The Hawk: A Highland Guard Novel (14 page)

But instead of being offended, the other woman simply laughed. “For a time, perhaps. When I lost my Colin …”

She stopped, her eyes filling with tears. After a moment, she smiled again. “Hawk helped me feel alive again, and for that I will love him forever. But the kind of love you mean, nay”—she shook her head—“that happens only once—if you are lucky.”

Ellie thought of Ralph.
And if you aren’t the daughter of an earl
.

She might never know that kind of love, but she did know loss. She took Meg’s hand and gave it a sympathetic squeeze. The gesture seemed to surprise the other woman, but Ellie could see that it was also appreciated.

“I know you don’t want to hear this right now,” Meg said kindly. “But Hawk didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Ellie didn’t say anything—what could she? Meg obviously thought she was in love with him. The poor, pathetic plain nursemaid mooning over the larger-than-life Norse god.

“He loves women and they love him. But asking for more than that is only asking for trouble.”

Ellie couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Why?”

Meg gave her a sympathetic smile. “He loves women too much to ever settle for one.”

Meg didn’t need to tell her that. Ellie had realized that the first moment she set eyes on him. He was just like her father: too enthralled with being loved by everyone to become attached to one person. Falling in love with a man like the captain would only lead to a lifetime of misery. She pitied the poor girl who forgot it.

    It was near dusk as Erik made his way up the rocky cliffside to the small hillock beyond. As he neared the edge, he could see the soft plumes of smoke swirling from Meg’s holding just ahead.

He was still angry at himself for letting Ellie get to him earlier. What did he care what she thought? But the little nursemaid had blared her disapproval loud enough to hear her across Scotland, let alone Meg’s small hall.

Still, he shouldn’t have teased her. Not when she’d looked so tired.

It wasn’t like him to be so uncaring toward a lass, but she didn’t act like any damned lass he knew. Her reactions confounded him—irritated him. Something he couldn’t recall a women ever doing before.

Ah well, he would be free of the little termagant soon enough. Another day or two, and they should be able to leave. There was no reason to rush; he might as well give the hunt time to die down.

He and Domnall had climbed to the top of Wood Hill to get a good look at the surrounding waterways, and what they’d seen had been worse than he’d expected. The entire English fleet had to be in the channel. From what he could tell, the English had positioned themselves near every major crossway, cutting off any attempt to go north to the Isles, south to the Isle of Man, or west to Rathlin and Ireland.

He had no doubt he could get around them if he needed to, but other than his anxiousness to get rid of the lass and rejoin Bruce and the others, he had no reason to risk capture or leading the English to Bruce. In the meantime, he’d try to think of a way to send a message to Chief—the leader of the Highland Guard—and warn him of the danger. Bruce would be making his way to Rathlin soon.

But patience wasn’t one of Erik’s stronger attributes, and he suspected the next couple of days were going to crawl by at a snail’s pace. He was already restless.

He stopped when he reached the top of the cliff to survey the bay below. Everything appeared normal. A few small fishing boats were scattered across the harbor, but all signs of their presence were gone. Earlier he and his men had carried the
birlinn
into the cave, hiding it from the sight of any passing patrols who might luck upon them.

With dozens of small islands between Ireland and Scotland, the English might make an effort to search them but would need help to find them. There were too many places to hide. As long as the villagers kept silent, they were safe—which was another reason he’d come here. Until MacDougall had stolen it, Spoon Island belonged to the MacSorleys, and the islanders still considered Erik their rightful chieftain. When Bruce reclaimed his crown, he would be.

Erik started toward the old stone and thatched longhouse. He didn’t need to be here, but he couldn’t stop himself from checking on Ellie. It was his duty, he told himself. Until he took her home or handed her off to Bruce, she was his responsibility.

He lifted his hand to greet Duncan, whom he’d consigned to guard duty while he healed, squared his shoulders as if he were about to do battle, and pushed through the door.

Ah, hell.

