Claire Delacroix (4 page)

Instead of demanding a reason for the Hawk’s arrival, Aileen’s father smiled like a fool. “A Christian host cannot do enough for a guest.” He inclined his head slightly. “I apologize for my daughter. She is cursed to be outspoken.”

Before the Hawk could reply—if indeed he had any intent of doing so—Blanche summoned his attention to herself. “
Bienvenue, monsieur
,” she said, offering her hand with the coy gesture Aileen so despised.

The Hawk stepped forward to bend over Blanche’s hand, Aileen’s back chilling when his hand was lifted away. “
Enchanté
,” he murmured, his accent perfect to Aileen’s rustic ears.

Aileen eyed him covertly, reluctantly acknowledging that he was more handsome close at hand. The hard planes of his features seemed softer when she could see the glint in his eye.

She took a step back, hoping to ease away, but the Hawk’s hand landed upon her elbow so surely that she was halted in place.

Blanche smiled and, typically, her accent became more evident as she sought to charm. “
S’il vous plait
, you must sit with me. It is not often that we have guests from afar, and I know that I shall savor the tales of your adventures.” She patted the place to her right.

Aileen’s father’s lips tightened with a displeasure he could not fully hide, though whether it was the prospect of being parted from his bride or the breach of protocol that troubled him more was unclear.

“It would be more fitting if I sat further down the board,” the Hawk suggested, his tone as smooth as Blanche’s had been.

“But...”

“My motives could well be misinterpreted if I sat in the laird’s rightful place. And I would not cause gossip for the Lady of Abernye, not after such a gracious welcome.” The Hawk’s tone was so firm, his argument so sound, that Blanche could not have possibly protested.

Aileen was shocked to find him express the precise objections she felt, albeit more eloquently.

“But, of course.” Blanche smiled tightly, knowing she had lost, and Aileen felt a twinge of admiration for their guest.

Her goodwill was not destined to last, for her father beamed. “As we are equal beneath the king’s eye, I must insist that you call me Nigel, Nigel Urquhart.”

Aileen gaped at her father, marveling that he would put himself on such intimate terms with this man of whom he knew so little. Perhaps his wits had been addled in truth when her mother died!

“Michael Lammergeier. You must call me Michael in your turn.”

The men shook hands and Aileen dared linger no longer. She would say more, more that would be regretted, and she was best to depart.

She turned to deliberately lift the Hawk’s fingertips from her elbow. “If you will excuse me,” she murmured, hoping to slip away while the trio basked in mutual—and undeserved—admiration.

But the Hawk did not release her elbow. Indeed the grip of his fingers tightened, compelling Aileen to look at him. He was watching her again, his avid gaze all the more potent at such close range. His eyes were green, a clear piercing green, his lashes dark and thick for a man.

Aileen could not fully draw a breath and her flesh tingled beneath his touch.

“I fear we have not been introduced,” he murmured, that tentative smile melting her resistance.

“I am merely Aileen,” she managed to say, feeling as lacking in graces as Blanche oft insisted she was.

“
Enchanté, encore
.” The Hawk let his hand slide down her forearm and captured her fingers. His hand was warm and gentle for all its size and strength. He fair engulfed her fingers in his, and she was not a small woman.

His gaze locked with Aileen’s as he lifted her hand to his lips. Her heart skipped a beat. His lips were firm and dry against her knuckles, his very touch making her swallow.

Something flickered to life within Aileen, something she had never felt before, but which she might be tempted to call desire.

What a fool she was to respond to the Hawk’s touch!

Her father cleared his throat. “Aileen is my daughter.”

The Hawk remained solemn. Aileen felt he studied her, though she could not have guessed why. He did not readily release her hand, and his thumb began to move slowly across her flesh. It was a seductive move, one that put uncommon thoughts into her head.

“You cannot be the same daughter of Abernye reputed to be skilled with a bow?” the Hawk asked, his manner that of one truly interested.

“The very same,” Aileen said proudly, but Blanche spoke in the same moment and spoke more loudly.

“She pursues such inappropriate deeds no longer. I have put an end to such foolery.”

