Page 104 of The General's Gift
Had Celeste returned to the theater then? He would scour the earth to find her. He had done it once, and he would do it again.
“Miss Prudence. If she is in any danger right now—”
“She’s safe. Somewhere fortified. With moats. And towers. And possibly chastity belts and cannon fire. Medieval even.”
Hawk smiled. She had entrenched herself in her tower. Clever Celeste. “When did she leave for Castle Stratton?”
The maid wilted. “Your powers are uncanny, sir. You must be in league with the devil.”
He lifted one eyebrow.
“Fine! It was two months ago.” She pressed the pineapple tighter to her chest. “Strike me down if I speak another word—though if you do strike, kindly aim low. I bruise easily.”
Hawk turned to go.
Behind him, the maid sagged against the wall. “I failed my mistress,” she wailed. “I deserve to burn, to have my skin repeatedly chafed by flogs, to be tortured by a merciless brute with a glint in his eye!”
He stopped in the doorway. “Miss Prudence—”
Her eyes went wide. “You want me to crawl through coals until my flesh sears black? To douse myself in oil and light myself aflame?”
“No fire, understand? Celeste is fond of this house, and I forbid you to combust yourself and take it down with you.”
The crazy woman blinked, chastened. Then brightened. “Ah. Then perhaps only the flogging, sir.”
He strode out without answering.
***
Hawk flung the doors open and stepped into the courtyard with the stride of a man heading to war. His spine held straight. His shoulders carried no weight for once. She hadn’t married. She was waiting. She had to be waiting for him.
The troopers were still about, holding their horses. Grumbling and the clinking of spurs formed a cacophony of discontent. The ensign galloped toward him, waving his hat like a man escaping a fire.
“Sir! We’ve got a situation. The reserve is not here,” the ensign said. “They’re gone. All the new recruits. The servants as well. Even the cook. The dogs have vanished. And…” The boy winced. “The rations.”
No reserves. No cooks. No food.
Hawk’s jaw clenched. A slow, hot pressure built behind his eyes. His glove creaked as his hand formed a fist.
“They’re gone, sir. Taken… to Castle Stratton, we think.”
A few of the troopers within earshot exchanged looks. One coughed to cover a snort. Another muttered, too loud not to be heard.
“The dove flew from the hawk.”
The back of Hawk’s neck flared hot. A muscle ticked in his cheek.
She had stripped his estate of every stitch of comfort and marched off with the entire soft underbelly of his household. She had taken everything he hadn’t known he needed until it vanished.
He opened his mouth. The rational response waited on his tongue. Set up camp. Send word to the village. Dispatch scouts to find new fodder. Reassign laborers. Reorganize the chain of command. All sensible things a general would do.
All things the man he used to be would do. But he was tired of sense. He looked down at his gloved hands and inhaled. His lungs burned from the cold.
There was only one thing he wanted to do. He strode between his men and vaulted atop Oberon.
The cavalry fell silent.
He drew his saber with a metallic hiss and pointed it to the east.
