The Hawk: A Highland Guard Novel

by Monica McCarty

  “Why were you in the cave below Dunluce?” she asked.

  “Ellie …” he warned.

  But she wasn’t listening. “Those men you were meeting with. The Irishmen. They are warriors for Bruce.” She looked up at him. “You’re planning something.”

  He crossed the room in two strides and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Stop,” he said, fear twisting inside him. Why did she have to be so damn smart? “No more questions. Forget about everything you have heard. Forget about me.”

  He was shouting—actually shouting.

  She gasped, his anger finally seemed to have penetrated. “Is that what you want me to do?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

  She lifted her chin and locked her gaze on his. He felt the connection fire between them. She met his gaze, challenging him to deny it. “I can’t do that.”

  Damn her. She was the most infuriating, contrary woman he’d ever known. Erik felt as though everything was spinning out of control. He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her until she listened to him. He wanted to throw her over his shoulder and carry her as far away as possible. Somewhere safe.

  But safe meant away from him.

  He stepped away. She would forget about him, just the way he would forget about her. A dull ache throbbed in his chest. “Get some rest. We leave late tomorrow night.”

  Her face fell. “But …” Her voice dropped off as if she’d wanted to protest but realized the futility. She looked up at him again. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

  Normally he wouldn’t have hesitated. When faced with a choice between a passionate liaison and sitting around with his men waiting for night to fall, it wasn’t much of a contest. Even now, standing here, he was fighting to control himself. Her soft, feminine scent rose up to taunt him. His desire for her was not running its course but growing more fierce. He wanted to strip her down naked, wrap her against him, and slide deep inside her. He wanted it so badly, he could picture it—constantly—and the images were driving him mad.

  He knew it wasn’t a good idea. It was getting too complicated. His control was taxed to the limit. Tomorrow they would go their separate ways. A clean break would be better. But he was finding it hard to resist the temptation of spending one last day with her. Of touching her. Of watching her face flush with pleasure as he stroked her to mindless oblivion.

  “I don’t know,” he hedged. “There will be much to do.” Like sit around and wait.

  “Oh,” she said, not masking her disappointment. “I hoped there might be some time after you finish with your men in the morning to show me that cave. If it exists.”

  He smiled. Her subtle taunt proved effective persuasion. He was being ridiculous, making too much of this. It was only one more day. “Oh, it exists. I did promise to show you, didn’t I?”

  She nodded, a smile hovering at the edge of her mouth. She knew she’d won—not that it had been much of a battle.

  “We’ll need to go at low tide. Can you be ready in the morning? Morning to the rest of us, that is.”

  She made a face. “Very funny. Just tell me what time.”

  With Edward Bruce and Boyd leaving a few hours before dawn, he was going to be up most of the night anyway. “Sunrise?” He chuckled at her horrified expression. “If you don’t want to go …”

  “I’ll be ready,” she grumbled.

  Unable to resist, he dropped a soft kiss on her mouth and took his leave. “It will be worth it,” he promised.

  “It had better be, at that ungodly hour.”

  Seventeen

  Ellie gazed around at the small underwater palace of rocks, glistening like polished ebony in the murky darkness. “It’s magnificent,” she said in hushed voice.

  “I’m glad you approve,” Hawk said, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. “I trust it was worth the swim?”

  Her mouth twisted, and she pushed a splash of water toward him with her hands. “Wretch. It was convenient of you to leave that part out.”

  He shook his thick, wavy hair free of water and flashed her that unrepentant grin of his. “You didn’t ask.”

  Ellie had experienced second thoughts—or rather third thoughts, she amended, recalling trying to force herself out of bed before dawn—when she realized they had to swim to the cave. Unlike the last time he’d coerced her into the water, it was not a sunny and warm winter’s day.

  They’d left shortly after dawn in a battered-up, old skiff borrowed from one of the local fishermen that was barely big enough to hold the two of them. Despite Hawk’s assurances, Ellie was surprised that the pile of warped, weathered boards could float.

  The morning mist was thick and soupy as he rowed them a short distance around the northern tip of the island to a dark outcropping of rock that hid a small cove. He pulled the skiff onto the rocky beach, hiding it from view, and told her she could leave her clothes in the boat.

  She’d balked at the idea of getting into that freezing water again but didn’t want to give him an excuse to take her back. This might be the last chance she had to be alone with him. If she was going to find out whether Meg was right, she had to do it now.

  So she’d stripped down to her chemise—again—and followed him to what looked like a wall of jagged rocks, but turned out to hide an entrance to the cave.

  It had been a little frightening diving into the unknown. But he’d held her hand as they plunged into the dark, icy water, leading her down about five feet through a narrow opening in the rock. When they emerged on the other side, she found herself in a shallow pool, gazing around at a magical oasis of rock. There was just enough light to make out the roughly oblong shape of the dark grotto.

  He pulled her to her feet, and she was surprised to see that the water came only up to her chest.

  “You can only swim in here at low tide,” he explained. “By this afternoon, the water will be up to the ceiling.”

  With at least two feet of clearance above his head, she realized the cave must be over eight feet tall. It was amazing to think that the water would rise so high in a few hours.

