The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(39)

He clenched and re-clenched his fists at his side, as if he were trying to get control. It must have worked. “No more washing clothes or taking charge of anything else, for that matter. I will see to my men.”

Her gaze snapped back up. Was that what this was about? Was he angry because she’d encroached on his territory? She was only trying to help.

“Fine. Next time your men can run around in filthy, soiled clothing and lead the English right to you with the stench. What do I care? You can languish with all the other criminals in an English dungeon till doomsday.”

His eyes narrowed as if he wanted to argue, but he apparently thought better of it. He flashed that devastating grin, once again the affable, devil-may-care rogue. For once she didn’t mind. He was safer that way.

“See,” he drawled, blue eyes twinkling, “it’s not so hard to be reasonable.”

She gave a very unladylike snort. “Not that you would know anything about reasonable,” she said under her breath.

“What was that, Ellie? I couldn’t hear you.”

“Nothing,” she said mulishly. “What, pray tell, am I supposed to do while I wait for that unknown day when you will finally deign to take me home?”

He shrugged and started to walk away. “You’re a smart lass. I’m sure you’ll think of something. Thomas is feeling better; why don’t you order him around for a while?”

“I don’t order—” She stopped, gritting her teeth. It wasn’t worth the effort to protest. He was impossible.

Now it was she who was clenching her fists as she watched him stroll away—whistling, drat him!

One of these days she would see that arrogant, irresistible grin wiped right off that too-handsome face. And then maybe she would discover what he was hiding.

Two days after his exchange with Ellie in the garden, Erik was still whistling as he ambled up the path toward Meg’s small holding—not to check on the lass, he assured himself, but to see how Randolph was faring.

With Randolph taking ill, Erik had no choice but to bide his time on Spoon rather than join Bruce on Islay. But after so many months of being on the run, Erik wasn’t used to staying in one place for so long and was feeling strangely restless—or at least that was the reason he gave himself.

He’d heard surprisingly little from the occupants of the longhouse. Not that he was complaining. Nay, he was thrilled that the little termagant had finally seen reason and had stopped interfering with his men and challenging him at every opportunity.

He’d been busy enough as it was, monitoring the galley of English soldiers who’d put in on the isle yesterday to question some of the islanders about a hawk ship. Fortunately, they’d landed on the southern end of the island and had done no more than a cursory search of the area. They’d left with plenty of threats, but nothing else.

Aye, he had every reason to be pleased. Not only were the English safely away and the lass finally doing his bidding, but he was still teeming with the rush of exhilaration that always followed a successful mission.

Hell, he was feeling magnanimous enough to concede that he just might have overreacted a bit to her laundering of his men’s clothes. The stench in the cave had improved. But he’d been furious to return from a scouting mission on the other side of the island to find his men hiding in the cave bare-arsed and shamefaced. The bossy little nursemaid had bullied some of the most fearsome warriors in Christendom-- his warriors—into handing over their clothes, and he’d bloody well had enough of her interfering.

She was a captive, for Christ’s sake—even if not a typical one—and she should start acting like one. A little submissive would be good … for a start.

But Ellie didn’t act the way she should at all. That was the problem. Maybe if she did, then he would stop thinking about her.

It was crazy. A skinny, nondescript nursemaid was not the type of woman for him to waste any time thinking about—no matter how hot her innocent kiss fired his blood.

He wouldn’t consider marrying someone who would not enhance the wealth and prestige of his clan, and the type of women he chose to bed weren’t maids and were … well, prettier—and with much larger br**sts. Despite her luminous skin, unusual-colored eyes, sooty long lashes, and enticing little ni**les that beaded in his hand so tantalizingly, she hardly qualified on either count.

But when he’d held that firm little mound of flesh in his hand … it hadn’t felt like he was missing anything. Actually, it had felt incredible. But that didn’t mean he was interested.

Which didn’t explain why he’d been damn close to kissing her again in the garden. It seemed all he had to do was get within ten feet of her and his body jumped to attention. It was ridiculous, not to mention damn uncomfortable.

Not that it concerned him any. After nearly an entire week without a woman, he was probably just showing signs of deprivation. An oversight that would be easy to remedy. Perhaps after he checked on Randolph, he would join the others at the village alehouse after all.

With that happy thought to add to the others, he crossed the grassy hillock, burnished from the winter cold, and frowned, surprised to see that Duncan wasn’t at his post.

He’d ordered his kinsman to watch over her, not so much to prevent her from escaping—she wouldn’t get very far—but to ensure that nothing happened to her if she tried. She wouldn’t walk off any cliffs on his watch. As long as she was in his care, she was his responsibility. A responsibility he’d decided to delegate to his cousin after that kiss.