The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(28)

That a plain little wren like that could rouse his lust—which had admittedly been sluggish of late—was mildly disconcerting. Particularly when those penetrating eyes of hers looked upon him with something vaguely resembling tolerance.

It was unnatural. That’s what it was. Unnatural. Women always liked him. What in Hades was wrong with her?

Shaking off the troubling thoughts, he said, “There is a place nearby, but—”

“Oh, thank you!” she said before he could finish, gazing up at him with a brilliant smile on her face.

It jarred him. For a moment, she looked if not quite pretty, then at least within clamoring distance. She should smile more often.

He adjusted his cotun, feeling an odd twinge in his chest. “But, I will have your word that you will not try to escape or take advantage of Meg’s kind nature by seeking her help. You will say nothing of how you came to be with us.”

“Meg?” Her hand fell from his sleeve, and for a moment he wanted it back. “You wish me to go as well?”

“You need some sleep. It will be more comfortable for you there. But if you would rather sleep by my side in the cave …”

Usually he would have put a suggestive lilt in his voice, but knowing it would fall on deaf ears he didn’t bother.

“Nay,” she said quickly. Too quickly, to his mind.

He didn’t miss that she’d deflected his question with one of her own. He’d neglected to secure her word before, but he would not be so remiss a second time. “I’ll have your word, Ellie.”

She nodded—reluctantly. “I give you my word. I will do nothing tonight.”

His eyes narrowed. “Or in the morning. Or for as long as we are here.”

Clearly annoyed that he’d picked up on her qualification, she wrinkled her nose. “Very well. You have my word.”

His eyes held hers, cutting through the darkness. “Don’t make me regret trusting you to keep it.”

Her eyes widened a little and she nodded, apparently not missing the threat in his voice.

He turned to give orders to his men. In addition to Ellie, Randolph, the two men who were virtually carrying him, and his kinsman Duncan who’d been injured by the arrow, he brought along another man.

Though he wanted to trust her, the lass was too clever by far. The man he stationed outside to watch the house would help ensure that she kept her word.

She wouldn’t get very far if she tried to escape, but he wouldn’t take any chances. Bruce and his fellow guardsmen were counting on him, and that was something Erik took very seriously.

He’d originally joined Bruce at the bequest of his cousin, Angus Og MacDonald, Lord of the Isles, intending to get his clan’s land back from the MacDougalls. But he’d come to admire the warrior king. If anyone could challenge Edward, it was Bruce. The loyalty he’d once owed to his cousin had transferred to Bruce and his Highland Guard brethren.

Failure was unthinkable. Nothing would interfere with his mission. Certainly not a skinny, passably pretty nursemaid with a penchant for stirring up trouble.

Six

Mathilda de Burgh had never looked so wretched. Her angelic flaxen curls were a snarled mess, still limp and tangled from seawater; her big, baby-blue eyes were red and nearly swollen shut from hours of crying; and her tiny, upturned nose wouldn’t stop running.

What time was it? It had to be near dawn. Hours since Ellie had disappeared, and still there had been no word. Matty couldn’t bear to think that her sister was gone. Drowned on a foolish girl’s lark.

Her lark.

It’s all my fault. Why had she pushed her? After all Ellie had done for them in the past few years, how could she have been so cruel? So what if Ellie had seemed to turn a little old and stodgy overnight? She was the most generous, kind sister Matty could imagine. She’d taken charge and held the family together after the devastating fever had shattered their childhood.

Matty sat in the earl’s solar, still wrapped in the same fur robe she’d donned after her dunking in the sea, with her father and two of her three remaining brothers: John and her twin, Thomas. The youngest children were still sleeping, snug and warm in their beds with no idea of the nightmare awaiting them when they woke.

Only the sounds of the crackling fire, the wind clattering against the shutter, and her occasional sniffle broke the horrible silence. Not since the deaths of their mother and brother had they looked so solemn. Her father could barely stand to look at her.

He blamed her. They all blamed her. As they should. Fresh tears stung her eyes. She’d only wanted to see Ellie laugh again; she’d never meant …

“I’m sorry,” she said, unable to bear the silence any longer.

For a moment no one said a word. Finally, John took pity on her. “It’s not your fault, Matty. It was an accident.”

Richard de Burgh, Earl of Ulster and the most powerful nobleman in Ireland, turned his glassy, dark-eyed gaze on her. At eight and forty he was still a handsome man, but his face bore the signs of the evening’s strain.

Her father was not a man who was often tested. Since birth he’d been imbued with a sense of entitlement, and he’d grown accustomed to having things go his way. When things didn’t—such as when her mother died or when her sister’s husband, Robert Bruce, rebelled against his king—he could be unpredictable. Mercurial even. Matty should have known better than to draw his attention to her; she’d given his frustration a direction in which to aim.