The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(53)

His eyes locked on hers. Holding her. Not letting her turn away. The current of awareness between them tightened; she couldn’t break it if she wanted to.

Something was happening, though she didn’t know what it was. It was as if for a moment all the pretense and hubris had been stripped away, leaving only a man and a woman. Not a pirate and a captive. Not the golden-god and the woman who was no more than passably pretty. Not the man running from the law and the earl’s daughter engaged to one of the most powerful men in England. For a moment it didn’t seem as though any of that mattered.

He’d never looked at her so intently. So seriously. She feared he could see right through her. That he read her concern, her fear, and her very feminine reaction to his nakedness.

This wasn’t a man who didn’t care about anything. This was a man of deep desires and fierce intensity. This was a man she could care about.

The thought jarred—and terrified—her.

She felt a strong tug in her chest and had to force herself to follow behind Meg, and not give in to the urge to immediately rush to his side to assure herself he was all right.

“What have you done this time?” Meg asked.

His gaze finally released her, and the mask of careless affability dropped right back into place. “Just a little trouble with a knife. It doesn’t look serious to me, but Domnall insisted you see to it. I told him that the lasses liked scars, but you know how stubborn he can be.”

Domnall snorted. “I don’t want to drag your stinking corpse all over the isles, that’s all.”

Erik laughed and turned to Ellie, who must have paled. “Don’t let all that bluster fool you, lass. He doesn’t mean a word of it. I’m fine.”

“Why don’t you let me see how close you are to death’s door,” Meg said.

She knelt beside him to examine the wound, and Ellie moved around to stand behind her.

The “scratch” was an ugly, ragged gash of about five inches that ran from below his ribs to his lower right side. It was caked with sand and what appeared to be some kind of black grease. The same grease she’d noticed in his hair before. From the large smudges, she guessed that it had once covered him from head to toe, but that most of it had been washed or wiped off.

He’d swum somewhere, she realized. And he’d done it before. What was he up to? Once again, the feeling that he was more than a typical pirate settled in.

Meg looked over her shoulder. “Ellie, come here and help me with this.”

Her eyes widened with horror, an innate sense of self-preservation kicking in. Touching him was the last thing she wanted to do.

She froze.

“Ellie?” Meg said again.

Realizing everyone was looking at her—including Hawk—she forced herself to kneel beside Meg. “What do you need me to do?”

“Clean the wound as best you can with this cloth, while I ready the needle and sinew. And I’ll need you to hold the wound together as I stitch.”

Ellie swallowed hard and nodded. She dipped the rag in the cool water that Meg had poured from a pitcher into a small bowl and began to clean the gash, careful to avoid touching his bare skin with her fingers as she tried to wipe away the black grease, and the grit from the sea. But she was painfully aware of the tight muscles underneath—and of his eyes on her. It was almost as if he could feel the tension, too. As if he was just as aware as she was of her hands on him.

Unfortunately, contact could not be avoided forever.

“Put your hands here,” Meg said, showing her where she wanted them.

Ellie took a deep breath and slid her palms on either side of the wound—one rested gently on his ribs and the other low on his hip. She swore she felt a sharp sizzle as a rush of heat flared under her hands.

He jerked at the contact, and she pulled her hands back. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

He started to shake his head, but then said, “Aye. It stings a bit more than I thought.”

A small frown gathered between Ellie’s brows. “I’ll try to be more gentle.”

She touched him again and although he didn’t jump, she could tell that it was causing him some kind of pain. His mouth was tight, and every muscle in his body seemed to clench.

But it seemed to have the opposite effect on her. She could feel the heat and energy under her palms and ached to spread her hands over more of him. To test the strength burgeoning under her fingertips. To splay her fingers over the rigid bands of muscle that lined his stomach. To dip her fingers beneath the edge of the plaid—

He made a low, pained sound in his throat and squirmed uncomfortably, almost as if he knew what she was thinking. But Meg gave a sharp tug of the sinew as she pulled the needle through his skin, and Ellie realized that must have been it.

“Thanks, Ellie,” Meg said after a moment. She was eyeing Hawk with a strange look on her face. “I think I can finish from here.”

Holding back a sigh of relief, Ellie removed her hands and quickly tucked them in her skirts. The captain seemed to relax as well.

Wanting to break the awkward silence, Ellie asked, “How did this happen?”

Domnall groaned. “Ah, lass, don’t ask him that.”

Hawk gave him a reproachful glare and proceeded to tell a long, dramatic story of how he’d been out for a midnight swim when he’d come across a score of the biggest English ruffians he’d ever seen (in full armor and armed to the teeth, of course) preying on a galley of nuns and orphans on their way to the holy Isle of Iona. He could hardly ignore such injustice (hardly, she thought, for pirates were known for their adherence to justice) and had jumped onboard to help them, defeating the galley ruffians with only a dirk. But alas, he’d gone to the rescue of one of the children who one of the English was trying to throw overboard. He reached for the child, and one of the English managed to get a swipe in before Hawk was able to dispense him.