The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(45)

What was he up to?

She eyed him suspiciously. “Suit yourself,” she said with a careless shrug. “I hope you will be comfortable on your rock.”

Of course, he wasn’t going to make it that easy. He leaned back and crossed his arms, their muscles bulging in a blatant display of raw masculine strength. The bottom fell out of her stomach. Good God! She took a sip of the broth, wetting her suddenly dry mouth, but she couldn’t do anything about the fluttering in her belly.

“I have an errand,” he said. “I thought you might wish to join me.”

Alone? With him? She didn’t think so. She didn’t want any part of his mischief. “Not today, I’m afraid,” she said with feigned regret, conscious of Meg’s scrutiny. “I need to watch Thomas while Meg attends to her duties.” Which, as far as Ellie could see, were considerable—from tending her own holding to serving as the island healer and midwife.

“I thought you said Thomas needed to rest?” he pointed out.

“He does,” she conceded.

“The lad will be fine,” Meg interceded. “You two go off and have fun.”

Ellie smiled weakly at the other woman, pretending to be grateful while trying to think of a gracious way to decline.

“It’s a beautiful day,” the captain offered tantalizingly, like holding out a sweet to a child. “I thought you might wish to see more of the island.”

He sat there flashing that arrogant, not-so-innocent grin, knowing exactly what he was doing. Drat the crafty blighter for tempting her. How did he know she was anxious to explore the island? A lucky guess, no doubt. It was humiliating to think that she could be so transparent.

Ellie’s good sense warred with her sense of adventure. She could either stay here and scratch out another dozen games of backgammon with rocks when Thomas woke or get a chance to see some of the island, as she’d been dying to do.

It wasn’t much of a battle.

“How can I refuse?” she said wryly.

His grin was every bit as incorrigible as he was. “You can’t.”

“When shall we go?”

“As soon as you’re dressed,” he answered.

She frowned, gazing down at her borrowed leine. What was he talking about? It might be old, but there was nothing wrong with what she was wearing—thousands of Irish and Scottish women wore the same every day.

“Hawk is so thoughtful,” Meg said. “Look what he’s brought you.” She pointed to what appeared to be a green woolen cotte folded on the bench beside her. “He thought you might get cold.”

Ellie’s brows wrinkled, surprised by his concern. Again, she wondered what he was up to.

“Thank you,” she said. Meg had generously provided the traditional linen leine to go over her ruined chemise, hose, and a pair of old leather slippers, but the fitted wool gown—though nowhere near as fine as what she normally wore—was more what she was used to wearing. “Where did you get it?”

He and Meg exchanged a look, and his mouth quirked. “Pirate secrets, I’m afraid.”

Plundered booty from one of his raids? Her eyes narrowed, trying to figure out whether he was serious. Suspecting he was only teasing her, she reached greedily for the gown and retreated behind the partition.

She emerged a few minutes later, feeling more like herself than she had in days. The gown was large in the waist and chest—not unexpected—but close enough in length. Ellie felt like twirling with delight, but instead gave him a short nod. “Shall we go?”

They said their goodbyes to Meg and left the longhouse, heading inland to the south.

He was right. It was a spectacular day. Sunny, clear, and pleasantly cool, with the mist still burning off the grassy moorland in a steamy haze. The crisp air was infused with a pleasant, salty sea breeze. She lifted her face to the sun as they walked, savoring the gentle, warm caress on her skin.

For a moment she felt like a girl again, traipsing over the verdant Irish countryside until her slippers were caked with dirt and her gown was wrinkled and colored with grass stains. How she’d loved every minute of it.

How long ago it seemed. She felt a pang of longing and regret, knowing she could never go back. These days of freedom would soon be at an end.

They walked side by side at a pace comfortable for her, and what she suspected was a significantly shortened stride for him. But he didn’t seem in any hurry. He never seemed in a hurry. “Where are we going?” she asked.

He gave her an enigmatic smile. “You’ll see.”

She opened her mouth to demand he tell her, but stopped. Not only was she fairly certain he wouldn’t, but she was also grateful enough to be outside not to care. She could play along for now.

She glanced at him from out of the corner of her eye. Even the sun seemed to embrace him, shimmering off the blond streaks in his hair, the deep bronze of his skin, and bathing him in a warm, golden glow. It was almost blinding.

The wind at his back, he’d said once. He was right. What must it be like to be so favored? To go through life with such unwavering confidence? Not only had he been blessed with a handsome face, a powerful body, and from what she could tell extraordinary warrior skills, he was also funny, charming, and eminently likable.

It must be nice. But maybe a little lonely, too? It seemed so one-sided. People surrounded him for what he could give them—by either words or touch—but what did he get in return? Maybe that’s what made her different: she didn’t want anything from him.