“Of course I missed you, love. How could I forget that pie you made me before I left?” she heard him say. “It was the sweetest thing I ever tasted.” Ellie didn’t need to look to know that his eyes were twinkling mischievously, but she did anyway. “Or the second sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.”
He didn’t direct it to anyone in particular, but let it hang out there as if it were meant for each one of them individually.
Ellie had to admit that he had a talent. Watching him was akin to watching a master craftsman at work. He exuded charisma; it dripped off him like cold cream. He doled out compliments with deft sincerity, was unfailingly attentive, and treated each woman as if she were a princess. It wasn’t hard to understand why everyone liked him.
Then why did her jaw ache and her teeth feel whittled down from listening to him as the women fawned all over him? Like a Saracen surrounded by his harem, he had the women clustered around his chair, hanging on his every word. He had one arm draped lazily over Meg’s shoulder while another woman pretended to perch herself on the arm of the chair but ended up half on his lap.
Not that he was leaving all the fondling to the women. She’d never seen so many bottom pats and long “welcome” kisses in her life. This had to be the most hospitable island in Scotland!
Realizing she was frowning, she turned back to the bread and cheese Meg had given her to break her fast. It was no business of hers who he touched as long as it wasn’t her. If anyone had cause for complaint it was Meg, and she didn’t seem to mind the competition.
Ellie surreptitiously watched the group from her seat at the table on one side of the small hall. After that greeting last night, she’d been certain Meg was his mistress. The pretty redhead certainly looked the part. Probably a few years older than Ellie, she had a wide, welcoming smile, rosy cheeks, and the biggest breasts Ellie had ever seen. Her lush sensuality was everything Ellie was not. She felt like a dried-up old prune in comparison. But watching the two of them now, she wasn’t so sure about the nature of their relationship. He treated her with the same roguish good humor that he did everyone else.
He was so infuriatingly nice. Yet Ellie couldn’t help but think that he used his affability as a mask to keep everyone at a distance. All these people who thought they knew him so well probably didn’t know him at all.
Even his name was a mystery. “Hawk” was how even the women referred to him. Not that it didn’t fit. The bird of prey that soared over the sea, wild and free, hunting with sudden attacks from a place of concealment, was perfect for a pirate.
She nibbled at her food, listening to the master at work. Behind the lazy grin hid a very observant man. He asked about Maura’s new hairstyle, Deidre’s new gown, and how Bessie’s young son was recovering after having hurt his leg in a fall from a tree last year. He made a point to ask something personal of each one of them, but any attempts to ask questions of him were deflected with a grin and a jest—usually a naughty one. It was so expertly done, Ellie wondered if the women even realized what he was doing.
It made her curious as to the real man behind the golden veneer.
“Something wrong, Ellie?” he asked.
A crowd of curious faces turned toward her. She was surprised he’d even noticed she was here, with his attention so well occupied.
“You don’t seem your usual chirpy self this morning,” he added innocently, those wickedly blue eyes twinkling with mirth.
Ellie’s gaze narrowed; she was too exhausted to properly ignore him. Nor had she forgiven him for the little story he’d told Meg last night on how she came to be with him. “I’m perfectly chirpy,” she growled. For someone who’d had two hours of sleep after being stolen from her home by a boatload of Vikings.
He looked at her as if he was trying not to laugh. “Aye, I can see that.”
She had to grit her teeth not to glare at him again when he whispered—loudly—an apology to the other women about her being so grumpy in the morning.
His needling was all the more grating because it happened to be true. She had always been slow to rise (as her mother had generously called it) in the best of circumstances—and today definitely hadn’t been the best of circumstances. Meg had been up since the crack of dawn cooking and, after helping her tend Thomas and Duncan—the man who’d been struck by the arrow—Ellie had collapsed on the makeshift pallet before the fire just a few short hours ago.
She told herself she was grateful when he seemed to forget all about her once again and returned to the adoring throng surrounding him.
“How long will you stay this time?” one of the women asked.
Finally something worth listening to.
“Until I can bear to tear myself away from Meg’s fine cooking.” He turned to their hostess. “That was one delicious stew you sent over this morning, love. The men appreciate your trouble … as do I.”
Meg turned pink with pleasure. “It was no trouble at all. Just something I tossed together.”
At dawn, Ellie wanted to point out ungraciously. And once again he hadn’t answered the question.
He rose slowly from the chair as if he couldn’t bear to drag himself away. Though the room was a good size—probably twenty by fifty feet—his height and broad shoulders suddenly made it feel much smaller. The man dominated everything around him.
“I’m afraid I must get back to my men,” he said sadly. The obvious protests started, but he waved them off. “I just came up to thank Meg for her hospitality and tending to my men.”
Duncan and Thomas had stubbornly insisted on returning to the beach to join the others first thing in the morning. Ellie thought they both could have benefited from more rest—as could she—and had urged them to stay, but they’d taken her suggestion as an insult.
Meg frowned, having tried to keep them here as well. “I didn’t like the look of the young one. Keep an eye on him. Men can be such stubborn fools.” She gave Hawk a pointed look. “Are you sure you won’t let me see to those hands?”
