The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(33)

She didn’t look like a drowned cat anymore.

Her hair was beautiful. Thick and glossy, it hung in freshly combed waves around her shoulders like a heavy cloak of rich sable. He knew just by looking that it would feel like a veil of silk on his skin.

In repose she didn’t seem like the kind of woman who could have caused him so many problems. He studied the small face that had looked upon him with such indifference. She would never be a beauty, but there was something pleasing about her face all the same. The warmth from the fire had colored her pale cheeks a soft pink. With her stubborn chin relaxed, her pursed lips softly parted, and her too-perceptive dark eyes closed, her face looked softer … younger … and far more vulnerable.

He felt an uncomfortable twinge in his chest that felt suspiciously like guilt. Despite all the trouble she’d caused, none of this was her fault. Neither was it his, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel responsible for getting her home safely and as soon as possible.

Her long lashes fluttered, and she startled awake. Seeing him standing there, a flush rose to her cheeks. “What are you doing here?”

Hastily, she untucked her legs from under her, giving him a view of two dainty, perfectly arched feet. Small and pale, with tiny toes, they were absolutely adorable. Much too adorable for a bossy nursemaid. He stared for a moment too long, and she quickly tucked them under her plaid.

Inexplicably angry and feeling a little bit like a lad who’d been caught with his hand in the honey pot, his mouth fell in a hard line. “Where’s Meg?”

He didn’t like being alone with her. He nearly laughed at the sheer oddity of that thought—he couldn’t remember ever being uncomfortable around a woman.

“She went to check on one of the villagers. Mhairi, I think her name was. She’s to have a child soon.”

He didn’t say anything, but just stared at her as if his discomfort were somehow her fault.

“Is there something you wished me to tell her?” she asked encouragingly, clearly as eager to be rid of him as he was of her.

He shook his head. “Nay, I will speak with her later.”

He turned on his heel to leave, but she stopped him. “Is Thomas all right?”

He detected the note of concern in her voice, and it made him frown. “He’s fine.” He paused. “Are you not curious about Duncan as well?”

Her gaze leveled on his. “Why would I need to ask you about Duncan, when I can just open the door and ask him myself?”

He shrugged unapologetically, seeing her annoyance. “He needed something to do until his shoulder has healed.”

“And spying on me was the only thing you could think of? I thought we had an agreement.”

“We do. Duncan is my assurance that you don’t forget it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with your hands?”

The swift change of subject caught him off guard. “Nothing.”

She stood and walked toward him, that stubborn chin set in a line that he didn’t like. “Let me see.”

He was about to tell her it was none of her damned business when one of her hands circled around his wrist. Christ, her fingers were soft. And so damned small. They could barely close halfway around. His mind immediately went to another part of his body, thinking of those fingers wrapped around something thick and throbbing.

Heat flared inside him and instead of pulling away, he allowed her to turn over his hand, revealing his bloody, shredded palms.

The gasp made him wish he hadn’t—as did the outraged look on her face. “How did this happen?”

He shrugged off her concern. “The ropes. It’s nothing. It happens all the time.” He liked the connection with the sail and didn’t wear gauntlets.

“It looks horrible. Doesn’t it hurt?”

“Nay,” he replied automatically.

Her eyes narrowed. “Let me guess: tall, overly muscular pirates don’t feel pain?”

He grinned for the first time since entering the longhouse. “Overly muscular? I didn’t think you noticed.”

“I’m not blind,” she huffed. Her eyes flashed in the flickering firelight. He’d thought they were brown, but standing so close he could see flecks of green and gold. Unusual and quite pretty. Then she had to ruin the effect by adding, “I’d notice a peacock preening his feathers and strutting around, too.”

Erik was shocked into rare silence. For once a quick response did not slip from his tongue. Had she just compared him to a bloody peacock? First a dog, now a bird? He was one of the most feared warriors in the Highlands, personal guardsman to a king, henchman and kinsman to one of the most powerful leaders in the Western Isles, and chieftain of an ancient clan.

That prickle of irritation grew to a full-fledged stab.

“Nor am I impressed by your masculine bravado,” she said. “And don’t try to distract me.”

He was thinking of a couple of ways to do just that. The heat from the fire, and that faint hint of lavender that had grown stronger as she drew near, were doing strange things to him.

Innocent maids were not his usual fare. He might enjoy flirting, but he was always discerning in his bed partners. He preferred experienced lasses who understood lust and wouldn’t make the mistake of thinking they were in love. But his body didn’t seem to be listening.