“They’re in good hands, sire,” Boyd said.
Bruce nodded, hoping he could trust Lachlan MacRuairi—Viper—and the other two members of the Guard who’d accompanied the women: William Gordon, known as Templar, and Magnus MacKay, known as Saint.
“As is your nephew,” MacLeod put in, referring to Randolph, who’d sailed with Hawk.
God, he hoped so. Everything depended on Hawk getting those men to him in time. There was no room for any more failures. He’d exhausted his allotment of narrow escapes. Even a cat had only so many lives.
MacGregor, who was nearly as renowned for his perfect face as he was for his skill with the bow, grinned. “If I know Hawk, he’s probably sitting on a beach somewhere, entertaining half the female population of whatever village or island he’s holed up on.”
“By the time we hear about it, it will be three-quarters,” Boyd said dryly.
Bruce smiled for the first time since they’d arrived at Islay and found not Hawk, as they’d expected, but Boyd waiting for them. “You’re probably right.”
A disturbance outside the door drew his attention. MacLeod went to investigate, and when he returned a moment later, accompanied by a young fisherman, it was about as close to a smile as Bruce suspected his mouth would turn.
“What is it?” he asked.
The fierce Highland chief met his gaze. “Word has arrived.”
The fisherman was pushed forward. Obviously intimidated by the gathering of men in the room, he spoke in a halting voice. “Minor delay. Men secured. Proceed as planned.”
The fisherman was ushered out of the room, with Bruce giving instructions for him to be fed and recompensed for his journey.
When they were alone again, Bruce turned to his brother—one of the three he had left. “Edward, I want you and Raider to go to Arran and scout the area near Broderick—Lochranza Castle in particular. The rest of us will sail to Rathlin as planned and wait for Hawk.”
“You see, sire,” MacGregor said. “Nothing to worry about.”
By the rood, Bruce prayed he was right. It wasn’t just him but the future of an entire nation counting on the heralded seafarer.
Ten
Ellie buried her head deeper in the pillow, trying to drown out the horrible sound. But the hearty laughter pierced the billowy tufts of shorn lamb’s wool with ease.
God, what time was it?
Unfurling the pillow from around her head, she cracked open her eyes only to slam them immediately shut again, when the beam of bright sunlight peeking through the bed-curtains shot through her skull like a piercing dagger.
She groaned. Morning. Already.
Heaving a weary sigh, she resolved herself to the inevitable. It was time to get up. She went about her morning prayers and ablutions, doing her best to ignore the laughter and voices coming from the kitchen on the opposite side of the building. It wasn’t like Duncan to be so loud in the morning. What could possibly be so funny at this ungodly time of day?
Though not a separate chamber, the two beds set up along the western wall were separated by a wooden partition between two posts, affording more privacy from the frequent visitors than the nooks along the opposite wall where Thomas slept.
With her face washed, hair combed, and teeth cleaned, Ellie felt marginally better as she emerged from behind the partition to face the day. But when she discovered the source of the laughter, she was tempted to turn right back around to bury her head a little longer.
It wasn’t Duncan. The pirate captain had changed back into his warrior’s garb from the fine tunic he’d worn last night, and his long leather-clad legs were stretched out before him as he relaxed in one of Meg’s wooden chairs, a broad smile spread across his too-cheerful face.
How could anyone look so happy in the morning? She felt like a haggard old crone until at least mid-morning.
He cocked a brow. “Look who’s finally awake. We thought you might sleep the day away.”
As best she could tell, the day was still painfully new. It couldn’t be much past daybreak. Though the days were getting longer, the winter sun did not peek over the horizon until after eight.
“Morning, Ellie,” Meg said just as cheerily. “Would you like the usual to break your fast?”
Ellie nodded gratefully and sank down on the bench at the table. “Thanks, Meg, that would be wonderful.”
She’d grown appallingly fond of the simple morning fare: fresh bread, coddled eggs, slices of smoked pork or herring, and a special brew of water steeped with spices that was a secret recipe of Meg’s that Ellie vowed to have before she left—if she could ever get up early enough to watch her make it.
“Where’s Duncan?” she asked, breaking off a piece of bread and chewing it slowly, savoring the delicious combination of toasty oat and barley.
The captain’s gaze sharpened almost imperceptibly. “His arm has healed well enough for him to return to his duties. I’m afraid you are stuck with me for the next few days.”
Her pulse spiked with alarm. “I’m sure that isn’t necessary,” she said quickly. “I don’t need a nursemaid. I’ve given you my word—”
“No matter how it came to be,” he cut her off with a meaningful glance at Meg, “you are under my protection until I can return you to your family.”
Ellie realized her mistake: she’d forgotten that Meg didn’t know that she was being held against her will. Although, if Ellie wasn’t worried about her family and what they must be thinking, she could almost forget it herself. The past few days had been terrifying, exciting, and—recalling that kiss—about the furthest thing from boring she could imagine. Moreover, living with Meg was giving her a glimpse of a world entirely different from the sheltered life of privilege and duty she’d known.
The irony was not lost on her: in captivity, she’d never had so much freedom. From responsibility. From duty and expectation. From thoughts of the future. And she felt guilty for how much she was enjoying it.
