The Hawk: A Highland Guard Novel

by Monica McCarty

  By his reckoning it was close to midnight and they were nearly halfway, but the northern coast of Ireland was still a good seven miles away. His only option was to try to make it to shore, outrunning the storm before it hit full force.

  But he knew he was in for a battle. Not just to reach Ireland in time, but for their lives. It was going to take everything he had to keep the waves and rain from swamping the boat or capsizing them.

  He’d wanted a challenge, and it looked like he was going to have one. But he hadn’t wanted it this way, not with Ellie.

  A strange feeling crawled around his chest. It took him a moment to realize what it was: fear. The realization took him aback. He’d been in much worse situations and never been scared before.

  It was because of Ellie. His fear was for her. The thought of her in danger crippled him, made him feel almost … vulnerable. And he didn’t like it at all.

  Christ, what had he done? He was supposed to protect her, not put her in danger. But recriminations would come later; right now he could think about only one thing: getting them out of this alive.

  The crashing boom of thunder jolted Ellie harshly awake. “What’s happening?” she said dazedly.

  “A wee spate of bad weather, that’s all,” he assured her.

  Nothing in his voice or expression gave any hint of the danger, but he couldn’t do anything to hide the violent pitch of the boat over the waves, the howl of the wind, or the heavy rain and thunder. It was bad now, but he wasn’t going to let her know that he suspected it would get worse—much worse—before the night was through.

  He could see the worry in her eyes. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked.

  That she didn’t argue with him and decided to go along with his pretense told him how scared she was.

  He indicated a bucket tied to the bow. “Try to keep as much water out of the hull as possible, and hold on tight—it might get bumpy.”

  A prodigious understatement, as it turned out. The faster he went, the worse—and more dangerous—it became. He was constantly monitoring and adjusting his speed, while trying to avoid any breaking waves. He fought to harness the shifting wind with one hand, trying to keep the bow positioned into the oncoming waves, while working the rudder with the other.

  He knew he had to try to sail as long as he could. It gave him a better ability to keep the bow heading in the right direction. He could only hope that the boat and quickly rigged mast were strong enough to withstand the burgeoning power of the storm.

  But the little skiff proved to be surprisingly strong, and its flat-bottomed hull helped to keep them stable as the wind carried them over the torrential waves.

  For the next few miles, the makeshift sail held as they sailed closer to safety. He hoped. But he’d lost virtually any ability to gauge their direction. He was operating on instinct alone.

  The fight for survival dominated, but always at the back of his mind was his mission. He had to get them through this. Too much was resting on it. The timing of the attack was crucial. Months of preparation could not be wasted. A failure in one prong of the attack would leave the other vulnerable, and they would lose the element of surprise. With each day that passed, Erik knew the flicker of hope for Bruce’s cause dimmed.

  Every inch of his body burned with the effort to keep them afloat, all the while never letting Ellie know that they were only one rogue wave away from disaster and death.

  He looked at her pale face dripping with rain and felt an ache in his chest. He knew how scared she was, though she was doing her best to hide it. He’d never admired her strength more than he did at this moment. He wouldn’t ever forget the way she looked now, a tiny, waterlogged urchin, hair plastered to her face, soaking wet, trying to keep from toppling over in the gale-force winds while dutifully bailing water and watching his every move with those observant dark eyes of hers. But also with something else—trust and admiration that humbled him.

  He smiled, though amusement was the furthest thing from what he felt. “This is quite a little storm, isn’t it, tè 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 m
ade 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.

  A huge wave picked them up and nearly turned them sideways before slamming the skiff down with enough force to make her teeth and bones rattle. “Aren’t you scared?” she asked, her voice trembling.

  “Nay,” he replied automatically, then paused, hugging her a little closer. “Maybe a little.”

  His fear was for her. The admission filled her with a swell of happiness. Perhaps he wasn’t completely immune to human frailties—even if they weren’t for himself. Perhaps he did care for her.

  Before she could reply, he teased, “But don’t think about repeating that to anyone. I’ve an image to uphold.”

  Her smile turned into a cry when another harrowing wave took them on a perilous ride up its steep face and crashed over the top to the flat below. The constant pull between moments of panic and relief was straining. She felt it in her chest. In her lungs. She didn’t know how much longer she could take it.

  Shivering, she gripped the leather of his cotun in her fists until her knuckles turned white. “I can’t stand this.”

  He soothed her with low murmurs whispered in her ear and the soft caress of his hand on her arm. Her waist. Her hip. And then her bottom.

  Heat pooled between her legs. Her limbs loosened. The frantic unevenness of her breath slowed.

  He stroked her some more, sliding his hand over her body possessively. Insistently. And she melted against him. Her body responding to every touch.

  Yes. This was what she needed.

  He was trying to distract her—and it was working. She barely noticed the slam of the next wave when he cupped her breast, plying her nipple between his fingers as it beaded and hardened at his touch. When the gentle caress wasn’t enough, she arched, pressing herself deeper into his hand, aching for pressure.

  Her hips swayed back, and she could feel him big and hard against her. Her nerves—already set on edge—flared. The primal instinct for fear turned instantly to something else: lust.

  She wanted him inside her. Wanted him with a desperateness that rivaled her fear only moments before.

  She rubbed her bottom against him, her body using a language all its own to tell him what she craved.

  The low murmurs in her ear turned to a growl and ravaging kisses as his mouth plundered a trail down her neck.

  The storm roared around them, tossing the small boat to-and-fro like a child’s toy.

  This was crazy.

