Highland Hawk: Highland Brides #7 by Lois Greiman Page B

his baby-soft mouth went round. "You have a knife?"
    "Aye." She said the word through gritted teeth and steadied her hand. "And—"
    The door burst open.
    Catriona snapped her head sideways and found herself staring into Sir Hawk's icy eyes.
    For a moment the entire world seemed silent, then, "Catriona," he said, nodding shallowly as he skimmed his gaze down to the knife in her hand. "I came to make certain you were well before I found my pallet." His gaze moved back up to settle on her face. The hard tension of his body lessened a small bit. "But I heard a noise and thought you might need assistance." A pause of several heartbeats, then, "I did not realize you were entertaining."
    Either anger or fear made her tremble. She wasn't certain which, but the blade wobbled against de la Faire's groin. "You may find this entertaining, Sir Hawk. I do not."
    “Truly?" Hawk stared at her, his expression inscrutable. "Do you mean to say that you've found some trouble after all?"
    She could not even manage a nod.
    "So de la Faire is here uninvited?" Hawk's voice had lowered even more.
    "Aye."
    "Then..." Hawk turned almost regretfully toward the young lord who stared wide-eyed and immobile at the king's notorious captain of the guard. "You should prepare for pain, my lord."
    "This was not my idea. I thought this was my room. The wench came in and disrobed," de la Faire rambled. "I told her I had no wish to lie with her. But she grabbed a knife and insisted—"
    Hawk raised hand. The motion looked peaceful, but something in his eyes was not. "I fear I must stop you before you dishonor yourself further." Grabbing the back of the Frenchman's doublet in one fist, he thumped the marquis's head against the nearest wall.
    For a moment de la Faire's face expressed absolute astonishment, and then, like a soggy rag, his head dropped forward onto his chest and his legs went lax, spilling him to the floor.
    Catriona stared in dumbstruck astonishment. "Is he dead?"
    "Nay," Haydan replied. "Fools do not die that easy, even if they are gentry."
    The room went silent. Catriona raised her gaze nervously to Haydan's. "I didn't mean to cause you any trouble."
    She watched the scar beside his eye twitch slightly. Watched his chest expand and his shoulders lower a mite, as if he endeavored to relax.
    "One cannot bring a wildcat to his table and expect it not to bite. Are you well?"
    "Aye. I am fine."
    "You're trembling," he said, and taking his cloak from his shoulders, swirled it around her back. It settled in deep folds about her ankles. His fingers brushed her throat as he drew the cloak together beneath her chin. "Are you hurt?"
    "Nay."
    "Scared?"
    "Nay, I..." she began, but realized suddenly that the knife wobbled in her uncertain grip."I just..." She could find no words, and suddenly his hands were on hers, warm and strong against her cold fingers. Urging the blade from her grip, he tossed it into her trunk. "Come," he said.
    She tried to follow him, but her legs refused to cooperate. Turning back, he lifted her into his arms. Cradling her against his chest, he bore her toward the bed, then stopped only inches from her mattress and gazed down into her face. For a moment she thought he would place her on the pallet, but she trembled again, and so he turned and sat with her in his lap, his arms firmly fitted about her.
    Silence filled the room. Beneath her, his thighs felt as firm and large as oaken boughs. Against her shoulder, she felt the rise and fall of his massive chest, and across her back, his arm was tight and broad. His strength surrounded her just as surely as his cloak did, holding her close, keeping her safe. And for the first time in as long as she could recall, she felt she could give up the fight, could relax and let another meet her battles.
    'Twas a weakness, she knew, a weakness she should not give in to. But it felt so good, so easy to sink into his strength, his kindness, and for a moment she wished it could go on forever—that she