“Aileen learns finally to embroider!” her father crowed with pride. “Blanche reports that she makes fine progress.”

The Hawk’s expression was so conspiratorial that Aileen knew she had failed to hide her feelings about this change. “And which task do you prefer?” he asked quietly.

As intriguing as his manner was, Aileen knew that this was an alliance that would be folly to pursue.

She spoke sharply, more sharply than she had intended. “It matters little, as the choice is not mine to make.” She pulled her hand abruptly from his. “How pleasant to make your acquaintance,” she said, her crisp tone implying otherwise. “Welcome to Abernye.” She inclined her head and would have stepped away, but the Hawk halted her with his words.

“Perhaps I might rely upon your hospitality, Aileen.”

Her name sounded like a caress upon his tongue, the sound enough to make her step falter. Aileen paused and glanced to him, seeing in his eyes that he was well aware of the impact of his voice upon her.

“I fear I lose my bearings in this keep,” he said, apparently confiding in her. “Though I would not presume to burden the laird and lady with a matter so mundane as my orientation, I would greatly appreciate your assistance.”

“Our hall is not so large and complicated as that,” Aileen said with a cool smile. She pointed helpfully to the two portals to the hall. “But two corridors are there, one leading to the kitchens and one to the stables.” She met the Hawk’s knowing gaze. “I should think a man’s nose could tell him which was which. Indeed, I would have anticipated that a man of your reputed cunning would have oriented himself quite readily.”

“Aileen!” Blanche whispered.

Some comment began to rumble in her father’s chest, but Aileen held the Hawk’s gaze, daring him to argue the matter with her.

That smile touched his lips for a heartbeat, then it was gone. “Perhaps you might take pity upon a man with such a poor sense of smell, then.” He spoke politely, but there was a thread of steel in his words.

Aileen saw his resolve. She knew that she would not evade this deed readily. She did not need to glance her father’s way to feel the press of his insistence that she act in a hospitable manner. Indeed, she had the sense that the Hawk had cornered her as neatly and deliberately as he had evaded Blanche’s choice of seating.

There was a glint in his eyes, almost a challenge. He had heard what she had recounted of his deeds—did he taunt her for questioning his motives? She could not deny that she would like to prove to this man that she was not afraid of him.

“If you insist, of course, I can only comply.” Aileen smiled with a grace her mother would have applauded.

The Hawk left her no time to change her thinking. He folded his fingers around her elbow and held her so fast against his side that she could fairly feel the pound of his heart. She was dismayed to realize how she liked the heat of him against her, the solidity of his muscles against her hand. The top of her head came only to his shoulder and that in itself was a rare delight. He bowed his head to her father and Blanche, then fairly pushed Aileen across the hall.

“Perhaps we should begin at the gates,” he said with a resolve that brooked no dissent.

* * *

Two hundred gazes followed their course, the whispers beginning in the rear. Aileen walked with her back as straight as a blade, knowing full well that Blanche’s women would tease her about her supposed marital ambitions. They were so confident that she had none, that even she knew her chances of a good match to be nil.

There was something exciting about being chosen by such a dangerous rogue, even for a matter as disinteresting as granting him a tour of the keep. Indeed, Aileen’s heart skipped with the heat of his presence.

At least until they passed his companions, one of whom winked boldly at Aileen. Another gave a lecherous whistle that made her color rise.

“Ignore them,” the Hawk counseled softly.

Aileen resolved in that moment to ensure that no taint could be cast upon this excursion, that no rumor could cast shame upon her father. She might not be marriageable, she might be rumored to be cold, she might carry the taint of madness, but she would not earn an undeserved reputation as a harlot either. She would keep their course in the light and the company of others, and ensure this man cultivated no interest in her meager charms by sparing him no more attention than she would grant a hungry hound.

“Aye, it would be better to begin at the gates to ensure that you are not confused,” she said, ensuring that the Hawk did not miss her condescension. She pulled her arm from his grip then marched out of the hall ahead of him.

