Page 7 of Her Magnificent Mistake (Surprised Heirs #1)

CHAPTER 6

“ O h, Hawk,” Marcia breathed, looking around the Glen wide-eyed, heart skipping a beat. “It is positively magical!”

“It is,” he agreed. “And this isnae even the main attraction.” With a cluck of his tongue, he urged his mare along the burbling stream. “The real magic is up there.”

The enthusiasm in his voice was impossible to miss, and made her smile. In fact, an alarming number of things about Maxwell Hawthorne made her smile, which was not a good sign.

How could she hope to prove him guilty of murder if she was still in love with him?

Murderers did not make good lovers, Marcia told herself sternly. Except he had been. Dear God, he had been.

In the last few days, she’d reached her goal of being at his side. It turned out she hadn’t needed to pretend to be a silly girl, a simpering debutante, or a seasoned seductress. She’d just needed to be herself…and the two of them had fallen into an easy camaraderie, as if no time had passed.

As if he hadn’t broken her heart.

As if they hadn’t shared that ridiculously passionate kiss in the gazebo.

As if he hadn’t apologized for what they had been…

Marcia’s eyes fluttered closed as she realized she was chewing on her bottom lip. How often since that kiss in the gazebo had she tried to recapture that sensation of his lips, his hands, on her? She’d touched herself, lying in bed each night, wishing he’d burst through the door and claim her.

Claim her as if he cared.

As if he hadn’t stopped loving her.

And he never had.

Sighing, Marcia pushed the thoughts away, determined to enjoy the day. After all, she was in paradise, was she not?

“A bit farther, and we’ll tie the horses.”

At Hawk’s announcement, she opened her eyes and tipped her head back in awe. The Glen had narrowed to a sheer cliff, perhaps twenty feet high, on one side of the stream. Farther?

“There’s a handy spot up ahead.” Hawk was smiling in excitement. “Out of sight of bandits, with plenty of grazing and the burn for water.”

Sure enough, they turned a bend and the afternoon sun was blocked by the cliffs. “Perfect,” he announced, swinging from his saddle. It wasn’t a graceful movement, but Marcia had always liked that he was unapologetically himself, and today was no exception.

With a bounce in his step, he crossed to her animal before she had a chance to make a decision, and tugged the reins of both horses until they were in a position he approved of. Then he moved to her side.

Without words, Hawk lifted his hands to her waist. As if watching some other person, some other couple, Marcia leaned into his touch and allowed him closer. With a slight grunt, he lifted her from the saddle, his silent show of strength always endearing to her.

When she was settled on her own feet between him and the horse, he didn’t release her.

Her hands went to his forearms, her gaze locked on his.

“Marcia,” he whispered.

And she wondered if he was thinking about their kiss. Hoped he was thinking about their kiss. Desperately wondered if that kiss was about to be replaced by a new memory, a new moment?—

“Yes, Hawk?” The air was charged between them, and she found herself leaning toward him, stretching up on her toes…

But then he swallowed and stepped back. “Are ye hungry?” he asked gruffly.

Hungry ? Her stomach was in knots. Yes. Famished. Gasping. “Um…no. Thank you.”

With an abrupt nod, he turned to reach for the basket tied to his saddle. He used the leather straps to sling it across his shoulders, then held out his hand.

To her.

His expression was blank—carefully so—as he waited to see what she would do.

Marcia tried to remember to breathe again. He was a murderer. A murderer whose touch made her shiver with longing and heat all at once. A murderer she loved.

Yes .

She placed her hand in his, and his fingers twined through hers. And as he turned toward the trail leading along the burn, she saw him smile again.

A murderer?

Bull was sure of it because the Crown was sure of it. But surely the Crown’s only evidence was Hawk’s motive. Yes, he had the strongest motive, but…

But in the last few days during which she’d integrated herself into his daily routine, she’d seen no evidence of it. Nothing in the paperwork and records he’d given her free rein to organize, nothing to indicate he kept other records elsewhere if he couldn’t even manage these.

Rupert, though not particularly helpful, had reported young Allison’s words of praise and comfort. Her familiarity with her uncle was one of trust, and loyalty, with no concerns of murder or malice. She clearly thought Hawk could do no wrong, and while Marcia was glad his relationship with his niece had improved, even in the short time they’d been at Tostinham, it was frustrating to not have any good leads.