Any residual irritation he might have been feeling from this morning was forgotten in the peaceful sight before him. The little nursemaid was curled up in the chair before the fire sleeping, a plaid wrapped around her shoulders and her feet tucked under her bottom. From the fresh
leine
she wore and the damp tendrils of dark hair curling softly around her face, he guessed that she’d bathed recently. The faint scent of lavender still lingered in the sultry air.

She didn’t look like a drowned cat anymore.

Her hair was beautiful. Thick and glossy, it hung in freshly combed waves around her shoulders like a heavy cloak of rich sable. He knew just by looking that it would feel like a veil of silk on his skin.

In repose she didn’t seem like the kind of woman who could have caused him so many problems. He studied the small face that had looked upon him with such indifference. She would never be a beauty, but there was something pleasing about her face all the same. The warmth from the fire had colored her pale cheeks a soft pink. With her stubborn chin relaxed, her pursed lips softly parted, and her too-perceptive dark eyes closed, her face looked softer … younger … and far more vulnerable.

He felt an uncomfortable twinge in his chest that felt suspiciously like guilt. Despite all the trouble she’d caused, none of this was her fault. Neither was it his, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel responsible for getting her home safely and as soon as possible.

Her long lashes fluttered, and she startled awake. Seeing him standing there, a flush rose to her cheeks. “What are you doing here?”

Hastily, she untucked her legs from under her, giving him a view of two dainty, perfectly arched feet. Small and pale, with tiny toes, they were absolutely adorable. Much too adorable for a bossy nursemaid. He stared for a moment too long, and she quickly tucked them under her plaid.

Inexplicably angry and feeling a little bit like a lad who’d been caught with his hand in the honey pot, his mouth fell in a hard line. “Where’s Meg?”

He didn’t like being alone with her. He nearly laughed at the sheer oddity of that thought—he couldn’t remember ever being uncomfortable around a woman.

“She went to check on one of the villagers. Mhairi, I think her name was. She’s to have a child soon.”

He didn’t say anything, but just stared at her as if his discomfort were somehow her fault.

“Is there something you wished me to tell her?” she asked encouragingly, clearly as eager to be rid of him as he was of her.

He shook his head. “Nay, I will speak with her later.”

He turned on his heel to leave, but she stopped him. “Is Thomas all right?”

He detected the note of concern in her voice, and it made him frown. “He’s fine.” He paused. “Are you not curious about Duncan as well?”

Her gaze leveled on his. “Why would I need to ask you about Duncan, when I can just open the door and ask him myself?”

He shrugged unapologetically, seeing her annoyance. “He needed something to do until his shoulder has healed.”

“And spying on me was the only thing you could think of? I thought we had an agreement.”

“We do. Duncan is my assurance that you don’t forget it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with your hands?”

The swift change of subject caught him off guard. “Nothing.”

She stood and walked toward him, that stubborn chin set in a line that he didn’t like. “Let me see.”

He was about to tell her it was none of her damned business when one of her hands circled around his wrist. Christ, her fingers were soft. And so damned small. They could barely close halfway around. His mind immediately went to another part of his body, thinking of those fingers wrapped around something thick and throbbing.

Heat flared inside him and instead of pulling away, he allowed her to turn over his hand, revealing his bloody, shredded palms.

The gasp made him wish he hadn’t—as did the outraged look on her face. “How did this happen?”

He shrugged off her concern. “The ropes. It’s nothing. It happens all the time.” He liked the connection with the sail and didn’t wear gauntlets.

“It looks horrible. Doesn’t it hurt?”

“Nay,” he replied automatically.

Her eyes narrowed. “Let me guess: tall, overly muscular pirates don’t feel pain?”

He grinned for the first time since entering the longhouse. “Overly muscular? I didn’t think you noticed.”

“I’m not blind,” she huffed. Her eyes flashed in the flickering firelight. He’d thought they were brown, but standing so close he could see flecks of green and gold. Unusual and quite pretty. Then she had to ruin the effect by adding, “I’d notice a peacock preening his feathers and strutting around, too.”

Erik was shocked into rare silence. For once a quick response did not slip from his tongue. Had she just compared him to a bloody peacock? First a dog, now a bird? He was one of the most feared warriors in the Highlands, personal guardsman to a king, henchman and kinsman to one of the most powerful leaders in the Western Isles, and chieftain of an ancient clan.

