The Hawk: A Highland Guard Novel

by Monica McCarty

  He’d had only a quick glimpse of her face, but nothing had caught his eye. No Venus rising from the waves, this one, that was for certain. Rather with her dark hair plastered to her head, she’d made him think of a half-drowned cat—bedraggled, miserable, and cold.

  But she had nerve, he’d give her that. He admired the way she’d tried to walk, bold as she might, right on out of here. Despite her youth, she had an authoritative air about her. He suspected whoever she was, she was the kind of woman who was used to being listened to. Like the old nursemaid who used to order him about. The memory made him frown. Ada had been impossible to charm—his only real failure in an otherwise spotless record.

  Of all the things that could have gone wrong, Erik had never anticipated a lass wandering into their meeting. He knew he was going to have to do something, something he wasn’t going to like.

  What a mess! He dragged his fingers through his recently shorn hair. Most of the men had cut their hair short to prevent the rampant lice sweeping through the camp. He liked the convenience and had decided to keep it.

  The lass finally found her tongue after Fergal’s grim pronouncement. She didn’t bother pleading with the Irishman—proving her good sense—but turned her thin, pale face to him. “Please, you can’t do this. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t hear anything. I swear I will say nothing about this to anyone. Just let me go.”

  He wanted to believe her. But unfortunately, it didn’t matter if he did. He couldn’t take the risk. It wasn’t just his mission at stake. The last thing Erik wanted was to do anything to antagonize Ulster.

  Bruce’s relationship with his father-in-law was a complex one. On the face of it, Ulster’s loyalty to Edward was unquestionable. However, Bruce suspected one of the reasons they’d managed to avoid capture the past few months was because Ulster had turned a blind eye to any evidence of their presence. But the earl wouldn’t be able to ignore recruiting men right under his nose—especially with the bloody English around.

  Randolph stepped forward. “Of course we won’t—”

  “He’s right.” Erik cut Randolph off with a sharp warning glance. The gallant young fool was going to ruin everything. Erik addressed Fergal, ignoring the girl. “We can’t risk letting her go.”

  The smile that spread across Fergal’s face chilled Erik’s blood. Clearly, he was looking forward to getting rid of their problem.

  Erik sighed, reminding himself that he needed the scourge and forcing himself not to show his revulsion by lopping off his head. But he was tempted.

  The lass made a sound that was half cry, half horrified whimper and started to back away from both of them. But Erik latched his hand around her wrist before one of Fergal’s men could get to her. She tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip and hoped to hell he didn’t break her bones. He’d held butterflies with more substance.

  “I’ll take care of it,” he said. Before Fergal could interrupt, Erik gave him a conspiratorial look and added, “After my men and I’ve had a wee bit of fun.”

  Fergal’s beady black crow eyes narrowed. “But my men found her.” He looked the shivering lass up and down. “She hardly looks worth the effort.”

  Erik handed the lass off to Domnall and squared off against Fergal. “My men have been at sea for a while,” Erik lied. “Anything looks good to them right now. Besides, this will assure that the deed will never be traced back to you. Think of the mess. We’ll dump her out at sea, where no one will ever be the wiser.” Erik turned back to Domnall, noticing the girl’s pale color. “Better give her a plaid.” He forced himself to laugh. “We want to make sure she stays alive long enough to be of some use.”

  Fergal stroked the grizzled scruff at his chin, looking like he wanted to protest. The last thing Erik wanted to do was get in an argument, with the man he was recruiting to fight for them, over a blasted lass.

  All of a sudden they heard the faint sound of a woman’s voice, coming from outside the cavern. “Ellie!”

  The lass tried to cry out, but Domnall managed to cover her mouth.

  “Someone is looking for her,” Erik said. “You’d better get out of here before they see you.”

  Fergal didn’t look happy, but he knew he had no choice. The time for argument had just run out.

  Erik strode back through the water and jumped over the side of the boat. “The thirteenth,” he reminded him. “Don’t disappoint me.” The threat was uttered nonchalantly, but the look in Erik’s eyes held a steely edge that promised retribution.

