The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(55)

“Don’t thank me yet, lass,” he said, a devilish twinkle in his eye. It wasn’t the kind of lighthearted twinkle that was so easy to dismiss, but something wicked and full of promise. “You are mine for the next few days.”

Mine. Her heart did a funny little flip. Just the way he said it sent a shudder of heat and excitement whispering through her veins.

It doesn’t mean anything, she told herself. But for the first time in her life, Ellie wondered if she had taken on more than she could manage.

God, he loved to rattle her. Erik took one look at her soft, flushed cheeks and felt a deep swell of satisfaction. It was horrible for him to take such pleasure in her discomfort, but she’d been tormenting him for days—it seemed only right that he was not alone.

She could deny it all she wanted, but Ellie was far from indifferent to him. He’d seen her face when she rushed into the cave. She’d been worried about him—and then something else entirely when she’d set her eyes on his chest.

Admiring female gazes were something Erik had plenty of experience with, but he couldn’t recall ever having been that physically affected by it. He’d felt another deep swell of satisfaction, but this time much lower—and much harder.

But not nearly as hard as he’d been when she’d put her hands on him. Erik frowned. He’d felt as if he was jumping out of his damned skin. Having her hands on his chest, then low on his belly, her fingers so close to his cock, had driven him mad with lust. He’d ached to pull her down on top of him.

He was sure everyone in the room had been aware of his reaction—except for Ellie. But she’d felt it, too. Her awareness and curious glances low on the plaid had only increased his agony.

His lust for the little nursemaid was becoming harder and harder to ignore, and now that he knew she felt the same way …

It almost made him reconsider his intention to spend the next few days with her. But once training was done for the day, there was little he could do until he could leave to meet the McQuillans, and she deserved a little fun. It would be an annoyance, but lust wasn’t anything he couldn’t control.

She stood up to fiddle with the fire, more to have something to do, he suspected, than because it was necessary. When she returned to her seat on the rock opposite him, she was once more composed and looking at him in that no-nonsense, straightforward manner that he was growing rather used to.

She did have his mark, he thought. She didn’t let him get away with anything. It should bother him, but instead it felt oddly relaxing to have someone who didn’t expect something from him. She didn’t chatter or flirt the way she was supposed to, which meant that they ended up talking about all kinds of things—personal things.

If only she weren’t so nosy and observant. He couldn’t believe she’d noticed the tattoo on his arm. He knew she already suspected he wasn’t what he claimed; he could only imagine what she would think if she realized he had a lion rampant—the symbol of Scotland’s kingship and the mark borne by all the members of the Highland Guard—tattooed on his arm. How long would it take her to suspect his involvement with Bruce and the rebellion?

Not long, he’d wager.

She pinned those big, green-flecked hazel eyes on him and arched one delicate brow. “So, did you always want to be a pirate, or did having all those opportunities to save orphans and nuns merely appeal to you recently?”

He chuckled. He should have known he wouldn’t be able to put her off so easily. “It’s in the blood, remember?”

“Oh, I remember,” she said with a quick scan of his face before returning her gaze to his. “But why do I think there’s far more to it than you are telling me? What would drive a man like you to become an outlaw?”

A man like you. Her faith in him—despite what he’d told or hadn’t told her—sat uneasily with him. The lie that had seemed fine in the beginning no longer satisfied. It seemed wrong.

But ignorance of his involvement with Bruce was safer—not just for his mission, but also for her own safety. Edward was on a rampage and didn’t seem to care who was crushed under his heel.

He couldn’t tell her the entire truth, but he supposed there was no harm in telling her some of it. “The usual reasons, I suspect. My clan’s lands were stolen. We did what we had to do.”

He expected her to argue with his premise, but she just stared at him thoughtfully. “Stolen how?”

Knowing he was treading dangerous ground, he spoke carefully. “My father died when I was young. One of my kinsmen thought to take advantage of that fact. He pretended to be acting on my behalf, but claimed my lands for himself.” John of Lorn—the grasping MacDougall bastard—thought he should control all the Isles, whether the lands belonged to someone else or not. “He would have killed me had another kinsman not taken me into his service. I owe him everything.”

She looked at him so intently that he feared he’d said too much. “Even if you were forced into this way of life initially, you must see that this can’t go on forever.”

“What do you mean?”

She pointed to the gash on his stomach. “I can’t imagine pirates live very long lives. One of these days, your pursuers are going to catch up to you.”

If only she knew the truth. His situation was much more precarious than that. There was a very good chance he could be dead inside a week.