The Hawk: A Highland Guard Novel

by Monica McCarty

  Ellie swallowed hard and nodded. She dipped the rag in the cool water that Meg had poured from a pitcher into a small bowl and began to clean the gash, careful to avoid touching his bare skin with her fingers as she tried to wipe away the black grease, and the grit from the sea. But she was painfully aware of the tight muscles underneath—and of his eyes on her. It was almost as if he could feel the tension, too. As if he was just as aware as she was of her hands on him.

  Unfortunately, contact could not be avoided forever.

  “Put your hands here,” Meg said, showing her where she wanted them.

  Ellie took a deep breath and slid her palms on either side of the wound—one rested gently on his ribs and the other low on his hip. She swore she felt a sharp sizzle as a rush of heat flared under her hands.

  He jerked at the contact, and she pulled her hands back. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

  He started to shake his head, but then said, “Aye. It stings a bit more than I thought.”

  A small frown gathered between Ellie’s brows. “I’ll try to be more gentle.”

  She touched him again and although he didn’t jump, she could tell that it was causing him some kind of pain. His mouth was tight, and every muscle in his body seemed to clench.

  But it seemed to have the opposite effect on her. She could feel the heat and energy under her palms and ached to spread her hands over more of him. To test the strength burgeoning under her fingertips. To splay her fingers over the rigid bands of muscle that lined his stomach. To dip her fingers beneath the edge of the plaid—

  He made a low, pained sound in his throat and squirmed uncomfortably, almost as if he knew what she was thinking. But Meg gave a sharp tug of the sinew as she pulled the needle through his skin, and Ellie realized that must have been it.

  “Thanks, Ellie,” Meg said after a moment. She was eyeing Hawk with a strange look on her face. “I think I can finish from here.”

  Holding back a sigh of relief, Ellie removed her hands and quickly tucked them in her skirts. The captain seemed to relax as well.

  Wanting to break the awkward silence, Ellie asked, “How did this happen?”

  Domnall groaned. “Ah, lass, don’t ask him that.”

  Hawk gave him a reproachful glare and proceeded to tell a long, dramatic story of how he’d been out for a midnight swim when he’d come across a score of the biggest English ruffians he’d ever seen (in full armor and armed to the teeth, of course) preying on a galley of nuns and orphans on their way to the holy Isle of Iona. He could hardly ignore such injustice (hardly, she thought, for pirates were known for their adherence to justice) and had jumped onboard to help them, defeating the galley ruffians with only a dirk. But alas, he’d gone to the rescue of one of the children who one of the English was trying to throw overboard. He reached for the child, and one of the English managed to get a swipe in before Hawk was able to dispense him.

  By the time he’d finished his story, Meg was already done stitching him and was watching him with something akin to hero worship in her eyes.

  “That was a remarkable story,” Ellie said. Orphans and nuns? A bit much, she’d say, but he was nothing if not entertaining. “Was any of it true?”

  Domnall started coughing to hide his laughter, and Hawk gave him a sharp glance.

  “The lass has your mark, Captain,” Domnall said when he managed to get his laughing under control. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

  “Well?” Ellie demanded.

  Hawk shrugged.

  “I didn’t think so,” she said pertly. “If piracy doesn’t work out for you, you should consider becoming a bard.”

  He grinned unrepentantly. “It was the orphans, wasn’t it?”

  “Among other things. The score of men as well. No one can defeat twenty men alone with only a dirk.”

  Domnall frowned. “The captain can.” She looked at the older man, expecting to see him smile, but he seemed to be in earnest. “He’s done it before.”

  “Don’t you have work to do, Domnall?” Hawk said sternly. “I thought you were going to replace some of the riggings.”

  Ellie couldn’t believe it. The braggart was embarrassed. He would make up ridiculously elaborate tales about his feats, but when the truth was told he became suddenly modest.

  It was … intriguing. Unexpected. Even charming.

  Ellie was still trying to digest the fact that he could take down twenty men by himself—how was such a thing possible?—as Domnall and the other men started to break away.

  Meg was looking back and forth between Ellie and the captain with a quizzical expression on her face. Uncomfortable with the other woman’s scrutiny, Ellie said, “I should get back to check on Thomas.”

  Meg shook her head. “Why don’t you stay. I’ll check on Thomas.” She tilted her head in Hawk’s direction but spoke as if he were not there. “Make sure he doesn’t get up for at least an hour—until the salve I put on the stitches has had time to dry.”

  The sticky, glue-like substance was unlike anything Ellie had ever seen before, but from what she’d seen of the stitches on Duncan’s arm, it seemed to work remarkably well to hold the wound together.

  He groaned. “An hour? I have things to do.”

  “They can wait,” Meg said, more firmly than Ellie had ever heard her speak to him before. Perhaps she wasn’t as blinded by him as Ellie thought.

  Meg left before Ellie could think of a reason to object. At least they weren’t alone. A few of the men were still lingering near the rear of the cave.

  She sat down on a rock opposite him, trying to get comfortable, which wasn’t easy with that impressive chest dominating her field of vision. Who knew muscles could be so … intriguing?

  She tried not to stare, but it was easier said than done. She lifted her gaze to his face, but her eyes caught on something on his upper arm. It appeared to be a marking of some kind, but with some of the black grease still smudged over him it was hard to tell. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing to his upper arm.

  His expression tightened almost imperceptibly. “Nothing,” he said, adjusting the plaid around his shoulders to cover his arm. “An old scar.”

  It didn’t look like any kind of scar she’d ever seen. He’s hiding something. Just as she was, she reminded herself. But the secrets between them suddenly felt like a wall. For a moment, she forgot that the wall also protected her, feeling an overwhelming urge to knock it down. To really know him.

  “It must have been some fire,” she said.

  He gave her a puzzled glance, but she challenged him with her gaze, letting him know that she knew he had lied to her. “The soot. It’s all over you.”

  He held her gaze but didn’t say anything. Probably to avoid lying to her again.

  “Are you going to tell me what really happened?” she asked softly. “How you were injured?”

  Again he didn’t say anything, which she supposed was response enough. He didn’t want to confide in her. This tenuous truce they’d worked out was all there was. He didn’t want anything deeper. It shouldn’t disappoint her so badly.

  “A seven-year-old lad got the jump on me.”

  “Right,” she scoffed, shaking her head at the ridiculous explanation. He couldn’t be serious about anything. “Just tell me … was it because of what I asked you to do?”

  “Nay,” he said adamantly. “It had nothing to do with you. It’s a nick, Ellie, that is all. I was never in any real danger.”

  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.”

  He
r 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.