Beyond the Highland Mist Read online

As she was plunged into darkness she had an abrupt flash of understanding. This was the danger she had so feared—whatever or whoever was behind her.

  Adrienne felt as if she’d been balancing on the edge of a razor since last night, waiting for something bad to happen. Now she understood perfectly what had kept her awake all night—it had been her instincts again, warning her of impending doom, clamoring that it was just a matter of time before her world fell apart.

  And whoever was behind her was certainly the harbinger of her destruction.

  “Beauty.”

  Adam’s voice. Adrienne’s body went rigid. Her jaw tensed and her hands fisted when he grabbed her in the darkness and pressed his hips hard against the curve of her rump. She lurched forward but he tightened his arms around her and dragged her back against his body.

  When his lips grazed her neck she tried to scream, but not a sound came out.

  “You knew I’d come,” he breathed against her ear, “didn’t you, lovely one?”

  Adrienne wanted to protest, to scream denial, but some part of her had known—on a visceral, deeply subconscious level. In that instant, all her strange encounters with Adam Black were suddenly washed crystal-clear in her mind. “You made me forget,” she hissed, as memories flooded her. “The strange things you did—when you took the Hawk’s face at the fountain—you made me forget somehow,” she accused.

  Adam laughed. “I made you forget when I took you to Morar too, even earlier than that. Do you remember lying in the sand with me now, sweet Beauty? I’m giving them back to you, those stolen times. Remember me touching you? Remember when I took you to my world to cure you? I touched you then, too.”

  Adrienne shuddered as the memories unfogged in her mind.

  “I take from you what you don’t need to recall, Beauty. I could take from you memories you’d love to lose. Shall I, Beauty? Shall I free you from Eberhard forever?” Adam pressed his lips to her neck in a lingering kiss. “No, I have it, I shall erase every memory you have of the Hawk—make you hate him, make him a stranger to you. Would you like that?”

  “Who are you?” Adrienne choked as tears filled her eyes.

  Adam turned her slowly in his arms until she faced him. His face was icy and definitely not human in the grayish half-light. “The man who’s going to destroy your husband and everything at Dalkeith if you don’t do exactly as I say, lovely Adrienne. I suggest you listen to me very, very carefully if you love him.”

  Hawk couldn’t find Adam. He couldn’t find Grimm. And now he couldn’t find his own wife. What the hell kind of wedding day was this?

  The Hawk paced through the lower bailey calling her name, his hands clenched into fists. On the ridge, people had already started to gather. Clanspeople were arriving in droves from miles around. Come twilight there would be nearly seven hundred plaids gathered on Dalkeith’s shore; the Douglas was a large clan with many crofters tilling the land. Earlier in the morning the Hawk had sent his guard into the hills and vales announcing the laird’s wedding this eve, thus ensuring the attendance of every last person, young and old.

  But there wouldn’t be any wedding if he couldn’t find his wife.

  “Adrienne!” he called. Where the hell had she gone? Not in the castle, not in the gardens … not at Dalkeith?

  Nay!

  “Adrienne!” he roared, his pace quickening to a run. Calling her name, he sped past the falcon broch.

  “Hawk, I’m here!” He heard her cry echo behind him.

  “Adrienne?” He skidded to a halt and turned.

  “I’m right here. Sorry,” she added as she closed the door to the broch and stepped outside.

  “Don’t ever leave me again without telling me where you’re going. Didn’t you hear me calling you?” he growled, fear roughening his voice.

  “I said I’m sorry, Hawk. I must have been woolgathering.” She paused where she stood.

  Hawk’s heart twisted in his chest. He’d found her, but why hadn’t that erased his fear? Something nagged—a thing intangible, yet as real and potentially treacherous as the jagged cliffs of Dalkeith. There was an almost palpable odor of wrongness hovering in the air around the broch.

  “Lass, what’s wrong?” he asked. Every inch of him tensed as she stepped out of the shadows that darkened the east side of the squat tower. Half her face was deeply shadowed by the sun’s descent, the other half was visibly pale in the fading light. Hawk suffered a fleeting moment of impossible duality; as though half her face was smiling while the other was drawn tightly in a grimace of pain. The macabre illusion chased a spear of foreboding through his heart.

