The Hawk: A Highland Guard Novel (10 page)

The dark-haired knight shot her a look and shook his head as if to say “What were you thinking?”

The captain wrenched the sail even tighter. Her heart took a leap. She could swear the boat lifted off the waves, and they were flying. Soaring over the sea like a bird in flight.

It was the most amazing thing she’d ever experienced—terrifying and thrilling at the same time.

Only when she thought they must be about to run into the coast of Scotland did he finally slow and order Domnall to turn north. With a deft adjustment of the ropes, the captain eased the boat down flat on the water once more, and the men were able to return to their oars.

“Looks like we lost ’em, Captain,” a boy of no more than six and ten who had to be serving as coxswain said.

“Good.”

In the excitement, Ellie realized she’d forgotten all about the boats chasing behind them, but the boy appeared to be right: with a combination of speed and deft maneuvering of which she’d never seen the like, the pirate had dodged four English galleys.

Her gaze fell back on the pirate captain, who was helping his men lower the sail so that the
birlinn
could disappear back into the night—a ghost ship once more. She didn’t want to be impressed, but she was. This swaggering pirate with the cocky grin and unwavering self-assuredness had to be one of the greatest sailors in a West Highland kingdom of seafarers.

What a shame that the Isles and the men who inhabited them were so untamed. Her brother-in-law could use men like this pirate if he ever hoped to reclaim Scotland’s crown from Edward. But Robert’s cause appeared to be lost. Ellie hadn’t had word from her sister in months; she prayed Beth was safe.

The hair at the back of her neck prickled as if someone was watching her. Shifting her gaze from the captain, she found the young dark-haired pirate studying her. She was glad for the darkness that hid the stain of color on her face for being caught staring at the captain. But her thoughts must have been more transparent than she realized.

“It’s not only skill but luck,” he said dryly in perfect aristocratic French. “I’ve never seen anything like it. He could land in a cesspit and come out smelling sweet.”

There was something in his voice that caught her attention. “You don’t like him?” She tried to speak softly under the boisterous din of the men around her, who were still celebrating their victory.

He looked at her as if she were daft. “Of course I like him. Everyone likes him. It’s impossible not to.”

Ellie tilted her head, puzzled by his reply, until it dawned on her: he was jealous. She supposed it was understandable. Though the dark-haired pirate was tall, lean, and handsome in his own fashion, he was young and couldn’t possibly hope to compete with the strapping, golden-god, seafaring warrior in the prime of his manhood.

Bigger than life, handsome as sin, with enough brash arrogance and raw charisma that men would follow him even to their deaths, the pirate captain exuded passion and energy. It was a magnetic combination, drawing people to him like moths to a flame. As if simply by being close to him, some of his golden glow would spill over onto those around him.

What would it be like to kiss him?

Sweet Mother Mary, where had that come from?
It had popped out of nowhere. She couldn’t recall ever contemplating such a thing. The one time Ralph had tried to kiss her, she’d almost been ill.

Disconcerted by the direction of her thoughts, she switched the subject. “Are you feeling better?”

“Aye. Cold, wet, and uncomfortable, but I suspect you feel the same.”

He did look marginally better, though she doubted he would admit it if he wasn’t. His skin still had a sickly sheen, but at least his shivering seemed to have stopped. Sitting on the deck of the boat, below the rail, helped to keep the wind at bay.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

His expression drew wary and he hesitated before answering. “Thomas.”

“If you don’t mind my saying, Thomas, you don’t look or sound much like a pirate. You’re not with them, are you?”

He opened his mouth and then quickly slammed it shut. His eyes darted to the captain before he straightened and replied, “I’m not an Islander, but I am with them.”

She frowned, thinking it odd that a young man of obviously noble birth—not only his manner of speech but his fine, expensive armor suggested as much—would have joined with a band of
Gall-Gaedhil
pirates. But sensing he would say no more on the matter, she said, “Thank you for what you did back there at the cave—and for coming after me in the water.”

He shifted, as if her gratitude embarrassed him. “The next time I attempt to rescue a lass from drowning I’ll make sure to remove my armor first. I didn’t realize how heavy it would be, or”—he gave a small half smile—“how cold the water was.”

He shook his dark hair, which was frozen into chunks like hers. He started to say more but was interrupted by a sharp cough that grew progressively harder and deeper, as if he were still trying to purge the water from his lungs. When it wouldn’t stop, Ellie became alarmed and reached over to put a hand on his mail-clad back. She was no healer, but that cough didn’t sound good. He needed to get to shore and get dry and warm—which sounded like heaven to her as well. The fur was warm, but as he’d surmised, she was cold, wet, and uncomfortable.

Finally he stopped, and she removed her hand self-consciously. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone.” Her throat tightened as the horror of the night welled up inside her. “I only wanted a chance to go home.”

He gave her a sympathetic look. “He won’t hurt you, you know. He meant what he said. When it’s safe, he’ll return you to your home.”

She was surprised to find that she actually believed him. Though it didn’t make sense, the pirate captain had saved her life. What kind of pirate risked his own life for an inconsequential prisoner anyway? Yet he’s saved her life—twice, if he was to be believed about leaving her in that cave. “When will that be?”

“I don’t know,” Thomas admitted.

It wasn’t good enough. She had to get home; she had to let her family know she was all right. She couldn’t sail around indefinitely. She was supposed to get married, for goodness sake. In her frustration, she conveniently forgot that she wasn’t exactly anxious for that marriage.

She turned around to demand that the pirate captain tell her what he meant to do with her, when she stopped suddenly, reconsidering. He was frowning, and something in his expression unsettled her. Caught up in the excitement of the chase, she’d momentarily forgotten the precariousness of her situation. She bit her lip, realizing he was probably furious with her for the trouble she’d caused by trying to escape.

