"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.
Adam laughed. "One would think you might have realized that it hasn't helped so far, old man. Give it up. Not even your… sacrifice… helped. Although it did mollify me slightly."
Lydia gasped. "What sacrifice?"