The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(41)

Ellie stepped in front of him, and Erik would have laughed if the protective gesture didn’t irritate him so much. “It was my fault,” she said. “Meg asked me to fix a tincture for Thomas when he woke, and I couldn’t reach the rosemary hanging from the ceiling, so I asked Duncan to help me bring the ladder in from outside.”

Duncan grinned at her appreciatively. “And I told her we didn’t need a ladder.”

Since when had his only-think-of-battle cousin turned into such a rogue?

“Duncan has been a wonderful help,” Ellie said.

Erik could hear his teeth grinding together. I’m sure he bloody well has. “Unfortunately, Duncan is needed down at camp.”

One of his cousin’s brows shot up as if he knew Erik was lying. “I am?”

The look on Erik’s face must have convinced him. “I’m afraid the rosemary will have to wait, lass,” Duncan apologized. “But I’ll be back.”

The hell you will. If Erik couldn’t trust his own cousin to control himself, he was going to be forced to watch the lass himself. He was the one responsible for her, after all. One kiss didn’t mean he couldn’t control himself. He’d merely been taken by surprise that such an ordinary lass could get him so … hot. He was sure the novelty had worn off.

But when the door closed behind Duncan, the room suddenly felt very small. Ellie moved to stand before the fire, watching him, but she kept her distance, as if she sensed the strange energy in the room as well. Yet that only exacerbated the restlessness teeming inside him, as he could see the curve of her br**sts and hips outlined in the light.

He needed to get her more clothes. A nice, sturdy wool cotte would do.

“Is there something wrong?” she asked.

Realizing he was scowling, he schooled his features into impassivity. “Nay.”

“Did you want something?”

You. Angry at the intrusive thought, he said curtly, “To check on Thomas. Where is he?”

Ellie pointed to the opposite end of the room, the place where bed nooks had been built into the side of the wall. “He’s resting. Meg said ‘tis the best thing for him now.” Anticipating his question, she said, “Mhairi finally had her babe last night, and Meg has gone to check on her. A boy. Alastair, she’s named him.”

“A good name,” Erik said. My father’s name. Many islanders honored their chieftains by naming their children after them. After years of MacDougall rule, the gesture touched him.

She was watching him with a pensive look on her face. “You look different,” she said finally. “I’ve never seen you without your armor.”

Self-consciousness was something Erik had never experienced before, but under her steady hazel gaze that didn’t miss much, he flirted with it now. He’d bathed and changed tunics because of the seal grease he’d lathered all over him for the swim—certainly not because of anything she’d said.

“Alas, no gold to plunder or maidens to rescue tonight,” he said with a grin. “Even pirates take a night off every now and then.”

One side of her mouth lifted.

A start, he supposed.

She took a few steps closer, and then to his shock, reached out and took the sleeve of the colorful dark-red silk tunic between her fingers. “It’s beautiful,” she said admiringly. For a strange moment, looking down at her tiny face in the firelight, she looked beautiful, too. His chest felt odd, as if his tunic had grown too tight. “The embroidery is exquisite.”

“My sister made it for me,” he said, his voice oddly rough.

“You have a sister?”

“Not a sister, five.”

“Younger?”

He shook his head. “All older.”

“Brothers?”

“Only me.”

“Ah,” she said with a nod of the head, as if suddenly understanding something.

He didn’t like the sound of it. “What?”

She shrugged. “Nothing. It just explains some things.” Before he could think of what to reply to that, she shocked him again by reaching up to flick a lock of hair at his temple. He sucked in his breath, his body stiffening at her touch—all of his body. He could smell her again. Hundreds of women used lavender-tinted soap—why did it smell different on her? And that long, silky-soft hair … he wanted to bury his face in it and watch it spill over his chest.

Women touched him all the time. It was nothing he noticed. But he was noticing it now. His entire body was noticing it. God, he couldn’t breathe. Heat pooled in his loins and his pulse pounded hard and fast. He was seconds away from sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her against him. He could almost feel the dart of her ni**les raking his chest.

Unaware of the havoc she was wreaking on his senses, she said carelessly, “You’ve something in your hair.” She removed her hand, enabling him to think again, and rubbed it between her fingers. “It’s some kind of black grease.”

“Probably soot from the campfire,” he said blandly.

She wrinkled her nose. “It doesn’t look like soot.” She was looking at him so intently, he thought she was going to question him about the grease some more, but instead she said with a smile, “You wear your hair so short. I thought Highlanders preferred long hair and beards—like your Viking ancestors.”