  She shivered. “I wouldn’t want to get caught in here.”

  He led her over to a ledge in the rock that served as a natural bench. Circling his hands around her waist, he lifted her onto the rock, and then levered himself up after her. It was the first time he’d touched her all day and her body jumped at the contact. For a man who communicated as much with touch as he did with words, he seemed to be making an effort to keep his hands to himself.

  After twisting some of the water from her hair, she tucked her feet under the edge of her wet chemise.

  He raked his fingers through his hair and wiped some of the water from his face. “Are you cold?”

  Her skin was prickled with goose bumps, but she was surprised to find that she wasn’t. It wasn’t exactly balmy, like the sauna, but it was at least twenty degrees warmer than outside. She shook her head. “It’s much warmer in here than it is in the water.”

  “It’s the same most of the year round. I’m not really sure why.”

  She noticed a slight echo to his voice and listened for any sounds from beyond the cave—the wind, the water crashing on the rock—but other than the dripping of water from the ceiling it was deathly silent. “It’s so quiet.”

  “Aye, it feels like another world, doesn’t it?”

  “How did you find this place?”

  “I didn’t. The locals have known about it for years.”

  “It’s a great hiding place. Did you come here often when you were young?”

  He gave her a sidelong glance out of the corner of his eye and didn’t respond.

  She didn’t take the hint. “Is that why you joined Bruce? To reclaim your lands?”

  He shook his head. “Do you ever give up?”

  She thought about it. “No.”

  He sighed. She didn’t think he was going to answer, but after a moment he said, “That was part of the reason, but it was mostly because my chief asked
me to.” He gave her a sharp glance. “Don’t ask; I can’t tell you any more.”

  She bit her lip, looking down at the dark pool of water. She didn’t want any more secrets between them. She had to tell him the truth of who she was, but she needed to know his feelings for her first. “Can’t, or won’t?”

  “Both.” He reached out and cupped her chin with his hand. The gentle touch sent shivers of awareness running through her. Duty had become an unpalatable reason for marriage—especially with him. “It’s too dangerous for you, Ellie. I’m trying to protect you.”

  He was right; it was dangerous. That was what made his involvement with Bruce so terrifying.

  “What about the danger to you?” Ellie felt the tears gather in her eyes. Despite her father’s loyalty to King Edward, Ellie was sympathetic to her sister’s husband, whom she’d always admired. But sympathetic to Bruce’s plight or not, she knew his cause was a lost one. Bruce’s bid for the crown had failed. He and his supporters were surviving on borrowed time. It chilled her blood to imagine what the king would do when he caught up with them—and catch up with them he would. “How long do you think you can outrun the English fleet?”

  He dropped his hand, his jaw hardening defiantly. “As long as I need to.”

  “And then what happens? You die on some battlefield or, worse, at the end of a rope or an executioner’s axe?”

  “Maybe,” he shrugged, “maybe not.”

  Ellie bristled with frustration. Nothing ever penetrated. Nothing was ever serious. He seemed oblivious to the danger. “Don’t you care that you could die?”

  “Dying is part of fighting, Ellie. And that’s what I do, I fight.” He smiled. “And usually I win.”

  She didn’t doubt it. She’d seen him wield a blade. With his size and strength he would be deadly on the battlefield. “But you can’t win this time. Edward is too powerful. What do you have, a few hundred men?”

  “It’s not over yet.”

  Apparently, he possessed a stubborn streak of which she hadn’t been aware. “You think Bruce has a chance?”

  “More than a chance.”

  She heard something in his voice that she’d never heard before. It was deep, reverent, and unwavering. It took her a moment to recognize what it was: loyalty. Suddenly the inscription on his sword came back to her: always faithful.

  “But you would follow him anyway,” she said, almost to herself. Even if it meant his own death.

  He wasn’t incapable of forming attachments at all. If he could feel loyalty like that to Bruce, maybe it was possible that he could care for her. He wasn’t her father. Just because he was handsome and charismatic, it had been wrong of her to assume he would be incapable of deep emotions.

  Without the bias of her mother’s heartbreak clouding her vision, Hawk’s actions in the past week took on an entirely different cast. He’d spent every free moment of time with her, making excuses just to be with her. Although his purpose might have been to see her relax, she hadn’t been the only one having fun. He’d laughed and smiled just as much as she did. He’d told her personal things about his family—things she suspected he shared with few people. And then there was the fact that he’d taken a message to her family. Something he didn’t need to do and hadn’t done without some risk.

  He acted differently with her than he did with anyone else.

  But it wasn’t just his actions. It was a sense—a bone-deep knowledge inside herself—that he cared for her. It was the way she seemed to spark his temper like no one else, the way he talked to her, the way his body jumped under her fingertips, and the intense, tender look in his eyes when he touched her. It had to mean something.

  Even Meg had noticed it.

  She took a deep breath and turned her face to his. “I don’t want to say goodbye.”

  He stilled. The muscle below his jaw pulsed. But then he smiled, and she wondered if she’d just imagined it.

  “Ellie, soon you’ll be back at home with your family and will forget this ever happened.”

