wouldn't look at him all through the meal. Night Hawk thought of nothing else as the officers and their wives spoke of the cougar, of the injured settlers now recovering, and the upcoming Christmas holiday.

She's still furious.
It didn't show, but Night Hawk could tell by the way her soft mouth narrowed whenever he spoke to someone else. Regret filled him. He should have measured his words more carefully. Memories from his boyhood returned as he cut the steak on his plate and gave his opinion on the recurrent problem with wildlife. Like ghosts in this fine room, he could see the past as clearly as the present.

Father with his patient respect for Mother. Of his care for her. Of a tender regard that even a boy could notice and remember decades later. How Father said a man's words were something he could never take back. Once said, they could be forgiven. They could never be forgotten.

Shame filled him. He'd spoken out of hurt and jealousy. Looking at her beauty, feeling every piece of his soul cry out in joy at her presence had frightened him.
Made him realize that loving this woman rendered him more vulnerable than he'd ever been.

When the meal was over, he saw his opportunity. The men gathered in the parlor for brandy, and Marie headed through the kitchen while the housekeeper poured coffee for the women.

The back door closed just as he stepped into the kitchen. Was she still so angry that she'd rather face the bitter night air than him?

She froze, as if by not moving he wouldn't spot her there by the garden bench beneath the reaching boughs of the old sugar maple. The man in him heated at the sight of her softly rounded shape. Too well, he knew how she would feel lying beneath him. The warrior in him saw all that was at risk.

“I see you, Marie.” He took bold steps toward her. “You can't hide from me here like you could among all those people.”

“I'm not hiding. I just needed some fresh air.” She seemed as cold as the night when she faced him. “Some of Papa's supper guests make me uncomfortable.”

“Like me?”

“Yes.” She looked him straight in the eye with a woman's fury, but her lower lip trembled.

“Shaylee.”
He ached to hold her.

“I told you not to call me that.” Not angry, but hurting.

“But you are the only star in my heavens. My life is dark without your love.” He cupped the side of her face with his hand. “How good it is to touch you again. I want nothing more than to hold you forever.”

“And what about what I want?” Her lower lip trembled again, and her eyes were big and filled with pain. “Maybe I don't want to live always waiting for you to doubt me.”

“You take this too far, Marie. All I worry about is that you are ashamed of me.”

“You would think that of me?” She pushed past him, breaking away, and his hand burned where they'd touched. A great fire flamed within him and he stalked after her, hunter and quarry. She reached to open the back door, but he pulled her against him. He trapped her between the log wall and his chest and left her no way to escape.

“You drive me crazy, woman.” He kissed her hard and deep. How good it was to taste her again. To feel the lush texture of her lips caressing his. Their breaths mingled, their tongues met and plunged and danced. He scraped his teeth along the sensitive curve of her bottom lip and delighted in her moan of pleasure.

“I don't want you to kiss me,” she told him sincerely, and caught his lip between hers and sucked. Her hands circled his back and held him to her, hip to hip, his shaft trapped between them.

“I don't want you to kiss me.” His fingers fluttered over the peaks of her breasts, and he groaned aloud when her hand closed over his erection. Her touch through the layers of clothes was nearly enough to undo him.

Whatever it took, he would win her heart, body and soul. He wouldn't stop until there was no doubt, no fear and no opposition between them.

She was his missing half, and he would never be whole without her.

 

“Night Hawk, I'd love you to come take a look at one of the fort's horses for me.” As the evening came to an end, Henry pulled Night Hawk aside at the door. “It's late, and if you'd rather come back in the morning, I'd understand. But the truth is I've got a mare ready to foal and I don't trust the man in charge.”

“Then you should fire him. For that you do not need my help.”

“True, but I'd still like you to take a look at the mare. I just received word from one of my stable boys that it's her time.” Henry waved goodbye to the Websters and then tugged Night Hawk deeper into the parlor. “The lad you recommended I hire, Winter Thunder, is a good worker. I know he's been the one to ask when a horse requires special care.”

