Night Hawk's Bride. Jillian Hart

      Marie froze as a shadow rose from the darkness.

      Night Hawk.

      Savior of women and children, and wild-horse tamer. How could he be real? He had to be a dream, a figment of her imagination, her idea of a perfect man.

      Except she was wide awake, and this was no dream. She could smell the straw and horse scent of the stable. She could see the flicker of light on the man’s hands as he inspected the gelding’s fetlock, feel the wind rustling her skirts.

      And hear the beat of her own heart.

      He stood—all flesh and blood man—and his gaze pierced through the shadows and pinpointed her. “Miss Lafayette. What are you doing out of your father’s house?”

      “I didn’t make a sound.”

      “Your skirts did.” The light flickered over him, worshipping high, sharp cheekbones, a well-proportioned nose and a hard, carved jaw.

      Something within Marie’s heart clicked. Just like that. As a lock finding its key at the right moment.

      Could he be the one? The man she’d been waiting for all her life?

      Praise for Jillian Hart’s previous titles

      Malcolm’s Honor

      “…a quick read with plenty of…treachery and passion.”

      —Romantic Times Magazine

      Cooper’s Wife

      “Well-crafted and poignantly funny…this is a feel-good story for both veterans and newcomers to the genre.”

      —Romantic Times Magazine

      Last Chance Bride

      “The warm and gentle humanity of Last Chance Bride is a welcome dose of sunshine after a long winter.”

      —Romantic Times Magazine

      Night Hawk’s Bride

       Harlequin Historical #558

      Night Hawk’s Bride

      Jillian Hart

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter One

      Fort Tye, Wisconsin

       1840

      The fort loomed like a fairy tale against the sparkling river and wild Wisconsin forest. Marie couldn’t believe her eyes. Was this real? Was this truly where she was going to live?

      She leaned out the open window of the stagecoach. Amid the rich green backdrop of the forest, the fort shone like newly polished wood in the hot summer sun. It was an impenetrable fortress like the castles of old. And it was her future.

      “Welcome to Fort Tye, Miss Lafayette,” Mrs. Webster said over the noise of the rattling stagecoach. “And stop leaning out of that window. Who would teach the children if something happened to you? Your father would have my head. Come in, now.”

      “I don’t want to miss one single thing.”

      She felt as if a whole new world had been spread before her, and she was near to bursting with the wonder of it all. The beauty alone fascinated her. It was so different from back home with its tidy streets and tended houses all in a row.

      This was a wild land untamed and filled with the possibility of adventure around every turn.

      “Calm yourself, dear.” Mrs. Webster, seated across from her, chuckled. “It’s just a fort, nothing special at all and, believe me, after one Wisconsin winter, you’ll be desperate to head back to your aunt’s pretty little home.”

      Mrs. Webster didn’t understand, and Marie knew she couldn’t tell her why. She didn’t want to speak of the pain of her childhood and of the father’s love she’d always ached for. A love that seemed just out of her reach.

      How did she say that here in this beautiful, wild land, she would live with her father again. Maybe this time she could make things right between them. Marie crossed her fingers and held the wish close to her heart.

      “My Jeb works for your father, the colonel,” Mrs. Webster continued from inside the stage. “Dear, you’ll hurt yourself. Please, come inside. You’re giving me a fright.”

      A sharp cry carried on the wind, and Marie tilted her head up. A hawk soared across a powder blue sky, wings spread as if to touch the brilliant sun.

      “Have you ever seen anything like it?” Marie asked.

      “Why, I must have seen a thousand of them.”

      The graceful bird glided on broad wings and out of sight.

      The stage rolled around a corner, and a broad river sparkled with the sun’s touch. A few houses and buildings huddled together near its grassy banks.

      This is the settlement? It was smaller than she’d imagined. And beyond the huddle of buildings stretched a maze of thick woodland and danger. She felt a strange thrill looking into the shadows of the forest….

      The stage bounced hard. Marie rapped the top of her head against the window frame. She rubbed her hand over the sore spot and didn’t look away from that shadowed place in the forest. She felt as if there was something—someone—looking back at her.

      The shadow moved, and darkness became a mounted man. Black hair, black eyes and bronze skin. He was as dark as the shadows. Dressed in trousers and a deerskin shirt, he looked as wild and proud as the horse he rode.

      The stage jolted to a stop outside the fort’s gates, and Marie almost slipped off her seat. She righted herself and turned toward the window.

      He was gone. Only shadows carpeted the forest floor where no sunlight touched the thick ferns and bracken.

      Had he been real or a dream?

      Marie kept searching for him as she smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt.

      “You take care now, dear, and give my regards to your father.” Mrs. Webster hesitated at the door. “I hope Fort Tye is everything you’ve hoped it to be.”

      “I hope so.” All her life she’d imagined accompanying her father to one of his posts, and now it was truly happening. Marie grabbed her reticule from the seat and took one last look out the window. The man—image, shadow or dream—was gone.

      There goes your romantic fancy again. Marie sighed. She was always daydreaming, something her father frowned on.

      Please, let him be glad to see me. She knew he’d be here to greet her—he’d promised her in his last, brief letter. Nerves gathered in her stomach and made her hands clammy beneath her gloves as she grabbed