The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(89)

Despite the cold and eerie dark mist, the roll of waves and the smooth rowing motion was surprisingly relaxing. She found her eyes drooping as the day’s long and stressful events finally caught up to her.

She must have dozed, because the next thing she remembered was the rain pelting against her cheeks and the hard crack of thunder jarring her awake to a nightmare.

Chapter Nineteen

At first Erik wasn’t concerned by the stillness in the air. The lack of wind had its benefits: if the English were lying in wait, they wouldn’t be able to see his sail. Even he would be hard-pressed to outrun a fleet of English galleys in a ten-foot skiff.

He grinned at the thought that if it weren’t for his mission, he might be willing to try. He’d yet to meet a challenge he didn’t like—even an impossible one.

But the English were more likely to be holed up in some stolen Scottish castle, safe and warm in their beds, than sitting on a galley in the murky, cold mist watching for a solitary rebel—even one who’d tweaked their pride more than once.

He rowed in the murky darkness, using the west coast of Spoon as a reference for as long as he could. Once they entered the North Channel, however, all that was between them and Ireland was the pitch-black sea. Without the stars and land to guide him, he had to rely on instinct and years of experience at gauging the currents, and the wind to hold his course.

They’d left about four hours after sunset—a little after nine o’clock—which meant he had roughly ten hours of solid darkness left to reach Ireland and sail the men the short three miles to Rathlin.

Plenty of time even if he had to row the entire distance. But the wind would pick up. It was the Western Isles. Cold, mist, and wind were a given.

He spent the first couple of hours of their journey enjoying the relaxing rhythm of plunging the oars through the water and watching Ellie’s peaceful slumber.

For such a serious, no-nonsense lass, she looked ridiculously adorable when she slept. He liked the way her long, dark lashes swept against her pale cheeks, how her hands curled into small fists by her face, and how her lips parted softly as she breathed. He loved her changing expressions. The little frowns that turned to rapturous smiles and made him wonder what she was dreaming about.

But he was most surprised by how much he wanted to tuck her against his chest and fall asleep with his arms around her. After he made love to her again.

Shame tugged at him. With all that had happened, he hadn’t had a chance to rectify his ignoble reaction after their lovemaking. When he thought of how wonderful she’d been in the intervening hours, it made him feel even worse. She’d been a steady source of support at his side. Not asking questions, not making demands, not bursting into hysterical tears, and helping when needed.

He could do much worse for a wife.

A wife.

He paused, letting the idea take hold, surprised when he didn’t cringe or have to fight the urge to jump overboard.

Why not? he thought with a grin. Ellie would make him a fine wife. He liked her—cared about her even. She made him laugh. She challenged him as no other woman had before in a way that was oddly refreshing. With her he could relax.

And most important, if he married her, he would have her in his bed. Whenever he wanted. He suspected he’d be “wanting” an awful lot. His body heated at the memories. Making love to her had been … intense. Incredible. Damn near perfect.

Eventually his lust for her would fade—it had to, didn’t it?—but he’d be discreet and have care for her feelings when he took a leman, as was the custom. Although right now, the idea of another woman didn’t interest him.

Even a little.

It was a bit unsettling.

There was another consideration that he couldn’t seem to get out of his mind. If he let her go, she might be tempted to look for passion with someone else. But all that passion she’d held bottled up for so long was dangerous in the wrong hands. There were many men who might take advantage of her. Obviously, she needed someone to protect her.

He supposed it would have to be him.

The more he thought about it, the more the idea appealed to him. Domnall was right. His mother and sisters wouldn’t care that she was only a nursemaid, and as far as everyone else …

Hell, he didn’t give a damn what other people thought; he never had.

He could give her wealth, position, and a home. Children of her own to boss around. His gaze slid over her sleeping form, resting on her stomach. He could almost picture her rushing out of one of his castles to greet him when he returned from a journey, her eyes bright with happiness to see him and her belly swollen with child. His chest tightened with a fierce, unfamiliar emotion at the thought of her heavy with his child. He wanted that connection with her. He wanted it with a primal intensity that surprised him.

He smiled, liking the idea more and more.

Wouldn’t she be surprised when she discovered her pirate was a great-grandson of Somerled and chieftain of one of the most ancient clans in the land? She’d probably be overwhelmed—grateful even. A sharp swell of satisfaction rose in his chest. Aye, grateful would be good—and unique, where Ellie was concerned.

Erik drew the oars through the increasingly strong current and rising waves with renewed vigor. He was anxious for her to wake up so he could tell her of his decision. He couldn’t wait to see her reaction. At first she’d be shocked—especially when she understood the honor he was doing her—then no doubt overjoyed, excited, and relieved.