The Hawk: A Highland Guard Novel

by Monica McCarty

  Her gaze returned to the dark horizon before her, watching and waiting for any sign. When the opportunity for escape came, she intended to be ready.

  His conversation with the lass bothered Erik more than he wanted to acknowledge. It wasn’t that she thought him a pirate—he’d been called worse, and undoubtedly there was some truth to the characterization. In fact, her belief probably helped. If she thought him a pirate, she would not connect him with Bruce.

  Nor was it her initial fear of him, which under the circumstances he both understood and thought warranted.

  Nay, what bothered him was her reaction to him—or perhaps he should say her lack of reaction to him. She’d been maddeningly immune to his attempts to put her at ease. He’d done what he’d always done from the first time he’d bounced on his mother’s knee, when his smiles and grins had elicited delighted coos from his adoring mother and five older sisters.

  There were three things Erik knew for certain: how to sail a boat, how to fight, and how to please the lasses. It was something he could count on, like fish in the sea and birds in the sky. As much as he loved women, they loved him. It was just the way it was.

  So he’d given her a smile intended to melt through any resistance, talked to her kindly, and patiently answered her questions. Yet she’d barely seemed to notice his efforts in what should have been—and usually was—effortless.

  He frowned. It wasn’t often that he went to such great lengths to charm a lass, and to have it fail so miserably was vaguely unsettling.

  Perhaps it was some strange affliction peculiar to nursemaids. Learning her occupation didn’t surprise him at all. It went with the brisk, matter-of-fact confidence he’d noticed earlier. And when she’d looked down her nose at him and given him that patronizing smile, it had conjured up distinct memories of Ada—the old battle-axe.

  Something about the lass set him on edge, and he’d be glad when he could be rid of her. A point he’d been trying to make clear to Randolph. “I will take her back when it is safe,” Erik repeated in a low voice. They might be clear of Dunluce, but they weren’t out of danger by any means. De Monthermer’s men could be all over this place. “Which isn’t now,” he added, pointing out what should be obvious.

  Randolph set his jaw mulishly. “It’s not right. Abducting innocent lasses isn’t what I joined my uncle for. This makes us look like the pirate barbarians the English call us.”

  Erik gave him a piercing look. “You’d rather I’d left her to McQuillan and his men?”

  The young knight bristled. “Of course not. I would have insisted—”

  Erik laughed at his naivety. “You could have insisted all you like, but the lass would have had her throat cut the moment we pulled out of the cave. I got her out of there the only way I could.”

  Randolph flushed. “If we can’t take her back, why not drop her ashore somewhere else? Let her find her way home.”

  “Believe me, if I could I would. I’ve no more interest in dragging a lass around with us than you do. But I’m not willing to jeopardize our mission and your uncle’s chance to reclaim what has been stolen from him for the sake of one lass. Are you?”

  “She said she didn’t hear—”

  “I know what she said, but what if she is lying?” Erik let the question hang, then shook his head. “I won’t risk it.”

  “So what do you plan to do with her?”

  Hell if he knew. He was supposed to meet Bruce and the others at Finlaggan, his cousin’s castle on Islay, report on his meeting, and begin to prepare for the attack. But if the lass was truly ignorant of their plan, she wouldn’t be the moment she saw Bruce. On the other hand, if he took her to the king, Erik could get her off his hands all that much sooner, and right now that sounded very appealing.

  He scanned the seascape ahead of him, seeing nothing but mist and darkness. It was quiet. Almost too quiet. The English boats were out there somewhere. “Right now all I’m thinking about is keeping us out of the path of the English patrol. Then, I’ll worry about the lass.”

  “I don’t like it,” Randolph said stubbornly.

  Erik glanced over at his unwelcome passenger, her slender form completely enveloped in the fur brat he’d given her. Her appearance hadn’t improved much on further study. Not plain, but not beautiful either—somewhere in between. Definitely not the type of woman to usually get a rise out of him. That she had, he supposed, was only natural with her half-naked body pressed against his. For such a skinny thing, she’d been surprisingly soft.

  Looking at her, he felt a strange tingling down his spine and prickling of his skin. He frowned, realizing the same thing had happened when he’d held her against him.

  And perhaps that was the reaction that bothered him most of all. He didn’t like it.

  For once, he and Bruce’s young nephew were in agreement. “Neither do I, lad, neither do I.”

  He liked it even less a short while later.

  Erik had just given the order to turn east toward Islay, having decided to blindfold the lass and leave her aboard the birlinn until he could report to Bruce, when he caught sight of a sail behind them.

  But that didn’t worry him. With their sail lowered, his boat was nearly invisible in the heavy cloak of darkness and mist. If the other boat did happen to catch sight of them, Erik could always raise the sail and outrun them.

  Nay, the single sail behind them didn’t worry him at all. But the three white dots that sprang out of the night ahead of them, running parallel to shore and barreling down hard toward them—that he couldn’t ignore.

  He groaned. This long night was about to get even longer. Did the blasted English never sleep? A damned hornet’s nest, he thought again. Despite the promising beginning, this “wee” trip to Dunluce was turning into a real pain in his backside.

