Beyond the Highland Mist
Page 19

The gossips couldn’t have been more wrong. Had the Hawk been left to choose a woman for himself, the qualities Janet possessed—independence, a quick mind, a luscious body, and a strong heart—were all qualities he would have sought.
Perhaps, Hawk mused, life might just take a turn for the better after all.
CHAPTER 7
ADRIENNE KNEW SHE WAS DREAMING. SHE WAS HOPELESSLY mired in the same horrible nightmare she’d been having for months; the one in which she fled down dark, deserted New Orleans alleys trying to outrun death.
No matter how hard she tried to control the dream, she never made it to safety. Inevitably, Eberhard cornered her in the abandoned warehouse on Blue Magnolia Lane. Only one thing differed significantly from the reality Adrienne had lived through—in her nightmare she didn’t make it to the gun in time.
She awoke shaking and pale, with little beads of sweat dappling her face.
And there was the Hawk; sitting on the end of her bed, silently watching her.
Adrienne stared wide-eyed at him. In her sleepy confusion the Hawk’s darkly beautiful face seemed to bear traces of Eberhard’s diabolic beauty, making her wonder what difference there was between the two men—if any. After a nightmare about one attractive deadly man, waking up to find another in such close proximity was just too much for her frazzled nerves. Although she still had virtually no memory of how she’d come to be in the sixteenth century, her other memories were regrettably intact. Adrienne de Simone remembered one thing with excruciating clarity—she did not trust and did not like beautiful men.
“You screamed,” the Hawk informed her in his mellifluous voice.
Adrienne rolled her eyes. Could he do something besides purr every time he opened his perfect mouth? That voice could sweet-talk a blind nun out of her chastity.
“Go away,” she mumbled.
He smiled. “I came but to see that you weren’t the victim of another murder attempt.”
“I told you it wasn’t me they were after.”
He sat carefully, seemingly caught in a mighty internal struggle. Her mind spun with unchecked remnants of her nightmare as a soft breeze wafted in the open window and kissed her skin. Ye gods, her skin! She plucked the silk sheet to her nearly bare breasts in a fit of pique. The dratted gown she’d found neatly placed on her bed—by someone who obviously had fewer inhibitions about clothing than she—scarcely qualified as sleepwear. The tiny sleeves had slipped down over her shoulders while the skirt of the gown had bunched up; yards of transparent fabric pooled in a filmy froth around her waist, barely covering her hips—and that only if she didn’t move at all. Adrienne tugged firmly at the gown, trying to rearrange it without relinquishing her grip on the sheet.
Hawk groaned, and the husky sound made her every nerve dance on end. She forced herself to meet his heated gaze levelly.
“Janet, I know we didn’t exactly start this marriage under the best of circumstances.”
“Adrienne. And one could definitely say that.”
“No, my name is Sidheach. My brother is Adrian. But most call me Hawk.”
“I meant me. Call me Adrienne.” At his questioning look she added, “My middle name is Adrienne, and it’s the one I prefer.” A simple, tiny lie. She couldn’t hope to keep answering to Janet, she was bound to slip eventually.
“Adrienne,” he purred, putting the inflection on it as Adry-EN. “As I was saying”—he slid along the bed with such grace that she only realized he’d moved when he was much too close—“I fear we didn’t get the best start, and I intend to remedy that.”
“You can remedy it by removing yourself from my sight this instant. Now. Shoo.” She clutched the sheet in a careful fist and waved her other hand dismissively. He watched it with fascination. When he didn’t move, she tried to dismiss him again, but he snared her hand mid-wave.
“Beautiful hands,” he murmured, turning it palm up and planting a lingering kiss in the sensitive center. “I feared Mad Janet was a most uncomely shrew. Now I know why the Comyn kept you hidden in his tower all those years. You are the true silver and gold in the Comyn treasure trove. His wealth has been depleted in full measure by the loss of you.”
“Oh, get off it,” she snapped, and he blinked in surprise. “Listen Sidhawk or Hawk or whoever you are, I’m not impressed. If we’re going to be forced to suffer the same roof above our heads we need to get a few things straight. First”—she held up a hand, ticking off the fingers as she went—“I don’t like you. Get used to that. Second, I didn’t want to marry you, but I had no alternative—”