Gabby had heard nothing but good things from the more talkative servants. She said they sounded relieved to have the estate in the hands of the lad they remembered caring so deeply for the land. There was not even a hint of evil-doing…in fact, none of them even suspected foul play!

Hawk’s grandfather had died of old age. Or something more sinister?

The next baron had died from bad eels. Or poison?

His brother had been a poor horseman, who had fallen while riding and succumbed to a head injury. Or had his saddle been tampered with?

And Hawk’s uncle, the most recent baron, had died in his sleep, likely due to his excesses. Or had he also been poisoned, something slow-acting, perhaps?

Marcia tried to breathe, tried not to think about her fingers entwined with a man who may have used those very hands for murder.

The most suspicious thing about the deaths was their proximity, coming right after one another in a mere fourteen-month span.

Bad luck? If so, it was Hawk’s good luck, to become master of the estate he so adored.

Marcia stared at their joined hands as she followed him along the stone-and-dirt trail.

Is he a murderer?

Could she write to Bull and tell him yes, she’d managed to get close to Hawk again, and no , she could find no evidence of him being guilty? Would that be enough? Could she forget that he was under suspicion like this?

And when this murder investigation was done…would she walk away just as he had done a decade ago?

“Here,” Hawk announced proudly, squeezing her hand and coming to a stop.

Marcia’s gaze jerked up…and her frantic thoughts just stopped . “ Oh ,” she breathed, jaw dropping open.

“Beautiful, eh?” he asked proudly.

She couldn’t even answer.

Beautiful?

No, Pook’s Glen was… breath-taking . Awe-inspiring. Magnificent? Marcia’s mind couldn’t seem to form the necessary thoughts.

Between two gorge walls, the burn tumbled merrily toward the peaceful glen where they’d left the horses. The rocks formed a series of waterfalls and pools where the stream dropped ten feet or so in stages. On either side, boulders and logs had been piled, trapped or perhaps placed there. Above, the tall firs and oaks cast the place in shadows, while in every direction the waxy leaves and big purple blooms of the rhododendron colored her vision.

And between her and the highest waterfall, a bridge spanned the burn. An impossibly delicate bridge, seemingly carved from the living stone, as if made by…

“Fairies,” she breathed, and Hawk burst into laughter.

When she dragged her gaze away from the sight in front of her, it was to see him beaming proudly.

“Aye, Grandda commissioned it to look like that.” Hawk pointed with his free hand, the long, scarred finger showing her what she had missed before. “See how the trail was built along the wall? They had to widen the canyon and tame the burn to build the path up like that.”

Now that he’d pointed it out, she could see the stonemasonry which had grown over with the same moss and ferns as the surrounding boulders. It looked slippery, and knowing Hawk’s tendencies to adventure… “Is it safe?”

“Completely!” he chuckled. “Come along. This is only the beginning.”

He tugged her hand, and Marcia realized she would’ve followed him anywhere.

The path turned to steps—expertly fitted into the existing stone walls—and then a level path for a few turns, before coming to the not-quite-a-fairy bridge. Marcia could see it only existed because the masons needed to switch to the other side of the burn to continue the path…but the bridge was anything but utilitarian.

She paused at the apex to peer up the waterfall. “Does it continue?”

“The cottage—and the top—is still some distance. Are ye weary? Do ye want to stop?” Hawk readjusted the straps of the basket.

“No,” she admitted with a grin. “This place is magical. Even knowing how the path and bridge was built, does not make it seem less magical. If you told me fairies or sprites built this place after all, I might just believe you.”

Chuckling, Hawk squeezed her fingers and tugged her onward. He slid slightly on one of the mossy stones and stumbled, knocking his gray hat from his head. Scooping it up with a muttered curse, he sent her an exasperated grin as he shoved it back on his head.

“There are auld legends of mischievous spirits living here along the burn in the Glen. The fairies who lived here when this was wild land. They cause harmless mayhem—perhaps they don’t like my valet’s style in hats, though I’d hoped they may prefer the gray and allow me to keep it on my head this time.”

