Night Hawk'S Bride (Tyler) (Harlequin Historical Series, No 558) by Jillian Hart

between them?
    â€œYou mean someone shot him?”
    â€œMaybe on purpose. Maybe not.” He crooned to the hawk in his native tongue, using low, soft sounds.
    The creature tried to escape, but the moment Night Hawk held the bird in his hands, wings tucked down and legs held tight, there was no more struggle.
    â€œMore likely a duck hunter missed his target. Unfortunately for this fellow.” Night Hawk cradled thebird to his chest and stood. “I’ll take care of him. Meka will take you home.”
    â€œBut I—”
    â€œYou belong at the fort and not alone with me.” There was nothing polite in his steely stance. Nothing civil about the wind lashing his long black locks and molding his cotton shirt to his wide chest.
    He looked like a warrior. She longed to deeply know the man. “Is that what my father told you?”
    â€œHe said many things.” Was that sorrow in his voice? “I agree with him.”
    â€œMaybe I don’t.”
    Night Hawk cocked one brow in surprise.
    â€œHe doesn’t dictate my life, although he won’t stop trying. Did he mention wanting a West Point graduate for a son-in-law?”
    A hint of a grin touched Night Hawk’s mouth. “He did mention how important it was for you to make an advantageous marriage.”
    â€œHe wouldn’t know one if it hit him square in the forehead.” Marie watched Night Hawk’s stony visage crack into a hesitant smile. “How will you take care of the bird?”
    â€œCome. I’ll show you.”
    Those words simply spoken made her spirits soar higher than any bird. Or ever would.
    Â 
    His body hadn’t forgotten the forbidden dreams that had tortured him night after night. And as he tended the hawk with Marie at his side, he fought his hunger for her.
    A desire tore at his steely control every time Marie’s sleeve brushed him, every time a lock of her hair caressed her face. Every time his gaze clasped on the shape of her mouth or the soft, round fullness of her breasts.
    â€œYou know a lot about birds.” Marie’s fingertips brushed his as she handed him a strip of muslin soaked in herbs. “I’ve never known anyone who could handle a wild hawk before.”
    â€œAll it takes is knowledge.” Night Hawk swiped the bloody wounds along the bird’s left wing. “I found a baby hawk when I was a young boy.”
    â€œYou had a pet hawk?”
    â€œI raised her. I taught her how to hunt. And released her when it was time.”
    â€œDid she ever return to you?”
    â€œNo, but I did see her now and then when I was on a hunt with my father.” Memories ached with both pain and warmth. “She would call to me from the sky and when I woke in the morning, she had left some of her night’s hunt on the doorstep to my lodge.”
    â€œSo she did return.”
    â€œNot as my pet. That was a long time ago.” He didn’t want Marie to ask any more questions, for he knew where they would lead. Away from that treasured time of his boyhood to the turbulent years of the war when his people had won their battle for this land, but the cost had been high. Too high.
    He could not think about those losses. Of the brothers who did not return, and his father, who paid with his blood for this land. This land Night Hawk would never leave.
    â€œI’ve done the best I can.” He pressed the last of the soaked cloths to the wound and bandaged them.“There’s nothing more to do but wait. We’ll see if he lives.”
    â€œI’m glad I came for you.” Her fingers lighted on his wrist.
    Her touch felt right. His heart thundered with the knowledge. His blood beat with it. He gritted his teeth to keep the moan of want trapped inside his chest. She was young and innocent. She had no idea how he felt, how a man felt when he thirsted for the woman who would make him whole.
    â€œIt’s late.” Dusk was falling and so it was