  Fergal sobered a little, losing some of his belligerence. He knew Erik well enough to know what he could do. There would be no place he could hide if he betrayed him.

  The Irishman nodded and disappeared into the darkness.

  Erik and his men did the same, slipping out of the cave as quietly as they’d come, though unfortunately with one extra passenger.

  But not for long. As soon as he could, Erik was going to get rid of her.

  Three

  The sound of her sister’s voice sent the tears that Ellie had managed to hold in check, while the vile ruffians blithely discussed her rape and murder, streaming down her cheeks.

  “Matty!” she tried to call out, only to have her captor’s hold around her tighten, and a big, beefy hand (that she was sure was none too clean) slapped across her mouth.

  She struggled in his hold, but it was useless. Like the devil Viking captain who had taken hold of her wrist earlier, the hulking brute was immovable. It would be easier to bend steel or smash through a wall of granite.

  “Sh …,” the man whispered in her ear. “We won’t hurt you, lass, but you need to be quiet.”

  He had a gentle, soothing voice, and the glimpse she’d caught of him before he’d taken hold of her had been of a jovial, fatherly-looking sort, but could he honestly expect her to believe him after she’d just heard his captain speak coldly of raping and then “dumping” her body out at sea? She didn’t think so.

  She bit down hard on his hand and was rewarded with a grunt of surprise. But he did not loosen his hold, and her defiance only earned her a tighter grip—one that prevented her teeth from chattering. Thanks to the big plaid and his arms wrapped tightly around her, Ellie no longer felt like she was freezing to death. Small consolation at a moment like this.

  Her heart squeezed with terror and despair. This couldn’t be happening. As if in some kind of horrible nightmare, she’d been abducted by pirates—the most fearsome pirates of all, Vikings.

  She sobbed in silence, cold, uncomfortable, and never having felt so helpless. Rescue was only a shout away, but she could do no more than watch as the boat slipped out to sea and her sister, her family, and her home were swallowed up in the dark, misty night.

  When would she see them again? Would she see them again?

  She swore that if she got out of this alive, she would never so much as dip a single toe in the water again. She would marry Ralph with a smile on her face, put her ridiculous qualms about her marriage behind her, and live an exemplary, picture-of-propriety life as his lady and mother to his children—all eight of them—no matter how staid and boring.

  How long would it take for her family to notice that she was missing and start looking for her? Despite the thick plaid, she chilled all over again as a horrible thought struck her. They might not even know to look for her. Her family might simply think that she’d drowned, and not realize she’d been abducted.

  With a sudden burst of strength brought on by the terrifying prospect, she renewed her struggles against the man holding her, this time managing to loosen an arm enough to poke an elbow hard in his stomach.

  He made a hard, guttural sound and released his hold long enough for her to chomp down on his hand, wrench away, and spring to her feet. She took a step toward the rail, intending to jump overboard and swim toward the lights from the castle just visible in the distance.

  But she found her flight abruptly curtailed, as her forward momentum was brought to a jarring halt. A long, mus
cular arm hooked around her waist and yanked her roughly back against a very broad—and very solid—chest. Her feet dangled in the air.

  She gasped with shock, and something else …

  Awareness. For a moment she went utterly still with it, trying to understand the overwhelming sense of powerlessness that had come over her. She knew without looking who it was. She also knew that she would never be able to free herself from the iron prison of his hold. His muscles were like rocks. And every inch of his body seemed to be covered in them. Like a map burned into relief on her skin, she could feel the hard ridges and contours of his body pressing against her. She’d never been so close to a man before, and the intimacy of it was unsettling. And warm. His body seemed to radiate heat. She stopped shaking.

  He chuckled in her ear, and the warm, husky sound reverberated against her back, sending a strange tingle shimmering down her spine. A faint hint of spice cut through the salty tang of the sea.

  “I would think you’d had enough swimming for one night,” he murmured teasingly, before turning to the man who’d held her. “The wee lass seems to be giving you a bit of trouble, Domnall?”