If she were honest with herself, she knew it also had something to do with the man seated opposite her. He was exciting, and just being around him made her heart beat a little faster. He was like a golden god—not because of his coloring and handsome face, but because of the sheer force of his personality. Like a moth to the flame she was drawn to him, but she knew better than to get too close.
Of course he was a horrible flirt, the kind of man who never took anything seriously, and with that hallmark cocky grin of his too self-confident by half, but at times she wondered whether there was something deeper. That maybe he wasn’t like her feckless father at all, but capable of real emotions.
Last night she thought she’d gotten a glimpse of it, sensing a real connection when they’d spoken of their families. She’d hated lying to him, and for a moment had considered telling him the truth. But then Meg returned, and he lapsed back into the teasing, entertaining rogue who was fun to be around, but someone she could never take seriously.
She could like him, but she knew that didn’t mean she should trust him. He was involved with something, and from what she could discern in the cave, it had something to do with her father. It was simpler this way.
What she didn’t understand was why he’d suddenly elected himself her bodyguard. She recalled that he’d seemed angry with Duncan last night and hoped it wasn’t her fault. She’d grown rather fond of Duncan in the past few days. He reminded her of her brother John, who had recently earned his spurs and could talk about nothing but war and fighting.
Unfortunately—try as she might—she couldn’t find anything about the captain that reminded her of any of her brothers, and having him around wasn’t going to be nearly as easy.
What was he up to?
She eyed him suspiciously. “Suit yourself,” she said with a careless shrug. “I hope you will be comfortable on your rock.”
Of course, he wasn’t going to make it that easy. He leaned back and crossed his arms, their muscles bulging in a blatant display of raw masculine strength. The bottom
fell out of her stomach. Good God! She took a sip of the broth, wetting her suddenly dry mouth, but she couldn’t do anything about the fluttering in her belly.
“I have an errand,” he said. “I thought you might wish to join me.”
Alone? With him? She didn’t think so. She didn’t want any part of his mischief. “Not today, I’m afraid,” she said with feigned regret, conscious of Meg’s scrutiny. “I need to watch Thomas while Meg attends to her duties.” Which, as far as Ellie could see, were considerable—from tending her own holding to serving as the island healer and midwife.
“I thought you said Thomas needed to rest?” he pointed out.
“He does,” she conceded.
“The lad will be fine,” Meg interceded. “You two go off and have fun.”
Ellie smiled weakly at the other woman, pretending to be grateful while trying to think of a gracious way to decline.
“It’s a beautiful day,” the captain offered tantalizingly, like holding out a sweet to a child. “I thought you might wish to see more of the island.”
He sat there flashing that arrogant, not-so-innocent grin, knowing exactly what he was doing. Drat the crafty blighter for tempting her. How did he know she was anxious to explore the island? A lucky guess, no doubt. It was humiliating to think that she could be so transparent.
Ellie’s good sense warred with her sense of adventure. She could either stay here and scratch out another dozen games of backgammon with rocks when Thomas woke or get a chance to see some of the island, as she’d been dying to do.
It wasn’t much of a battle.
“How can I refuse?” she said wryly.
His grin was every bit as incorrigible as he was. “You can’t.”
“When shall we go?”
“As soon as you’re dressed,” he answered.
She frowned, gazing down at her borrowed leine. What was he talking about? It might be old, but there was nothing wrong with what she was wearing—thousands of Irish and Scottish women wore the same every day.
“Hawk is so thoughtful,” Meg said. “Look what he’s brought you.” She pointed to what appeared to be a green woolen cotte folded on the bench beside her. “He thought you might get cold.”
Ellie’s brows wrinkled, surprised by his concern. Again, she wondered what he was up to.
“Thank you,” she said. Meg had generously provided the traditional linen leine to go over her ruined chemise, hose, and a pair of old leather slippers, but the fitted wool gown—though nowhere near as fine as what she normally wore—was more what she was used to wearing. “Where did you get it?”
He and Meg exchanged a look, and his mouth quirked. “Pirate secrets, I’m afraid.”
Plundered booty from one of his raids? Her eyes narrowed, trying to figure out whether he was serious. Suspecting he was only teasing her, she reached greedily for the gown and retreated behind the partition.
She emerged a few minutes later, feeling more like herself than she had in days. The gown was large in the waist and chest—not unexpected—but close enough in length. Ellie felt like twirling with delight, but instead gave him a short nod. “Shall we go?”
They said their goodbyes to Meg and left the longhouse, heading inland to the south.
He was right. It was a spectacular day. Sunny, clear, and pleasantly cool, with the mist still burning off the grassy moorland in a steamy haze. The crisp air was infused with a pleasant, salty sea breeze. She lifted her face to the sun as they walked, savoring the gentle, warm caress on her skin.
For a moment she felt like a girl again, traipsing over the verdant Irish countryside until her slippers were caked with dirt and her gown was wrinkled and colored with grass stains. How she’d loved every minute of it.
How long ago it seemed. She felt a pang of longing and regret, knowing she could never go back. These days of freedom would soon be at an end.
