Claire Delacroix (17 page)

She could repeat her mother’s error and spurn what she was granted, though she knew the price of that. Aileen stared at the hut, recalling full well how her mother had railed against the burden of the Sight.

Mhairi had lost. Aileen could fight the force that turned her steps this way, as her mother had fought the burden of the Sight, but it was a battle no mortal could win. The sole way to keep her sanity was to cease to fight the power that sought to claim her.

She had to surrender to it.

Aileen straightened, the tree pulsing beneath the weight of her hand, and accepted the burden she was offered. She ceased to seek a means of escape from this hut, she acquiesced to the Sight, and abandoned all pricks of reason.

Reason possessed no map to this territory, after all.

W
ith each step that Aileen took toward the strange hut, an aged crone named Adaira claimed more of her thoughts. Indeed, Adaira was Aileen and Aileen was Adaira. Aileen had been Adaira when last she donned mortal flesh. Aileen knew that strange fact to be unassailably true.

A mere week before, Aileen would have fought such apparent nonsense with every fiber of her being. Now she knew that it was utterly natural that her footsteps returned unerringly to this hut, for this hut had been her sanctuary when she had been Adaira.

And before that, as well. Ah yes, Anna had huddled here, slandered and spurned and hunted, centuries ago. And there was yet another wraith in the corner, a wraith whose features Aileen could not discern and whose portion of the tale was as yet unclear to her.

It would come. Aileen knew this with utter certainty.

Indeed, she had only to ask to remember. This land, these trees, this hut, had all been infused with memories by herself for her own use. It was her own repository of the past, a memory palace left to endure.

Aileen flattened her hands against the walls of the hut and summoned its myriad tales. She closed her eyes and leaned her brow upon the living walls, gasping at the vigor with which strangely familiar thoughts invaded her own. She sensed relief, she sensed that her arrival had been long awaited and was even overdue.

And then she looked, knowing she could resolve nothing until she knew the truth.

A scene in the forest took shape in her memory and Aileen knew it was this very forest in which she stood. She saw Adaira, so long alone and wretched: no, she was Adaira, striding through the forest to greet the Hawk on his arrival at Inverfyre.

She felt the bittersweet ache in the old woman’s heart when the Hawk’s party rode into view. Adaira’s delight to have lived to see her love again mingled with despair that he was far younger than she. Her joy was entangled with the realization that their debt would not be resolved in that lifetime, that time and forgetfulness were allied against them.

Aileen felt a tear upon her own cheek even as she heard Adaira call out in summons.

Aileen’s pulse thundered as the Hawk dismounted, then strode toward her. It was more than foreknowledge, more than recognition, for he was a man who would have snared her eye in any circumstance. She smiled that she found him less attractive in his youth than she did now, shook her head when she sought a hint of his confidence in the stance of his younger self.

Then she tasted the kiss Adaira had forced upon him. She nigh felt his lips soften in reluctant acquiescence and her heart swelled with yearning for him. Aileen savored the kiss, letting Adaira claim her, letting the majestic love she felt for Magnus and the Hawk well up. She felt Adaira try to pry open the Hawk’s own memories, try to compel a vision upon him so that he remembered the history between them before it was too late.

She succeeded, but only just. She saw understanding in his eyes, recollection and fear, a reaction with which Aileen could sympathize.

Adaira parted her lips to explain, but there was no time. Aileen saw the arrow coming, and Adaira did not duck its impact. She bared her teeth as it tore into her breast, the pain far exceeding any expectation. Death caught Adaira in his cold clutches and Aileen saw the anguish in the Hawk’s eyes before she slipped from Adaira’s skin.

Aileen watched from outside that shell of flesh as Adaira died and Aileen’s vision glazed with tears at the grief between the two. She lingered, watching the Hawk’s anguish, his tenderness, his confusion.

Even as she wept for the death of a woman she had not known in this life, for a love fated to go awry, Aileen spread her hands against the walls of the hut, greedy for more. She knew that this was a gift she had left to herself.

To remember was the key, she saw that already.

