Claire Delacroix (27 page)

Indeed, he offered his hand to her, as courteously as if he had found her at her spinning. “Your father has arrived, my lady, and awaits your greeting.”

W
hat had Aileen been doing in the dungeon? What secrets had she and the prisoner been sharing? The Hawk’s heart thumped with uncertainty but he dared not grant voice to his doubts. She could abandon him too readily in this moment, and his instincts told him that he would regret her departure.

He silently escorted Aileen from the dark dungeon and across the bailey, while Nissa hastened ahead of them. The shadows were drawing long, the sky painted bright with the last banners of the setting sun. He held the portal so that she could proceed him into the corridor that led to the hall, his innards writhing with doubts all the while.

“Must he die?” she asked quietly when he matched his pace to hers.

“At some point,” the Hawk said, no mercy in his tone. The threat of death was the sole chance of gaining some truth from this spy, though the Hawk doubted that even that would be effective. He had no intent of releasing him to share details of the keep with the MacLarens. He took a deep breath, not wanting to trouble Aileen with such details. “It is for the best.”

“Whose best?” she demanded sharply. “Surely, it cannot be the best fate for him?”

“Death or torture are the two choices for coaxing the truth from a spy. He will not speak, and I will not tolerate torture in my hall. There is no other choice.”

“You could release him.”

“And find my hall set to fire beneath me the next night,” the Hawk said grimly. “I owe better to my vassals, Aileen, and I owe better to you.” He granted her a sharp glance. “What did he tell you?”

“Little.”

“You lingered long for no reason, then.”

She granted him a cool glance that he could not interpret. “He was anxious to ensure that I understood you to be the thief of Inverfyre, not his own people. I could hardly argue your cause, as you have not confided it in me.”

Her implied accusation pushed his temper too far. He halted to face her, knowing that his words thrummed with anger. “You wish to know my side of the tale, is this the meat of it? You wish to decide for yourself whether I am innocent or guilty of the charges a spy has wrought against me?”

“I did not say that I believed him...”

“I shall tell you of the MacLaren clan and their deeds,” he interrupted, not interested in her appeasement. “You have seen their tower from your chamber window, no doubt. That tower is built upon the original site of Inverfyre, upon the burned ruins of the old keep which was built by my forebear Magnus Armstrong. The MacLarens tried to steal Inverfyre from my mother, they tried to kill me within her womb so that there would be never be another Armstrong to challenge them. They tried to kill her, to ensure that she could never bear fruit again, for the same reason.”

She tried to say something but the Hawk shook a finger at her, not prepared for an interruption. “And when these devious schemes failed, they assaulted the family keep during my parents’ nuptials, when all were gathered for the celebration, and razed it to the ground. Hundreds of innocent vassals died, either cut down by bloodthirsty warriors or left to be burned alive when the gates were locked against them. This was the work of the MacLarens, and they perch upon their meager gain, like a dragon drooling over his stolen hoard.”

Aileen’s features were ashen. “That was when your mother fled, with you in her belly, and Tarsuinn took his wound defending her.”

The Hawk knew his anger showed and did not care. “For the sake of my survival, my mother left Inverfyre, the only home she had ever known, and traveled all the distance to Sicily. For her, I returned to rout the MacLarens, but like any pestilence, they are not so readily dismissed.”

“They must have built that tower, if the keep was destroyed.”

“And a sorry piece of construction it is. They linger there, harassing my borders, stealing from my couriers, putting spies in my hall whenever they can. They stop at naught, they have not a moral among them, and they breed like hares. No matter how many are killed, a dozen more appear to take their places.” He shoved a hand through his hair, his annoyance spent. “These are my neighbors, Aileen. These are the people who make accusations against me.”

She bit her lip and he hated that he could not guess her thoughts. “Did they kill the priest? What happened to Malcolm?”

“He was beset upon the road that passes the land they have claimed.” The Hawk fell silent, unwilling to continue the gruesome tale.

Aileen stepped forward and touched a fingertip to his arm. “Tell me,” she urged.