  She forced back the stab of hurt. “Don’t patronize me. I know how I feel.”

  “You feel that way now, but you’ll forget soon enough.”

  He sounded so confident. So sure. As if he’s said the same thing before many times—too many times.

  This is different.

  She scanned his face, looking for any sign of weakness but finding none. Her heart seemed to strain to beat in the tight cavern of her chest. “Is that what you’ll do?” she asked softly. “Forget?”

  He met her gaze and didn’t hesitate. “Aye.”

  She didn’t believe him. If he didn’t care, why wasn’t he touching her?

  It was as if he didn’t trust himself. And though he was trying to hide it, he was holding himself too tautly. He was leaning back against the rock wall, one knee bent, one foot in the water, by all appearances utterly relaxed. But the devil-may-care attitude didn’t fool her. She could feel the tension radiating from his body like a smoldering tinder about to burst into flame.

  Meg was right. He was not a man who would realize his feelings easily. He would need a little push.

  She slid her hands from around her knees and leaned closer to him. She didn’t bother attempting to look seductive, because she knew it would only make her look silly. But bold and matter-of-fact, that she could do.

  It must have been effective, because his already taut body turned absolutely rigid. He didn’t seem to be breathing.

  “What are you doing?”

  She smiled at the wariness in his voice. For a man who exuded confidence, she suspected it was a rare occurrence. “I thought that should be obvious. What we’ve been doing the past couple of days—having a little fun.”

  His eyes narrowed. He knew she was challenging him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  She lifted a brow. “Why? It’s nothing serious … or is it?”

  He didn’t answer, but that might be because his jaw was locked so tight it seemed incapable of movement.

  Push. But he wasn’t making it easy on her. He sat stiffly beside her. Muscles tensed. Every inch of his powerfully built body warning her to stay away.

  Taking a deep breath, she leaned over, pressed her mouth on his, and then trailed her lips down over the salty dampness of his stubbled jaw and neck. Even drenched in seawater, he smelled good. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, and the dark shadow of his beard gave his Norse golden-god looks a hard edge.

  She drew back to assess her efforts. His gaze bored into her like a lightning rod, hot and intense. His jaw was still in that locked position, the muscles in his neck had corded, and the tic was pulsing wildly.

  He looked dark and dangerous—every inch the fearsome Highland warrior.

  Yet perversely it gave her a thrill, only serving to embolden her. “You’ll forget all about this,” she challenged, “because it doesn’t mean anything, isn’t that right?”

  He was watching her with the daunting look of the predator he was named for. She gave him one of those unrepentant grins he’d perfected and reached out to touch him.

  Her fingers slid down his chest, over the rigid bands of muscle that crossed his stomach. They jumped at her touch. She toyed with him awhile, testing the limits of his restraint—drawing teasing circles on his stomach until he clenched, carefully avoiding the thick column of flesh straining for her attention.

  She held his gaze the entire time, his eyes growing darker and hotter.

  “And this?” She put her hand over his fiercely pounding heart and looked deep into this eyes. “This doesn’t feel any different, does it?”

  “Nay.” He said the word like a curse, his voice hard and tight.

  He was lying. She could feel it. But he seemed determined to fight it.

  When her wrist grazed the plump head of his manhood, he hissed. She felt the pulsing heat through the thin linen of his braies. She molded her hand around him. “I’m sure you’ll definitely forget all about this.”

  “C
hrist, Ellie,” he groaned, the muscles in his neck taut as a bowstring. “I don’t want to hurt you.” If the squeezing in her chest was any indication, she feared it was too late for that. He grabbed her wrist, but she did not release him. “I can’t give you what you want.”

  The hope that had made her bold fizzled. She released her hold on him and drew her hand away. He doesn’t want me. He doesn’t care. Pain clenched her heart. She hadn’t expected it to hurt this much.

  But part of her refused to give up.

  If this was all he was going to give her, then she would take what she could.

  With renewed determination, she started to work the ties of his braies, but the fabric was wet, so it took some effort. When she’d opened him to her hand, she glanced up at him. His face was as hard and unyielding as granite.

  “What I want? All I want is this.” When he didn’t respond, she wrapped her fingers around him, feeling a low stirring of arousal in her belly. The velvety-soft skin pulled tautly over the thick, turgid steel. “Just a little pleasure, one last time.”

  Damn her. What the hell did she think she was trying to prove? No matter how much fun they’d had together, he was going to sail away later tonight and forget all about this. They both would.

  It didn’t matter how incredible she felt in his arms, how he couldn’t seem to get enough of kissing her, or that he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted another woman in his life. It was simply because he knew he couldn’t have her. The pounding in his heart, the visceral attraction, the primal need to be with her—it would all fade. It always did.

  But nothing had ever felt like this. He wanted her so badly that for the first time in his life he didn’t trust himself.

  Why did she have to push? Why couldn’t she leave it alone? He didn’t want to hurt her. He was trying to do the right thing. But the feel of her hands on his body, touching him, stroking him … ripped all his good intentions to shreds. He could still feel the damned imprint of her hand on his chest.