No wonder she had been drawn to this spot—she had planted the seed in her own thoughts, perhaps turned the very forest to her own will. As Adaira, Aileen knew she had understood many arcane secrets she would never know again.

Aileen peered past that painful parting to a thousand moments in the past. She trembled at the extent of the labyrinth she had entered and yet knew that she alone could find the thread of sense within it. Aileen had been chosen; no, she had chosen to come.

She and the Hawk had been fated to be lovers.

This fantastical tale was blessedly simple, so clear that a babe could understand it. Aileen understood that the Hawk had wed her because he could wed no other. He had sought her out, though he might well deny it, he had searched for the woman who carried Adaira’s spark within her. That was how he had known from a mere glimpse, from a kiss, that Aileen was the wife he must possess.

And his kiss, perhaps by some old contract they two had made, had awakened her own memories of what stood between them. Her challenge was not to evade him, but to win his heart for her own.

The Hawk was her destiny and she was his.

* * *

When her hands fell away from the wall, Aileen was trembling and dizzy with all she had seen. There were yet a thousand questions unanswered, though she doubted she had the strength to draw more from this hut without repose. She felt that she had run a hundred miles, and indeed, she had walked far this day.

A sense of urgency plagued her. Aileen had so much to discover, a certainty that there was precious little time to do it, and the Hawk did not believe. Her first course would have to be to persuade him of the truth, for surely they could accomplish more together than apart.

Aileen opened her eyes, fearful yet filled with purpose, and found the snow falling thickly around herself. The sky was dark, the forest around her swathed in a thick layer of fresh white snow. She swallowed and stepped shakily away from the hut, then gasped to find the Hawk not a dozen steps away.

He stood on the periphery of the clearing, his gaze fixed upon her, the reins of his black steed trailing in the snow. Her heart soared, for she half-imagined that she had summoned him to her side by will alone.

Then Aileen saw that the Hawk was displeased. Of course, he was unaware of revelation she now clutched to her heart, and she had fled from him. He stood straight and tall, his expression inscrutable. His eyes were narrowed and his posture was stiff.

Beneath his steady regard, the conviction wrought by Aileen’s vision, the certainty that they were destined to be together, faltered.

“Are you a sorceress?” he asked, his words carrying to her on the white cloud of his breath.

Aileen, her knees weak, shook her head, not understanding his meaning.

He indicated the hut behind her and she turned, her eyes widening in shock. The branches that made the walls and roof of the hut had burst into new leaf since her arrival. Their winter-deadened branches were now dressed in the brilliant green leaves of spring, even as the snow fell thickly around the hut.

She took an unsteady step back. “I did not do this!”

“I fear you did.”

Aileen knew the law sufficiently to realize that he had the right to condemn her for sorcery. She knew the fate of witches and the prospect of being burned struck fear to her very marrow. She could almost hear the crackling of skin touched by flame.

She took a deep breath then faced her spouse anew, confessing what she knew in haste. “I did not do this willingly, for I have never had magical powers of any kind. I must confess, though, that since we met, some such power seems to have awakened within me. I cannot command it, but I do not believe it means ill to either you or I.”

She swallowed, disliking that she could not guess his reaction from his expression. “I know no more than this, I swear it to you.” Aileen held the Hawk’s gaze, needing his guarantee and hating that her voice faltered. “Do you mean to have me burned, my lord?”

The pause between them was charged, the brightness of his gaze fairly stealing the breath from Aileen’s chest.

Then the Hawk strode toward her and took her hand within his. “No,” he said, conviction resonating in that single word. Aileen’s heart jumped when he kissed her cold palm, his caress sending heat over her flesh. He met her gaze and his voice turned husky. “I am too relieved to find you hale, lady mine, to dispatch you hastily from my side.”

Aileen’s heart thumped and her knees weakened in her relief. Was it possible that he became more impassive when his emotions threatened to shake his composure? “You feared for me,” she guessed.

“I protect all of those beneath my hand,” the Hawk said and that ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Even those who would evade that protection.”

