The Hawk: A Highland Guard Novel (12 page)

He pointed to the rocks. “There’s a cave where he can rest. I’ll send for someone—”

“You can’t do that!”

He stiffened, the amiable mask slipping once more. His jaw fell in a hard line, causing her heart to take a strange little jump.

“I’m not one of your charges,
Nurse
Ellie. You won’t be telling me what I can and can’t do. There’s only one captain on board this ship. The sooner you realize that, the better we’ll both get along.”

Ellie hurried to soothe his pride. Men were appallingly tender about such things. “I didn’t mean to threaten your manhood—”

She thought she heard a growl between his clenched teeth before he cut her off. “You did not threaten anything, least of all my manhood. I’m just telling you the way it’s going to be.”

She tilted her head to study him. “You know, I had a hound like you once.”

He shook his head as if he hadn’t heard her right. “What?”

“Always trying to prove he was in charge. He’d challenge any other dog that came around him.”

He held her gaze a moment and then burst out laughing. “Ah, lass, you are an amusing one.” She wrinkled her brow; she hadn’t been trying to be funny. “But you see there’s one important difference.”

“What’s that?”

He gave her one of those looks that she suspected had melted more than one woman’s knees and stood far closer to her than was necessary. Close enough for her to catch a whiff of his warm masculinity.

“I don’t need to prove anything,” he said.

Her breath caught at the force of that powerful gaze on her. His husky voice reverberated through her like a dark caress, daring her to disagree. She couldn’t. He was right. He didn’t need to prove anything. Power and authority emanated from him as loud and clear as a drum. Or perhaps that was the beat of her heart?

Realizing that lack of sleep must have weakened her good sense, Ellie returned to her original point, hoping she didn’t sound as flustered as she felt. “All I was trying to
suggest
,” she emphasized, “is that a cave will not suffice. Thomas needs someplace warm and dry. Is there not a house or cottage nearby where you can take him?”

“Are you a healer?”

She thought of her brother and felt a hard lump form in her chest. Far from it. The hours she’d spent at his bedside had made no difference. She shook her head, hoping the darkness masked the dampness in her eyes. “Nay, but I’ve seen enough men come down with ague to know the signs. The earlier he’s treated, the better.”

Her brother had stubbornly refused to recognize the signs. By the time he’d been brought to bed, he was burning up with fever. Ellie and her mother had nursed him day and night, but by then it was too late.

“Please,” she said, grasping his arm. Good lord, it was like a rock! The solid muscles flexed under her fingertips. “Isn’t there someplace you can take him?”

    Erik was patently aware of her hand on his arm. The gentle press of her fingers burned right through the leather of his
cotun
. Something shifted uncomfortably in his chest when he looked at her. The lass appeared genuinely worried. In fact, she seemed close to tears.

He hated seeing women cry. It made him want to squirm like a lad in church clothes.

There were plenty of places he could take Randolph. He knew the island well.

As William Wallace had done before them, Robert Bruce and his followers had found Spoon Isle’s strategic location in the North Channel useful, not simply as a place of refuge, but also as a vantage point. Within easy sight of the tip of Kintyre, Edward Bruce had been stationed here last September, keeping watch when Erik had led Bruce from Dunaverty Castle.

Though Erik could count on the support of the inhabitants, he’d wanted to wait until morning to apprise the villagers—mostly fishermen and their families—of his arrival and of his predicament. But he supposed there was someplace close he could take them.

He frowned. As prone as the lass was to bossiness already, he knew it was bad precedent to give in to her like this. But he had to admit that she was right: Randolph didn’t look good. The lass could probably use a good drying out as well. Moreover, he suspected that he would have a much more peaceful night’s sleep by the fire with his men if she wasn’t sleeping a few feet away from him. His body was still damned uncomfortable.

Carrying her from the boat had been a bad idea. He hadn’t liked the way she’d felt in his arms at all. Hell, he hadn’t been that aware of a woman since he was a lad of three and ten, and one of the village lasses had graciously offered to introduce him to the pleasures of the flesh.

That a plain little wren like that could rouse his lust—which had admittedly been sluggish of late—was mildly disconcerting. Particularly when those penetrating eyes of hers looked upon him with something vaguely resembling tolerance.

It was unnatural. That’s what it was. Unnatural. Women
always
liked him. What in Hades was wrong with her?

Shaking off the troubling thoughts, he said, “There is a place nearby, but—”

“Oh, thank you!” she said before he could finish, gazing up at him with a brilliant smile on her face.

It jarred him. For a moment, she looked if not quite pretty, then at least within clamoring distance. She should smile more often.

He adjusted his
cotun
, feeling an odd twinge in his chest. “But, I will have your word that you will not try to escape or take advantage of Meg’s kind nature by seeking her help. You will say nothing of how you came to be with us.”

“Meg?” Her hand fell from his sleeve, and for a moment he wanted it back. “You wish me to go as well?”

“You need some sleep. It will be more comfortable for you there. But if you would rather sleep by my side in the cave …”

Usually he would have put a suggestive lilt in his voice, but knowing it would fall on deaf ears he didn’t bother.

“Nay,” she said quickly.
Too
quickly, to his mind.

He didn’t miss that she’d deflected his question with one of her own. He’d neglected to secure her word before, but he would not be so remiss a second time. “I’ll have your word, Ellie.”

She nodded—reluctantly. “I give you my word. I will do nothing tonight.”

His eyes narrowed. “Or in the morning. Or for as long as we are here.”

Clearly annoyed that he’d picked up on her qualification, she wrinkled her nose. “Very well. You have my word.”

His eyes held hers, cutting through the darkness. “Don’t make me regret trusting you to keep it.”

Her eyes widened a little and she nodded, apparently not missing the threat in his voice.

