The Hawk: A Highland Guard Novel (23 page)

She sensed he was telling the truth and felt unaccountably relieved. These strange, divergent feelings she had for him confused her, but she knew one thing: she did not want to see him harmed.

Her father would see his head on a pike if he ever caught up with him. She forced the chilling thought away. It wouldn’t come to that. She would protect him somehow. “You’re sure?”

He smiled. “You won’t get out of your promise so easily. If it wasn’t for Meg’s salve I’d be holding you to it right now.”

Her heart lifted. “Does that mean …?”

“Aye, your message is on its way.”

Ellie sagged with relief, feeling as if a heavy weight had just fallen off her shoulders. Her family would still be worried, but at least they would know she was alive. “Thank you,” she said, her eyes prickling with heat.

“Don’t thank me yet, lass,” he said, a devilish twinkle in his eye. It wasn’t the kind of lighthearted twinkle that was so easy to dismiss, but something wicked and full of promise. “You are mine for the next few days.”

Mine
. Her heart did a funny little flip. Just the way he said it sent a shudder of heat and excitement whispering through her veins.

It doesn’t mean anything
, she told herself. But for the first time in her life, Ellie wondered if she had taken on more than she could manage.

    God, he loved to rattle her. Erik took one look at her soft, flushed cheeks and felt a deep swell of satisfaction. It was horrible for him to take such pleasure in her discomfort, but she’d been tormenting him for days—it seemed only right that he was not alone.

She could deny it all she wanted, but Ellie was far from indifferent to him. He’d seen her face when she rushed into the cave. She’d been worried about him—and then something else entirely when she’d set her eyes on his chest.

Admiring female gazes were something Erik had plenty of experience with, but he couldn’t recall ever having been that physically affected by it. He’d felt another deep swell of satisfaction, but this time much lower—and much harder.

But not nearly as hard as he’d been when she’d put her hands on him. Erik frowned. He’d felt as if he was jumping out of his damned skin. Having her hands on his chest, then low on his belly, her fingers so close to his cock, had driven him mad with lust. He’d ached to pull her down on top of him.

He was sure everyone in the room had been aware of his reaction—except for Ellie. But she’d felt it, too. Her awareness and curious glances low on the plaid had only increased his agony.

His lust for the little nursemaid was becoming harder and harder to ignore, and now that he knew she felt the same way …

It almost made him reconsider his intention to spend the next few days with her. But once training was done for the day, there was little he could do until he could leave to meet the McQuillans, and she deserved a little fun. It would be an annoyance, but lust wasn’t anything he couldn’t control.

She stood up to fiddle with the fire, more to have something to do, he suspected, than because it was necessary. When she returned to her seat on the rock opposite him, she was once more composed and looking at him in that no-nonsense, straightforward manner that he was growing rather used to.

She did have his mark, he thought. She didn’t let him get away with anything. It should bother him, but instead it felt oddly relaxing to have someone who didn’t expect something from him. She didn’t chatter or flirt the way she was supposed to, which meant that they ended up talking about all kinds of things—personal things.

If only she weren’t so nosy and observant. He couldn’t believe she’d noticed the tattoo on his arm. He knew she already suspected he wasn’t what he claimed; he could only imagine what she would think if she realized he had a lion rampant—the symbol of Scotland’s kingship and the mark borne by all the members of the Highland Guard—tattooed on his arm. How long would it take her to suspect his involvement with Bruce and the rebellion?

Not long, he’d wager.

She pinned those big, green-flecked hazel eyes on him and arched one delicate brow. “So, did you always want to be a pirate, or did having all those opportunities to save orphans and nuns merely appeal to you recently?”

He chuckled. He should have known he wouldn’t be able to put her off so easily. “It’s in the blood, remember?”

“Oh, I remember,” she said with a quick scan of his face before returning her gaze to his. “But why do I think there’s far more to it than you are telling me? What would drive a man like you to become an outlaw?”

A man like you
. Her faith in him—despite what he’d told or hadn’t told her—sat uneasily with him. The lie that had seemed fine in the beginning no longer satisfied. It seemed wrong.

But ignorance of his involvement with Bruce was safer—not just for his mission, but also for her own safety. Edward was on a rampage and didn’t seem to care who was crushed under his heel.

He couldn’t tell her the entire truth, but he supposed there was no harm in telling her some of it. “The usual reasons, I suspect. My clan’s lands were stolen. We did what we had to do.”

He expected her to argue with his premise, but she just stared at him thoughtfully. “Stolen how?”

Knowing he was treading dangerous ground, he spoke carefully. “My father died when I was young. One of my kinsmen thought to take advantage of that fact. He pretended to be acting on my behalf, but claimed my lands for himself.” John of Lorn—the grasping MacDougall bastard—thought he should control all the Isles, whether the lands belonged to someone else or not. “He would have killed me had another kinsman not taken me into his service. I owe him everything.”

She looked at him so intently that he feared he’d said too much. “Even if you were forced into this way of life initially, you must see that this can’t go on forever.”

“What do you mean?”

She pointed to the gash on his stomach. “I can’t imagine pirates live very long lives. One of these days, your pursuers are going to catch up to you.”

If only she knew the truth. His situation was much more precarious than that. There was a very good chance he could be dead inside a week.

They were about to launch an attack with a few hundred men against the full force of the most powerful army in Christendom. Even if they met with success, there was no guarantee that men would rise to Bruce’s banner—they hadn’t before, and Bruce had been in a much stronger position then.