He grinned. “If I let you see to my hands, it will be hours before I get back to my men.”
Meg gave him a little swat, and everyone laughed except Ellie. Did he ever take anything seriously? And what was wrong with his hands?
He turned to leave, then stopped as if he’d forgotten something—apparently her. “You’re sure it’s no trouble?” he said, referring to Ellie as if she weren’t sitting right there.
Meg shook her head. “I’ll enjoy the company.”
Hawk bent over and gave the curvy redhead a kiss on the cheek. “I owe you, love.”
Meg dimpled. “And I will enjoy collecting payment.”
“Naughty, lass,” he said with another one of those bottom pats.
His gaze leveled on Ellie. “Stay out of trouble,” he ordered, as if she were a child.
She fought the most ridiculous impulse to stick out her tongue at him.
Good God, what was wrong with her? Less than twenty-four hours in his company, and she was acting like her five-year-old sister Joannie.
Their gazes held a moment too long. He frowned, but by the time he glanced back to Meg he was smiling again. “Put her to work. I’m sure there’s something she can do.” From his tone it was clear he wasn’t overly convinced.
Ellie felt a spark of outrage. She wanted to argue that there was plenty she could do, but had to bite her tongue and force herself not to rise to the bait. If he knew how much he was getting to her, it would only encourage him. And in truth, she wasn’t sure how her lady’s skills would be of help to Meg and her small holding.
Ellie knew how to manage the castle’s servants and oversee the cleaning, cooking, and tending to the livestock and crops, but she’d never actually baked bread, made a stew, changed the rushes, laundered linens, milked a cow, or harvested barley herself. It was more than a little humbling to realize how impractical her skills were outside of a castle.
Once he’d left, it didn’t take long for the room to clear of visitors. With Hawk’s words
fresh in her mind, Ellie helped Meg clear the table of the platter, bowls, and cups from the morning meal.
“Thank you,” Ellie said when they were finished. “The food was delicious.” Though it was far less elaborate than what she was used to, the simple fare was surprisingly satisfying. As were the accommodations. Though small and rustic, Meg’s home was comfortable, clean, and organized. “I should like to add my thanks to the captain’s for taking me in like this.”
Meg took her hands and gave them a motherly squeeze. “Poor lass. Hawk will get you home before you know it.” She laughed. “I’ll bet it’s some time before you hide away on a boat again. But you will have an adventure to tell when you get home.”
Ellie’s face reddened with mortified heat, wanting to protest with the truth but mindful of her vow. She cursed him for the devil again, recalling after a few whispered words his explanation to Meg last night of how she’d come to be with him.
The pirate had shaken his head sadly. “The lass fancies herself in love, and when I told her I had to go”—he shrugged helplessly as if this kind of thing happened all the time—“she went half-crazed with grief and hid herself under the sails on my boat. By the time one of my men found her, it was too late to take her back. Until I can get her home, I feel responsible for her.”
Her eyes had been shooting daggers at him the whole time—which had only added to his amusement. The arrogant scourge was lucky she didn’t have a real one in her hand.
Meg, on the other hand, looked at him as though he’d just ridden in on a white horse. “Of course you must.” She looked to Ellie and shook her head. “You poor wee lamb.”
She’d taken the bedraggled Ellie and enfolded her in such a sympathetic embrace that Ellie lost the heart to argue.
Ellie didn’t know what was worse: his story or how readily Meg had accepted it.
Meg was watching her now and mistook the source of her discomfort. “Don’t be embarrassed. Hawk’s the kind of man to make even a sensible woman lose her head.”
“Did you?” Ellie blurted, eyes widening when she realized what she’d said. “I mean, I couldn’t help but notice …” She gnawed on her lip, knowing she was only making it worse.
But instead of being offended, the other woman simply laughed. “For a time, perhaps. When I lost my Colin …”
She stopped, her eyes filling with tears. After a moment, she smiled again. “Hawk helped me feel alive again, and for that I will love him forever. But the kind of love you mean, nay”—she shook her head—“that happens only once—if you are lucky.”
Ellie thought of Ralph. And if you aren’t the daughter of an earl.
She might never know that kind of love, but she did know loss. She took Meg’s hand and gave it a sympathetic squeeze. The gesture seemed to surprise the other woman, but Ellie could see that it was also appreciated.
“I know you don’t want to hear this right now,” Meg said kindly. “But Hawk didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Ellie didn’t say anything—what could she? Meg obviously thought she was in love with him. The poor, pathetic plain nursemaid mooning over the larger-than-life Norse god.
“He loves women and they love him. But asking for more than that is only asking for trouble.”
Ellie couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Why?”
Meg gave her a sympathetic smile. “He loves women too much to ever settle for one.”
Meg didn’t need to tell her that. Ellie had realized that the first moment she set eyes on him. He was just like her father: too enthralled with being loved by everyone to become attached to one person. Falling in love with a man like the captain would only lead to a lifetime of misery. She pitied the poor girl who forgot it.
It was near dusk as Erik made his way up the rocky cliffside to the small hillock beyond. As he neared the edge, he could see the soft plumes of smoke swirling from Meg’s holding just ahead.
