The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(111)

Robert ignored him, giving her a long look. “You have not suffered for your … er, loss? I’ll have him marry you right now, if need be.”

Ellie repressed a cringe of mixed horror and embarrassment. Being forced into marriage by an angry, well-meaning relative was even less appealing than Erik’s dutiful offer.

She shook her head. “My betrothed is aware of the situation. As I told Hawk before, I have no wish to marry him.” His noble sacrifice wasn’t necessary.

Robert seemed mollified by her response, and when he glanced at Hawk it seemed to be with marginally less anger. She could tell he was relieved to have the unpleasant conversation over. He smiled. “I’m afraid you’ve damaged my seafarer’s pride. He isn’t much used to women refusing him. But from what my Elizabeth says, you’ve always been a discerning lass.” He laughed at Erik’s furious expression. “See what I mean? He’s been unbearable for weeks.”

Perhaps sensing he’d pushed the warrior as far as he could, Robert sobered. “You’ve risked much to bring me this information. I hope no one discovers what you have done.”

She hoped so, too. “I’ll be fine, but I must get back quickly. The soldiers will be waiting for me, and I don’t want them asking too many questions.”

Robert gave her another kiss on the cheek. “I’ll have one of my men escort you to where you need to go.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Erik said flatly. “I’ll take her.”

Robert looked to her for approval. Her gaze flickered to Erik, seeing the hard, forbidding line of his mouth and jaw. She was tempted to refuse, but she knew that this—he—was part of the reason she’d come. Before she decided to go forward with her plans to marry Ralph, she needed to know that there wasn’t a chance for them.

Hesitantly, she nodded.

Erik was holding himself by a very thin thread. She was damn lucky she’d agreed to come with him. He’d been one second away from wrapping his hands around that slim waist of hers—as he’d been itching to do since she’d stumbled into that tent—and tossing her over his shoulder like the Viking barbarian she’d first thought him. The infuriating lass seemed to unleash every primitive instinct in him, instincts honed from generations of Norsemen who took what they wanted.

But fortunately, her hesitant nod had prevented him from further damaging the king’s opinion of him—which had already suffered enough.

After her goodbyes to her brother-in-law, she turned on her heel, lifted that imperious chin of hers, and floated out of the tent as if she were the royal sister and he was a lackey who must content himself with carrying the hem of her robes.

He stormed out after her, struggling to keep a rein on the fierce emotions firing through him. The anger he’d felt on seeing her had only gotten worse as he listened to her explain her reasons for coming. He couldn’t breathe when he thought of the danger she’d put herself in.

The adamant reiteration of her refusal to marry him hadn’t improved his mood any, either. If she loved him, why didn’t she want to marry him?

Not that marriage was what he wanted, but damn it, it didn’t make sense.

He stewed in silence, not trusting himself to speak, as the fires and torches of the encampment faded behind them into the moonlight. He picked out a few of Boyd’s sentinels guarding the outer perimeter, but he doubted she knew they were there.

Finally, when they’d reached the narrow path that led to Loch Troon, she must have determined they’d gone far enough. She turned on him, her eyes flashing green spitfire. “Are you just going to glare at me all night or do you have something you wish to say?”

It might have been her tone. Or maybe it was the hands on the hips. Or maybe it was just smelling the sweet perfume of her skin after months of torturous deprivation. Whatever it was, Erik had reached his breaking point. He took her by one of those bent elbows and jerked her up against him. “Damn right I have something to say. What in the hell do you think you are doing involving yourself in this? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Touching her was a mistake. With her pressed up against him like this, he could feel the softness of her body curve into his. She felt—smelled—incredible, and he realized how much he’d missed this. How much he’d missed her.

Awareness fired through him, heating his blood, his skin, and letting him know that despite recent experience to the contrary, he wasn’t a eunuch.

Any rational woman would quiver in fear at the maelstrom of anger coming toward her. Ellie, of course—never one to act as she should—wrenched her arm away, looked him square in the eye, and met his anger full on.

Her eyes narrowed. “Foolish me, I thought you might be grateful”—she poked his chest for emphasis—”that I just saved your thankless, over-muscled, too-handsome-for-your-own-good hide.”

“Grateful,” he spewed angrily, “for putting yourself in danger?” He took a step toward her, which she wisely avoided by taking a step back. Fortunately for him, a tree blocked her movement. With a hand on either side of her shoulders so she couldn’t escape, he leaned in threateningly. “I want to strangle you for coming here.”

Or kiss her until the pressure pounding through his chest stopped.

The air sparked between them. The magnetic pull of desire drew him in. The urge to kiss her was almost overwhelming. His jaw, his mouth, his entire body clenched with restraint.