  Dear Lord, that voice! Deep and husky, laced with the taunting hint of the mischievous, it was the kind of voice that wrapped around you and wouldn’t let go. The kind of voice meant to tell tales around a fire, recite verse, or, more likely with that face, lead women into temptation. A voice to entice, seduce, and make even a sensible woman lose her head.

  She’d wager everything she had—which right now consisted of an icy chemise and a borrowed plaid—that he had a devastating smile to go along with it.

  Fortunately, she was immune to such nonsense. The shine on his masculine beauty would dull—it always did. There were definitely benefits to being surrounded by a bevy of ridiculously gorgeous creatures all the time.

  When he finally set her down and turned her around to face him, she wasn’t disappointed. His grin was every bit as irresistible as she’d anticipated. Even her heart—which had been hardened against such attempts years ago—did a little stutter step. But the blond-haired, blue-eyed, golden-god looks didn’t fool her. However easy his grin, he had ruthless barbarian written on every inch of his tall, indecently muscled warrior’s physique.

  Without his protective hold, she felt the cold wind again cut through the plaid and drew it in tight over her head, clutching it around her neck.

  “The wee banshee has sharp bones,” the older warrior moaned, rubbing his stomach, “and teeth.”

  The captain’s grin grew bigger, revealing deep craters on either side of his mouth, a flash of extremely white, straight teeth, and the gleam of a twinkle in his eye. It was dazzling, and also, given the circumstances, completely absurd. What kind of cold-hearted monster could tease and grin at her like that, with what he had planned?

  He gave her an exaggerated bow. “My hearty congratulations. It’s not often that one of my men is overpowered by such a …” His gaze slid over her, clearly trying not to laugh. “Delightful foe.”

  This was crazy. Did he mean to charm her to death? What kind of cruel game was he playing? The roguish rapist? The magnanimous murderer?

  She couldn’t take it any more. Fear caught up with her, and tears streamed down her cheeks. “Don’t do this,” she pleaded. “I swear I didn’t hear anything.” She gazed up at him with watery eyes, the icy wind peppering her cheeks. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

  All signs of lightheartedness slid from his face. She sensed that he wasn’t often serious, but he was now. His eyes met hers intently. They would have to be blue, she thought absurdly.

  “You’ve nothing to fear from me or my men, lass. We’ll not hurt you.”

  His voice was so gentle and sincere. Yet the tears only intensified, burning her throat and filling her nose. She was desperate to believe him, to hold on to any thread of hope, no matter how thin. “But I heard what you said,” she choked.

  His mouth fell into a grim line. Like the rest of him, it was exceedingly well-shaped, wide and soft with a delicious, naughty flare. “It was necessary. My companion was not so mercifully inclined. If I hadn’t said what I did, he would not have let you leave.”

  Ellie dare not believe it. Could he be telling the truth? “Then you’ll take me back?” she said, unable to keep the hope from her voice.

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that. Not right now, at least.”

  The surge in her chest deflated. “But why not?” Then the reason hit her. Like the other man, he didn’t want to risk that she’d heard something. “I swear I didn’t hear anything. I know nothing of what you are involved in.” Though piracy and smuggling definitely came to mind. “I won’t say anything to anyone, just please take me back to my family.” She started to shiver again. “They will be so worried about me.”

  She searched his face in the hazy moonlight for a sign of softening, but his resolve was as hard and unyielding as the rest of him.

  He stood stiffly before her, as if her pleas made him uncomfortable. “Believe me, lass, I’ve no more wish for you to be here than you do. But for now, I’m afraid we must make the best of the situation. You have my word, I will return you to your family as soon as it is safe to do so.”

  He gave her another one of those smiles that was clearly meant to dazzle, but it barely even registered. Frustration boiled up inside her. It wasn’t fair. She didn’t know anything. Why wouldn’t he believe her? “And I’m supposed to trust the word of a Norse pirate?”

  He lifted his brow in surprise at the accusation, then smiled as if she’d said something to amuse him. “Only part Norse.”