He was still angry at himself for letting Ellie get to him earlier. What did he care what she thought? But the little nursemaid had blared her disapproval loud enough to hear her across Scotland, let alone Meg’s small hall.
Still, he shouldn’t have teased her. Not when she’d looked so tired.
It wasn’t like him to be so uncaring toward a lass, but she didn’t act like any damned lass he knew. Her reactions confounded him—irritated him. Something he couldn’t recall a women ever doing before.
Ah well, he would be free of the little termagant soon enough. Another day or two, and they should be able to leave. There was no reason to rush; he might as well give the hunt time to die down.
He and Domnall had climbed to the top of Wood Hill to get a good look at the surrounding waterways, and what they’d seen had been worse than he’d expected. The entire English fleet had to be in the channel. From what he could tell, the English had positioned themselves near every major crossway, cutting off any attempt to go north to the Isles, south to the Isle of Man, or west to Rathlin and Ireland.
He had no doubt he could get around them if he needed to, but other than his anxiousness to get rid of the lass and rejoin Bruce and the others, he had no reason to risk capture or leading the English to Bruce. In the meantime, he’d try to think of a way to send a message to Chief—the leader of the Highland Guard—and warn him of the danger. Bruce would be making his way to Rathlin soon.
But patience wasn’t one of Erik’s stronger attributes, and he suspected the next couple of days were going to crawl by at a snail’s pace. He was already restless.
He stopped when he reached the top of the cliff to survey the bay below. Everything appeared normal. A few small fishing boats were scattered across the harbor, but all signs of their presence were gone. Earlier he and his men had carried the birlinn into the cave, hiding it from the sight of any passing patrols who might luck upon them.
With dozens of small islands between Ireland and Scotland, the English might make an effort to search them but would need help to find them. There were too many places to hide. As long as the villagers kept silent, they were safe—which was another reason he’d come here. Until MacDougall had stolen it, Spoon Island belonged to the MacSorleys, and the islanders still considered Erik their rightful chieftain. When Bruce reclaimed his crown, he would be.
Erik started toward the old stone and thatched longhouse. He didn’t need to be here, but he couldn’t stop himself from checking on Ellie. It was his duty, he told himself. Until he took her home or handed her off to Bruce, she was his responsibility.
He lifted his hand to greet Duncan, whom he’d consigned to guard duty while he healed, squared his shoulders as if he were about to do battle, and pushed through the door.
Ah, hell.
Any residual irritation he might have been feeling from this morning was forgotten in the peaceful sight before him. The little nursemaid was curled up in the chair before the fire sleeping, a plaid wrapped around her shoulders and her feet tucked under her bottom. From the fresh leine she wore and the damp tendrils of dark hair curling softly around her face, he guessed that she’d bathed recently. The faint scent of lavender still lingered in the sultry air.
She didn’t look like a drowned cat anymore.
Her hair was beautiful. Thick and glossy, it hung in freshly combed waves around her shoulders like a heavy cloak of rich sable. He knew just by looking that it would feel like a veil of silk on his skin.
In repose she didn’t seem like the kind of woman who could have caused him so many problems. He studied the small face that had looked upon him with such indifference. She would never be a beauty, but there was something pleasing about her face all the same. The warmth from the fire had colored her pale cheeks a soft pink. With her stubborn chin relaxed, her pursed lips softly parted, and her too-perceptive dark eyes closed, her face looked softer … younger … and far more vulnerable.
He felt an uncomfortable twinge in his chest that felt suspiciously like guilt. Despite all the trouble she’d caused, none of this was her fault. Neithe
r was it his, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel responsible for getting her home safely and as soon as possible.
Her long lashes fluttered, and she startled awake. Seeing him standing there, a flush rose to her cheeks. “What are you doing here?”
Hastily, she untucked her legs from under her, giving him a view of two dainty, perfectly arched feet. Small and pale, with tiny toes, they were absolutely adorable. Much too adorable for a bossy nursemaid. He stared for a moment too long, and she quickly tucked them under her plaid.
Inexplicably angry and feeling a little bit like a lad who’d been caught with his hand in the honey pot, his mouth fell in a hard line. “Where’s Meg?”
He didn’t like being alone with her. He nearly laughed at the sheer oddity of that thought—he couldn’t remember ever being uncomfortable around a woman.
“She went to check on one of the villagers. Mhairi, I think her name was. She’s to have a child soon.”
He didn’t say anything, but just stared at her as if his discomfort were somehow her fault.
“Is there something you wished me to tell her?” she asked encouragingly, clearly as eager to be rid of him as he was of her.
He shook his head. “Nay, I will speak with her later.”
He turned on his heel to leave, but she stopped him. “Is Thomas all right?”
He detected the note of concern in her voice, and it made him frown. “He’s fine.” He paused. “Are you not curious about Duncan as well?”
Her gaze leveled on his. “Why would I need to ask you about Duncan, when I can just open the door and ask him myself?”
He shrugged unapologetically, seeing her annoyance. “He needed something to do until his shoulder has healed.”
“And spying on me was the only thing you could think of? I thought we had an agreement.”
“We do. Duncan is my assurance that you don’t forget it.”