  He extended his hands, and when she didn’t move from that strange half domino of light and darkness, he strode brusquely forward and pulled her into his arms.

  “What ails you, sweet wife?” he demanded, gazing down at her. But he hadn’t pulled her forward far enough. That hated shadow still claimed a full third of her face, concealing her eyes from him. With a rough curse he back-stepped until she was free of darkness. That shadow, that damned shadow from the broch had made him feel as if half of her was becoming insubstantial and she might melt right through his hands and he would be helpless to prevent it. “Adrienne!”

  “I’m fine, Hawk,” she said softly, sliding her arms around his waist.

  As the fading light bathed her face, he felt suddenly foolish, wondered how he could have thought, even for a moment, that there was a shadow eclipsing her lovely face. There was no shadow there. Naught but her wide silver eyes brimming with love as she gazed up at him.

  A trembling moment passed, then her lip curved in a sweet smile. She brushed a stray fall of dark hair back from his face and kissed his jaw tenderly. “My beautiful, beautiful Hawk,” she murmured.

  “Talk to me, lass. Tell me what fashes you so,” he said roughly.

  She flashed him a smile so dazzling that it muddled his thoughts. He felt his worries scattering like petals to the wind beneath the soft promises unspoken in that smile.

  He brushed his lips to hers and felt that jolt of immediate response tingle through his body from head to toe. What shadow? Foolish fears, foolish fancy, he realized wryly. He was letting his imagination run wild at the slightest provocation. A silly shadow fell across her face and the great Hawk suffered visions of doom and desolation. Bah! No lass could smile like that if she was worried about something.

  He took her lips in a brutal, punishing kiss. Punishing for the fear he’d felt. Punishing, because he needed her.

  And she melted to him like liquid flames, molding and pressing herself against him with fierce urgency. “Hawk …” she whispered against his lips. “My husband, my love, take me … again, please.”

  Desire surged through his veins, conquering all traces of his panic. He needed no further encouragement. They had a few hours left to them before the man of God would bind them beneath the Samhain mantle. He pulled her toward the broch.

  Adrienne stiffened instantly. “Nay, not in the broch.”

  So he took her to the stables. To a thick pile of sweet purple clover where they spent the remaining hours of the afternoon of their wedding like a beggar’s precious last coins on a splendid feast.

  CHAPTER 29

  ADRIENNE’S WEDDING DRESS SURPASSED ALL OF HER CHILDHOOD dreams. It was made of sapphire silk and elegant lace, with shimmery threads of silver embroidered at the neck, sleeves, and hem in patterns of twining roses. Lydia had produced it proudly from a sealed chest of cedar-lined oak; yet another of the Hawk’s clever inventions. She’d aired it out, steamed it in a closed kitchen over vats of boiling water, then lightly scented it with lavender. The gown clung at the bosom and hips, and fell to the floor in swirls of rich fabric.

  It had been stitched by the Rom, Lydia told her as she and a dozen maids fussed over Adrienne, for Lydia’s wedding to the Hawk’s father. Lydia’s wedding had also been celebrated at Dalkeith-Upon-the-Sea at the Beltane festival, before the same kind of double fires laid at the Samhain.

 
But Lydia had gone ahead now, up to the ridge. The maids were gone too, shooed on by Adrienne a quarter-hour past. It had taken every ounce of Adrienne’s courage to get through the past few hours.

  Lydia had been so elated, practically dancing around the room, and Adrienne had felt so wooden inside—forcing herself to pretend. She was about to do something that was guaranteed to make Lydia and Hawk despise her, and she had no other choice.

  How could she bear the looks on their faces when she did it? How would she endure the hate and betrayal she would see in their eyes?

  Adrienne stood alone in Lydia’s lovely bedroom, amidst slowly cooling round irons and discarded choices for underthings and half-empty cups of tea, left undrunk in nervous anticipation.

  The time was nearing.

  And her heart was freezing, breath by bitter breath. She shivered as a crisp breeze tumbled through the open window of Lydia’s bedroom. She crossed the room intending to close it, but froze, one hand upon the cool stone ledge. She stared mesmerized into the night.

  I will remember this, always.

