Besides, he kept collapsing into near slumber every time his demanding young wife had her way with him. Damnedest odd thing. He’d never fallen so replete and satisfied to the ground. Oh, but that lass had some serious magic.

But now his mind turned darkly to the matter that lay ahead. Until the feast of the Blessed Dead, Rushka had warned. The Samhain was tomorrow, the day after the Samhain was the feast of the Blessed Dead—or All Saints, as some called it.

The Samhain was a perilous time for any to be alone. It was rumored that the Fairy walked the earth in full glamour on such a night. It was rumored that wickedness abounded on the Samhain, which was why the clans laid the double bonfire of birch, rowan, oak, and pine, and carved deep trenches around it. There they gathered to a one, every man, woman, and child, and feasted together in the protective rim of light. Within that ring, he would pledge his life to his wife and try to make some magic of their own.

He could just feel it in his bones that something was about to go very wrong.

For nothing this wide universe I call,

Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my all.

SHAKESPEARE, SONNETS CIX

CHAPTER 28

ADAM HISSED AS HE LEFT THE FAIRY ISLE OF MORAR. TIME, usually of no significance to him, had flashed past him, day by precious day. When he played a mortal game, time became a nagging concern. For too long he’d neglected his doings at Dalkeith, but it had taken some time to convince his Queen that he was up to no mischief.

Now the far-seeing Adam turned his mind toward Dalkeith to study the changes in his game. He stiffened and hissed again. How dare they?

When his Queen had said the damning words sealing the Hawk’s fate, Adam had searched far and wide for the perfect tool of revenge. He had wandered through the centuries, listening, watching, and finally choosing the perfect woman with careful precision. Adam was not one to muck in the lives of mortals often, but when he did, legends arose. And Adam liked that.

Some called him Puck. A Bard would name him Ariel. Still others knew him as Robin Goodfellow. The Scots called him the sin siriche du—the black elf. Occasionally, Adam donned the visage of a charging and headless horseman, or a grim-faced specter carrying a scythe, just to live long in the memories of mortals. But whatever the glamour chose, he always won what he set out to win. And he’d been so certain of success this time! The woman had not only grown up in magical New Orleans, she’d sworn off men so vehemently that he’d heard her through the centuries. Adam had watched her for weeks before he’d made his careful choice; he’d studied her, learned everything there was to know about the fascinating Adrienne de Simone. Things even her beloved husband didn’t know about her. He had been convinced that she was the one woman guaranteed to hate the legendary Hawk.

Now, as Adam moved toward Dalkeith-Upon-the-Sea, his far-reaching vision revealed a blissful Adrienne, wedding plans lazing dreamily in her mind.

But the Hawk, ah…. the Hawk wasn’t so comfortable right now. He sensed something was wrong. He would be prepared.

Adam had brought Adrienne here to reject the Hawk, and of course, to claim the beauty for himself. Rarely was such a stirring mortal creature born as that woman. Even the King had commented on her perfection. What sweet revenge, to wed the Hawk to a woman who would never love him, while Adam made her his own. To cuckold the man who’d humiliated the Fairy King. But it seemed that he’d been as wrong about Adrienne as he’d been about the Hawk. Underestimated them both, he had.

She loved the Hawk as intensely as the Hawk loved her.

Adam drew up short, and grinned craftily as inspiration struck. What a tiny revenge that would have been to merely cuckold the Hawk.

A new and truly devastating possibility now occurred to him.

Lydia and Tavis were sitting on the cobbled terrace of Dalkeith when the Hawk and Adrienne arrived late that night.

Deep in the shadows, talking softly and sipping sweet port, they watched the younger couple ride in, dismount, and link hands as they moved toward the terrace. Lydia’s eyes shimmered with happiness as she watched.

Adrienne said something that made the Hawk laugh. When he pulled her to a lazy halt and kissed her, she tugged the thong free from his hair and flung it into the night. What started as a tender kiss deepened hungrily. Long moments rippled by as the kiss unfurled. Lingering and savage and hot, the laird of Dalkeith-Upon-the-Sea and his lady kissed. Beneath an almost full moon, on the lawn directly in front of the terrace, they kissed.

And kissed.

Lydia’s smile faded, and she shuffled in her chair uncomfortably. She forced herself to draw a deep, difficult breath and willed her heart to stop that ridiculous thundering. She’d thought her body might have finally forgotten such passion. Little chance of that.