The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(12)

But she knew she couldn’t stay like this for long. She prayed the men finished their business quickly. She heard their voices but was unable to make out what they were saying. Still, she didn’t need to know what they were doing to know that she shouldn’t be here.

What would be worse, freezing to death or having them find her? Neither choice sounded promising at the moment.

She never should have allowed herself to get talked into this. Nor should she have swum so far away from the group alone—didn’t she always caution the younger children against this very thing?—but she’d wanted to win and she loved this cave.

Why, oh why had she let Matty get to her? Boring wasn’t so bad. Boring was safe. Boring was warm. Right now she could be sleeping in her nice, cozy bed stacked with furs instead of trying to feel her fingertips, perched on a rock in a dark cave filled with terrifying Vikings doing God-knows-what.

She was too cold and frightened to be curious. She didn’t even dare to peek her head out from behind her rocky hiding place to venture a glance toward the shore, for fear that they would see her.

If only they would hurry up. Her teeth were chattering so loud she feared they would hear her soon, and she didn’t know how much longer she could stay perched on the slippery rock when she couldn’t feel her …

Uh-oh.

Her feet slid out from under her. She wobbled, trying to catch herself, but it was too late. She hit the water with a definitive splash. The shock of cold and the flash of panic sent her heart racing at a frantic pace. She resisted the natural urge to shoot back to the surface and instead cautiously raised her head.

Perhaps they hadn’t heard?

But one glance toward shore told her she wasn’t going to be so lucky. Two men jumped into the water and started to swim toward her. She dove back under and swam with everything she had.

But it wasn’t enough.

She was cold, and tired from her earlier swim, and they had momentum on their side. One of the men got a hold of her ankle. She tried to kick away, but he reeled her in as easily as a fish on a line. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to look at a herring on her plate in the same way.

An arm snaked around her waist. The brutish warrior pulled her against him none too gently, dragging her back to the surface.

The ruffian uttered a crude oath. “It’s a lass!” he called back.

She heard the moment of paused surprise before a rough voice said, “Bring her.”

“Bloody hell, it’s cold in here,” the man swore in her ear. From the anger in his voice, he clearly blamed her for being forced to get wet.

“Let go of me!” she yelled. “Do you know who I am? My father—”

But his name was cut off by the press of a hard, callused hand over her mouth. “Shush,” he warned. “You’ll bring the entire guard down on us, and you’re in enough trouble already.”

She stilled, not liking the sound of that. The soldier dragged her up the rocky shore and threw her unceremoniously down at the feet of a bald-headed man who—thankfully—looked familiar to her. She racked her frozen brain, but it wasn’t moving too fast. Was he one of her father’s men? One of the castle soldiers? Surely he would help her.

She was certainly more likely to find understanding from a familiar face than from a boatload of Norsemen—she shivered reflexively—wasn’t she?

She was about to plead her case when she glanced into the bald soldier’s eyes. The words froze on her tongue. She knew without asking that he would be of no help. The man was utterly without emotion; he had the cold, flat eyes of a reptile.

“How much did you hear? Why are you spying on us?” he demanded sharply.

“N-nothing. I wasn’t spying.” Her teeth were still rattling. “I … swear … s-swimming.”

“She must have come from the group of revelers on the beach,” a deep voice from behind her said. Like the others he spoke in Gaelic, but there was something calming in the warm, husky tones.

She nodded vigorously, since her teeth didn’t seem to be agreeing with her, and ventured a glance in his direction.

Despite the circumstances, she gasped.

God in heaven!

She blinked, but he was real. The Norseman could rival her brothers and sisters for striking beauty. His dark blond hair was cut close to his head, just long enough to come to his ears, except for a long lock that fell across his forehead. Unlike most of the other men he wore no beard, revealing the clean, hard lines of his perfectly sculpted face. A wide, smooth brow, sharply angled cheeks, a square jaw, and a proud nose that shockingly—given his profession—appeared reasonably straight. It was too dark to see the color of his eyes, but she knew they’d be blue. Vivid blue. Ocean blue. Soul-piercing blue.

She looked sharply away before he could catch her staring at him. Goodness! She thought men like that existed only in myths.

He might be gorgeous, but he was also undoubtedly a pirate—and a tall, incredibly muscular one at that. A man built to conquer, pillage, and do God-knew-whatever-it-was that Vikings did, leaving a trail of destruction in his terrifying wake. He could crush her in one huge iron fist.

The reptilian man spoke again. “We can’t risk her betraying us to Ulster.”

Her heart dropped at the sound of her father’s name. Whatever it was that they were doing, they didn’t want her father to know about it. Clearly, telling them her identity wasn’t going to solve her problems. Indeed, it just might make them worse.