  She drank in Dalkeith, committing each precious detail to memory. The full moon held her spellbound as it bathed the ridge in silvery brilliance. It seemed closer to the earth and so much larger than usual. Maybe she could step into the sky to stand right next to it—perhaps give it a firm nudge and watch it roll across the horizon.

  Adrienne marveled at the beauty of it all. This place is magic.

  She had a perfect view of the feast from the window. The ridge was alive with hundreds of people spread about the fires on bright tartans, talking, feasting, and dancing. Wine, ale, and Scotch flowed freely as the people celebrated the harvest to come. A rich harvest, her husband had seen to that.

  Children played children’s games, running and squealing and circling back to loving parents. And the music … oh, the music drifted up to the open window, blending with the soft roar of the ocean. The powerful hypnotic beat of the drums, the pipes and wild chanting.

  Between the two circles of fire, she could just make him out, the laird of Dalkeith-Upon-the-Sea was dancing with his people, his head tossed back, adding his deep butterscotch cry to the song. Her husband. At least she’d gotten to love him for a while—maybe not forever, but…

  The beat of drums intensified, and she watched him circle the fire. So primitive and savage, yet so incredibly tender and loving.

  I adore this place, she thought. If I could have ever dreamt a place to go, back in the twentieth century, I would have dreamt this one.

  She let her forehead fall against the cool stone wall a long moment and squeezed back the tears. “I love him more than life itself,” she whispered aloud.

  And that had been the deciding point.

  “Nay.” The Hawk raised his hands in mock protestation. “You must leave me with strength to wed and bed my wife, this eve,” he teased the laughing women who tried to lure him into yet another dance.

  Despite the disappointed looks and saucy remarks about his virility, the Hawk made his way higher up the ridge. He’d seen Lydia wander that way with Tavis while he’d been dancing. He paused a moment and looked back at the castle, his eyes searching the windows intently. There it was. Lydia’s room, his wife’s silhouette visible against the brightly lit window. He watched her turn her back. She was on her way.

  A chill slithered up the nape of his neck as he studied her back. He watched a long moment, and when she didn’t move, he wondered what she was doing.

  I should have insisted she keep the guard with her.

  Will they button my gown for me? she’d teased, and a swirl of jealousy at the thought of any of his guards touching his wife’s silken skin had sealed it.

  He could watch every step of her progress from the ridge, and the castle wasn’t entirely deserted. The ridge was a short walk, a few minutes or less. She should be fine. Yet he worried …

  “Have you seen Grimm?” Lydia touched his arm lightly to get his attention.

  Hawk tore his gaze from the window. “Nay. Have you?”

  “Nay. And that worries me. He’s your best friend, Hawk. I thought he’d be here. What might have kept him?”

  Hawk shrugged and glanced quickly at the castle. Ah, finally. The candles were out and his wife was on her way. Lydia’s room was full dark. Suddenly Grimm seemed inconsequential. Even his irritation at Grimm’s lies slid off his shoulders with the thought of his beloved Adrienne.

  Tonight I will bind her to me for all eternity, he pledged silently.

  “Hawk?” Lydia waved her hand in front of his face and he dragged his gaze from the castle with an effort.

  “Hmmm?”

  “Oh my,” Lydia sighed. “How you do remind me of your father when you look like that.”

  “Like what?” Hawk drawled, watching the front steps for the first glimpse of his wife.

  “Like some savage Viking set to conquer and take captive.”

  “I’m the captive in this, Mother,” Hawk snorted. “The lass has fair spelled me, I think.”

  Lydia’s laughter tinkled merrily. “Good. ’Tis as it should be, then.” She gave him a brisk kiss. “She’ll be here any moment.” Lydia straightened his linen that didn’t need straightening, smoothed his perfect hair that didn’t need smoothing, and in general clucked over him like a nervous hen.

  “Mother,” he growled.

  “I just want you to look your best—” Lydia broke off. She spared a nervous laugh for herself. “Just look at me, a jittery mother, all in a tizzy at her son’s wedding.”

  “She’s already seen me at my worst and loves me in spite of it. And what are you doing fussing over me? I thought we weren’t speaking. What plans are you devising now?” he demanded. He knew her too well to believe she’d just capitulated quietly to his plans to leave this evening.

