Katherine could hardly speak. Tears filled her eyes. “You ask me to promise the impossible,” she whispered.
He cried out.
“I’m sorry,” she cried back. “I’m sorry, so sorry! But I cannot forget him, I will never forget him, I love him—in spite of all he has done. God help us all!”
Hawke stared at her as her face crumbled and she wept, silently, in great anguish. When he spoke his voice was harsh. “He will hang, Katherine. And what will you do then? Dream of a ghost?” He strode away.
And Katherine covered her face with her hands. Knowing that even if Liam were hanged, she would, always, yearn for a dead man.
Hawke shook with anger and disbelief. He moved across the courtyard with no destination in mind. He spotted a horse and rider cantering toward Hawkehurst’s front gates. He recognized the chestnut filly instantly—just as he recognized Juliet.
Immediately he tensed.
Juliet slowed to a trot and rode into the courtyard.
It had been several months since he had last seen her. He became wary. Not of her, but of himself. If only she were old and ugly and mean-tempered. If only she did not look at him with such big blue worshipful eyes.
In fact, he had forgotten that she was Katherine’s dearfriend. Now he realized Juliet might become a constant presence at Hawkehurst. He did not care for that thought—not at all.
But of course, although Katherine and the child would live in Cornwall, he would remain with the queen and her Guard at court.
Juliet had stopped her frisky mount beside him. Two bright spots of color marred her otherwise flawless face. And her blue eyes seemed to spark as they settled upon his face. He could not help but wonder if she had ever been kissed. He shoved the very thought aside the instant it occurred to him.
“Sir John,” she said unevenly. Her flush was more pronounced now. “I am pleased to see you again.”
He ignored the remark. “You have come to visit my wife?” He wanted to be rude, he wanted her to leave.
Her gaze slid away. “Yes.”
“She is in the hall. I am sure she will be glad to speak with you.”
Juliet stared at the ground, appearing dismayed and at a loss.
Hawke felt like a boor. He bowed. “Excuse my poor manners,” he said stiffly. “We have traveled for many days now, and we are all overtired.”
“I should not have come,” Juliet said, and she gathered up her reins and began to whirl her mount around. But before Hawke knew what he was doing, he had caught the filly’s bridle with one hand—and with his other he gripped Juliet’s knee.
At the contact, she froze, her eyes wide.
Hawke grew rigid too, and their eyes darted together, held, then skipped apart.
Hawke took a breath. What kind of adolescent behavior was this? He forced a semblance of a smile to his lips. “Lady Stratheclyde, please, dismount. Katherine is in need of a friend right now.”
Juliet studied him for what seemed an eternity, and then she was slipping from her mount, sliding to the ground. Hawke steadied her, and told himself it was not because she was so pleasant to touch.
Juliet drew back. “How is Katherine?”
“Better than one would expect,” he said gruffly, unable to tear his gaze from hers. And her next words rocked him.
“And you, Sir John? How do you fare?”
He stared at her, knowing she did not ask after his health. And suddenly he wanted to pour out all of his anguish, and all of his need, to her, a girl just sixteen. And she gazed at him out of huge blue eyes as if she wanted nothing more than to comfort him, but surely he imagined her sympathy, her caring, her concern. He said awkwardly, “I am well.” A lie. “And pleased that Katherine is back.” Another lie. Dear God, he was not pleased, not anymore, not at all.
Her eyes widened, her small face tensed, and then she smiled gamely. “I am glad Katherine is back, too,” she whispered. Her smile became far too bright. Her voice quavered. “Now she will be able to attend my wedding to Lord Hunt in December.”
Hawke flinched as if struck. For a moment he could not speak. “You are marrying Simon Hunt?” An image of the fat viscount assailed him—an image of him covering Juliet with his soft body, slobbering kisses upon her.
Juliet looked away, providing him with a striking view of her perfect, suddenly expressionless profile. “Yes.”