Trotting along behind him with a grin, Marcia lifted her free hand to the amulet she wore. Lady Mistree had claimed she must treasure it, because it was the home of a sprite. Perhaps she meant one of the old legends that Hawk spoke of?

She grinned at the fancifulness. Spirits, sprites and fairies?

This place was making her imagine the impossible.

As they climbed—although the slope was gentle and the stairs wide, so he only stumbled occasionally when he turned back to her—Hawk continued to tell her stories about the area, both legendary and more recent. He described his grandfather’s intentions in making this magical place more accessible to others, and how the work had kept a good number of the village men employed for the better part of a decade.

“Houses bought, children educated, all because they had guaranteed work,” he finished with a palpable sense of pride.

“He sounds like he was a forward-thinking man,” she said warmly.

“Grandda and Artrip used to come up here together, I remember that much.” And yet he sounded surprised to have remembered such a thing. “Ye heard him going on about the sacred nature of…well, nature? Grandda thought the same thing, but he believed nature could be harnessed and tamed.”

Marcia hummed. “It sounded as if Artrip might disagree.”

“Perhaps. I’ll have to ask him,” he murmured, as if distracted. “Och, here’s one of my favorite spots!”

He tugged her toward an alcove in the stone, and she gasped in delight when she saw the bench carved into the wall.

Bench? No, this was more like a throne .

Pulling his handkerchief from his pocket, Hawk made a show of wiping away the mist from the stone. “Yer dominion, milady,” he announced grandly, and Marcia made a show of lifting her skirts regally and settling into place.

From here, the view was unrivaled. It was as if she was the queen of the fairies and nature itself had gathered to put on a show for her. The waterfall in front of her wasn’t one of the largest they’d seen, but was the prettiest, hitting multiple rocks on the way down to divide into small falls, sunlight sparkling into little rainbows.

“In the morning, the dawn rises between the Douglas firs up there, hits the pool, and lights up this whole place,” Hawk explained. “It truly is beautiful.”

“It is.” Smiling, she tipped her head back to meet his eyes. “Thank you.”

His excitement had frozen as he stared down at her. She wondered what he was looking at, but then his hand slowly rose and his callused fingertips brushed against her cheekbone.

Oh Lord…

“Nay, thank ye , Marcia. Thank ye for seeing it, for wanting to see it. This place…”

Shaking his head, he turned to stare at the waterfall, his touch dropping away.

She lunged, grasping his hand in hers. “It means much to you, does it not?”

“Pook’s Glen is Tostinham, to me. The magic, the mystery. The memories,” he admitted. “I love it here, and I am grateful for the chance to share with someone…special.”

Special .

He thought her special?

Marcia thrust herself to her feet, not sure if this was panic or anticipation fluttering through her. “And what does Allison think of the Glen?” she asked, a little overloud.

Shrugging without looking at her, Hawk began to climb once more. He didn’t drop her hand.

Finally he spoke. “Allison…was suitably impressed. I’ve only brought her once, right after she arrived, but she was…” He blew out a breath. “I dinnae ken. She looked around with wonder and asked questions and I…I suppose I saw myself in her. The way I used to be, with Grandda.”

“That is a good thing, is it not?” she ventured.

“Aye! It’s…”

He trailed off, so she squeezed his hand. “You are concerned she is not happy here?” In the days she’d seen them together, she’d seen their warm camaraderie, based mainly on banter that spoke of deep caring for one another.

His dark gaze darted to her, then back to the path. “Nay, quite the opposite. I worry sometimes she is too happy here. Too settled. Too ready to hide away from the world…”

M arcia waited for him to finish that sentence, because she had no idea what he was trying to say. Finally she prompted him with her best, or most adventurous, guesses. “You worry that you will lose her to marriage? That she will never marry and become a spinster, a sprite of the Glen? That she is ill-suited to live in Cowal? That she is going to learn the trapeze and run off and join the circus?”

He snorted. “I have considered that. Nay, I just worry that I did her a disservice by sending her off to school all those years. She has hinted, a few times—more than hinted that…she was lonely.”

When Hawk glanced at her over his shoulder, his foot hit a patch of damp moss and slid out from under him. He would’ve pitched sideways into the burn had she not yanked him back on the path.

“Thank ye,” he said ruefully. “Perhaps I ought to put in a rope railing here.”

