The Hawk: A Highland Guard Novel (17 page)

It was crazy. A skinny, nondescript nursemaid was not the type of woman for him to waste any time thinking about—no matter how hot her innocent kiss fired his blood.

He wouldn’t consider marrying someone who would not enhance the wealth and prestige of his clan, and the type of women he chose to bed weren’t maids and were … well, prettier—and with much larger breasts. Despite her luminous skin, unusual-colored eyes, sooty long lashes, and enticing little nipples that beaded in his hand so tantalizingly, she hardly qualified on either count.

But when he’d held that firm little mound of flesh in his hand … it hadn’t felt like he was missing anything. Actually, it had felt incredible. But that didn’t mean he was interested.

Which didn’t explain why he’d been damn close to kissing her again in the garden. It seemed all he had to do was get within ten feet of her and his body jumped to attention. It was ridiculous, not to mention damn uncomfortable.

Not that it concerned him any. After nearly an entire week without a woman, he was probably just showing signs of deprivation. An oversight that would be easy to remedy. Perhaps after he checked on Randolph, he would join the others at the village alehouse after all.

With that happy thought to add to the others, he crossed the grassy hillock, burnished from the winter cold, and frowned, surprised to see that Duncan wasn’t at his post.

He’d ordered his kinsman to watch over her, not so much to prevent her from escaping—she wouldn’t get very far—but to ensure that nothing happened to her if she tried. She wouldn’t walk off any cliffs on his watch. As long as she was in his care, she was his responsibility. A responsibility he’d decided to delegate to his cousin after that kiss.

But his troublesome guest—and his equally troublesome thoughts—would soon be behind him. Though there was still a sizable English presence in the area, Erik had been chased by the English bastards enough times to know that they would eventually give up. And if they didn’t, well, he could get around them when he needed to. There was still plenty of time before he needed to meet the McQuillans to take them to Rathlin.

In the meantime, he’d found a way to get a message to Bruce. With his cousin Angus Og MacDonald’s castle at Dunaverty located just two miles from Spoon, it was the obvious choice—not to mention the quickest and most direct. Ironically, Dunaverty was the same castle that Erik had led Bruce away from four months ago. Though it was currently occupied by the English, his cousin still had men inside. He knew that if he could get a message to Angus Og, he would find a way to get it to Bruce.

Angus Og had a vast network of men along the western seaboard. Erik should know; he’d served as henchman to his cousin the Lord of Islay and one of the most powerful men in the Western Isles for nearly a decade, before he’d been tapped by Bruce for the Highland Guard.

Erik had been reluctant to leave the service of the man who’d done so much for him. Only a lad of seven years when his father had died, Erik had been too young to protect himself from the manipulative, land-grabbing mechanizations of the MacDougall kinsmen who’d pretended to help him. It was Angus Og who’d protected him and his family and shown him the meaning of loyalty. It was Angus Og who’d made him a man.

But his cousin had been insistent that he join Bruce, and Erik owed him too much not to do as he bid. It had also been a way to recover the lands stolen upon his father’s death by the MacDougalls.

The struggle for dominance between the two powerful branches of Somerled’s descendants—the MacDonalds and the MacDougalls—dominated West Highland politics. Right now the MacDougalls, who’d aligned themselves with Edward, were favored, but that would all change when Bruce reclaimed his crown. Seeing John MacDougall of Lorn suffer would be just as satisfying as seeing Edward kicked back to England with his English tail between his legs.

Erik could have tried to get the message through by boat, but it would be much simpler to swim—simpler for him, at least. The castle guards would be on the watch for a boat, but they wouldn’t be expecting a swimmer.

He grinned. It would be unexpected. Dangerous. Extreme. Just the way he liked it.

And it had worked. Last night he’d swum the two-mile divide between Spoon Island and Dunaverty and passed a message to one of his cousin’s men.

As Erik approached the door of Meg’s house, he heard the muffled rumble of Duncan’s laughter mixed with the much lighter—almost girlish—tinkle of a woman’s. Not Meg’s, he knew instinctively, but Ellie’s.

Something about the sound didn’t sit well with him. With a perfunctory knock, he pushed the door open.

And stopped cold.

