The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(22)

The boat crested over a large wave and slammed down hard enough to knock the air from her lungs. Dear Lord, how much longer could he continue to hold those ropes against such force? His arms had to be burning by now. She ventured a glance, but he appeared utterly at ease—seemingly impervious to the strain.

Her heart was beating wildly in her chest. It seemed as if they were nearly perpendicular to the sea. The black waves seemed to be right under her. If she could peel her white-knuckled grip from the rail, she would be able to practically reach down and skim her fingers over the water.

She didn’t think her heart could take much more of this. “Slow down! We’re going too fast!” she demanded. “You’re going to flip us.”

She couldn’t be sure, but she thought the pirate’s gaze sparked in the darkness. The white flash of his teeth, however, was unmistakable. With a sinking dread, Ellie realized her mistake. Never dare a daredevil. He’d taken her words of caution as a challenge.

“Hold on tight,” he said, amusement evident in his voice.

The dark-haired knight shot her a look and shook his head as if to say “What were you thinking?”

The captain wrenched the sail even tighter. Her heart took a leap. She could swear the boat lifted off the waves, and they were flying. Soaring over the sea like a bird in flight.

It was the most amazing thing she’d ever experienced—terrifying and thrilling at the same time.

Only when she thought they must be about to run into the coast of Scotland did he finally slow and order Domnall to turn north. With a deft adjustment of the ropes, the captain eased the boat down flat on the water once more, and the men were able to return to their oars.

“Looks like we lost ‘em, Captain,” a boy of no more than six and ten who had to be serving as coxswain said.

“Good.”

In the excitement, Ellie realized she’d forgotten all about the boats chasing behind them, but the boy appeared to be right: with a combination of speed and deft maneuvering of which she’d never seen the like, the pirate had dodged four English galleys.

Her gaze fell back on the pirate captain, who was helping his men lower the sail so that the birlinn could disappear back into the night—a ghost ship once more. She didn’t want to be impressed, but she was. This swaggering pirate with the cocky grin and unwavering self-assuredness had to be one of the greatest sailors in a West Highland kingdom of seafarers.

What a shame that the Isles and the men who inhabited them were so untamed. Her brother-in-law could use men like this pirate if he ever hoped to reclaim Scotland’s crown from Edward. But Robert’s cause appeared to be lost. Ellie hadn’t had word from her sister in months; she prayed Beth was safe.

The hair at the back of her neck prickled as if someone was watching her. Shifting her gaze from the captain, she found the young dark-haired pirate studying her. She was glad for the darkness that hid the stain of color on her face for being caught staring at the captain. But her thoughts must have been more transparent than she realized.

“It’s not only skill but luck,” he said dryly in perfect aristocratic French. “I’ve never seen anything like it. He could land in a cesspit and come out smelling sweet.”

There was something in his voice that caught her attention. “You don’t like him?” She tried to speak softly under the boisterous din of the men around her, who were still celebrating their victory.

He looked at her as if she were daft. “Of course I like him. Everyone likes him. It’s impossible not to.”

Ellie tilted her head, puzzled by his reply, until it dawned on her: he was jealous. She supposed it was understandable. Though the dark-haired pirate was tall, lean, and handsome in his own fashion, he was young and couldn’t possibly hope to compete with the strapping, golden-god, seafaring warrior in the prime of his manhood.

Bigger than life, handsome as sin, with enough brash arrogance and raw charisma that men would follow him even to their deaths, the pirate captain exuded passion and energy. It was a magnetic combination, drawing people to him like moths to a flame. As if simply by being close to him, some of his golden glow would spill over onto those around him.

What would it be like to kiss him?

Sweet Mother Mary, where had that come from? It had popped out of nowhere. She couldn’t recall ever contemplating such a thing. The one time Ralph had tried to kiss her, she’d almost been ill.

Disconcerted by the direction of her thoughts, she switched the subject. “Are you feeling better?”

“Aye. Cold, wet, and uncomfortable, but I suspect you feel the same.”

He did look marginally better, though she doubted he would admit it if he wasn’t. His skin still had a sickly sheen, but at least his shivering seemed to have stopped. Sitting on the deck of the boat, below the rail, helped to keep the wind at bay.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

His expression drew wary and he hesitated before answering. “Thomas.”

“If you don’t mind my saying, Thomas, you don’t look or sound much like a pirate. You’re not with them, are you?”

He opened his mouth and then quickly slammed it shut. His eyes darted to the captain before he straightened and replied, “I’m not an Islander, but I am with them.”

She frowned, thinking it odd that a young man of obviously noble birth—not only his manner of speech but his fine, expensive armor suggested as much—would have joined with a band of Gall-Gaedhil pirates. But sensing he would say no more on the matter, she said, “Thank you for what you did back there at the cave—and for coming after me in the water.”