They were approaching another bridge across the stream, but Marcia was more interested in what he’d just confessed. “Why did you send her away, Hawk? I remember there being no love lost between you and your older brother…”

He stopped on the bridge, and she did too, joining him at the railing to stare down at the rushing water below. It was a reminder that the world was bigger, wilder, more untamable than anything she could conceive of.

And yet her attention was on the man beside her.

“Aye,” Hawk finally admitted. “Stephen and I were ill-matched. He was a bully, a liar…and a cheat.”

“What happened?” she whispered. When she’d last been a part of Hawk’s life, the injustices of his older brother had often been a topic of conversation, but he had never gone into detail. Never thought it honorable.

“He died,” he breathed simply. “Here, in this glen. He was visiting with Grandda, and asked to see the burn, and Artrip found him face down in the water at the base.”

She sucked in a breath. “He…drowned? On purpose?” Suicide ?

Another death…

Hawk rolled his shoulders. “We dinnae ken. His wife was gone by then, and his daughter…Allison had been raised by nannies and governesses, she barely knew Stephen. Or me.” He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the railing. “And then she was my problem, and I sent her away.”

Her hand rested on his back. “Where?”

“A boarding school, the best I could afford. To make her a lady, an educated lady.” The bleakness in his tone was heart-breaking. “Grandda offered to pay, but she was my responsibility. I doubled my efforts in my forestry business and sent her a stipend along with tuition. I couldnae bring her to live with me, no’ in the wilds of the Highlands, she needed a proper upbringing. But perhaps…I should’ve visited myself.”

Yes, he should have. “How old was she?”

“She left when she was almost ten. Last month she returned home.”

Home . He thought of this place—of himself—as Allison’s home. Did she? “And since then?”

“Since then, until yer arrival, she’s gone out of her way to shock me as often as possible, to say outrageous things and prove she’s no’ a lady. I suspect it’s punishment. She’s trying to show me the school didnae work.”

That sounded accurate. It would be the kind of revenge Marcia herself would wreak if she’d been forced to do something she’d hated…such as becoming a proper lady. Allison sounded very much like her.

“And since my arrival?”

His lips twitched. “She’s been busy trying to show yer brother that she’s an intelligent young lady, and only says shocking shite when she kens he’s interested.”

“Ah. Like their conversation about the mating habits of lobsters?”

“I think it was clams.”

Oh yes. Marcia shuddered. “That is even worse than lobsters.”

“Agreed.”

What had he said about the timing? Allison had been sent away when she was almost ten, and Marcia knew she was nineteen now. “So your brother died shortly after…” No, that wasn’t the correct question to ask. “When precisely did your brother die?”

Hawk straightened slowly, still looking down at the water as if he couldn’t bear to meet her eyes. “Six months after…after I hurt ye.”

Her brows rose. So he was finally admitting it? “So his death—the worry of having to care for Allison—that was not why you told me we had no future together?” Her volume was climbing as she worked out the timing, mind whirling. This had happened after their affair? “Why you broke my heart?”

Calm down. Surely knowing this answer is not as important as discovering if he is a murderer ?

Marcia blinked, realizing she’d stood here and listened to him recount his older brother’s death—which would have been necessary for him to gain access to the Tostinham title—without considering it might have been his doing.

Another murder to add to the list.

If he murdered his brother ten years ago, it showed he was planning the deaths of the rest of the barons as well, which is remarkably forward thinking…and it would mean you fell in love with an evil man, not a man who became evil .

“Nay,” he said finally, abruptly smacking his hands down on the railing. “That’s no’ why I broke things off with ye.”

With that, he turned and marched off the bridge, heading up the path.

Marcia stared after him, her mind taking a moment to figure out what they’d been speaking about. The way he’d broken her heart, aye. Not his family’s deaths.

And he was just going to walk away from her?

“Why then?” she blurted, trotting after him.

Hawk didn’t slow; he continued to hike at a pace faster than she was used to.

“Hawk!” she called, her breath coming harder. “You owe me that much!”

He stumbled, his right shoulder ramming into the boulder at his side, before he reached out to grab it. He slumped against it, as if it were holding him upright. “We’re almost to the top,” he mumbled. “The cottage is at the top of those stairs.”