Duncan had his hands around Ellie’s waist to lift her high in the air, as she reached for something on one of the large store shelves built into the rafters along the edge of the ceiling. But all Erik could see was his kinsman’s eyes fastened on her bottom, the surprisingly shapely curve of which was revealed all too clearly in the borrowed old
leine
, the linen thin from wear.

Ellie and Duncan startled at the interruption. Duncan’s grip slid from around her waist, and Ellie cried out when he nearly dropped her. But Duncan managed to catch her in his arms before she fell to the floor.

Bloody convenient
, Erik thought, every nerve ending set at a blistering edge.

Ellie’s look of surprise turned to amusement as she met Duncan’s gaze, and they both burst out laughing again. Ignoring Erik’s presence entirely.

“I think maybe we should have gotten the ladder after all,” she said. Her eyes suddenly grew concerned. “Is your arm all right?”

Duncan laughed. “My arm is fine, lass, just like I told you. I could lift a wee thing like you with one arm—injured or nay. You must give me another chance to prove it to you or my pride will be wounded beyond repair.” He gave her a wink. “Besides, this is much more fun than a ladder.”

Erik almost felt sorry for his kinsman, knowing that Ellie was impervious to much more skillful flirting than his cousin’s feeble attempts at charm. Anticipating the set-down she was about to make, he was shocked instead to see a very maidenly blush stain Ellie’s cheeks.

Erik would have been dumbfounded, but he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about ripping Ellie out of his cousin’s arms, and then perhaps driving his fist through Duncan’s crooked grin.

His eyes narrowed on the other man. His mother claimed there was a resemblance between the cousins, but he didn’t see it. Duncan’s hair was darker, and Erik was at least two inches taller and had three stone of muscle on his younger-by-three-years kinsman.

Ellie finally remembered he was there. She glanced over him—briefly—then gave Duncan a little nod in Erik’s direction. “Perhaps we should see what your captain wants before we try again?”

Duncan didn’t appear to be in any hurry to set her down—until he met Erik’s gaze. With a puzzled frown, he reluctantly set her feet to the floor.

Erik felt his blood cool—marginally.

“Did you want something, Captain?”

Erik bit back the inexplicable rage he was feeling toward his kinsman. “Why aren’t you at your post?” he snapped.

Ellie stepped in front of him, and Erik would have laughed if the protective gesture didn’t irritate him so much. “It was my fault,” she said. “Meg asked me to fix a tincture for Thomas when he woke, and I couldn’t reach the rosemary hanging from the ceiling, so I asked Duncan to help me bring the ladder in from outside.”

Duncan grinned at her appreciatively. “And I told her we didn’t need a ladder.”

Since when had his only-think-of-battle cousin turned into such a rogue?

“Duncan has been a wonderful help,” Ellie said.

Erik could hear his teeth grinding together.
I’m sure he bloody well has
. “Unfortunately, Duncan is needed down at camp.”

One of his cousin’s brows shot up as if he knew Erik was lying. “I am?”

The look on Erik’s face must have convinced him. “I’m afraid the rosemary will have to wait, lass,” Duncan apologized. “But I’ll be back.”

The hell you will
. If Erik couldn’t trust his own cousin to control himself, he was going to be forced to watch the lass himself. He was the one responsible for her, after all. One kiss didn’t mean he couldn’t control himself. He’d merely been taken by surprise that such an ordinary lass could get him so … hot. He was sure the novelty had worn off.

But when the door closed behind Duncan, the room suddenly felt very small. Ellie moved to stand before the fire, watching him, but she kept her distance, as if she sensed the strange energy in the room as well. Yet that only exacerbated the restlessness teeming inside him, as he could see the curve of her breasts and hips outlined in the light.

He needed to get her more clothes. A nice, sturdy wool cotte would do.

“Is there something wrong?” she asked.

Realizing he was scowling, he schooled his features into impassivity. “Nay.”

“Did you want something?”

You
. Angry at the intrusive thought, he said curtly, “To check on Thomas. Where is he?”

Ellie pointed to the opposite end of the room, the place where bed nooks had been built into the side of the wall. “He’s resting. Meg said ’tis the best thing for him now.” Anticipating his question, she said, “Mhairi finally had her babe last night, and Meg has gone to check on her. A boy. Alastair, she’s named him.”

