Page 105 of The General's Gift
“We ride to Castle Stratton,” he called. “I’m bringing my Dove back.”
The yard exploded. Cheers echoed against the stone. Horses reared. Spurs clanged. The men whooped like it was the battle again, and the French had turned tail.
And Alexander de Warenne, Earl of Hawkhurst, General of his Majesty’s Cavalry, stormed off like one of the knights of old to reclaim his treasure.
Hawk spurred his stallion, breaking from the column. Castle Stratton loomed ahead, its flags snapping in the wind like taunts across the field. The drawbridge was up, the gates barred. Smoke trailed from the chimneys, mocking his urgency.
She was inside, somewhere beyond the stone walls.
The ache of missing her should have rattled him, but it only drove him harder. The need clenched his chest until there was no room left for caution. He would see her. Explain. Sweep her into his arms and have the banns read before the clock struck seven.
As for the rest, one hard look would end the farce. His servants would scuttle back to their posts, the reserves would fall into line, and the household’s rebellion would fold like a tent with its pole kicked out.
“State your intentions!” called a boy’s voice from the gatehouse.
Hawk tilted his head, squinting upward against the pale sky. The regiment’s drummer-boy apprentice peered down at him from the stone crenellations, face anxious yet oddly defiant.
“Timmy,” Hawk barked. “Open the bloody gate.”
Timmy hesitated, saluted clumsily, then disappeared from view.
The wind stirred the banners, setting them fluttering like startled birds. Horses stamped restlessly, and the silence that followed his command stretched awkwardly.
His troopers murmured, exchanging uneasy glances and whispered jokes. Someone chuckled quietly, cut off by another’s hissed reprimand. Hawk’s jaw ached from clenching, and he found himself tapping one gauntleted hand impatiently against the pommel of his saddle.
The drawbridge groaned slowly downward. The creaking of wood and iron echoed across the open space between the castle and his regiment. Hawk leaned forward, expecting a welcome, but what emerged was nothing short of a theatrical spectacle. A sortie party cantered out, banners snapping behind shining shields. A drummer beat a rhythmic cadence, and at the head of the formation rode Graves like a damn Templar Knight.
Hawk’s nostrils flared, and he spurred his mount forward without waiting for his men. Gravel crunched beneath his horse’s hooves as he met the leader halfway.
Graves sat on his horse, the hussar’s helmet casting a shadow over eyes Hawk had once trusted at his flank. His own captain was facing him like an adversary. Hawk ached for news of Celeste, but he would be damned if he asked this turncoat.
Hawk’s teeth ground together. “I cannot believe you condoned mutiny, Graves. Order them back to their posts or I’ll have them court-martialed.”
Graves didn’t flinch. “Most of the castle defenders are servants, sir. You can’t drag them before a tribunal.”
Hawk’s gaze cut through him. “Why did they desert, Graves? The servants, the reserves—every last one of them. Don’t you dare feed me excuses. I’ll have the truth.”
The man had the gall to color like a raw recruit. “Servants come and go, my lord. As the season changes, opportunities arise—”
“Spare me the drill-book answer.”
Graves exhaled as though it pained him. “If you must know, sir… they had grown weary. Of the absolute order.”
A pulse hammered at Hawk’s temple. Weary of the same regimen that had kept him alive. Hawk was bloody tired of it as well.
Graves sighed. “Every day rang like a campaign, every hour nailed to a bell. When Lady Cecilia arrived, they saw a glimmer of hope. Laughter. A touch of ease. They believed things might improve—if she softened you. But then you went and crushed their hope when you signed her away to Leighton—”
“Thank you, Graves. That is quite enough.” Hawk’s voice came out gruff. “Everything will change. I will speak with Celeste and—”
“Lady Cecilia is not receiving,” Graves said.
Hawk’s breath caught. “And you became her lady-in-waiting?”
Graves’s mouth twitched. “Master of Arms, my lord. She needed someone to coordinate the defense.”
“Defense from what?” Hawk barked.
Graves only lifted his brows, infuriatingly calm.