Perhaps her demands could wait.

But before she could turn away, he motioned for her to come to him with a gentle crook of the finger that she suspected was one he’d used many times before.

Her spine went rigid. Something about the arrogant gesture raised every hackle in her body. She had visions of some Saracen sultan lounging in his tent and choosing his next concubine. She might be a temporary and unwilling captive, but she was not his slave. Nor was she a woman who would jump to do his bidding. Even her youngest brother, Edmond, had more manners—and the six-year-old lad was far more adorable than this arrogant, overgrown, too-handsome-for-his-own-good Viking.
Half
-Viking, she corrected.

She turned away with a sharp toss of her head.

Only when she glanced out of the corner of her eye and saw him stalking toward her did she realize her mistake. One look at his face made her blood run cold. Her foolish act of defiance had sparked his anger, and the transformation from affable rogue to ruthless Viking couldn’t have been more startling. With his blond hair and icy Nordic features, he looked every inch the cold and heartless barbarian.

She felt the strong urge to cross herself. Fear trickled down her spine. What would he do to her?

She sensed him behind her and knew she was about to find out.

It was time for her reckoning, whether she wanted it or not.

Five

    Erik had been enjoying himself replaying the night’s adventures with his men when he’d glanced over and noticed the lass talking to Randolph. His good mood had evaporated like water tossed on sauna rocks.

He sure as hell hoped Randolph kept his wits about him and didn’t let anything slip about Bruce. The less she knew, the better. The lass had given him enough trouble already. Which reminded him, he thought with a dangerous glint in his eye, he and nursemaid Ellie had some unfinished business to settle.

When she turned and caught his gaze, he motioned for her to come to him. He couldn’t have been more stunned when she looked right at him and turned away. It seemed so out of the realm of possibility that she would not only ignore his summons (in his experience—which was extensive—women loved that little quirk of the finger), but also dismiss him, that if it weren’t for the head toss that went along it, he would have assumed she hadn’t seen him (despite the fact that she’d been looking right at him).

His temper flared like fire on dry kindling. Normally it took something akin to an act of God to rile Erik’s anger, but the wee nursemaid had managed it with a mere toss of her head. Albeit as far as dismissive tosses of the head went, it was quite a spectacular one. She’d lifted her tiny, pointed chin, glared down her thin nose, and flipped her frozen mop of wavy dark hair as if she were the Queen of bloody England.

He wasn’t used to being dismissed by a woman or to having his commands disobeyed, and neither sat well with him. Who the hell did this little nondescript nursemaid think she was? Unwilling passenger or nay, he was captain of this ship. And she damn well better learn the chain of command around here. He wasn’t going to have some imperious nursemaid throw his ship in disarray. She’d caused enough trouble for one night already.

They hadn’t escaped completely unscathed in their skirmish with the English. One of his kinsmen had been hit in the arm with an arrow—nothing serious, but it needed to be tended—and Randolph appeared to be suffering from his dunking-turned-near-drowning.

Not wanting to chance leading the English to Bruce on Islay, Erik had decided to put in on one of the numerous small isles along the Scottish coast between the tip of Kintyre and the Ayrshire. He could see to his men and wait for the English to grow tired of their search before joining Bruce and the others.

He should have had Domnall fetch the lass to him, but he was so angry that he stormed over there himself.

He waited for her to turn around, but she sat there as if she didn’t know he was standing right behind her. Yet she was aware of him. He could see it in the slight stiffening of her back and hitch of her breath—a hitch that was strangely erotic.

Suddenly uncomfortable, he cleared his throat.

She gave him a regal turn of the head that made the muscles in his neck and shoulders bundle up in knots.

“I bid you to come to me,” he said.

She tilted her head to look at him. “Did you? Hmm … I didn’t notice.”

His jaw clenched until his teeth hurt. Something about this lass grated on his normally unflappable good humor. He took a threatening step toward her, looming over her. “Next time I call for you, you will bloody well listen,” he said in a low voice. “Do I make myself clear?”

Her eyes widened, and she nodded.

All of a sudden Erik realized two things at once: she wasn’t quite as confident as she appeared, and he was scaring her. He swore under his breath and took a step back, wondering what the hell had gotten into him. He couldn’t remember ever trying to use his size to intimidate a woman.

His anger cooled as suddenly as it had sparked. He didn’t intimidate women; he didn’t need to. Realizing they’d started off on the wrong foot, he smiled and took a seat on a chest opposite her. “You can stop looking at me like that; I’m not going to eat you.”

She eyed him warily, one side of her mouth quirking. “I was thinking more along the lines of pagan sacrifice.”

He laughed. The lass was obviously still stuck on his Norse blood. “I assure you, I’m thoroughly tame.” She gave him a look to suggest she didn’t believe him for a minute, and he grinned. Smart lass. “If you think I’m bad, you should see my cousins.”

The MacRuairis made even their Viking forebears seem civilized. He’d been just as surprised as anyone else when his cousin Lachlan had decided to join the Highland Guard. His war name of Viper wasn’t far off the mark. Lachlan had the heart and the morals of a snake—in other words, he didn’t have any. Erik wondered how he was faring up north. He’d been surprised when his bastard cousin had volunteered to go with the ladies when they’d been forced to separate. Like him, Lachlan had been born on the sea. Being land-bound so long would make his cousin half-crazed—if Bella MacDuff didn’t do it first. The defiant Countess of Buchan, who’d risked everything by crowning Bruce, couldn’t have made her disdain of MacRuairi more obvious.

The lass shivered. “Thank you, but I think I’d rather not.”