  With three boats ahead of him, one behind him, and the Irish coast to his right, he had no choice but to turn due north—straight into the wind—if he was going to avoid them.

  He eyed the sails just visible ahead. There was still time. As long as they stayed quiet, they would slip away—

  Quiet. Oh, hell. His gaze shot to the lass one second too late. He heard Domnall’s startled oath, followed by a soft splash.

  Erik didn’t think, just reacted, and dove in after her—fully clothed and armed. He didn’t fight against the hard drag downward as the water took hold of his armor, instead waiting a few seconds for it to balance out. He barely noticed the shock of cold water that cut through him like icy spikes, penetrating to the bone. His only thought was to reach her before she could cry out and alert the English to their presence.

  He followed the path where she’d gone in. When he didn’t find her right away, he shot back to the surface. The waves bobbed up and down, but he couldn’t see any sign of her. Where in Hades was she?

  The troublesome lass was quickly making him regret his spurious act of gallantry in saving her skinny neck. He just might have to wring it himself when he caught up with her.

  He looked at his men hanging over the boat, peering into the darkness also trying to find her. “See anything?” he whispered.

  They shook their heads.

  He swore and dove back under. The fool lass was going to drown herself. Why hadn’t she listened to him?

  Because she’s scared.

  Of me.

  The realization bothered him. Having a lass run away from him wasn’t something he was used to.

  He reached around in the watery darkness, hoping to find a leg, arm, or thick clump of hair. Nothing. He came back up, knowing she couldn’t have held her breath this long.

  She hadn’t.

  A surprisingly loud cry pierced the dark night air. “Help!” she shouted in English, screaming at the top of her lungs. “Over here, please help me. I’ve been abducted by pirates.”

  Not a fool at all. He’d underestimated her. Instead of diving forward as most people would have done, she’d dropped under the boat and emerged on the other side, where no one wa
s looking. She was also a strong swimmer, having traveled at least a hundred feet before sounding the alarm. He might admire the effort if it wasn’t about to cause him a whole heap of trouble.

  Had they heard her yet? She gave another ear-piercing shriek that made him wince. Hell, half of Ireland had probably heard her by now. But so far, the English galleys had not adjusted their course.

  He dove back under and swam for her as fast as he could. If they hadn’t heard her yet, they would soon. She’d had her excitement for the night, and he was about to put an end to it.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite that easy. His wet cotun and heavy weapons dragged against the strong current and it took him longer to reach her than it should have. By then he was too late.

  When Erik surfaced, he could hear shouts coming from aboard the boats to the east. All three had turned in their direction and were bearing down on them fast.

  They’d been sighted.

  Fun time was over. He needed to grab the lass and get back to the boat as soon as he could. The troublesome nursemaid was still a few feet out of his reach, swimming hard while trying to yell at the same time. But she’d started to fade. Hardly surprising. The cold was sapping even his strength, and he’d had plenty of training.

  He was just about to go after her when he heard Domnall shout, “Captain, behind you!”

  He looked around to see a head bobbing up and down in the water and frantic splashing about twenty feet behind him.

  God’s wounds, would this night’s adventures never end?

  Randolph, the blasted fool, had apparently decided to play knight errant and attempt to rescue the lass, but he’d neglected to factor in the currents and his heavy chain mail. A wave crashed over him, and he didn’t come back up.

  Domnall had turned the boat around and was heading toward him, but Erik was closer. He did a quick check of the lass. She’d stopped swimming and shouting, and seemed to be trying to conserve her energy. Their eyes locked in the darkness. His pulse quickened strangely. He swore he could read the silent plea for help in her eyes that her stubborn mouth would not voice.

  Every instinct clamored to answer that silent plea, but he forced himself to think rationally. She had time that the king’s nephew did not.

  He swam harder than he ever had in his life, diving deep until he thought his lungs would burst and his ears would explode from the pressure.

  Weighed down by his chain mail, Randolph was sinking like a rock. Erik barely caught up with him. Even when he did, it took every ounce of strength he had left to drag him back to the surface. The stripling knight seemed to have gained the weight of three Highland warriors.

  Fortunately, by the time they emerged from the watery tomb, Domnall had brought the boat around and was able to pull Randolph’s listless body from the water. His men would knock the water out of him—and maybe some sense into him at the same time.

  Erik’s gaze immediately scanned the dark, churning seas for the lass. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the English sails getting perilously close. “Where is she?” he managed between sucking in big gulps of air.

  Domnall shook his head. “I lost her.”

  Erik didn’t want to believe it. Rage and frustration roared inside him as he stared frantically into the darkness. Not only had she set the English on them, but the blasted chit had gone and gotten herself killed in the process.

  Four

  Ellie’s moment of triumph was fleeting. The surge of satisfaction she’d experienced on escaping her captors and alerting the English patrol boats to their presence quickly faded in the icy embrace of the turbulent sea.

  Ironically, it wasn’t the cold, exhaustion, or strong currents that defeated her, but something much more inauspicious. The small cramp started in her side, then radiated through the rest of her body like a knife, cutting off control of her muscles in one vicious slice. One minute she was treading water, the next she couldn’t move.

