The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(13)

What was she going to do? Her hands twisted in her damp chemise. This would have to win the prize for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She had to explain, but the cold had numbed her brain.

Forcing her teeth to stop clacking together, she said, “Please, this is all a mistake. I was swimming and stumbled upon you by accident.” She struggled to her feet and tried to appear calm. Rational. Confident. Not scared out of her mind. Think. Act like you know what you are doing. Speak with authority. “My friends will be wondering where I am. They’ll be looking for me …” She started to walk determinedly away, but her path was blocked by a wall of rough-looking Irishmen. Her smile shook, but she forced her voice to sound brisk and confident. “Let me pass and you can finish your business—”

The bald man ignored her and spoke to the Norseman. “We’ll have to kill her.”

Any blood that she had left in her body slid to her feet. Her breath caught in a sharp gasp. She tried to tell herself he couldn’t mean it, but one look at the soldier’s cruel face and she knew he did.

Erik swore. This wasn’t going to turn out well. His straightforward mission had just taken an ugly turn.

He hoped the lass didn’t faint, but the poor thing looked terrified. Not that he blamed her. What was she doing in the cave? Had she actually swum from the beach? At this time of year it was hard to believe, but she seemed to be in earnest.

Still, he didn’t suppose it mattered. Whoever she was, and whatever she was doing, she’d just stumbled into a very bad situation.

Unfortunately, Fergal had a point. If she’d heard anything, it could put his mission in danger. Nothing—and no one—could interfere with securing these mercenaries. They couldn’t let her walk out of here.

But kill her? Every bone in his body rebelled at the thought of harming a lass.

Erik loved women. All women. He loved the way they smelled. The softness of their skin. The way their long, silky hair spilled across his chest when they curled up next to him—or on top of him. He loved the tinkle of their laughter, their playfulness, and listening to them talk.

He loved everything about them, but most of all he loved their lush femininity. Big, ripe br**sts that he could weigh in his hands and bury his face between, curvy hips and round bottoms that he could hold under him, and soft thighs that wrapped around his waist as he slid slowly inside the most feminine place of all.

He sighed. Aye, lasses were beautiful creatures. Every one of them. You only had to look hard enough.

But, he had to admit, even with the added vantage provided by the wet linen, there wasn’t much to the lass before him. She was a wee slip of a thing. Average height but slim to the point of bony. He’d wager she weighed no more than seven stone soaking wet. Not his type at all. Erik preferred women with a little more meat on their bones. Lush and curvy, with something to hold on to—not as skinny as a reed. He was a big man, after all, and didn’t want to worry about crushing anyone.

He’d had only a quick glimpse of her face, but nothing had caught his eye. No Venus rising from the waves, this one, that was for certain. Rather with her dark hair plastered to her head, she’d made him think of a half-drowned cat—bedraggled, miserable, and cold.

But she had nerve, he’d give her that. He admired the way she’d tried to walk, bold as she might, right on out of here. Despite her youth, she had an authoritative air about her. He suspected whoever she was, she was the kind of woman who was used to being listened to. Like the old nursemaid who used to order him about. The memory made him frown. Ada had been impossible to charm—his only real failure in an otherwise spotless record.

Of all the things that could have gone wrong, Erik had never anticipated a lass wandering into their meeting. He knew he was going to have to do something, something he wasn’t going to like.

What a mess! He dragged his fingers through his recently shorn hair. Most of the men had cut their hair short to prevent the rampant lice sweeping through the camp. He liked the convenience and had decided to keep it.

The lass finally found her tongue after Fergal’s grim pronouncement. She didn’t bother pleading with the Irishman—proving her good sense—but turned her thin, pale face to him. “Please, you can’t do this. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t hear anything. I swear I will say nothing about this to anyone. Just let me go.”

He wanted to believe her. But unfortunately, it didn’t matter if he did. He couldn’t take the risk. It wasn’t just his mission at stake. The last thing Erik wanted was to do anything to antagonize Ulster.

Bruce’s relationship with his father-in-law was a complex one. On the face of it, Ulster’s loyalty to Edward was unquestionable. However, Bruce suspected one of the reasons they’d managed to avoid capture the past few months was because Ulster had turned a blind eye to any evidence of their presence. But the earl wouldn’t be able to ignore recruiting men right under his nose—especially with the bloody English around.

Randolph stepped forward. “Of course we won’t—”

“He’s right.” Erik cut Randolph off with a sharp warning glance. The gallant young fool was going to ruin everything. Erik addressed Fergal, ignoring the girl. “We can’t risk letting her go.”

The smile that spread across Fergal’s face chilled Erik’s blood. Clearly, he was looking forward to getting rid of their problem.