  An Isleman. She should have realized it when she’d heard him speak. He was Gall-Gaedhil: part-Norse and part Gael Islander. But all pirate. The Islemen were just as notorious as their Norse forebears for their piracy. She noticed he hadn’t disagreed with her about his occupation.

  “And as mine is the only word you have,” he added, “I’m afraid you’ll have to take it.”

  She fumed silently, knowing he was right.

  “What is your name, lass? Do you have a husband waiting for you?”

  The question startled her. She eyed him carefully, wondering at his reason for asking. Did he wish to see if he could ransom her or—God forbid!—force her to marry him?

  “Ellie,” she said carefully. Surely he must have heard Matty call for her. “I’m not married. As I said, I was with the group at the beach for the Maiden’s Plunge.”

  His gaze flickered, and she wondered if he’d been trying to trick her.

  “So you are from the village?”

  The blood of Ireland’s most powerful noble ran through her veins, and it was almost reflexive to lift her chin and give him a disdainful “of course not.” But she knew she had to be careful. She didn’t want to reveal who she was, but she also knew that her rank afforded her some protection by encouraging the ruffians to keep their distance.

  Suddenly, the answer came to her. “I’m a nursemaid to the earl’s children.” A position of respect, and more or less the truth, she thought wryly. Every man loved his nursemaid, didn’t he?

  A strange grimace crossed his features, and he nodded, accepting her explanation with appalling ease. But wrapped in a plaid and gowned in a plain chemise, bereft of her expensive gowns and fine jewelry, she looked no more noble than a … pirate.

  She knew the thought should make her laugh, but it struck her that there was indeed something noble about him. Something in the proud set of his shoulders, the air of command, and the arrogant glint in his eye.

  She shook off the mental lapse. What a ridiculous thought to have about the scourge who’d just abducted her. Obviously it had been a long night.

  He unfastened the brooch at his neck and removed the heavy fur-lined brat from his shoulders. “Here,” he said. “You must be freezing.”

  She was, but his thoughtfulness surprised her. Apparently, she’d been abducted by a charming and gallant pirate.

  Ellie was proud b
ut not a fool. She accepted the brat with a curt nod and snuggled into its deep folds. It felt like heaven. Though she was still wet, it was surprisingly warm. But she refused to give him the satisfaction of a sigh.

  “Can I trust you to keep quiet, or should I have Domnall tie you up?” The wicked gleam in his eyes made her think he was hoping for the latter.

  Ellie masked her outrage and met his naughty grin with the same look of bored tedium that she gave her brothers when they tried to get a rise out of her. She looked down her nose at him, returning the challenge. “Can I trust you?”

  One side of his mouth curved up in a cocky grin. “We shall see.” He gave her a mocking bow and said, “My lady,” before returning to his post at the stern of the boat. He even swaggered when he walked.

  Ellie was dragged back down on the uncomfortable chest beside the older warrior he’d called Domnall. No longer in danger of turning into a human icicle and warm for the first time in what seemed like hours, she stared out into the soupy black mist, watching as with each plunge of the oars the boat pulled farther and farther away from her home.

  Some of the terror had fled, but none of the despair.

  Could she believe him? Did he really mean not to harm her? Would he return her to her family? He seemed in earnest, and she desperately wanted to believe him.

  She watched him surreptitiously from under the veil of her lashes. He appeared to be arguing with a dark-haired young warrior who she thought had meant to come to her rescue in the cave. Something about the young warrior was different from the others. It wasn’t just his dark coloring; he was the only one wearing a shirt of mail and not the lighter-weight cotun war coat favored by the Gaels.

  Every now and then the young warrior’s gaze shifted in her direction, making it clear that they were arguing over her—which couldn’t be good. Who knew what kind of nefarious plan the pirate captain had in store for her?

  She straightened, resolve hardening her spine. A handsome face and devilish charm would not fool her. Her captor was a pirate and obviously involved in something untoward. Of course, she could not trust him.