  For a moment she thought it would be all right. The pirate captain was coming after her, swimming at a pace that seemed impossible. When their eyes met, she’d seen something. Pirate or not, she was certain he wouldn’t let her die.

  But then she saw the other man. A second man had jumped in after her and was flailing behind him. When the captain glanced in her direction again, she realized what he was going to do. It was between her and his man.

  His man won.

  Not that she blamed him for the choice. She’d done this to herself.

  Stay afloat. He’ll come for you.

  But her time had run out.

  A few moments after he’d disappeared underwater, her stomach buckled and her limbs tightened up as if she’d been hit with a bolt of lightning. Unable to fight back, the water dragged her under.

  She waited for the pathway to heaven to appear in a beam of light. For the happy memories to assail her. For the sense of peace to overtake her. But as the water filled her lungs to burning, as panic set in, and as her eyes widened in the watery blackness, all she could think of was that this was a horrible way to die.

  Especially when she’d barely had a chance to live.

  Erik kept his eyes peeled on the churning waves, refusing to give up so easily. She couldn’t have been under that long.

  Domnall held out his hand to pull him back in the birlinn, but Erik shook him off. “Give me a minute.” Out of the corner of his eye something pale—a hand?—flashed in the darkness. “There!” he said. “Did you see that?”

  “There’s no time, Captain,” Domnall said, pointing ahead of them. “We need to get out of here. They’re almost on us.”

  He knew Domnall was right, but he couldn’t leave her—even if he should for bringing the English down on them. He couldn’t shake the memory of the look in her eyes when their gazes had met. He knew that if he didn’t find her, that look—that silent plea—would haunt him forever.

  “Raise the sail,” he told Domnall. “And be ready.” An interesting night was about to get even more so.

  He took off in the direction he’d seen the movement, a sudden burst of energy giving strength to his flagging limbs. He dove under the waves, fishing around underwater until his persistence was rewarded and his fingers tangled in a watery clump of long hair. A moment later, his arm circled her waist and he shot back to the surface.

  She was facing away from him, but he could hear the sweet sound of her sputtering and gasping for air. He’d reached her in time. Holding her so close, he was sharply aware of the race of her heart and the delicate weight of her small breasts on his arm as her chest heaved with the effort to greedily suck in air.

  “Easy,” he soothed, his mouth grazing her ear. “You’re safe, tè bheag.” Little one. The endearment slipped out without him realizing it.

  She settled in his arms like a babe, and it was with some reluctance that he handed her over to his men.

  As Domnall reached over to drag the lass into the boat, Erik eyed the approaching galleys. The English were almost on top of them. He had a minute—maybe seconds—before they were in range of the English bows. A few minutes after that, and the boats would be surrounding them.

  Sailing north into the wind was no longer an option. The galleys had great oar power, and Erik didn’t have room to attempt to beat into the wind by zigzagging back and forth. Nor did he have time to turn around in the direction from which they’d come and try to outrun them. To the south was Ireland and its rocky shoreline.

  Already anticipating what they thought was his only move, the English ships had spread out to the length of an arrow’s flight between them. If he attempted to sail between them, his birlinn would be showered with arrows from two sides. The galley on his right had angled slightly toward the coast, ready to cut off any attempt to slip around him.

  Erik’s options were quickly dwindling. The English galleys were converging around him, the middle boat staying slightly back as the other two pulled forward to circle around him like a noose. But he had no intention of sticking arou
nd for the hanging.

  He grasped one of his men’s hands and heaved himself over the wooden railing. Even as his feet hit the deck, he was shouting orders and taking control of the ropes. A fur was thrown around his shoulders, but the cold was the least of his concerns right now.

  He could feel the energy in the boat crackle with excitement as the men realized what he was going to do. It was bold and daring—even for him.

  Nothing like the straightforward surprise attack, he thought with a smile of anticipation. The quickest way out of this was to head right into the middle of the trap they thought they’d laid for him. He just had to get there before the two outside ships could adjust and cut him off.

  It would be close, but close was what made life worth living. He felt the sharp gust of wind at his back and smiled, knowing the gods were with him.

  What a night! And it wasn’t over yet. Blood pumped hard through his veins in anticipation of the moments to come. All his senses were focused on the task before him. He adjusted his hands, getting a good grip on the prickly hemp ropes, and let the sail out a little. The ropes jerked hard as the sail filled with wind, and he braced his feet as the birlinn shot off like an arrow toward the middle boat. Targeting the middle boat took the other two boats out of their archers’ range. But they would still have the middle boat’s arrows with which to contend.

  Randolph lifted his head from his chest long enough to look around and see what was happening. He was shaking with the cold, and his voice was weak and scratchy from the near-drowning. “What’s he doing?”

  Erik was relieved to hear the lass had recovered enough to reply. “Unless I’m mistaken,” she said, “I think he means to take on three English galleys.”

  Randolph shook his head. “Oh, I’m sure you’re not mistaken. That sounds like just the kind of thing he’d do.”

  The waterlogged knight put his head back down on his knees as if he were beyond caring. Perhaps some good might have come out of this after all, if it meant Erik didn’t have to listen to the lad’s incessant complaining all night.