By any rational estimation, Bruce and his followers should be doomed to failure. But Erik still believed they could win. They were going to fight a style of war that Edward—that no one—had ever seen before. Highland warfare. Pirate warfare. Edward wouldn’t know what hit him.

“I’m a very good pirate,” he said with a wink.

She made a sharp sound suspiciously like a snort. “I don’t doubt it. But surely you want more from life than being chased from island to island with little more than a cave and a woman or two waiting for you at every port?”

It sounded just fine to him, but he suspected he was about to hear more about why it wasn’t. He was probably going to regret asking, “Like what?”

“Marriage. Family. Love.”

He grinned wickedly. “I have plenty of that.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s not the same thing.”

There she went again, thinking she knew best. Of course he would marry … eventually. But it would be to increase the power of his clan. If he liked and was attracted to his wife it would be more enjoyable, perhaps, but it wasn’t necessary. His parents had gotten on well enough, from what he recalled, and it had been far from a love match in the beginning.

He arched a brow. “And you are the expert? I didn’t realize you were such a romantic, Ellie.” His eyes swept down over her, lingering at her bodice. “What else are you hiding beneath that prickly nursemaid facade?”

“None of your business,” she said starchly, her cheeks firing an adorable red. “And I’m not a romantic. But at least I know there is a difference between love and lust. Although I’m not surprised that you don’t.”

His mouth tightened, hearing the slight disdain in her voice and picturing that little nursemaid measuring stick of hers again. He’d had enough of her scrutiny and analysis. His life was fine. He wasn’t the one bottled up as tight as a nun at Lent. “And what about you, Ellie? What do you want?”

She startled, looking completely flummoxed—as if she’d never contemplated such a basic question. When she did, however, the answer didn’t seem to make her very happy. The wistful smile that turned her mouth sent a jab to his chest. He had the strange yearning to pull her into his arms and make her forget whatever it was that was making her sad.

She didn’t look at him, keeping her eyes glued to the smoldering peat. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

“Of course it does,” he said gently. “It’s your life. You always have a choice.”

His words had the opposite effect than what he’d intended. Instead of giving her encouragement, they provoked her shoulders to draw up sharply and her hazel eyes to blaze green with anger. “That’s easy for you to say. You don’t play by the rules. You are an outlaw with no responsibilities, no loyalties, and no sense of duty. You do what you want, when you want.”

She couldn’t be more wrong. No responsibilities? Not only was he responsible for securing nearly Bruce’s entire fighting force, he was also charged with getting them through the heavily patrolled North Channel to Arran to launch the attack.

Nothing was more important to him than loyalty. Loyalty to Bruce. Loyalty to the Guard. Loyalty and duty to his clan to reclaim its lands. It was the reason he was here and why he was being hunted by the English. It was the reason he would follow Bruce into battle no matter what the odds. It was the reason he could not fail in his mission. Not only did he believe in Bruce’s claim to the crown, he believed in the man. Failure was inconceivable.

Bruce and Erik’s fellow Guardsmen were counting on him, and he would die before he let them down.

He would have been angry if he hadn’t heard the note of envy in her voice. She wanted what she thought he had: freedom. Whatever weighed on her, she obviously didn’t think she had a way out of it.

He studied her, taking in that air of authority, her quiet confidence, the elegant tilt of her chin, and the regal grace of her bearing. Every inch the prim, proper nursemaid. What was he missing? There was something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but he sensed that there was more to Ellie than met the eye.

What was she hiding? And why the hell did he care? Whatever secrets his little nursemaid had didn’t affect his mission. All he should be worrying about was making sure nothing—including her—jeopardized his mission.

He shook his head. How did she always manage to turn every conversation into a matter of grave import? He was going to make it his personal mission over the next few days not only to make her smile, but to show her that not everything needed to be so bloody serious.

“I don’t always do what I want,” he said bluntly, his eyes locking on hers.

To hell with it. He was done fighting this strange attraction sizzling between them—especially after the desire he’d seen on her face earlier. Once he got this lust out of his system, his strange fascination with the lass would end. The fact that she was a maid didn’t trouble him; he could control himself.

“If I did, I wouldn’t have stopped with a kiss, and I sure as hell wouldn’t have been sleeping outside the past few nights—alone.”

The sharp little intake of air that greeted his bold declaration sent a hot thrill of anticipation shooting through him. It seemed an acknowledgment.

“You shouldn’t say such things,” she said, flushing scarlet.

“Why not? I want you. And you know what?”

She eyed him warily.

“You want me, too.”

“You’re wrong,” she said quickly, looking away. “I know it’s hard for that arrogant head of yours to comprehend, but not everyone thinks you are irresistible.”

We’ll see about that
. He smiled, content to let her hold on to that lie for a little longer. But he’d just thrown down the gauntlet. He was looking forward to watching her struggle not to pick it up—but not quite as much as he was looking forward to the moment when she did. For Erik MacSorley did not doubt for a minute that eventually she would.

Twelve

    Ralph de Monthermer was a patient man. He’d learned that patience in the month he’d spent in the tower, waiting for Edward to decide whether to divest him of his head for the treasonous offense of marrying his daughter without permission.

Then, as now, Ralph’s patience had been rewarded.

He’d been searching for Lady Elyne and the infamous hawk ship for days—careful not to spread word of a missing woman for fear that the scourge would use her as a ransom—with nothing but wind-burned skin, an aching back, and sore arms to show for it.

He’d been stymied at every turn by belligerent barbarians. The Islanders were sheltering them, he knew it. But finding one ship among the hundreds of Isles along the western coast of Scotland was like trying to find a pin at the bottom of the ocean.