  But she didn’t care. Under the cocoon of blankets, the maelstrom swirling around them seemed to disappear. If they were going to die, she wanted to live one more time. And if they made it through the storm, she knew she might never have another chance to find passion with the man she loved.

  She turned around, their gazes catching in the darkness. Heat blazed in his eyes. “Make it go away,” she whispered. Not just the storm, but the restlessness he’d roused inside her.

  He answered her plea with a kiss that took her breath away. A kiss as fierce and frenzied as the storm that railed around them.

  It should have been difficult with the constant motion of the boat, but he anticipated the movements and used the strength of his body to brace them against the sea. But truth be told, he was kissing her so passionately and her body was so crazed for his touch that she didn’t know how it happened.

  She was under him, her skirts were up at her waist, the ties of his braies had been loosened enough to release the hard column of his erection, and then, blissfully, with one hard thrust he was inside her.

  She cried out in pleasure as the abrupt invasion, as the thick, heavy fullness beat inside her. It felt incredible. No pain this time, only pleasure. She wanted to hold on to this feeling, to this connection, forever.

  She gasped when the boat lurched, and he sank even deeper.

  Then they started to move. Her hips lifting, his pounding in long, hard thrusts that seemed to beat to the rhythm of the wind and rain. It was wild and crazy. Raw and rough.

  It was lovemaking at its most basic and elemental state. With the wind howling, the rain pouring, and the waves crashing all around them, it felt as if they were one with nature.

  He thrust again and again, as if he couldn’t go hard or fast enough. As if his passion for her was as uncontrollable as the storm. She would never forget the way he looked at this moment, hair plastered to his head, rain streaming down his face, his expression fierce and passionate.

  She wrapped her legs around him, wanting him closer, wanting more of him. She gripped his shoulders, holding on to his strength as the powerful sensations started to take hold.

  It felt so good. Her body tingled. Quivered. Trembled. She could feel the pressure building. Feel the heat and dampness concentrating. Feel desire coiling and tightening with every delicious stroke. Her hands slid down over the hard muscle of his flanks, gripping, and pressing him more firmly to her. Sensation shattered inside her. Her cries were lost in the howl of the wind as spasm after spasm of pleasure unfurled inside.

  She felt his body stiffen and then heard his groan of pleasure as his release latched on to hers. Together they rode out the storm until the last ebb of pleasure was carried away with the wind.

  When it was over, she barely had the strength to move. He seemed similarly affected and collapsed on top of her. She thought he would crush her, but she was surprised how much she liked the feel of his weight pressing down on her.

  After a moment, however, he rolled to the side, drawing the blanket over them again and tucking her back against him.

  This was how it should be after lovemaking, she realized. No awkward silences or recriminations. No expectations. Just comfortable, shared contentment.

  They lay there for a while, and Ellie noticed that the boat wasn’t being tossed around as much. The waves didn’t seem as high. The wind, too, seemed to have died down a bit.

  “Does it feel calmer to you?”

  He chuckled in her ear. “Anything would feel calm after that.” If he wanted to make her blush, he’d succeeded. “Many old mariners believe that ‘lying-a-hull’ and drifting as we are doing encourages the seas to calm.”

  Ellie didn’t know whether he was telling her one of his tales, but this time she hoped it was true. “Do you think the worst is over?”

  He paused a moment, as if he were letting his senses consider her question. “Aye, I think it might be.” He drew her closer into his embrace. “Get some rest, Ellie. You’ve earned it.”

  She couldn’t sleep, not in the storm. But her eyes felt heavy, and a few minutes later, despite her protest, they closed.

  When they opened again it was still dark.

  She was cold and wet and couldn’t move her arms. It took her a moment to realize where s
he was, but then all at once it came back to her. The storm. Drifting. Their frenzied passion. She couldn’t move her arms because she was still locked in Erik’s steely embrace.

  “Feel better?” he asked, loosening his hold enough for her to stretch her legs and arms, which were not surprisingly stiff from their cramped position.

  “Aye,” she replied, realizing it was the truth. “Did you rest?”

  “A little.”

  She shot him a look. Liar. She bet he hadn’t slept a wink. Suddenly, she realized something and sat up. “It stopped raining!”

  They’d done it. They’d survived the storm. He was right; they weren’t going to die.

  He grinned at her expression. “A few hours ago. Not long after you fell asleep. The squall departed as quickly as it arrived.”

  She gazed up at the sky, noticing that the mist had dissipated as well. She could even see a sliver of moon peeking through the clouds.

  “What time is it?”

  “A couple hours before dawn.”

  She bit her lip, realizing that although they’d survived the storm, there was no way Erik would be able to complete his task in time. She put her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”

  He looked perplexed until he realized what she meant. “It’s not dawn yet, Ellie. We’ll get there in time.”

  Never give up.

  “But you don’t even know where we are. We could be miles from shore.”

  “Could be,” he agreed amiably, “but I don’t think so.” He pointed ahead of them to the right. “That should be the coast of Ireland.”

  In the darkness it was impossible to be sure, but she saw what looked like a large, darker blur against the dark backdrop. He’d already picked up the oars and started to row toward it.

  The mass grew closer and closer. And as the darkness started to fade with the approaching dawn, she knew he was right: it was Ireland. The northeast corner, to be specific. She could just make out the chalky, white cliffs that had given the headland its name: Fair Head.

  She couldn’t believe it. They just might make it. By luck or skill, she didn’t know, but he’d done it. They were no more than two miles from the coast. But it was no more than an hour before dawn; the first rays of orange sunlight were already peeking out above the black sky of the horizon.