The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(88)

What she hadn’t expected, however, was his incredible tenacity and determination. He had a job to do and nothing was going to get in his way. She suspected he’d swim off this island if he had to.

Clearly, if he cared about something he took it very seriously.

If only she could be that “something.”

Giving the rickety-skiff-turned-seaworthy-sailing-vessel another glance, she shook her head and said, “Why do I get the impression that you never give up?”

“It’s not in the blood. I’m a Highlander. Bas roimh geill.”

Death before surrender, she translated. The shiver that ran through her had nothing to do with the icy, heavy mist hovering around them.

Not noticing her reaction, he smiled as if something had suddenly amused him.

“What is it?”

“I was just thinking about a spider I came across recently.”

She made a face. “You find spiders amusing? Remind me to introduce you sometime to my brother Edmond; he loves nothing more than to put them in my little sister’s bed.”

He chuckled. “Not amusing, ironic. This wee spider inspired a king.”

He told her the story of Bruce’s spider in the cave. How at the king’s lowest moment of despair and hopelessness, when Bruce was ready to give up, the spider’s perseverance and ultimate success in spinning its web had acted as a powerful omen. One that had reinvigorated the flagging king for the long struggle ahead.

“It’s a wonderful tale,” Ellie said. “If Bruce succeeds, I suspect it will be used by nursemaids to inspire their charges for generations.” But given the source, she eyed him suspiciously. “How much of it is true?”

His eyes twinkled in the darkness. “You think I could make something like that up?” He put his hand over his heart dramatically. “You wound me.”

She gave him a stern look, which he ignored. Tucking her hand in the crook of his arm, he led her to the boat. The villagers had gathered around to bid them farewell, and Ellie was surprised to find herself included in many of the womanly hugs and manly back-slaps. But it wasn’t until they came to Meg that her throat constricted.

Meg embraced Erik first. “Take care of yourself and the lass,” she said, trying to hide the tear she wiped from her eye. “I’d tell you not to do anything rash, but I know I’d be wasting my breath. But you did swear to replace those bedsheets by summer, and I’ll hold you to that promise.”

Erik laughed and gave her a fond kiss on the cheek. “You’ll have your new linens, love.”

“I’d better,” Meg said with mock severity. “And bring the lass with you when you come.”

Before Erik could reply, Meg turned to Ellie and enfolded her in that warm embrace. “Take care of him,” she whispered.

Ellie squeezed her a little tighter, not wanting to let go. For a moment, it felt as though she was saying goodbye to her mother again. Her chest tightened, and the back of her eyes started to burn.

“Thank you,” Ellie said with a broken sob. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you for your kindness.”

Meg pulled back and gave her a peck on the cheek. Their eyes met in watery understanding. “Be happy,” she said.

Ellie nodded, unable to speak. She would try. But after what happened today, she didn’t know if that was possible. Despite the events that had transpired since, she was painfully aware of Erik’s continued silence on the matter of what had happened in the cave.

She’d given him her heart—her body—and nothing had ever felt so right. To her, at least.

He’d regretted it then; did he still?

All too quickly, she found herself loaded in the boat, pushed out to sea, and watching the small crowd gathered on the beach fade into the darkness and mist.

She felt a sharp pang of sadness, realizing that the happy lull of the isle was at an end. The question remained whether it was all fantasy or whether what had been forged between them on the small, idyllic island could flourish and grow in the real world. In a world of coming war.

She burrowed deeper into the cloak and pile of plaids around her shoulders. The light rain had relented, but the icy, cold mist penetrated just as deeply. Unfortunately there wasn’t much of a breeze, but Erik managed to keep the sail filled as the small skiff edged out of the bay.

As they entered the open sea, the temperature plummeted and the mist thickened almost impenetrably. She couldn’t see farther than a few feet in front of the boat. The sail started to flap as the gentle breeze from before seemed to evaporate, and Erik was forced to take up the oars.

“How long will it take to cross the channel to Ireland?”

He shrugged. “It depends. A few hours, maybe longer.”

She frowned. “With no wind?”

“It will pick up,” he said confidently, drawing the oars through the water in perfect tandem. He was seated opposite her, giving her a perfect view of his impressive arms and shoulders bulging with every stroke. The lack of sail power wasn’t all bad, she realized.

“How can you be so sure?”

He lifted one brow.

She rolled her eyes. “That’s right. The wind at your back.”

He grinned. “You’re finally catching on.”

As that hardly deserved a response, she sat back to admire the view—which had gotten even better since he’d removed his cloak.