Aileen parted her lips to apologize, but a wolf howled in the distance, interrupting her. She eased closer to her spouse without a second thought and his arm slipped around her waist. The stallion stamped, impatient to be safely within Inverfyre’s walls again.

“There are many predators in Inverfyre’s woods,” he murmured against her hair, “and I would not see you fall prey to any of them.”

His very manner encouraged Aileen. Surely, if she touched him, she might awaken the memories within him, as Adaira had done? Was this not the wager they had wrought?

There was but one way to know. Aileen tipped her head back to meet his steady gaze. She tentatively reached out to touch the Hawk’s jaw with her fingertips, letting her fingers trail over the stubble of a day’s growth of whiskers, and he did not move away. She licked her lips, noting how he hungrily watched her gesture.

Still he neither pounced upon her nor stepped away.

“Do you include yourself in the company of predators?” she whispered.

He smiled then, not a fleeting smile but one that clung to his lips. “There are those who have suggested as much.”

Her heart thundering, Aileen stretched to her toes and brushed her lips across his cheek. “I am persuaded otherwise, husband mine,” was all she had time to whisper before his mouth closed demandingly over hers.

* * *

The Hawk wanted more, far more, than he had had thus far of his lady wife, and her willing kiss dismissed his caution. Relief added urgency to his embrace. He kissed her with a vengeance, unable to halt when she softened to him.

He had feared to lose her in this woods, either to her flight or to ravenous wolves or the wicked MacLaren clan, and could admit only the depth of his terror now that she was safely in his embrace. The lady welcomed his touch with an enthusiasm that reassured him fully. His blood quickened when she parted her lips to his kiss and desire fairly roared when she arched against him.

Never yet had she greeted him with such ardor and, though he could not guess the root of this response, neither did he care. He was content to partake of the feast she offered.

He wanted to partake of it now.

But no, he would give her what she had asked of him. First, he would court her. Indeed, she might have fled because she was fearful of their first coupling. Who could guess what she had been told of the deed? A courtship alone would win her heart for his own. Though he yearned to hasten, he let her set the pace.

After a languid and promising kiss, Aileen pulled her lips from his. The Hawk let her do so, though he did not release her from his embrace. She was flushed, her breathing quick, her eyes sparkling and her lips reddened. He thought her more beguiling than any woman he had ever seen.

She glanced down and must have seen the evidence of his erection for she blushed crimson. He flicked a telling glance at the hut and her color deepened with understanding.

“Surely, a crude hut in the forest does not suit your ardor?” she said, so charmingly breathless that he yearned to kiss her again.

“Surely it matters less where one seeks pleasure than with whom.” He traced the curve of her cheek with his fingertip, loving how her eyes darkened.

The lady smiled, the fairest encouragement he could have had. He forgot the wolves and the falling shadows of night, he forgot the restlessness of his steed. There was naught but his lady wife and her sweet kisses.

The Hawk caught Aileen in his embrace again, swinging her into his arms as he kissed her. He carried her into the old hut, intent upon tasting more of the pleasure suddenly roused between them. It was warm here, warmer than it should have been, though perhaps it was the lady’s passion alone that heated his blood.

He knew precisely what he would do.

Aileen caught her breath when the Hawk broke his kiss and she realized she lay upon her back, her spouse braced on his elbow above her. She made to sit up, but the weight of his hand upon her waist halted her.

“Perhaps we should take advantage of the first time in days we have been alone together,” he suggested.

“I know not what to do,” she whispered.

“Do whatsoever you desire to do,” he counseled.

Aileen swallowed, but he held her gaze, willing her to trust him. This would all be new to her, and he wanted her to find pleasure. He slowly slid his hand over her ribs, savoring the curve of every bone. She parted her lips, perhaps to speak, but his fingers cupped her breast and she fell silent with a small gasp.

Powerless to resist her, the Hawk kissed his bride anew. Even through the tabard, kirtle and chemise, he could feel her response, could feel her nipple bead beneath his caress. He coaxed her participation, tasting and teasing. Heat raged within him, commanding him to conquer and claim her for all time, but he fought its urgency. He let her set the pace, let the kiss be long and languid.