Besides, he was making no progress here. If she chose Adam in his absence, then he could just die inside and get on with the pretense of living. It was how he’d survived the first thirty-odd years. What kind of fool had he become to expect the rest to be any different?
“Laird Douglas,” she clipped.
In silence they walked the cliff’s edge together, toward the forest.
“I will be leaving for a time,” he said finally as they entered the forest.
Adrienne stiffened. Was he serious? “Wh-where are you going?” And why did it disturb her so much?
He took a sharp, indrawn breath. “Uster.”
“What is Uster anyway?”
“One of my manors. Seventeen manors belong to Dalkeith. Uster holds the villages of Duluth and Tanamorissey, and they are an intemperate lot. ’Twas a problem even when the king’s men held Dalkeith.”
When the king’s men held Dalkeith.
When her husband had been the king’s whore.
In the last weeks the heat of Adrienne’s anger had cooled, leaving a poignant regret. Hawk had mostly avoided her, except for the occasional times he’d seemed to be trying to pick a fight with her for some reason. She’d half expected him to lock her in his room, but after that terrible night he had retreated carefully to his study by the sea. There he’d stayed every night—so quiet, so beautiful, and so alone.
“Hawk?” she began tentatively.
“Yes?”
“What exactly did the king’s whore do?”
Hawk stiffened. Could this be the chance he’d been waiting for? Perhaps he could dare to hope after all. His laughter was full of bitter self-mockery. “Are you quite certain you wish to know, lovely Adrienne?”
Lurking behind a towering oak, Esmerelda studied Adrienne’s silvery-blond mane, silvery eyes, sparkling face. What did the Hawk see in that skinny, pale girl he couldn’t find in Esmerelda’s sultry embrace?
For the first time in weeks the guards were gone and the bitch walked unprotected enough that Esmerelda could strike and flee into the shelter of the dark forest. Her beloved Hawk might suffer a time of mourning, but he would find solace and sweet passion in Esmerelda’s arms once the soil stilled upon his wife’s grave.
She raised the arrow with a hand that trembled. Frowning, she dug the edge of the notched head into her fleshy palm until blood welled in her tawny-gold skin. She grimaced against the pain, but it steadied her nerves. This time she would not fail. Esmerelda had chosen her weapon carefully. Poison had proved too chancy—her drawn and corded bow would send the arrow flying true, with force enough to lodge in the flesh and bone of Adrienne’s breast.
Esmerelda dropped to her knee and coiled the leather cord tighter. She notched the bow and took sight as Adrienne stepped into a clearing. She nearly faltered when she saw the look on Hawk’s face as he gazed at his wife. He loved Adrienne as Esmerelda would have loved him; a wild, claiming, know-no-bounds kind of passion. With this realization, any compassion Esmerelda may have felt for Adrienne evaporated. She steadied the bow and took aim at Adrienne’s breast. With a soft whoosh, the arrow flew free.
Esmerelda swallowed a frantic scream. At the last minute the Hawk turned, almost as if he saw her lurking in the shadows or sensed the arrow’s flight. He moved. No!
“Ummmph!” Adrienne gasped as Hawk flung one powerful arm across her face and thrust her against a tree.
Adrienne struggled against his back, but he was an immovable mountain. Was this how he intended to win her back? After weeks of careful restraint, was he taking her into the forest to rape her?
“Oooof!” His breath hissed out softly, and she pushed harder at his back. “What are you doing, Hawk?” she demanded, but still he said nothing.
Hawk shuddered, battling the pain as his eyes scanned the trees. He felt his strength ebbing, but he couldn’t give in to the weakness yet. Not until he found and stopped whoever was trying to kill his wife. But the bushes were still. The assailant, for whatever reason, had fled. Hawk felt relief rush through him as blood gushed from his wound.
When he swayed and crumpled at Adrienne’s feet, she screamed and screamed.
In the shadows, Esmerelda pressed a fist to her mouth. She could feel Hawk’s eyes searching the very spot in which she cowered, but the shadows were too dense for even his eyes to penetrate.
He turned, and in profile she could see the arrow, still vibrating from the force of flight, just above his heart. She closed her eyes and swallowed tightly. She’d killed him! The arrow was wickedly notched and would be impossible to remove without ripping open his chest. She had deliberately designed it to do even more damage in the removing than in the entering. Even if it didn’t kill the victim going in, it would certainly kill him coming out.