The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(14)

Erik sighed, reminding himself that he needed the scourge and forcing himself not to show his revulsion by lopping off his head. But he was tempted.

The lass made a sound that was half cry, half horrified whimper and started to back away from both of them. But Erik latched his hand around her wrist before one of Fergal’s men could get to her. She tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip and hoped to hell he didn’t break her bones. He’d held butterflies with more substance.

“I’ll take care of it,” he said. Before Fergal could interrupt, Erik gave him a conspiratorial look and added, “After my men and I’ve had a wee bit of fun.”

Fergal’s beady black crow eyes narrowed. “But my men found her.” He looked the shivering lass up and down. “She hardly looks worth the effort.”

Erik handed the lass off to Domnall and squared off against Fergal. “My men have been at sea for a while,” Erik lied. “Anything looks good to them right now. Besides, this will assure that the deed will never be traced back to you. Think of the mess. We’ll dump her out at sea, where no one will ever be the wiser.” Erik turned back to Domnall, noticing the girl’s pale color. “Better give her a plaid.” He forced himself to laugh. “We want to make sure she stays alive long enough to be of some use.”

Fergal stroked the grizzled scruff at his chin, looking like he wanted to protest. The last thing Erik wanted to do was get in an argument, with the man he was recruiting to fight for them, over a blasted lass.

All of a sudden they heard the faint sound of a woman’s voice, coming from outside the cavern. “Ellie!”

The lass tried to cry out, but Domnall managed to cover her mouth.

“Someone is looking for her,” Erik said. “You’d better get out of here before they see you.”

Fergal didn’t look happy, but he knew he had no choice. The time for argument had just run out.

Erik strode back through the water and jumped over the side of the boat. “The thirteenth,” he reminded him. “Don’t disappoint me.” The threat was uttered nonchalantly, but the look in Erik’s eyes held a steely edge that promised retribution.

Fergal sobered a little, losing some of his belligerence. He knew Erik well enough to know what he could do. There would be no place he could hide if he betrayed him.

The Irishman nodded and disappeared into the darkness.

Erik and his men did the same, slipping out of the cave as quietly as they’d come, though unfortunately with one extra passenger.

But not for long. As soon as he could, Erik was going to get rid of her.

Chapter Three

The sound of her sister’s voice sent the tears that Ellie had managed to hold in check, while the vile ruffians blithely discussed her rape and murder, streaming down her cheeks.

“Matty!” she tried to call out, only to have her captor’s hold around her tighten, and a big, beefy hand (that she was sure was none too clean) slapped across her mouth.

She struggled in his hold, but it was useless. Like the devil Viking captain who had taken hold of her wrist earlier, the hulking brute was immovable. It would be easier to bend steel or smash through a wall of granite.

“Sh …,” the man whispered in her ear. “We won’t hurt you, lass, but you need to be quiet.”

He had a gentle, soothing voice, and the glimpse she’d caught of him before he’d taken hold of her had been of a jovial, fatherly-looking sort, but could he honestly expect her to believe him after she’d just heard his captain speak coldly of raping and then “dumping” her body out at sea? She didn’t think so.

She bit down hard on his hand and was rewarded with a grunt of surprise. But he did not loosen his hold, and her defiance only earned her a tighter grip—one that prevented her teeth from chattering. Thanks to the big plaid and his arms wrapped tightly around her, Ellie no longer felt like she was freezing to death. Small consolation at a moment like this.

Her heart squeezed with terror and despair. This couldn’t be happening. As if in some kind of horrible nightmare, she’d been abducted by pirates—the most fearsome pirates of all, Vikings.

She sobbed in silence, cold, uncomfortable, and never having felt so helpless. Rescue was only a shout away, but she could do no more than watch as the boat slipped out to sea and her sister, her family, and her home were swallowed up in the dark, misty night.

When would she see them again? Would she see them again?

She swore that if she got out of this alive, she would never so much as dip a single toe in the water again. She would marry Ralph with a smile on her face, put her ridiculous qualms about her marriage behind her, and live an exemplary, picture-of-propriety life as his lady and mother to his children—all eight of them—no matter how staid and boring.

How long would it take for her family to notice that she was missing and start looking for her? Despite the thick plaid, she chilled all over again as a horrible thought struck her. They might not even know to look for her. Her family might simply think that she’d drowned, and not realize she’d been abducted.

With a sudden burst of strength brought on by the terrifying prospect, she renewed her struggles against the man holding her, this time managing to loosen an arm enough to poke an elbow hard in his stomach.

He made a hard, guttural sound and released his hold long enough for her to chomp down on his hand, wrench away, and spring to her feet. She took a step toward the rail, intending to jump overboard and swim toward the lights from the castle just visible in the distance.