Page 41 of Healing the Highland Sinner (Tales of the Maxwell Lasses #7)

CHAPTER FOUR

H awk strode up the path, then through the back gate in the garden grounds with a swaggering spring in his step and a small grin curling his lips. The maid by the lake had been a terrific conquest. She was new to the household staff and Hawk had been trying to get under her skirts ever since he’d arrived at his father’s castle the day before. It hadn’t taken long. He laughed softly as he made his way through the garden grounds and whistled a tune as he walked.

He was pleased with himself for being able to check that off his list. Mostly, anyway. Having her use her mouth on him only made him want to explore the rest of her. She was coy and only parceling out small bits of pleasure, making him wait for more. It was all part of the sensual dance. A game he was well acquainted with. And Hawk knew he just had to be patient, and he would get to enjoy all the pleasures her flesh had to offer.

“In time, lad,” he said to himself. “Just be patient.”

As he walked with his head in the clouds though, his thoughts returned to the girl who’d been watching them from the woods. Although she’d looked positively scandalized by what she’d seen, Hawk knew she was intrigued. Judging by the flush in her cheeks and the way her emerald green eyes had sparkled mischievously, he would have gone out on a limb and said she was even a bit… aroused. And that aroused him.

Her reaction and the flustered expression told Hawk she didn’t have much, if any, experience with pleasures of the flesh. The way she’d looked at him with rapt fascination stirred something deep within him. It had been reckless for him to play those sensual games with the maid out in the spring like that. He had practically been begging for somebody to walk up on them. Maybe on some deeper level, he’d been hoping somebody would. And he couldn’t deny he liked knowing it was the dark-haired girl.

He laughed softly to himself and shook his head. He’d seen the hunger in her eyes. He knew. In the moment he’d spotted her hiding behind the tree, he knew she wanted to experience the sort of pleasure he was receiving. She’d tried to deny being intrigued and feigned indifference at what she’d seen, but Hawk knew better.

He had no idea who she was though. She had been dressed nicely, but simply, and without all the finery of a proper lady, so Hawk assumed she was from the village, possibly a new addition to the household staff. He also didn’t think most proper ladies would be lurking in the woods the way she had. And if she was part of the household staff, she was fair game for him. He was determined to find out not just who she was, but to plunder her as well. He vowed to himself that he would show her what true pleasure of the flesh felt like. She would be his next conquest.

“Well, somebody certainly seems tae be in a good mood.”

Nathair’s voice pulled Hawk from his reverie, and he smiled as his brother approached. Tall and lean, but with a broad-shoulder, fit and toned build, Nathair was a rugged man, but he had the same round face and delicate features their mother had had. The older Nathair got, the more he seemed to look like her, which never failed to put a dull ache in his heart. His brother’s dark brown hair fell to his shoulders and his intense gray eyes—a family trait—searched Hawk’s face.

“Are ye all right, braither,” Nathair asked.

“Aye. ‘Tis just sometimes I cannae believe how much ye look like her.”

Nathair’s thin lips curled into a frown and he nodded, feeling the same echo of pain in his heart that Hawk did. But as it always did, his frown faded as Nathair adopted his calm, neutral expression of practicality. The proverbial golden child, Nathair was renowned for his even temperament and calm disposition. He was respected for his skill with a blade, intellect, and a thousand other virtues he possessed that Hawk did not.

He was clearly their father’s favored son, and it would have been easy for Hawk to resent his brother. But he didn’t. He loved his brother fiercely and would have willingly taken a blade or arrow for him. In fact, Hawk agreed with his father that it should have been Nathair ascending to the lairdship rather than him. His brother was a good man, perhaps the best he had ever known. But for the order of their birth, he would succeed their father.

“I miss her too, braither,” Nathair said softly.

“I ken ye dae.”

Another moment of silence passed but the air between them began growing lighter and less mournful and they shared a smile. Nathair clapped Hawk on the shoulder.

“And where have ye been?” he asked.

Hawk gave him a grin. “Down at the spring.”

Nathair rolled his eyes but laughed. “And who was the lass this time?”

“Why, braither, what are ye accusin’ me of?” Hawk asked with feigned offense.

“Of spoilin’ yet another maid, of course.”

Hawk laughed “Ye ken me so well.”

“Of course, I dae,” he replied. “Ye’re the most incorrigible man I’ve ever kent.”

“Why, thank ye,” Hawk said and sketched a mock bow.

“Well, ye better nae let Faither ken ye’ve been plunderin’ the staff again or he may stripe yer irredeemable hide. Again,” Nathair said with a laugh.

Hawk’s lips curled back in a sneer and his body tensed at the mention of their father. It seemed as involuntary as breathing.

“I’d like tae see him try,” Hawk growled.

Nathair clapped him on the shoulder again. “Be at ease, braither. ‘Twas only a jest.”

Hawk forced himself to relax. He blew out a long breath and glanced up at the ceiling for a moment, taking a beat to calm himself. He hated that his father provoked such a reaction in him, but he didn’t seem able to control it. The mere mention of the man just enraged him.

When he was younger, he had tried so hard to please his father. But it became apparent very quickly that his father’s approval was something he would never get, no matter how hard he tried, and he had eventually decided to stop chasing it. He’d given up on becoming the sort of son, the sort of man and leader, his father demanded he be.

He had gone the other way and leaned into the sort of shiftless, disappointing life his father seemed to believe was all he was capable of. There were still times when he felt the pain of his disapproval but they were beginning to become fewer and farther between. He was beginning to grow numb to his father’s judgmental gaze.

Hawk gave himself a small shake, ridding himself of the old, familiar pain that clung to him like cobwebs and put a rakish smile back on his face.