He turned to give orders to his men. In addition to Ellie, Randolph, the two men who were virtually carrying him, and his kinsman Duncan who’d been injured by the arrow, he brought along another man.

Though he wanted to trust her, the lass was too clever by far. The man he stationed outside to watch the house would help ensure that she kept her word.

She wouldn’t get very far if she tried to escape, but he wouldn’t take any chances. Bruce and his fellow guardsmen were counting on him, and that was something Erik took very seriously.

He’d originally joined Bruce at the bequest of his cousin, Angus Og MacDonald, Lord of the Isles, intending to get his clan’s land back from the MacDougalls. But he’d come to admire the warrior king. If anyone could challenge Edward, it was Bruce. The loyalty he’d once owed to his cousin had transferred to Bruce and his Highland Guard brethren.

Failure was unthinkable. Nothing would interfere with his mission. Certainly not a skinny, passably pretty nursemaid with a penchant for stirring up trouble.

Six

    Mathilda de Burgh had never looked so wretched. Her angelic flaxen curls were a snarled mess, still limp and tangled from seawater; her big, baby-blue eyes were red and nearly swollen shut from hours of crying; and her tiny, upturned nose wouldn’t stop running.

What time was it? It had to be near dawn. Hours since Ellie had disappeared, and still there had been no word. Matty couldn’t bear to think that her sister was gone. Drowned on a foolish girl’s lark.

Her
lark.

It’s all my fault
. Why had she pushed her? After all Ellie had done for them in the past few years, how could she have been so cruel? So what if Ellie had seemed to turn a little old and stodgy overnight? She was the most generous, kind sister Matty could imagine. She’d taken charge and held the family together after the devastating fever had shattered their childhood.

Matty sat in the earl’s solar, still wrapped in the same fur robe she’d donned after her dunking in the sea, with her father and two of her three remaining brothers: John and her twin, Thomas. The youngest children were still sleeping, snug and warm in their beds with no idea of the nightmare awaiting them when they woke.

Only the sounds of the crackling fire, the wind clattering against the shutter, and her occasional sniffle broke the horrible silence. Not since the deaths of their mother and brother had they looked so solemn. Her father could barely stand to look at her.

He blamed her. They all blamed her. As they should. Fresh tears stung her eyes. She’d only wanted to see Ellie laugh again; she’d never meant …

“I’m sorry,” she said, unable to bear the silence any longer.

For a moment no one said a word. Finally, John took pity on her. “It’s not your fault, Matty. It was an accident.”

Richard de Burgh, Earl of Ulster and the most powerful nobleman in Ireland, turned his glassy, dark-eyed gaze on her. At eight and forty he was still a handsome man, but his face bore the signs of the evening’s strain.

Her father was not a man who was often tested. Since birth he’d been imbued with a sense of entitlement, and he’d grown accustomed to having things go his way. When things didn’t—such as when her mother died or when her sister’s husband, Robert Bruce, rebelled against his king—he could be unpredictable. Mercurial even. Matty should have known better than to draw his attention to her; she’d given his frustration a direction in which to aim.

“What could you have been thinking? How could you be so irresponsible? To have no care for your duty and position? To gallivant across the countryside like some … 
peasant
. And to goad your sister—”

“I was only trying to help. She’s been so sad lately. I thought the wedding would help, but it only seemed to make it worse.”

Her father’s jaw locked in a formidable line. “Ellie was fine.”

Matty felt a sudden spark of anger at her father’s willful blindness. “She wasn’t fine! But you didn’t want to see it, not when she was handling everything so that you didn’t have to.”

Her father flinched. “That’s enough, Mathilda,” he said angrily. “I think you’ve said—and done—enough for one day.”

Matty bit her lip and nodded, knowing she’d gone too far. Ellie was the only one from whom their father would accept criticism—and that was because she did it so skillfully, he usually didn’t realize he was being criticized.

They all looked to the door when Ralph burst into the room. Matty’s pulse did a strange little stutter step, as it had from the first time she’d set eyes upon him. How could Ellie not want to marry him? If Matty could have dreamed up the perfect English knight, he would look exactly like Ralph de Monthermer. Tall and lean, with thick dark hair and clear green eyes, he was handsome, strong, and honorable to the core. The fact that he’d once risked everything for love by marrying the king’s daughter only made him more of a romantic figure in her eyes.

For an instant, their eyes met before they both turned away.

“I have news,” he said. Matty’s heart stopped. He paused for only a moment, but it felt like an eternity as she waited to find out whether it was good or bad. “A woman was sighted not far from here by some of my men. Apparently, she’d jumped in the water and tried to call for help, but before my men could reach her she was recaptured.”

“Was it Ellie?” Matty asked, hardly daring to believe.

Ralph looked at her again, meeting her gaze for only an instant, but long enough for her to catch the glimpse of compassion. “It has to be. The timing and description both fit.”

Matty closed her eyes and said a word of thanks. She heard her father murmur “thank God” as well. The genuine relief in his voice surprised her. Though the earl cared about all of his children, he was not an overly sentimental man. Perhaps her mother and brother’s deaths had affected him more than she realized? Or maybe it was just Ellie. She was their anchor.

But his relief was quickly replaced by anger. “Recaptured? What do you mean recaptured?” he said. “By whom?”

Ralph’s jaw fell in hard line. “I don’t know. But the sail was said to bear the image of a hawk.”

Both men looked at each other, and Matty knew there was something significant about this.

“The man we’ve heard rumors about?” her father asked.

Ralph nodded.

“Edward will be pleased,” her father said. “He’s been looking for him since the escape from Dunaverty.”

Matty’s eyes widened. Even John and Thomas were taken aback at the suggestion that their brother-in-law could be involved with the men who’d taken Ellie.