The Hawk held her gaze. “They tied his ankles beneath the saddle and his wrists to the pommel. We heard his cry for aid and rode out with all haste. They slit his throat, but not so fully that he died in that moment, then beat the steed so that it would run. We saw him galloping toward us, the blood flowing like a river.” The Hawk swallowed. “He died shortly after we brought him back here. There was nothing that we could do, for he had bled much and his wounds were grievous.”

She caught her breath and looked away. “Was he not accompanied?”

“We found his three squires left dead by the road.”

“A priest,” she whispered unevenly and crossed herself. “They are barbarians!”

He nodded but once, his agreement heartfelt.

“And this is why you will summon no priest to Inverfyre.”

“As yet.”

She lifted her gaze to his, her own expression shrewd. “But you let me believe it your fault that the priest died.”

“It was my fault!” The Hawk flung out his hand. “I should have ridden to Stirling to accompany him. I should have guessed what fate awaited him. I, better than anyone, should have known the blackness of their hearts.”

Aileen laid her hand upon his arm and she shook her head slightly. Her gaze was warm, her voice soft. “You cannot anticipate the evil of another, Hawk. The blame is not yours in this, but that of the one who wielded the blade.”

He took a deep breath and frowned. “No, lady mine. I have witnessed the wickedness of Dubhglas MacLaren. I should have protected the priest.”

She granted him a beguiling smile and her grip tightened slightly on his arm. “Would you protect every soul in Christendom, my lord?”

He stiffened. “Do you mock me?”

She shook her head, her eyes shining so bright a blue that the Hawk had to look away. He stared down at her fingers upon his arm, and covered them with his other hand. A lump rose in his throat when she eased closer. Never had he felt such kinship with his bride. Her fingers were soft beneath his own, feminine and a marked contrast to his own calloused hands. Her grip was firm, though, and he liked well that she had neither fainted nor trembled before the horror of this tale.

Her fingers tightened upon his. “Are there spies within your hall, Hawk?”

He abandoned any inclination to lie. “I do not know.”

The silence hung heavily between them, and neither uttered a word.

She spied something in his expression, though, for she sighed and granted him a sad smile. “You do not trust me.”

“I dare not trust any soul.”

“Save your men,” she amended tartly.

“They have served me faithfully for years.”

Aileen studied him, clearly unpersuaded. “Am I condemned solely for my recent arrival? Or do you believe me to be the spy in your hall for another reason?”

He said nothing, for he would neither lie to her nor wound her with careless accusations. The moment of understanding between them had passed, though he wished heartily that he could have coaxed it back.

Aileen muttered something beneath her breath and might have turned away, but the Hawk caught her hand more firmly within his own. “Your father would speak with you alone,” he admitted, his words terse.

She considered this for a moment then inclined her head to watch him. “And this concerns you.”

“I do not know what you will tell him.”

“What would you have me tell him?” the lady demanded with some annoyance. “Shall I confess the truth, that my husband has never possessed me and appears to have no desire to do so? Shall I tell him that I am not trusted? Would you not be glad to be rid of me, potential spy that I am?”

“You know that I would not be.”

“I know no such thing!” she retorted, then turned to enter the hall. Her chin was high and she walked like a queen, her spine as straight as a newly honed blade. He realized belatedly the import of the veil and circlet she wore, that she supported his ruse that their match was consummated, and his heart softened. She raised a hand to wave to her father, but the Hawk could not let this matter be.

He seized her elbow and pulled her to a halt, flicking his wrist so that she pivoted to face him. She gasped and flushed but she did not pull away. Indeed, her eyes sparkled with either defiance or delight.

The Hawk did not care which.

He caught her other elbow in his grip and held her fast, letting her see the desire that burned within him. “I would not have you leave my side,” he said with quiet resolve. “Let me persuade you of the truth of it.”

A smile touched her ruddy lips. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, her cheeks flushed in anticipation and he spied the flicker of her pulse at her throat.

“I thought the task was mine to invite your ardor,” she whispered mischievously, the twinkle that danced in her eyes making the Hawk’s blood heat.