“A good name,” Erik said.
My father’s name
. Many islanders honored their chieftains by naming their children after them. After years of MacDougall rule, the gesture touched him.

She was watching him with a pensive look on her face. “You look different,” she said finally. “I’ve never seen you without your armor.”

Self-consciousness was something Erik had never experienced before, but under her steady hazel gaze that didn’t miss much, he flirted with it now. He’d bathed and changed tunics because of the seal grease he’d lathered all over him for the swim—certainly not because of anything she’d said.

“Alas, no gold to plunder or maidens to rescue tonight,” he said with a grin. “Even pirates take a night off every now and then.”

One side of her mouth lifted.

A start, he supposed.

She took a few steps closer, and then to his shock, reached out and took the sleeve of the colorful dark-red silk tunic between her fingers. “It’s beautiful,” she said admiringly. For a strange moment, looking down at her tiny face in the firelight, she looked beautiful, too. His chest felt odd, as if his tunic had grown too tight. “The embroidery is exquisite.”

“My sister made it for me,” he said, his voice oddly rough.

“You have a sister?”

“Not
a
sister, five.”

“Younger?”

He shook his head. “All older.”

“Brothers?”

“Only me.”

“Ah,” she said with a nod of the head, as if suddenly understanding something.

He didn’t like the sound of it. “What?”

She shrugged. “Nothing. It just explains some things.” Before he could think of what to reply to that, she shocked him again by reaching up to flick a lock of hair at his temple. He sucked in his breath, his body stiffening at her touch—
all
of his body. He could smell her again. Hundreds of women used lavender-tinted soap—why did it smell different on her? And that long, silky-soft hair … he wanted to bury his face in it and watch it spill over his chest.

Women touched him all the time. It was nothing he noticed. But he was noticing it now. His entire body was noticing it. God, he couldn’t breathe. Heat pooled in his loins and his pulse pounded hard and fast. He was seconds away from sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her against him. He could almost feel the dart of her nipples raking his chest.

Unaware of the havoc she was wreaking on his senses, she said carelessly, “You’ve something in your hair.” She removed her hand, enabling him to think again, and rubbed it between her fingers. “It’s some kind of black grease.”

“Probably soot from the campfire,” he said blandly.

She wrinkled her nose. “It doesn’t look like soot.” She was looking at him so intently, he thought she was going to question him about the grease some more, but instead she said with a smile, “You wear your hair so short. I thought Highlanders preferred long hair and beards—like your Viking ancestors.”

He laughed. “Some do.” He rubbed his chin. “I don’t like the itch.” Before he could stop himself, he asked, “Don’t you like it?”

She rolled her eyes, not realizing his question had been serious. He
had
been serious, he realized, not sure what to make of that.

“You’ll have to do better than that if you are looking for a compliment from me. From what I can tell, you’ve heard enough to last most people a lifetime.”

He found himself grinning. She was right, but for some reason he wanted to know what she thought. “And you are much too cynical for such a young lass. Tell me, how did you come to the earl’s household? You seem young to be a nursemaid.”

She dropped her gaze. “My mother.” Her voice softened. “I took over when …”

She died. He nodded, knowing that such was often the case. Though not hereditary like many important household positions in noble families, the appointment of nursemaids often were done that way in practice.

“I’m sorry, lass. How long ago?”

Her shoulders trembled, and he felt the overwhelming urge to draw her into his arms and comfort her. An urge that was far more unsettling than the lust he’d felt moments ago. With most women he wouldn’t have hesitated, but something about touching Ellie made him wary—it was like holding a flame too close to parchment.

“Three years ago come May.” She looked into his eyes and he felt something inside him tighten at the hint of vulnerability behind the no-nonsense, competent facade. “A fever.”

He nodded, giving no hint of the battle being waged inside him.

He was relieved when she finally looked away, and his head cleared.

“Ran—” he stopped himself. Damn, he couldn’t believe he’s almost let that slip. “Thomas is improving?”

She nodded. “He’s still not eating much, but he should be back on his feet in another few days.”