“Tell me, braither, there’s a new maid in the household. She’s dark of hair, fair of skin, with the most dazzling green eyes I’ve ever seen?—”

Hawk bit his words off when he saw his stepsister Adelaide round the corner. She smiled wide as she dashed over and Hawk swept her up in a tight embrace, making her squeal with delight as he spun her around. His smile withered, then slipped from his lips entirely when his father, Laird Declan MacTavish came around the corner and stopped before them as wel,l with that familiar disapproving curl to his lips. Hawk set Adelaide down gently then turned.

“Faither,” he said with a polite incline of his head.

“Everybody has been workin’ hard tae put this weddin’ taegether, Hawk,” he said coldly, “while ye’ve been out daein’ whatever it is ye dae.”

A roguish grin stretched across his lips. “Well, I figured the best way tae celebrate yer pendin’ nuptials was tae keep meself out from underfoot. I’d hate tae get in the way or dae somethin’ tae displease ye.”

“A noble gesture indeed,” Declan said dryly.

“I dae what I can,” Hawk said with a sweeping bow.

His father’s expression of disapproval deepened, and his eyes narrowed to slits. He stared at Hawk in silence, his face tight, looking as if he’d just bitten into something sour. That only encouraged Hawk to smile wider.

“So, Faither, when dae we get tae meet this blushin’ bride of yers, eh?” he asked.

“There will be a feast tonight tae introduce her,” he said. “I expect ye tae be there.”

“Tonight, eh?” Hawk asked. “Will her wet nurse allow her tae stay up that late then?”

His father’s face darkened, his features tightening, the air in the corridor around them thickening and crackling with tension. Hawk didn’t even bother trying to keep the smirk off his face. He knew his father, ever the proper man, would not take being teased about the age disparity well. Which, of course, made it the perfect cudgel to use against him.

Hawk was a very skilled warrior and was able to diagnose his opponent’s weaknesses quickly. And he knew his father’s strengths and weaknesses better than anyone else. He knew what would get under the man’s skin. What would make him rankle and bristle.

“Ye’ve nay right tae speak a word on this,” his father said in a low, threatening tone.

“Is that so?”

“’Tis so.”

“All right,” Hawk said. “But I have a question. I’ve been ponderin’ weddin’ gifts fer yer wife and was torn between a new doll or hair ribbons. Which dae ye think she’d prefer?”

“Hawk,” Adelaide whispered harshly. “Stop.”

“Aye, braither. Stop this foolishness,” Nathair said quietly.

Hawk and his father locked eyes, engaging in a long, tense, silent stare down. It was a battle of wills, neither man willing to turn away. The air around them was hushed and charged with rage and the whispered promise of violence. They had come close to blows before, but reason had always pulled them back. This time though, Hawk had taken them right to the precipice and seemed determined to push them both over.

“I understand ye’re still grievin’ yer maither and havin’ a hard time acceptin’ the fact that I need tae marry—as all lairds must,” his father said through gritted teeth. “But I’ll warn ye now, ye need tae grow up, Hawk. Ye need tae act like a man rather than the stubborn, snot-nosed little bairn ye seem intent on bein’. ‘Tis time.”

Without another word, his father turned on his heel and strode away. Adelaide frowned and cuffed him behind the ear before turning and dashing after their father. Nathair stood where he was, arms folded over his chest, shaking his head with a wry grin on his lips.

“I see ye’ve nae lost yer touch,” he said.

“Did ye think I would?”

“I’d hoped.”

Hawk shrugged. “Me and Faither have never gotten on. Ye ken that.”

“Aye. But ye dinnae need tae go out of yer way tae antagonize him.”

“Need? Nay. I dinnae need tae,” Hawk agreed. “I dae it because it’s fun. And he started, by the way.”

Nathair rolled his eyes and sighed noisily then chuckled. “Maybe he’s right and ye really are a bairn inside a man’s body.”

“Of course he’s right.”

Nathair gripped Hawk’s upper arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Braither, ye ken I love ye.”

“Aye. I dae. And I also ken ye’re about tae say somethin’ I’m nae goin’ tae like.”

“Well, look at that. Ye’re nae as stupid as ye look.”

Hawk laughed. “Let’s have it then.”

“Maither is gone. She’s gone fer good. I ken ye feel her loss every day. I dae as well,” he said. “But faither is right. A laird needs a wife and alliances. And Faither deserves tae be happy.”

“And daes this child make Faither happy?”

“She’s nae a child. But aye. He’s happy, I think, at least fer kenning he’s doing good by the clan,” Nathair said. “He needs tae project the right image tae our people. He needs tae have a ladywife. Ye ken that. So, he made the best match fer himself that he could. Ye should go easy on the man. He grieves our maither’s passin’ every bit as much as we dae. Give him a bit of grace, eh?”

The scathing response that sat on the tip of Hawk’s tongue withered and died, his words left unspoken for a change. Nathair clapped him on the shoulder again and nodded.

“That’s a good lad,” he said. “Now, dinnae be late fer the feast tonight. And fer God’s sake, wear somethin’ clean and nice, eh?”

“Only if ye promise tae bathe. Ye stink like a donkey’s arse,” Hawk fired back.

Nathair grinned. “I willnae ask how ye ken what a donkey’s arse smells like.”

Laughing wildly, his brother turned and headed down the corridor, leaving Hawk standing there grinning like a fool. It wasn’t often his brother bested him in a battle of wits and words. With a sigh of resignation, Hawk turned and headed for his bedchamber to fetch something to wear before he slipped away to the bath house beneath the keep. He supposed he should clean himself up before the night’s mummery. More than that, his intrusive thoughts about the raven-haired girl in the woods had stirred his arousal and he felt as if he should take care of that on his own before the feast.

“Bleedin’ hell,” he muttered to himself as he walked away.