“I suggest you make your invitation with haste,” he murmured, feeling the attention of the hall land upon them. He smiled slightly. “For I would not willingly break my pledge to you, lady mine.”

“Then, kiss me, Hawk,” she whispered. Her fingers gripped his upper arms as she rose to her toes, pressing her breasts against his chest as her lips parted. “Kiss me now and kiss me lingeringly. Persuade me that you are not displeased with your bride.”

The Hawk needed no second invitation, and indeed, he granted his lady wife no chance to offer one.

* * *

Nissa found Ahearn in the stables, brushing down a palfrey. He spoke gently to the beast as he worked, and she heaved a sigh at the soft burr of his speech. When he was alone and unobserved, she could almost believe he had a heart. He had shed his tabard and cloak, and worked with the sleeves of his chemise rolled up. His hair was a dark tangle upon his brow, and she could see how finely wrought he was.

She cleared her throat sharply before she lost her resolve and stepped pertly into the stables, enjoying how he jumped with surprise. His expression brightened at the sight of her and she softened toward him, then reminded herself not to be a fool.

“I come only because I was commanded to do so,” she said. “Do not imagine that I sought you out of my choice.”

His brow darkened and he returned to his labor. “And is that not a charming greeting?” he muttered. “If you mean to ask a favor from me, you make a poor beginning, Nissa.”

“The favor is not for me, but for my lady.” Nissa eased closer, liking the smell of the horses and leather harnesses. Her father had been an ostler and she felt comfort around these familiar scents and routines. Ahearn spared her a glance and she caught her breath at the clear sparkle of his eyes. “She seeks someone with a knowledge of herbs to ease the suffering of Margery in the village.”

“What ails her?”

“She carries Reinhard’s child, and the lady thought there was a potion that might alleviate her retching.”

Ahearn frowned as he finished brushing the steed, then he straightened and cast the brush aside. He stroked the great beast’s rump, then turned to regard Nissa. “And my compense for this is to be solely the pleasure of aiding another?”

Nissa folded her arms across her chest, knowing full well what he would ask of her. “That should be compense enough for a man of merit.”

Ahearn‘s survey of her was so intent that Nissa yearned to fidget. “Since when have you had an interest in men of merit?” he asked quietly.

Nissa felt herself flush. She studied the horse with feigned interest as her cheeks burned. “Since my mother asked when I would wed, when I would have bairns of my own.”

“And a single question changed all between us?”

Nissa took a breath. “I would wed a man who will see me clothed and in good care, a man who will provide a hearth and home, and children.” She met his gaze again, her own heart leaping with the hope that he would pledge as much to her. “The time for a merry jest is passed, Ahearn. I grow no younger.”

He scowled and turned away from her. “Life is not worth the living if one has no time for a jest, Nissa,” he said, his tone fierce. “I can clearly be of no aid to Margery, as I am no man of merit.”

“But, but what shall I do? What shall I tell my lady?” Nissa asked, astonished at the change in his manner.

“Tell her nothing. Ask Guinevere for aid,” Ahearn said tightly. “She knows more of womanly concerns than I.” He spared her a hard glance. “After all, a man such as I might be more inclined to grant Margery a potion that saw her rid of the child.”

Nissa felt her lips part in amazement.

He snorted and turned back to his steed, his manner telling her that matters had changed between them forever. It was devastating to realize how shallow their friendship had been.

He had not even demanded the boon of a kiss for his favors.

Nissa supposed she saw the matter clearly now, and not a moment too soon.

She straightened, pride coming to her aid. “Your counsel is good. I will halt at the miller’s abode this night, as well,” she said as carelessly as she could. “My lady believes the miller’s son would make a good match for me, no less that he would willingly pursue my hand.”

“Then, you should grant him encouragement soon, Nissa. I understand that you grow no younger,” Ahearn snapped.

Nissa was shocked by the rare sight of his anger. “You might wish me well,” she said, guessing that this would be their final conversation.

He turned to her, his gaze softening along with his tone. “I have always wished you well, Nissa. Perhaps that was my error.” Before she could ask for an explanation, he smiled mischievously, winked and turned back to his horse.