They walked side by side at a pace comfortable for her, and what she suspected was a significantly shortened stride for him. But he didn’t seem in any hurry. He never seemed in a hurry. “Where are we going?” she asked.
He gave her an enigmatic smile. “You’ll see.”
She opened her mouth to demand he tell her, but stopped. Not only was she fairly certain he wouldn’t, but she was also grateful enough to be outside not to care. She could play along for now.
She glanced at him from out of the corner of her eye. Even the sun seemed to embrace him, shimmering off the blond streaks in his hair, the deep bronze of his skin, and bathing him in a warm, golden glow. It was almost blinding.
The wind at his back, he’d said once. He was right. What must it be like to be so favored? To go through life with such unwavering confidence? Not only had he been blessed with a handsome face, a powerful body, and from what she could tell extraordinary warrior skills, he was also funny, charming, and eminently likable.
It must be nice. But maybe a little lonely, too? It seemed so one-sided. People surrounded him for what he could give them—by either words or touch—but what did he get in return? Maybe that’s what made her different: she didn’t want anything from him.
“I’m surprised that you can break away from your men for so long. Don’t you have work to do? Like toss that big sword of yours around?”
His mouth curved wickedly. “I assure you I never toss my sword around.” Her cheeks heated when she realized that he wasn’t referring to armor, but to something else entirely.
“I didn’t mean …” she stammered.
He laughed, taking far too much delight in flustering her. “Have you been watching me, Ellie?”
“Of course not!” she protested, but her cheeks fired even hotter. He knew she was lying—the devil.
It wasn’t as if she’d gone looking for him. She’d simply been near the edge of the cliff the other day and happened to look down to the beach where the men had set up camp and noticed him practicing with his sword, battle-axe, and war hammer. Until she caught herself she’d been mesmerized by the vicious strokes that passed for “training,” marveling at the power and strength that he wielded with each blow.
She was used to watching the formal fighting of knights, but there was nothing civilized about the unharnessed, ruthless fighting style of the Highlanders. It was only natural that she would be curious. She conveniently ignored that her curiosity had been focused on one impressive form in particular.
He seemed content to walk in silence, although he would occasionally point out a farm and identify its owner, or an interesting plant or vista. It was comfortable. Too comfortable. As if she could be happy walking beside him for a long time.
The errant thought shocked her back to reality. Heaven help her, she needed to get home before she completely lost her mind. “How long are you planning on staying here?” she blurted.
“Careful, lass,” he said with one of his dazzling smiles, “or you’ll hurt my tender feelings by making me think you don’t enjoy my company.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t bother,” she said. “Flash that irresistible grin at someone who will appreciate it.”
His blue eyes danced with mirth. “Irresistible? You think so?”
He truly was incorrigible. She couldn’t imagine what he was like as a boy. She pitied his former nursemaid. “To most women, I would imagine.”
“But utterly wasted on you?” He shook his head. “You are a hard woman to impress, Nurse Ellie.”
“Not hard, just impervious to obvious ploys.”
“Is that so?” he asked, a glint of challenge in his gaze. “You didn’t seem so impervious the other night.”
She forced a steadying calm to her voice that was belied by the sudden leap of her pulse. “That was a mistake,” she said carefully.
“Is that what you call it?” he challenged sarcastically.
His arrogance grated. To him she was a poor, plain nursemaid who must be grateful for the momentary attention of a man like him. She would never let him know how much it had affected her. How
even now, gazing up at him in the sun, seeing that soft mouth twisted in a wry grin, all she could think about was how incredible his lips had felt on hers. And the weakness was humiliating.
He was so sure of himself. Well, she was sure of herself, too, and she would not be drawn in.
She mustered up her most breezy, nonchalant expression. “We both know it was nothing. A natural result of closeness, the late hour, and the heat of the room. You could have been anyone.”
He stopped and grabbed her arm, his face impassive except for the slight tightening around his mouth. “Your mature grasp of the situation is quite reassuring.”
There was a hard edge to his voice that made her skin tighten with heat. “We are both adults. You don’t need to worry that I’ll set my sights on you.” She laughed nervously. “I’m hardly likely to fall prey to a man like you.”
His jaw locked, and his blue eyes bore right into her. “Is that so?” he drawled dangerously.
Never dare a daredevil. She realized her mistake at once and tried to make him see she hadn’t meant it as a challenge. She was just trying to be practical, but he’d taken it as a criticism. “I only meant that we are too different. Look at us.” The differences should have been obvious. “I’m sure I’m not the type of woman that you usually kiss.”
“You think you know me so well?”
“I know your type. Lighthearted, charming, unflappable. Women love you and you love them back. All of them. Life is your private joke and you never take anything seriously.”
“You’re wrong,” he said in a dark voice. “Some things I take very seriously.”
Her heart beat a little faster at the way he was looking at her. As if he intended to show her exactly what he meant, and this time she didn’t think it would be by a simple kiss. He was far more dangerous like this. Intense. Angry. Brutally male. Her heart took a funny little jump as she stood there frozen, knowing she should step back but unable to force her feet to move.
The Hawk: A Highland Guard Novel Page 14
