Beyond the Highland Mist

Page 105

Drawing a deep breath, Adrienne told her of Dalkeith-Upon-the-Sea. Of Lydia. And of Sidheach. Marie’s brown eyes lit with a sparkle, and Adrienne was treated to a rare sight she’d bet few people had ever seen. The tiny olive-skinned woman laughed and clapped her small hands to hear of her love and of her time with the Hawk. She latched on to details, oohing over the nursery, glaring at her for saying Adam’s name too many times, ahhing over their time together in Uster, sighing over the wedding that should have been.
“Ah … finally … this ees real story.” Marie nodded.
In 1514, the Hawk was trying desperately to sleep. He’d heard a man could freeze to death if he fell asleep in the snow. But either it was too damned cold in that drift or he wasn’t quite drunk enough. He could remedy that. Shivering, he pulled his tartan closer against the bitter, howling wind. Stumbling to his feet, he teetered unevenly up the exterior stairs to the rooftop, knowing the guards often kept a few bottles up there to keep them warm while they stood watch.
No such luck. No bottles and no guards. How could he have forgotten? The guards were all inside, where it was warm. He was the only one outside. He kicked aimlessly at the snow on the roof, then stiffened when a shadow shifted, black against the gleaming snow. He squinted and peered through the wet swirling flakes. “What the hell are you doing up here, Grimm?”
Grimm reluctantly abandoned his persistent survey of the falling dusk. He was about to explain when he saw the Hawk’s face and kept his silence instead.
“I said, what are you doing up here, Grimm? They tell me you practically live on my roof now.”
Suddenly furious, Grimm retorted, “Well, they tell me you practically live in a bottle of whisky now!”
Hawk stiffened and rubbed his unshaven jaw. “Don’t yell at me, you son of a bitch! You’re the one who lied to me about my—” He couldn’t say the word. Couldn’t even think it. His wife, about whom Grimm had been right. His wife, who had left him for Adam.
“You are so unbelievably dense you can’t even see the truth when it’s right in front of you, can you?” Grimm snapped.
The Hawk swayed drunkenly, God, where had he heard those words before? Why did they make his heart lurch inside his chest? “What are you doing up here, Grimm?” he repeated stubbornly, clutching at the parapet to steady himself.
“Waiting for a blasted falling star so I can wish her back, you drunken fool.”
“I don’t want her back,” Hawk snarled.
Grimm snorted. “I may have mucked it up once, but I’m not the only one who let his emotions interfere. If you would just get past your foolish pride and anger, you’d realize that the lass would never have left you willingly for that blasted smithy!”
Hawk flinched and rubbed his face. “What say you, man?”
Grimm shrugged and turned away, his dark eyes searching the sky intently. “When I thought she was breaking your heart, I tried to keep the two of you apart. ’Twas a damn fool thing for me to do, I know that now, but I did what I thought was best at the time. How the hell was I supposed to know you two were falling in love? I’ve had no such experience. It seemed like a bloody battle to me! But now, thinking back on it, I’m fair certain she loved you from the very beginning. Would that we all could see forward with such clarity. If you’d pull your head out of that bottle and your own stubborn ass long enough, you might develop keen vision as well.”
“She-said-she-loved-the-smithy,” Hawk spit each word out carefully.
“She said, if you’ll recall, that she loved him like Ever-hard. Tell me Hawk, how did she love her Ever-hard?”
“I don’t know,” Hawk snarled.
“Try to imagine. You told me yourself that he broke her heart. That she talked of him while you held her—”
“Shut up, Grimm!” the Hawk roared as he stalked away.
Hawk wandered the snow-covered gardens with his hands pressed over his ears to stem the flood of voices. He removed his hands from his ears only long enough to take another swig from the bottle he’d pilfered from the stable boy. But oblivion never came and the voices didn’t stop—they just grew louder and clearer.
I love you, Sidheach. Trust you, with all my heart and further then.
None of my falcons have ever flown my hand without returning, he had warned her at the beginning of that magic summer.
You were right about your falcons, Sidheach, she’d said when she left with Adam. He’d wondered many a night why she’d said those words; they’d made no sense to him at all. But now a hint of understanding penetrated his stupor.