“Winter Thunder is the son of my friend, a Winnebago. You fired him last week.”

“My captain of horses did, I'm afraid.” Henry led the way through the kitchen.

The moment Night Hawk strode through the threshold, a plate clattered to the floor and shattered. Marie stared at him across the length of the cozy room, eyes wide and a dish towel dangling from one hand. She wasn't looking at the shattered china at her feet but at him.

He wanted her. With every breath he took and every beat of his heart. How on earth was he going to make her his? She wore a dress more expensive than every
penny he'd spent on the building of his house. Her shoes cost more than a fine saddle.

Wealth and privilege surrounded her, and it wasn't limited to the parlor where only guests could see and be impressed. No, it was here in the kitchen where crystal glittered in the lamplight and polished silver sparkled on the shelves.

“Let me help you.” He spotted the broom in the corner and grabbed it.

Marie's hand curled around the handle. “You're a guest.”

“I'm no guest.” He said it low, so the snoopy-looking housekeeper couldn't hear, and he watched Marie's eyes dilate.

So, she was remembering their kiss.
Good.
This close to her, he could see the long graceful curl of each individual eyelash. He wanted to lean close and kiss her there, then claim her mouth with his.

That's all he had to do to brand Marie as his. Let Henry Lafayette toss him out of the house or make war on his land. The driving, pressing pulse within him was more than lust, and his love for Marie would not be short-lived.

But she yanked the broom from his grip, surprisingly strong for a lady gently raised, and gave him a look that said it all—
Leave or I'll hit you with this.

Maybe his kiss hadn't worked enough magic, but the next one would.

 

Marie pushed open the stable door just enough to slip inside, anticipating the peaceful darkness. Emo
tions jumbled inside her, and all of them were painful. Night Hawk's kiss still tingled on her lips.

What should she do? She never wanted to see him again; she
had
to see him again. The need to feel the weight of his hard male body over hers drove her mad as she hurried down the dark aisle. It took her a full minute to realize the barn wasn't as dark as usual or as quiet.

She wasn't alone.

The candy in her pocket chinked together in counterrhythm to her gait. Kammeo leaned over the top rail of her stall and nickered a welcome. Marie dug out the peppermint absently. The mare crunched contentedly as the voices in the back of the stable swelled angrily.

One voice drew her—Night Hawk's. Then her father's brawling baritone ended in silence. Marie was too far away to make out more than a mumble. Were Henry and Night Hawk arguing?

Had Night Hawk told her father the truth? What if Papa sent her away? Fear bolted through her as she tore down the dark aisle.

She heard a loud sound like wood striking wood and a different man's curse.

“Damn it, Colonel, I know what I'm doing,” the third voice spat. “I don't need no Indian in my stable telling me what to do.”

“This man has the skill to save the mare.”

Marie peered around the corner. Henry stood with his back to her, proud and commanding. Night Hawk knelt in the shadows of the large foaling stall, where a mare thrashed with terror.

“Colonel,” Night Hawk said quietly. “I need this man out of the stall. He's frightening her.”

“She's just being stubborn, that's all. Making a big fuss out of nothing.” The stable master, a stick-thin captain with a hard face, snapped a riding crop at the mare's flank.

Night Hawk caught the strap before it could strike. The slap against his palm reverberated in the rafters, but no pain registered on his granite face. “Out. Before I take you out myself.”

“Get out of here, Hooper,” Henry barked.

The lesser officer grumbled but released the riding crop and climbed through the wooden rails. “No-good horse if you asks me. Won't be alive by morning anyhow.”

Night Hawk tossed the riding crop down, letting the man's viciousness roll off him. He was quiet, his touch and voice a comfort the panicked mare understood. The horse made one final turn around the pen, then stopped before the man who commanded her. Her skin snapped, wave after wave of nervous ripples. She sidestepped, and Marie saw the splash of blood along her flanks where she'd been struck.

The mare was in labor. How could anyone strike her? The poor animal looked to Night Hawk for reassurance. She sidestepped again, fighting to stand, flicking her tail and whinnying.

