The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(91)

He smiled, though amusement was the furthest thing from what he felt. “This is quite a little storm, isn’t it, te bheag?” he shouted over the roar of the wind and rain.

She looked at him as if he were a madman. “Just what do you consider a big storm?”

Despite the circumstances he chuckled. “This is nothing. Did I ever tell you about the time—”

“Erik,” she cut him off with an exasperated shout as a big gust of wind ripped across the hull. She gripped the rail of the boat until her fingers turned white. He’d tied a rope around them both, but she was so slim he worried about her blowing over. “Do you mind if I hear your story later? After this ‘little’ storm is over?”

He shrugged carelessly. “Suit yourself, but it’s a good one.”

“And probably gets better every time.”

He shook his head. What a lass! Even in the midst of hell she found her sarcasm.

But her teeth were rattling, and when another flash of lightning and crack of thunder sounded, she looked so terrified that he had to fight the urge to comfort her.

He would give everything he had to protect her. But what if it wasn’t enough? The flash of doubt angered him. It would be enough, damn it. Luck could not have so completely deserted him.

But when he heard a loud crack and saw the mast listing slowly to the side, he wondered if it had.

Ellie heard the cracking sound and knew that something had just gone horribly wrong.

“Watch out!” Erik shouted and reached for her, jerking her down as the mast, sail, and riggings flew over her head. She watched in mute horror as the sail bounced over the waves for a few moments before eventually being dragged down by the weight of the mast and riggings to disappear into the stormy sea.

We’re doomed. Without the sail, they would be virtually helpless on the storm-tossed sea.

Erik pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly against him and smoothing his hand over her sopping-wet hair. She could feel the fierce pounding of his heart, even through the layers of wool, leather, and fur.

She gazed up at him through rain-drenched lashes, amazed by the lack of fear on his face. Unflappable even in the most terrifying of circumstances. If anything, he seemed more upset that she’d nearly gotten her head knocked by the mast than by the fact that they were now completely at the mercy of the storm.

She tilted her head to look up at him. “Are we going to die?”

Her eyes met his, pleading for him not to lie to her.

He gripped her shoulders, rain pouring off of him, and gave her an emphatic shake. “We are not going to die.”

As if to challenge his words, an enormous wave lifted the small boat high and tilted them nearly sideways before releasing them to slam back down on the hard water. He grabbed the oars, using them to keep the bow pointed into the waves, but it was clear the thin sticks of wood were no match for the current.

“I don’t need a sail to get us to Ireland,” he boasted over the roar of the storm. “You don’t think I’m ready to give up, do you?”

She shook her head. He would never give up. He was the best seafarer she’d ever seen. If anyone could do it, he could.

He looked into her eyes. “I need you with me, Ellie. Can you do this?”

She forced back the wave of panic and nodded. She wasn’t going to fall apart. She needed to be strong. “What are you going to do? You can’t row in this.”

“I won’t need to.” He smiled, and despite the harrowing circumstances, it warmed her. “But since we lost the sail, I’m afraid I’m going to need to borrow your chemise.” He chuckled at her shocked expression. “I need to create some kind of drag to slow the boat. It will also help keep the bow pointed into the waves.”

With the storm swirling around them, she didn’t take the time to ask any more questions. It took some effort, but he helped her sift through the layers of wet fabric to her chemise. She jumped when his wet hands connected with bare skin, but he managed to rip the linen fabric cleanly and quickly at the waist. He tied the ripped end into a knot and then made two holes near the hem at the other open end, through which he tied two pieces of rope. He attached the rope to the bow, and then tossed the chemise into the ocean.

It was too dark to see, but she knew it must be working when the boat slowed and seemed to steady.

“Now what?” she asked.

He drew a strand of hair from her lashes and pressed a salty kiss on her mouth. His lips were warm and strong, giving her a much-needed blast of comfort.

“Now we wait and let the current carry us through the storm.” He pulled her down to the bottom of the hull so that she was lying in front of him, tucked into the hard curve of his body, and covered them with blankets.

They were completely at the mercy of the storm. The rain pelted down, and the small skiff tossed and turned with the perilous roll of the giant waves. But snug and warm in the circle of his solid embrace, with the constant steady beat of his heart at her back, Ellie felt a moment of calm.

Until the next wave hit, and the terror caused her pulse to jump, jolting her heart to a sudden stop. She was clutching at him, her fingers digging into his arms with every surge and crash of the waves, with every blood-chilling creak of the boat as it slammed over the waves. But she felt his solid strength behind her like an anchor. How he could remain so calm was maddening—it was almost inhuman.