Panting, Marcia reached his side and grabbed his forearm. “Hawk, tell me.”

He didn’t look at her, but tipped his head back to blink up at the Douglas firs along the rim of the canyon above, anguish in his expression. “What we were doing…it was wrong , Marcia. Dishonorable.”

She reeled back, the pain sharp and sudden. “What? How was it any different from what Allison and Rupert—what a thousand couples do each day? We were courting .”

She remembered their plans—for a future together, in which they made the world a better place. Perhaps they were silly plans, but they’d been made together . They’d spoken of future adventures and homes and perhaps, one day down the road, children.

Together . If that wasn’t courting, what was?

“Marcia,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “We shouldnae have this discussion here.”

“Why not?” she snapped back, temper rising.

“Because ye dinnae want to hear my answers, and we are a way from the horses, and the trail is slippery!”

“And you do not want me angry, is that it?” Tossing his arm away, she marched to stand in front of him, hands on her hips. “Well I am a big girl, Hawk. I have lived with heartache for a decade, and finding out the truth is not going to send me inconsolably sobbing down this mountain, even if you may wish it. Why did you break my heart?”

“Because I was no’ good enough for ye!” Hawk roared, then shook his head. “Fook, Marcia, I told ye…”

While she stared at him in shock, he took a deep breath, staring at the rock over her head. “I kenned there was nae future for us, aye? I kenned that. And yet I fell in love with ye. I took advantage of ye, I took ye to bed , like a villain, and I kenned it was wrong .” His gaze finally dropped to hers. “I kenned it was wrong, and I couldnae make myself stop.”

“Why?” she managed to whisper, her heart in her throat. “Why was it wrong?”

“Because ye’re Bull’s sister! And a Duke’s daughter!” The words burst from his lips as if pulled by hot tongs, the anguish in his tone obvious. “Bull was my best friend, do ye understand? He kenned ye deserved the kind of life I couldnae give ye. I should never have touched ye, never have allowed myself to fall so deeply in love with ye!”

Bull’s sister?

Marcia reeled back. It couldn’t be—it couldn’t be that . “Because…” She shook her head. “Because I was your best friend’s sister?”

“ Little sister, Marcia. Fook !” He turned away, clearly unwilling to even look at her. “Ye were just out of the schoolroom when I met ye, and I did my best to resist ye, but…”

“I thought we had something real,” she whispered, her heart somehow breaking all over again.

“Och, it was real.” She barely heard his mutter over the rushing burn at their side. “Too real. I loved ye. I still do.”

Love. He still loved her?

“Well, I never stopped loving you, Maxwell Hawthorne,” she shot back, hating that she was admitting this. “You were important to me!”

His eyes squeezed shut. “I should no’ have hurt ye. I should no’ have disrespected my best friend that way.”

This was ridiculous . Marcia struggled to form coherent thoughts. “Let me get this straight. You fell in love with me, but felt guilty, because my brother was your best friend? Or was my father’s position more important?” She threw out, almost mockingly. “What if Bull was not my brother? If we had met some other way? Would you have…”

Kept me ?

The unspoken words hung between them, but Hawk seemed to understand. He had always understood.

His eyes opened, and he faced her as he took a deep breath, shoulders expanding. “I would have married ye, Marcia. I wanted to marry ye, after what I did to ye.”

“What I did to you ,” she corrected, irritation burning in her lungs. “Our lust went in both directions, Hawk. Do not take my agency from me.”

“I’m sorry?—”

“But about the wrong thing .” Exasperated, she tossed her hands into the air. “Hawk, you idiot, Bull loves you! I love you! Our family loves you. Bull would have been delighted to call you a brother!”

Blowing out a breath, Hawk scrubbed his hand down his face and turned away. “Nay, he would no’,” he muttered dully.

“ Hawk .” This time her voice was full of exasperation. “My older brother is my best friend. Bull trusts me to make choices and decisions. He would have known you were my choice for a future, and been delighted by it.” She threw up her hands in frustration again. “And for God’s sakes, it is almost the twentieth century! I use my brain to work ! Just because I am the daughter of a duke does not mean I cannot marry a forester?—”

“Bull kenned I wanted to marry ye,” he admitted softly, not looking at Marcia.

