The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(32)

Ellie didn’t know what was worse: his story or how readily Meg had accepted it.

Meg was watching her now and mistook the source of her discomfort. “Don’t be embarrassed. Hawk’s the kind of man to make even a sensible woman lose her head.”

“Did you?” Ellie blurted, eyes widening when she realized what she’d said. “I mean, I couldn’t help but notice …” She gnawed on her lip, knowing she was only making it worse.

But instead of being offended, the other woman simply laughed. “For a time, perhaps. When I lost my Colin …”

She stopped, her eyes filling with tears. After a moment, she smiled again. “Hawk helped me feel alive again, and for that I will love him forever. But the kind of love you mean, nay”—she shook her head—”that happens only once—if you are lucky.”

Ellie thought of Ralph. And if you aren’t the daughter of an earl.

She might never know that kind of love, but she did know loss. She took Meg’s hand and gave it a sympathetic squeeze. The gesture seemed to surprise the other woman, but Ellie could see that it was also appreciated.

“I know you don’t want to hear this right now,” Meg said kindly. “But Hawk didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Ellie didn’t say anything—what could she? Meg obviously thought she was in love with him. The poor, pathetic plain nursemaid mooning over the larger-than-life Norse god.

“He loves women and they love him. But asking for more than that is only asking for trouble.”

Ellie couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Why?”

Meg gave her a sympathetic smile. “He loves women too much to ever settle for one.”

Meg didn’t need to tell her that. Ellie had realized that the first moment she set eyes on him. He was just like her father: too enthralled with being loved by everyone to become attached to one person. Falling in love with a man like the captain would only lead to a lifetime of misery. She pitied the poor girl who forgot it.

It was near dusk as Erik made his way up the rocky cliffside to the small hillock beyond. As he neared the edge, he could see the soft plumes of smoke swirling from Meg’s holding just ahead.

He was still angry at himself for letting Ellie get to him earlier. What did he care what she thought? But the little nursemaid had blared her disapproval loud enough to hear her across Scotland, let alone Meg’s small hall.

Still, he shouldn’t have teased her. Not when she’d looked so tired.

It wasn’t like him to be so uncaring toward a lass, but she didn’t act like any damned lass he knew. Her reactions confounded him—irritated him. Something he couldn’t recall a women ever doing before.

Ah well, he would be free of the little termagant soon enough. Another day or two, and they should be able to leave. There was no reason to rush; he might as well give the hunt time to die down.

He and Domnall had climbed to the top of Wood Hill to get a good look at the surrounding waterways, and what they’d seen had been worse than he’d expected. The entire English fleet had to be in the channel. From what he could tell, the English had positioned themselves near every major crossway, cutting off any attempt to go north to the Isles, south to the Isle of Man, or west to Rathlin and Ireland.

He had no doubt he could get around them if he needed to, but other than his anxiousness to get rid of the lass and rejoin Bruce and the others, he had no reason to risk capture or leading the English to Bruce. In the meantime, he’d try to think of a way to send a message to Chief—the leader of the Highland Guard—and warn him of the danger. Bruce would be making his way to Rathlin soon.

But patience wasn’t one of Erik’s stronger attributes, and he suspected the next couple of days were going to crawl by at a snail’s pace. He was already restless.

He stopped when he reached the top of the cliff to survey the bay below. Everything appeared normal. A few small fishing boats were scattered across the harbor, but all signs of their presence were gone. Earlier he and his men had carried the birlinn into the cave, hiding it from the sight of any passing patrols who might luck upon them.

With dozens of small islands between Ireland and Scotland, the English might make an effort to search them but would need help to find them. There were too many places to hide. As long as the villagers kept silent, they were safe—which was another reason he’d come here. Until MacDougall had stolen it, Spoon Island belonged to the MacSorleys, and the islanders still considered Erik their rightful chieftain. When Bruce reclaimed his crown, he would be.

Erik started toward the old stone and thatched longhouse. He didn’t need to be here, but he couldn’t stop himself from checking on Ellie. It was his duty, he told himself. Until he took her home or handed her off to Bruce, she was his responsibility.

He lifted his hand to greet Duncan, whom he’d consigned to guard duty while he healed, squared his shoulders as if he were about to do battle, and pushed through the door.

Ah, hell.

Any residual irritation he might have been feeling from this morning was forgotten in the peaceful sight before him. The little nursemaid was curled up in the chair before the fire sleeping, a plaid wrapped around her shoulders and her feet tucked under her bottom. From the fresh leine she wore and the damp tendrils of dark hair curling softly around her face, he guessed that she’d bathed recently. The faint scent of lavender still lingered in the sultry air.