The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(27)

“Sounds perfect,” Ellie said dryly.

Clearly he didn’t like her tone. “Do not mistake my forbearance for weakness. I’ve been gentle with you because of the circumstances. I realize that you were scared, but try something like that again and you will regret it. It’s up to you how comfortable you wish to be for the duration of your stay.”

Ellie did not doubt him for one minute. Beneath the affable facade, she heard the cold, hard layer of steel. She sensed that for all his swagger, he was not a man to defy—and she had no wish to be tied up again.

He gestured to the men helping the dark-haired warrior a few feet away up the shore. “You’ve caused enough trouble as it is.”

She bit her lip, immediately contrite. “Where are you taking him?”

He pointed to the rocks. “There’s a cave where he can rest. I’ll send for someone—”

“You can’t do that!”

He stiffened, the amiable mask slipping once more. His jaw fell in a hard line, causing her heart to take a strange little jump.

“I’m not one of your charges, Nurse Ellie. You won’t be telling me what I can and can’t do. There’s only one captain on board this ship. The sooner you realize that, the better we’ll both get along.”

Ellie hurried to soothe his pride. Men were appallingly tender about such things. “I didn’t mean to threaten your manhood—”

She thought she heard a growl between his clenched teeth before he cut her off. “You did not threaten anything, least of all my manhood. I’m just telling you the way it’s going to be.”

She tilted her head to study him. “You know, I had a hound like you once.”

He shook his head as if he hadn’t heard her right. “What?”

“Always trying to prove he was in charge. He’d challenge any other dog that came around him.”

He held her gaze a moment and then burst out laughing. “Ah, lass, you are an amusing one.” She wrinkled her brow; she hadn’t been trying to be funny. “But you see there’s one important difference.”

“What’s that?”

He gave her one of those looks that she suspected had melted more than one woman’s knees and stood far closer to her than was necessary. Close enough for her to catch a whiff of his warm masculinity.

“I don’t need to prove anything,” he said.

Her breath caught at the force of that powerful gaze on her. His husky voice reverberated through her like a dark caress, daring her to disagree. She couldn’t. He was right. He didn’t need to prove anything. Power and authority emanated from him as loud and clear as a drum. Or perhaps that was the beat of her heart?

Realizing that lack of sleep must have weakened her good sense, Ellie returned to her original point, hoping she didn’t sound as flustered as she felt. “All I was trying to suggest,” she emphasized, “is that a cave will not suffice. Thomas needs someplace warm and dry. Is there not a house or cottage nearby where you can take him?”

“Are you a healer?”

She thought of her brother and felt a hard lump form in her chest. Far from it. The hours she’d spent at his bedside had made no difference. She shook her head, hoping the darkness masked the dampness in her eyes. “Nay, but I’ve seen enough men come down with ague to know the signs. The earlier he’s treated, the better.”

Her brother had stubbornly refused to recognize the signs. By the time he’d been brought to bed, he was burning up with fever. Ellie and her mother had nursed him day and night, but by then it was too late.

“Please,” she said, grasping his arm. Good lord, it was like a rock! The solid muscles flexed under her fingertips. “Isn’t there someplace you can take him?”

Erik was patently aware of her hand on his arm. The gentle press of her fingers burned right through the leather of his cotun. Something shifted uncomfortably in his chest when he looked at her. The lass appeared genuinely worried. In fact, she seemed close to tears.

He hated seeing women cry. It made him want to squirm like a lad in church clothes.

There were plenty of places he could take Randolph. He knew the island well.

As William Wallace had done before them, Robert Bruce and his followers had found Spoon Isle’s strategic location in the North Channel useful, not simply as a place of refuge, but also as a vantage point. Within easy sight of the tip of Kintyre, Edward Bruce had been stationed here last September, keeping watch when Erik had led Bruce from Dunaverty Castle.

Though Erik could count on the support of the inhabitants, he’d wanted to wait until morning to apprise the villagers—mostly fishermen and their families—of his arrival and of his predicament. But he supposed there was someplace close he could take them.

He frowned. As prone as the lass was to bossiness already, he knew it was bad precedent to give in to her like this. But he had to admit that she was right: Randolph didn’t look good. The lass could probably use a good drying out as well. Moreover, he suspected that he would have a much more peaceful night’s sleep by the fire with his men if she wasn’t sleeping a few feet away from him. His body was still damned uncomfortable.

Carrying her from the boat had been a bad idea. He hadn’t liked the way she’d felt in his arms at all. Hell, he hadn’t been that aware of a woman since he was a lad of three and ten, and one of the village lasses had graciously offered to introduce him to the pleasures of the flesh.