Night Hawk's confidence, as quiet as the wintry night, changed the atmosphere in the entire stable. Tension melted away and the mare calmed. She lowered her head and leaned against his chest, trusting.

“She's fighting to stay up.” Henry sounded wor
ried. “She's a damn fine saddle horse and I'd hate to have anything happen to her.”

“She's young and this is her first foal. She's frightened.” Night Hawk laid his hands on her heaving sides. “You should have had someone come for me earlier, Henry. We'll do our best and pray that she is strong enough.”

Brushed by lantern light and half-hidden by shadow, Night Hawk walked the mare and soothed her until finally she collapsed onto the fresh bed of straw he'd made for her. She fought, her legs thrashing dangerously. Night Hawk's touch was like enchantment, and the mare allowed him to hobble her.

Marie remained crouched in the aisle against the wall as the hours passed. As the mare's sharp neighs rang through the growing silence. It was as if the entire night held its breath waiting for birth or death.

Marie had never seen anything like Night Hawk's patience. He stroked the mare's flank in endless comfort. As the hours passed, the tenderness in his voice never wavered. The mare's pain increased as she thrashed and kicked her hobbled legs. Bright blood gleamed in the flickering light.

As the mare released a shuddering breath and the first gray light of dawn spilled through the slatted boards, Night Hawk pulled a foal's wet pair of hooves and nose into view.

He tore the sack, his voice changing as he greeted the new life. The mare didn't move, and Marie wept. Seconds ticked by as Night Hawk brought the foal into the world with the strength in his powerful arms. It was his kindness that made the foal collapse trustingly
on Night Hawk's knee. The mare stirred and gently nuzzled her new baby.

“You saved them both.” Henry spoke from the shadows.

“No. She's a fighter.” Night Hawk stroked his hands over the foal's beautiful head.

Never had she seen anything as amazing as this one man.

 

The winter sun fought the thin layer of clouds that occasionally shifted fine snow onto the land. No wind blew, and the earth felt still, as if asleep. The great silence of the forest spoke to him and reminded him that there was a cycle to life. Birth and death, winter and spring, and there was awe in both.

He felt good. Exhausted, but good. When he'd left the stable, the dam and foal were both healthy and feeding. The colonel had complimented him again and invited him to his fine house for supper.

Marie had been absent and, while that troubled him, he had enjoyed talking with the colonel. Feeling the man's renewed respect for him felt like a victory.

He'd known the man was a fine colonel and his far-thinking policies had brought harmony to this land. But sitting at a man's table and being treated like an equal was a different thing entirely. He harbored a new, deeper respect for the colonel.

He spotted the tracks leaving the main road onto the forest path. Only one person he knew rode his shortcut along the lakeshore.

Marie. Hope beat within him as he followed Kammeo's hoofprints through the ancient forest to the
clearing where weak sun shimmered on the snow like stars fallen to earth. It hurt his eyes to look into the brightness, but he was rewarded by the sight of a flaming red mare racing back and forth along the shore.

A swirl of gray and blue caught his gaze. Marie ran and slid on the thick ice. Her scarf fringe and her wavy dark brown hair danced behind her as she twirled. Her merry laughter trilled as sweet as a goldfinch's song and warmed him like nothing else could on this frigid morning.

“Night Hawk!” She spun breathlessly, her cheeks rosy from the cold. “I didn't hear you.”

“Shadow and I tiptoed through the snow.” He almost laughed when she did. Why did simply looking at this woman fill him with joy? “A lot of women would be afraid of falling through the ice.”

“The stable boy told me he and a friend had been out ice fishing, so I figured it was safe.” Her feet flew out from under her and she crashed to the ice, spinning on her backside. She laughed again. “I was waiting for you. Come, help me up.”

“No.” He dismounted. “I see that sparkle in your eye. You want to pull me down with you.”

“Never.” She laughed when he stepped onto the ice. She held out her hands, and the moment they touched, longing speared through him. How sweet she felt. How passionate.