The Hawk: A Highland Guard Novel (22 page)

When Domnall saw the gash, he fussed like an old woman and wanted to send someone for Meg immediately, but Erik didn’t want to wake her—
them
. Ellie needed her sleep. She prickled up like an angry bear if someone tried to wake her too early. The wound could wait until morning.

But he was already looking forward to telling Ellie that his mission had been a success—mostly, though with his near discovery it would be too risky to attempt to return to Dunaverty anytime soon.

She needed to have a little fun, and he was going to be the one to show her how.

    Ellie was finishing up the last bit of shortcake—leftover oat bread that Meg had sprinkled with sugar and put in the oven overnight to dry into a flaky, delectable treat—when someone knocked on the door.

Thinking it would be Hawk, she was surprised to see Duncan stride into the hall. He returned her morning greeting and then turned quickly to Meg, who had just finished taking a tray to Thomas.

“Meg, we need you down at camp to stitch a wound when you have a chance,” he smiled.

Meg smiled. “I’ll get my things.”

“Has the captain had you training this early in the morning?” Ellie asked. Meg had been called upon twice before to tend to cuts suffered in “training.”

Duncan grinned. Like most everyone else, he liked to tease her about her late rising. “It’s already midday for most of us, lass. But nay, we’ve not been training. It’s the captain.”

She jumped out of her chair before she realized what she was doing. “What’s happened?” Her pulse spiked with fear. He’d said he was going to deliver the message to her family last night. Had something happened? “Is he hurt?”

Duncan gave her an odd look and she realized she’d overreacted. She forced her frantic heartbeat to calm.
What is wrong with me
?

“Nay, lass, it’s only a scratch.”

Ellie could only imagine what “only a scratch” was to tough warriors like Hawk and his men. With images of limbs dangling and guts pouring out, she followed Meg and Duncan down the path to the beach where the men had set up camp.

She was grateful that neither said anything about her tagging along; she wasn’t sure she could explain it, except that she had to see for herself that he was all right. It was only the possibility that he might have been hurt while doing a favor for her that made her care.

But it didn’t explain the heavy pounding in her heart and the feeling that someone had just stepped on her chest.

A crowd of men were gathered around the fire at the rear of the cave, but they parted when Meg drew near, revealing the captain stretched out on a plaid, leaning against a low boulder.

The bottom dropped out of Ellie’s stomach. Not because he looked so pale beneath the broad black smudges smeared over his skin—though he did—or because of the large diagonal gash across his stomach, but because he wasn’t wearing a
cotun
, tunic,
leine
, or anything else to cover his chest. His very broad, very muscled, very naked chest. Her gaze dropped to the plaid slung low across his waist, and her mouth went dry. Unless she was very mistaken, the rest of him was quite bereft of clothing as well.

Dear Lord
. Her palms grew damp, and her stomach started to flutter nervously. He was magnificent. Muscular but lean. The broad shield of his chest was as chiseled and defined as the rocky wall of the cave behind him. His arms were stacked and rounded with thick slabs of muscle; his stomach was flat and ripped, crossed by narrow, rigid bands of steel. If there was an ounce of extra flesh on him, she couldn’t see it.

There had to be a primal feminine instinct buried deep inside her, set to flare at overt displays of physical strength. She didn’t need to be protected, but if she ever did, he was the man she would want at her side. He must be magnificent on the battlefield.

His eyes locked on hers. Holding her. Not letting her turn away. The current of awareness between them tightened; she couldn’t break it if she wanted to.

Something was happening, though she didn’t know what it was. It was as if for a moment all the pretense and hubris had been stripped away, leaving only a man and a woman. Not a pirate and a captive. Not the golden-god and the woman who was no more than passably pretty. Not the man running from the law and the earl’s daughter engaged to one of the most powerful men in England. For a moment it didn’t seem as though any of that mattered.

He’d never looked at her so intently. So seriously. She feared he could see right through her. That he read her concern, her fear, and her very feminine reaction to his nakedness.

This wasn’t a man who didn’t care about anything. This was a man of deep desires and fierce intensity. This was a man she could care about.

The thought jarred—and terrified—her.

She felt a strong tug in her chest and had to force herself to follow behind Meg, and not give in to the urge to immediately rush to his side to assure herself he was all right.

“What have you done this time?” Meg asked.

His gaze finally released her, and the mask of careless affability dropped right back into place. “Just a little trouble with a knife. It doesn’t look serious to me, but Domnall insisted you see to it. I told him that the lasses liked scars, but you know how stubborn he can be.”

Domnall snorted. “I don’t want to drag your stinking corpse all over the isles, that’s all.”

Erik laughed and turned to Ellie, who must have paled. “Don’t let all that bluster fool you, lass. He doesn’t mean a word of it. I’m fine.”

“Why don’t you let me see how close you are to death’s door,” Meg said.

She knelt beside him to examine the wound, and Ellie moved around to stand behind her.

The “scratch” was an ugly, ragged gash of about five inches that ran from below his ribs to his lower right side. It was caked with sand and what appeared to be some kind of black grease. The same grease she’d noticed in his hair before. From the large smudges, she guessed that it had once covered him from head to toe, but that most of it had been washed or wiped off.

He’d swum somewhere, she realized. And he’d done it before. What was he up to? Once again, the feeling that he was more than a typical pirate settled in.

Meg looked over her shoulder. “Ellie, come here and help me with this.”

Her eyes widened with horror, an innate sense of self-preservation kicking in. Touching him was the last thing she wanted to do.

She froze.

“Ellie?” Meg said again.

Realizing everyone was looking at her—including Hawk—she forced herself to kneel beside Meg. “What do you need me to do?”

“Clean the wound as best you can with this cloth, while I ready the needle and sinew. And I’ll need you to hold the wound together as I stitch.”

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.”