  “Hawk,” Lydia protested, “you wound me!”

  Hawk snorted. “I’ll ask you again, what nefarious plot have you devised to try to keep us here? Did you drug the wine? Hire ruthless mercenaries to hold us captive in my own castle? Nay, I have it—you dispatched a messenger to the MacLeod telling them now might be a good time to lay siege to Dalkeith, right?” He wouldn’t be surprised if she’d done any of those things. Lydia was formidable when she set her mind on something. Nothing was beyond her if it might mean keeping Adrienne by her side. Like mother like son, he acknowledged ruefully.

  Lydia glanced studiously away. “I simply refuse to think of you leaving until the time comes that you try to. Until then, I intend to enjoy every last moment of my son’s wedding. Besides, ’tis apparent Adrienne has no idea what you’re planning. I’m not so certain she won’t side with me,” she snipped pertly.

  “Here she comes.” Tavis interrupted their squabbling and waved their attention to the stone stairs that cascaded into the upper bailey.

  “Oh! Isn’t she lovely?” Lydia breathed.

  A collective sigh ruffled the night and blended with the fragrant breeze dappling the ridge.

  “Could be a princess!”

  “Nay, a queen!”

  “Prettier than a fairy queen!” A wee lass with blond ringlets clapped her hands delightedly.

  “The Lady of Dalkeith-Upon-the-Sea.” A crofter doffed his cap and clasped it over his heart in a gesture of fealty.

  Lydia’s smile faded as she watched Adrienne head for the stables.

  No one spoke until she reappeared a few moments later, leading a horse to a nearby wall. “But what? What is that… a horse? Ah, I suppose she’s riding a horse up,” Lydia murmured, perplexed.

  “A horse? Why wouldn’t she just walk? ’Tis fair short space to cross, I’ll say,” Tavis wondered.

  Beneath the brilliant moon they could clearly see her stepping up on a low stone wall and mounting a horse—wedding dress and all.

  Hawk’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. His body tensed and he stifled an oath when he saw Rushka, who had been standing silently beside them, trace a gesture upon the air. “What are you doing
?” Hawk growled, closing his hand around the Rom’s arm.

  Rushka stopped and his brown eyes rested on the Hawk with deep affection and deeper sorrow. “We had hoped he wouldn’t come, my friend. We took all the precautions … the rowan crosses. The runes. I did everything I could to prevent it.”

  “Who wouldn’t come? What are you talking about? Prevent what?” Hawk gritted. Every inch of his body was suddenly alive. All day something had been gnawing at him, demanding that he take action, and now it exploded to a fever pitch in his blood. He’d like nothing more than to take action—but against what? What was happening? The thunder of approaching horses rumbled the earth behind him.

  “He comes.” Rushka tried to retrieve his arm from the Hawk’s deadly grip, but dislodging a boulder from his chest might have been easier.

  The clip-clop of horses’ hooves canted up the ridge, drawing nearer.

  “Talk to me,” Hawk gritted, glaring down at Rushka. “Now.”

  “Hawk?” Lydia asked, worried.

  “Hawk,” Tavis warned.

  “Hawk.” His wife’s husky voice cut through the night behind him.

  The Hawk froze, his gaze locked on the elderly Rom who’d been like a father to him for so many years. A flicker in the man’s eyes warned him not to turn. To just pretend nothing was happening. Do not look at your wife, Rushka’s eyes were saying. He could see her, mirrored deep in the Rom’s brown eyes. Not turn around? Impossible.

  Hawk tugged his furious gaze from Rushka. He turned on one booted heel, slowly.

  His wife. And next to her, upon the Hawk’s own black charger, sat Adam. Hawk stood in silence, his hands fisted at his sides. The ridge was eerily still, not one child peeped, not one crofter breathed so much as a whisper or troubled murmur.

  “Lorekeeper.” Adam nodded a familiar acknowledgment to Rushka, and Hawk’s gaze drifted between the strange smithy and his Rom friend. Rushka was white as new-fallen snow. His brown eyes were huge and deep, his lean body rigid. He did not return the greeting, but cast his eyes to the ground, signing those strange symbols furiously.