“Do you oft have this trouble with unfamiliar abodes?” she asked, as if he were the most dim-witted man that ever she had met. “I would think it a most inconvenient affliction for one who reputedly makes his way by raiding and pillaging.”

The Hawk let her precede him, though she heard him strolling behind her. “Is that the rumor of my deeds?” he asked mildly.

The hall’s sounds faded as the shadows of the quiet corridor enfolded them. To Aileen’s dismay, there were no other souls in what was commonly be a busy corridor. She hastened her pace, but the Hawk caught her elbow in a casual grip, slowing her steps to match his.

“Oh, that and more,” Aileen ascertained with an insouciance she did not feel. She was aware of his heat as she had not been before, aware of his fingers wrapped around her upper arm and their proximity to her breast.

He could probably feel the wild dance of her pulse, he could probably smell her skin as clearly as she smelled his. She waited for fear to seize her throat as it customarily did when she was alone with a man, but this time, her terror was absent.

Why? Did this man have no amorous intent?

His thumb caressed the back of her arm and belied any such thought. Still Aileen did not fear him, though she granted first his hand and then him an arch glance.

“You might become cold,” he said with apparent innocence, though his eyes glinted with intent.

“I am most hale,” she insisted, putting an increment of space between them. He let her do so, easing his grip slightly.

“Tell me what else is rumored.”

“Why?” Aileen cast him a mutinous glance. “So you can hold these half-truths against me? Blanche would love to hear that I had so compromised my father’s hospitality.” She tossed her braid over her shoulder. “Ask a more willing maiden to sate your vanity about your own repute.”

That beguiling smile touched his lips again. “Might I conclude that you and your father’s bride are not compatible?”

Aileen slanted him a glance so rueful that even in the flickering light of the sole torch, it should have answered his every question. He chuckled. If she had thought the timbre of his voice intriguing, the rich echo of his merriment was even more so.

Aileen knew that she was too clever by half to find such a man alluring and yet, and yet, some foolish part of her was tempted to know more of him. How would such a man kiss? Her gaze rose to his firm lips and her heart leapt, though the twinkle she found in his green eyes made her spin away.

If he mocked her, she gave him fodder for his jest. Why was she intrigued by this man? Surely, she should fear him above all others?

But this was the first time she had been alone with a man other than her father and felt no terror. She felt only a strange excitement that seemed to make her blood dance in her very veins.

She quickened her pace again, breathing a sigh of relief as the light of the bailey came into view ahead. “You are in a fine mood for a man whose wits are so addled that he cannot follow corridors as well wrought as these,” she charged.

“Indeed, I am,” he acknowledged. “It is the finest mood I have known for nigh twenty years. Would you care to celebrate the occasion with me?”

Aileen glanced to him, mystified by his meaning.

He arched a dark brow, which made him look diabolical. “You said ‘half-truths’, lady mine.”

“I am not your lady!”

“A mere slip of the tongue,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to her lips. It was as if he had read her thoughts. Aileen blushed crimson, though she struggled to maintain her outraged manner. “Of course, I said half-truth. All rumor is half-truth.”

“Yet few acknowledge as much.” His voice was dark, seductive, and Aileen was sorely tempted to lean closer to him though she knew that would be a foolhardy deed. He would take advantage of weakness before she had a chance to correct her mistake.

“It is only sensible to make conclusions upon evidence,” she said, her words falling more quickly than was her wont.

“Indeed, it is.”

The Hawk’s tone was complimentary. Though Aileen was not adverse to an acknowledgement of her intellect, she was again certain that he teased her. She pivoted to shake a finger at him. “Do not begin to pour some nonsense in my ears...”

“Do you realize that you are the first in decades to find me only half-guilty, Aileen?”

While she wondered what to make of that, he moved closer. She could see the glint of his eyes, she could feel the intensity of his gaze and found herself helpless to step away. Indeed, she had no desire to flee. The cold of the stone floor permeated her leather slippers. Surely that was what made her nipples tighten, what made her shiver so deliciously, what made her lick her lips as if she hungered for some forbidden morsel.

“Then, perhaps you should change your behavior so that it does not lend itself so readily to rumor,” she said, her words uncommonly breathless.