That prickle of irritation grew to a full-fledged stab.

“Nor am I impressed by your masculine bravado,” she said. “And don’t try to distract me.”

He was thinking of a couple of ways to do just that. The heat from the fire, and that faint hint of lavender that had grown stronger as she drew near, were doing strange things to him.

Innocent maids were not his usual fare. He might enjoy flirting, but he was always discerning in his bed partners. He preferred experienced lasses who understood lust and wouldn’t make the mistake of thinking they were in love. But his body didn’t seem to be listening.

She examined his hand, tracing the pad of her finger over the raw edges. He stood perfectly still, giving no indication that her poking and prodding hurt like hell.

“You still have sand in here,” she accused. “And fibers of rope.” She gazed up at him as if he were an incorrigible child and not a man a foot taller than she and roughly twice her weight. “Don’t you know that this can become infected?”

“I’ll see to it later.”

“
I’ll
see to it now.” She lifted her chin to his. “You aren’t leaving here until I put something on these.”

He shook his head. There she went, ordering him around again. It was becoming a bad habit—and one he was going to have to break her of. Right after she let go of his hand.

“I didn’t know you cared,” he teased.

She ignored him—something she did far too easily—and dragged him toward the chair. “Sit,” she ordered.

He’d have to work on that tone as well. But, after a few minutes of her fussing over him, he decided he might let her boss him around a little more. He could get used to this. And she was far more aware of him than she wanted him to know.

As she bustled around the room to organize the things she would need, he could sense her growing nervousness as she realized he was watching her. Nervousness that became even more pronounced when she came to stand before him, edging slightly between his knees.

He felt a little bit like Bruce’s spider with its web. She was trapped, though she didn’t know it yet.

Her leg brushed against his thigh, and he heard the sharp intake of her breath. Her hands shook as she lowered the bowl of warm water on the table beside the chair. They were so close, he could see the slight quickening of her pulse at her neck.

He smiled. This was more like it. The little nursemaid was not wholly immune to him. Seeing her all flustered like this almost made up for the trouble she’d given him … almost.

He wasn’t completely unaffected himself—especially when she leaned over to help put his hand in the bowl of warm water and her hair spilled forward, brushing over him like a thick, silky veil. He dipped his head a few inches closer, inhaling the heady, floral fragrance and fighting the urge to bury his face in the dark tresses and let the incredible softness wash over him in a billowy silken cloud.

Hell, the sultry, darkening room was playing tricks on him. He shifted in his seat, and she looked up from her task with alarm.

“Is something wrong? Did I hurt you?”

He shook his head. “Not at all.” It was more an insistent throbbing. He couldn’t resist teasing her. “You can touch me anytime.”

When she gave him a small smile and merely nodded, he thought she might have missed the suggestive lilt in his voice—until she gave his hand a not-so-gentle squeeze.

He winced. “Ouch.” The little she-devil had done that on purpose. “That hurt.”

She lifted those wide, green-flecked hazel eyes to his and blinked innocently. He hadn’t noticed before what thick, sooty lashes she had.

“Did it?” she asked. “You’re not as tough as you look; I’ll try to be more careful.”

His eyes narrowed, deciding not to tease her further until she was finished. But it turned out that teasing wasn’t necessary; his nearness was doing enough to rattle her.

She wouldn’t look at him, but he could see the heat growing darker on her cheeks as she finished rinsing the sand and grit from his wounds, then drying his hands in a clean piece of linen.

She set her jaw, trying to pretend he wasn’t getting to her, but the tiny white lines around her mouth gave her away. He could feel the tension radiating from her and knew that she had every instinct on high alert. Why, he’d wager that every hair at the back of her neck was standing on edge.

Aye, this was more like it. This kind of reaction he understood. He was back on solid ground again.
His
ground.

He had to bite back the smile when she leaned forward to pick up the jar of ointment that she’d found on the shelves and her breast accidentally grazed his shoulder. She jerked as if he’d burned her—as if her tightly wound body had never come into contact with a man before.