The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(44)

Ellie buried her head deeper in the pillow, trying to drown out the horrible sound. But the hearty laughter pierced the billowy tufts of shorn lamb’s wool with ease.

God, what time was it?

Unfurling the pillow from around her head, she cracked open her eyes only to slam them immediately shut again, when the beam of bright sunlight peeking through the bed-curtains shot through her skull like a piercing dagger.

She groaned. Morning. Already.

Heaving a weary sigh, she resolved herself to the inevitable. It was time to get up. She went about her morning prayers and ablutions, doing her best to ignore the laughter and voices coming from the kitchen on the opposite side of the building. It wasn’t like Duncan to be so loud in the morning. What could possibly be so funny at this ungodly time of day?

Though not a separate chamber, the two beds set up along the western wall were separated by a wooden partition between two posts, affording more privacy from the frequent visitors than the nooks along the opposite wall where Thomas slept.

With her face washed, hair combed, and teeth cleaned, Ellie felt marginally better as she emerged from behind the partition to face the day. But when she discovered the source of the laughter, she was tempted to turn right back around to bury her head a little longer.

It wasn’t Duncan. The pirate captain had changed back into his warrior’s garb from the fine tunic he’d worn last night, and his long leather-clad legs were stretched out before him as he relaxed in one of Meg’s wooden chairs, a broad smile spread across his too-cheerful face.

How could anyone look so happy in the morning? She felt like a haggard old crone until at least mid-morning.

He cocked a brow. “Look who’s finally awake. We thought you might sleep the day away.”

As best she could tell, the day was still painfully new. It couldn’t be much past daybreak. Though the days were getting longer, the winter sun did not peek over the horizon until after eight.

“Morning, Ellie,” Meg said just as cheerily. “Would you like the usual to break your fast?”

Ellie nodded gratefully and sank down on the bench at the table. “Thanks, Meg, that would be wonderful.”

She’d grown appallingly fond of the simple morning fare: fresh bread, coddled eggs, slices of smoked pork or herring, and a special brew of water steeped with spices that was a secret recipe of Meg’s that Ellie vowed to have before she left—if she could ever get up early enough to watch her make it.

“Where’s Duncan?” she asked, breaking off a piece of bread and chewing it slowly, savoring the delicious combination of toasty oat and barley.

The captain’s gaze sharpened almost imperceptibly. “His arm has healed well enough for him to return to his duties. I’m afraid you are stuck with me for the next few days.”

Her pulse spiked with alarm. “I’m sure that isn’t necessary,” she said quickly. “I don’t need a nursemaid. I’ve given you my word—”

“No matter how it came to be,” he cut her off with a meaningful glance at Meg, “you are under my protection until I can return you to your family.”

Ellie realized her mistake: she’d forgotten that Meg didn’t know that she was being held against her will. Although, if Ellie wasn’t worried about her family and what they must be thinking, she could almost forget it herself. The past few days had been terrifying, exciting, and—recalling that kiss—about the furthest thing from boring she could imagine. Moreover, living with Meg was giving her a glimpse of a world entirely different from the sheltered life of privilege and duty she’d known.

The irony was not lost on her: in captivity, she’d never had so much freedom. From responsibility. From duty and expectation. From thoughts of the future. And she felt guilty for how much she was enjoying it.

If she were honest with herself, she knew it also had something to do with the man seated opposite her. He was exciting, and just being around him made her heart beat a little faster. He was like a golden god—not because of his coloring and handsome face, but because of the sheer force of his personality. Like a moth to the flame she was drawn to him, but she knew better than to get too close.

Of course he was a horrible flirt, the kind of man who never took anything seriously, and with that hallmark cocky grin of his too self-confident by half, but at times she wondered whether there was something deeper. That maybe he wasn’t like her feckless father at all, but capable of real emotions.

Last night she thought she’d gotten a glimpse of it, sensing a real connection when they’d spoken of their families. She’d hated lying to him, and for a moment had considered telling him the truth. But then Meg returned, and he lapsed back into the teasing, entertaining rogue who was fun to be around, but someone she could never take seriously.

She could like him, but she knew that didn’t mean she should trust him. He was involved with something, and from what she could discern in the cave, it had something to do with her father. It was simpler this way.

What she didn’t understand was why he’d suddenly elected himself her bodyguard. She recalled that he’d seemed angry with Duncan last night and hoped it wasn’t her fault. She’d grown rather fond of Duncan in the past few days. He reminded her of her brother John, who had recently earned his spurs and could talk about nothing but war and fighting.

Unfortunately—try as she might—she couldn’t find anything about the captain that reminded her of any of her brothers, and having him around wasn’t going to be nearly as easy.