Page 80 of A Hellion for the Highland Hawk
“I plan to, lass,” he murmured. “I plan to.”
A frantic barrage of knocks jolted Nancy out of a contented, satisfied slumber. Her heart leapt into her throat, disoriented as she looked around and found daylight streaming in through the bedroom windows.
We fell asleep! It’s morning!
The night had escaped them, and now, despite her wish for the night to last forever, it was the tomorrow she feared.
“Hunter!” Jack’s voice reverberated through the door. “Hunter, get up!”
Hunter was out of bed and on his feet in an instant, pulling on a shirt before he made his way over to the door and wrenched it open. Grumpily, he asked, “What are ye wailin’ for?”
“It’s Laird MacLeach, Hunter,” Jack replied, though Nancy couldn’t see him from her position in the bed. “He’s at the chapel with his men. He’s askin’ to speak with ye.”
Nancy’s blood ran cold.
“I’ll be there at once,” Hunter replied, slamming the door in Jack’s face as he turned and grabbed his plaid, hurriedly pleating and belting it into place.
“Don’t,” Nancy urged, slipping out from beneath the covers. “Hunter, don’t go.”
Hunter looked at her and smiled, grabbing his sword. “I have nay choice, love.” He paused, his eyes glinting with sadness for a moment. “This is me destiny.”
Before she could argue, before she could throw herself at him and hold him by the legs in a vain attempt to stop him, he was out the door, leaving her behind.
I’m not too late. The wedding hasn’t started yet, and it was the wedding that began the tapestry,she told herself as she jumped out of bed and struggled into her wedding dress, fighting with the laces of her stays, the endless petticoats, the stomacher that snatched her waist.
She wouldn’t be the neatest bride in the world, but with Hunter’s life on the line, she couldn’t have cared less about her appearance. In fact, if there hadn’t been a risk of it being tapestried into permanent history, she’d have run down to the chapel wearing nothing at all.
CHAPTER 33
Sword in hand,anger flaring like a beacon in his chest, Hunter ran like a man possessed through the hallways and courtyards of his castle, sprinting out of the gates and across the small stretch of grassy meadow to the gray stone chapel.
There were men outside, his and Laird MacLeach’s, tension bristling in the air as they glowered at one another, hands resting on the pommels of broadswords, the prospect of a renewed war practically crackling around the chapel.
One false move, one spark of revenge, and the entire peace treaty, fragile though it was, would go up in smoke.
“Where is he?” Hunter snarled at Beathan, who stood by the chapel’s entrance, barring anyone from entering.
Jack, who had just caught up, came to a breathless halt at Hunter’s side. Although, to Hunter’s relief, there was no sign of Nancy. She’d thought she had to leave his world to prevent thetapestry’s scenes from coming true, but perhaps all she had to do was not be present when the inevitable attack came.
“He’s in the chapel,” Beathan replied.
Lip curled, Hunter ducked under the low lintel and marched into the chapel, not caring if he had to spill blood in this hallowed place. For his survival, and for that of his potential future with Nancy, he would spill blood wherever his sword swung.
Footsteps echoing across the flagstones, he spotted Laird MacLeach standing at the end of the central aisle, gazing up at the stained-glass depiction of a cross entwined with thistles and vines.
“So, ye heard about me weddin’?” Hunter grunted, devoid of the usual calm he carried into battle.
Then again, he’d never been fighting for anything as important as his bride and their future before.
As Laird MacLeach turned and brushed something from his cheek, Hunter noticed a strip of white fabric tied around the old man’s upper arm.
“I did,” Laird MacLeach said with a bittersweet smile. “I wanted to come and offer me congratulations.”
Hunter laughed coldly. “Aye, of course ye did.”
“I’m serious.” Laird MacLeach walked back up the aisle toward him, his gait awkward and slow. “I ken ye might nae believe me, but it’s the truth. Yer men out there werenae convinced either. That being said, I ken ye’re a rational man, Laird Lochlann. Would I have come here meself if I intended to do ye harm?”
Hunter frowned. “Aye, I’d say ye would. Ye blamed me for yer daughter’s death. Why would ye nae want to look in the eyes of the man ye deem responsible as ye killed him? Tried to, anyway.”
