Highland Hawk: Highland Brides #7 by Lois Greiman Page B

beside each of the iron-bound double doors. And beneath each light, a soldier in dark hose and blue doublet stood with his back to the wall, ready and alert.
    "Galloway," Haydan said, nodding to the nearest guard. He was a young man of humble birth, too young for such a post, some would say. But it was he who had reported Catriona's trouble with Brims, even though he had been unable to disguise his distrust of Gypsies. "All goes well here?"
    "Aye!" Galloway snapped, with a stance so stiff and erect it might have been hammered out on an open forge. "All is quiet, Sir Hawk!"
    Haydan gave him a wry look for his overly zealous attitude, but Galloway didn't even turn his gaze sideways to note the expression.
    "Nothing to report, Cockerel?" Hawk asked the other guard.
    "Nay, sir," he agreed, only raising a dark brow at the other's wild enthusiasm. "You may rest assured that young Galloway here would have reported so much as a flea's entrance to the room."
    Haydan stifled a grin. There was much to be said for young blood.
    All was as it should be. And yet, Haydan could not quite squelch the desire to look in on the lad for himself. With a nod to the guards, he stepped silently into the room, careful to make no noise. After all, the king was nearly a man now and no longer wanted to be coddled and watched. Indeed, he sometimes chafed at the confinement that royalty brought. As captain of the guard, Haydan realized that, yet he found he longed for the days when the lad was not too large to ride on his shoulders or to fall asleep in his arms on a long day's journey.
    There were those at Blackburn who would be eager to say that it was not a guard's place to become so enmeshed in the king's life.
    Haydan only wished he could disagree. But as he neared the large, scarlet draped bed, he felt the familiar
    tug at his heart. A single candle splashed light across the room. Beneath the covers, young James slept peacefully.
    Haydan watched him in silence, remembering him as a tiny lad, a chubby handsome child with a mischievous grin and hair as bright as a Highland plaid. The sound of his laughter, the look of admiration on his gamin features as Haydan taught him one thing or another—how to perform a proper riposte, notch an arrow, or hood a restive gyrfalcon.
    Those days were dwindling so quickly now. Just the thought of it made him feel as old as the stone beneath his feet.
    Near the door, he heard the shuffling of a guard. Turning almost guiltily from the bed, Haydan paced back through the doorway.
    "Sir Hawk," said Galloway, keeping his face turned forward and only moving his eyes as Haydan stepped alongside him. "Is something amiss?"
    "Nay, all is well," Hawk said, and turned away.
    "Sir Hawk?"
    "Aye," he said, glancing back at the lance-straight guard.
    "I wished to thank you for this post."
    "Already you have thanked me thrice."
    The lad's stance stiffened even more, though Haydan would not have thought it possible. "I will not disappoint you, sir."
    "I am sure you will not," Haydan agreed, eager to be off.
    "And sir?"
    "Aye."
    "My apologies regarding the incident outside the gates."
    "The incident?"
    "With Lieutenant Brims and Wickfield. I did not know you had befriended the lass." His brow puckered. "I should have escorted her safely to Blackburn, even though she is a Gypsy."
    Haydan narrowed his eyes. "You do not like Gypsies, Galloway?"
    The young man swallowed hard enough to show the bob of his Adam's apple. " 'Tis difficult not to like them, now that I have seen—"
    There was a whisper of amusement from the other guard.
    Galloway stopped abruptly.
    Haydan turned his gaze on the soldier called Cockerel by all those who knew him. Perhaps it was the wide, plumed hat he wore when off duty. Or perhaps it was simply his bearing that had initiated the name.
    "Something amuses you, Cockerel?"
    "Nay, Sir Hawk. Certainly not."
    "Then why do you smile?"
    "I was merely thinking of the Gypsy lass, sir." He paused, and the jaunty corner of his