Marcia’s jaw snapped shut.

What?

What?

He took a deep breath and turned away. Perhaps it was easier not to look at her? He began to climb the carved stone steps.

“Hawk!” she demanded.

“I didnae tell him what we shared, Marcia,” he admitted quietly. So quietly she had to scramble after him, determined to hear this. “But I…told him I’d found someone special.”

“And?” she blurted when he paused.

Hawk steadied himself against the cliff face, tipping his head upward, as if he could see the cottage. As if he could see into the past.

“Yer brother laughed,” he whispered. “Asked how I was going to keep a wife happy on a forester’s income. I was good enough to be his best friend, but no’ good enough to be yer husband.”

That… No . Marcia shook her head, gathered her skirts, and climbed after Hawk. No . She could imagine Bull saying something like that, perhaps teasing, perhaps in seriousness, but not about her .

He would know she wasn’t a spoiled Society gel who needed to be coddled. “ Hawk . Did you use my name when you told him you had found someone special?”

Hawk had reached the top of the steps, and although she could tell he wanted to storm off, he turned and offered her a hand, his whole body taught with tension.

“Nay,” he bit out. “How could I, after that?”

So relieved that she forgot to admire the view or the rustic cottage or anything, Marcia barked out a surprised laugh. “Then how do you know he would have disapproved? He loved you like a brother! Why did you not…”

Fight for me .

Dropping her hand, Hawk hitched the basket higher on his shoulder and turned to the cottage—which really was adorable, with its thatch and carved gables and the gnarled oak that stood sentinel near the front door.

Perhaps he’d understood her unspoken question. “I knew ye were grown and Bull wasnae yer keeper. I went to yer home, prepared to ask ye to be mine, but…” He muttered a curse, then took a deep breath and met her eyes. “I heard ye and Bull talking. I heard him announce he’d found the perfect man for ye.”

Marcia frowned, trying to understand when this would have happened.

“And I expected—hoped, perhaps, that ye’d tell yer brother nay. Nay, I’m in love with Hawk ,” he bit out. He swallowed and shook his head. “But ye didnae. Ye listened to him list this bastard’s strengths and benefits—honorable, diligent, kind—and ye kept agreeing. Ye were eager to wed him, ye said ye wanted to marry him as soon as possible.” Hawk blew out a breath. “ He was worthy of ye.”

Oh .

Marcia’s eyes had widened throughout this confession, and now? She wasn’t sure if the laugh threatening to burble from her throat was one of helplessness or delight.

Because she’d never forgotten that day, that conversation. That incredible joy, followed by unfathomable desolation when the promised happiness didn’t manifest.

“I love ye, Marcia.” Anguish tightened his expression as he turned back to her. “I kenned I wasnae good enough for ye, but I would’ve asked ye to be my wife, had yer brother no’ found someone more suitable. And ye agreed! Ye claimed ye loved me, and then ye agreed to marry this arsehole?—”

The laugh finally burst free as Marcia stumbled toward him.

Hawk reared back, anguish turning to confusion on his face, as she latched onto his arm. Partly to hold herself up as she chuckled helplessly, partly because she had to touch him, to remind herself he was real.

“Marcia,” he began. “Do no’ mock?—"

“ It was you ,” she was finally able to blurt. As he sucked in a surprised breath, she straightened, holding his cheeks in her palms. “Bull was speaking of you , Hawk! He suggested I consider you as a suitor, and sat there and enumerated all the reasons why you would be perfect for me, without realizing ye were there already.”

Hawk stared down at her, standing stock still, eyes wide.

“Do you see?” She shook his head slightly. “He might have teased you, but he knew we were perfect for each other!”

“I thought…he considered me no’ good enough,” Hawk whispered. “No’ for his little sister, no’ for a daughter of a duke.” The strong column of his throat bobbed as he swallowed, then rasped out, “I was a coward to turn away from the woman I loved.”

Loved .

He loved her then, and he loved her still! That’s what he’d said. With a delighted gasp, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his lips down to hers.

He loved her. He loved her!

This kiss, here beside the burn, this wasn’t a seduction.

Wasn’t for the investigation or the Crown or even Bull.

This kiss was for her.

She wanted this. Wanted him.

He still loved her!