The hiss of steel filled the silence as Hawk’s saber slid free of its sheath. A disciplined officer, a man with a cool head and control over his temper, would have stood his ground, and forced John to squirm under the mistake he had just made.
A levelheaded general wouldn’t react. Wouldn’t take a step forward. Wouldn’t let his fingers shift on his saber just enough for the light to catch the steel. Wouldn’t imagine slamming John to the dirt and teaching him some damn respect with his fists.
But Hawk was not level-headed. Not right now.
The noise of cloth slipping against leather made every man in the clearing turn.
Celeste had slid from the saddle and stood under the heavy canopy of foliage. Sun streamed through the leaves to pool over her feet.
Every pair of eyes locked on her.
“God above,” someone whispered. “An angel.”
“Look! She is wearing the 13th’s coat!”
Hawk saw the strain in her posture, the faint tremor she hid beneath that upturned chin. But the men—they saw the most beautiful woman that ever walked these parts. And they wereright. Could there be a more enchanting creature than she? Even with leaves decorating her hair and her skirt ripped at the hem, she looked otherworldly. The troopers saw magic. He saw tension on her shoulders. She belonged to another world, one of whimsy and tulle. And yet here she was, in his—the world of blood, dust, and fists.
Celeste took two steps and then halted. Her gaze swept over the men, not haughtily—he doubted she had an inch of haughtiness in her. Her smile, even strained, was such that it brightened a bloody fight.
“I am indeed a lady—Lady Cecilia Stratton.” She curtsied better than any courtier he had ever known. “But not a bird. If I had wings, I would have flown away before I witnessed grown men attempting to settle disputes with their fists instead of their brains.”
The troopers stared at each other, speechless.
“Then again, perhaps that would be unfair—some of you must have more brawn than brains.”
A ripple of laughter went through the ranks, rough and good-natured. Someone muttered, “She’s got us there.” Another grinned. “A sharp tongue on that one.”
No one but Hawk saw how she carried herself rigidly, and how her hands were gripped tight over the tulle.
She was playing a part.
John grinned, flashing bloodied teeth, and gave her an exaggerated, sweeping bow.
“Well, lads. Looks like our Hawk finally found his dove. And if anyone deserves a fine, beautiful girl at his side after all that, it’s you, sir.”
The words slid into the air too easily, too naturally. As if it were a foregone conclusion.
Hawk’s jaw locked. Part of him—a dark, unbidden, treacherous part—wanted to believe that after all the years ofdiscipline, of sacrifice, of bleeding for his country, he could have something soft. Something beautiful. Something that smelled of lilacs and had promise-colored eyes. But Hawk knew better. Her place was not in his world, just as his was not in hers. He was forged for order, she for light. He could wish otherwise—but wishing for the impossible was the worst surrender.
Their gazes met across the bloodied troopers. Hers was pleading. He turned resolute.
“Lady Cecilia is my ward,” Hawk’s voice cut through the revelry. “Now back to barracks. Clean up the tackle. Two days on biscuits only. If you brawl like children, you’ll eat like them.”
Groans. Muttered curses. But they would obey. Because when their general gave an order, it was followed.
Hawk helped Celeste into the saddle and swung behind her, his boots hitting the stirrups.
Celeste’s spine was straight as a punishing rod, her red hair glinting, a banner catching fire in the evening sun. Thirty-Eight shifted beneath him, restless.
Hawk nudged the stallion’s flanks with his heels. The cheers of his men rumbled in the air as they left the clearing. The path stretched ahead, quiet now, the sounds of the regiment fading into the distance. The only noise was the steady rhythm of hooves against the earth.
She held perfect posture while they rode away, her spine rigid, her breath controlled—a mask of grace and composure. From an outsider’s view, she looked poised, untouched by what had just happened.
But Hawk knew better. For a moment, he hesitated. Then, with a quiet exhale, he reached forward, his hands settling firmly around her waist.
“It is fine now. They can no longer see.”
She took a shuddering breath. Then she crumbled. Not all at once. First, it was a tremor in her shoulders. Then her spinecurved inward, her head dropping slightly, her ribs expanding in silent, desperate gulps of air.
