The Hawk: A Highland Guard Novel Read online

  Her eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with your hands?”

  The swift change of subject caught him off guard. “Nothing.”

  She stood and walked toward him, that stubborn chin set in a line that he didn’t like. “Let me see.”

  He was about to tell her it was none of her damned business when one of her hands circled around his wrist. Christ, her fingers were soft. And so damned small. They could barely close halfway around. His mind immediately went to another part of his body, thinking of those fingers wrapped around something thick and throbbing.

  Heat flared inside him and instead of pulling away, he allowed her to turn over his hand, revealing his bloody, shredded palms.

  The gasp made him wish he hadn’t—as did the outraged look on her face. “How did this happen?”

  He shrugged off her concern. “The ropes. It’s nothing. It happens all the time.” He liked the connection with the sail and didn’t wear gauntlets.

  “It looks horrible. Doesn’t it hurt?”

  “Nay,” he replied automatically.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Let me guess: tall, overly muscular pirates don’t feel pain?”

  He grinned for the first time since entering the longhouse. “Overly muscular? I didn’t think you noticed.”

  “I’m not blind,” she huffed. Her eyes flashed in the flickering firelight. He’d thought they were brown, but standing so close he could see flecks of green and gold. Unusual and quite pretty. Then she had to ruin the effect by adding, “I’d notice a peacock preening his feathers and strutting around, too.”

  Erik was shocked into rare silence. For once a quick response did not slip from his tongue. Had she just compared him to a bloody peacock? First a dog, now a bird? He was one of the most feared warriors in the Highlands, personal guardsman to a king, henchman and kinsman to one of the most powerful leaders in the Western Isles, and chieftain of an ancient clan.

  That prickle of irritation grew to a full-fledged stab.

  “Nor am I impressed by your masculine bravado,” she said. “And don’t try to distract me.”

  He was thinking of a couple of ways to do just that. The heat from the fire, and that faint hint of lavender that had grown stronger as she drew near, were doing strange things to him.

  Innocent maids were not his usual fare. He might enjoy flirting, but he was always discerning in his bed partners. He preferred experienced lasses who understood lust and wouldn’t make the mistake of thinking they were in love. But his body didn’t seem to be listening.

  She examined his hand, tracing the pad of her finger over the raw edges. He stood perfectly still, giving no indication that her poking and prodding hurt like hell.

  “You still have sand in here,” she accused. “And fibers of rope.” She gazed up at him as if he were an incorrigible child and not a man a foot taller than she and roughly twice her weight. “Don’t you know that this can become infected?”

  “I’ll see to it later.”

  “I’ll see to it now.” She lifted her chin to his. “You aren’t leaving here until I put something on these.”

  He shook his head. There she went, ordering him around again. It was becoming a bad habit—and one he was going to have to break her of. Right after she let go of his hand.

  “I didn’t know you cared,” he teased.

  She ignored him—something she did far too easily—and dragged him toward the chair. “Sit,” she ordered.

  He’d have to work on that tone as well. But, after a few minutes of her fussing over him, he decided he might let her boss him around a little more. He could get used to this. And she was far more aware of him than she wanted him to know.

  As she bustled around the room to organize the things she would need, he could sense her growing nervousness as she realized he was watching her. Nervousness that became even more pronounced when she came to stand before him, edging slightly between his knees.

  He felt a little bit like Bruce’s spider with its web. She was trapped, though she didn’t know it yet.

  Her leg brushed against his thigh, and he heard the sharp intake of her breath. Her hands shook as she lowered the bowl of warm water on the table beside the chair. They were so close, he could see the slight quickening of her pulse at her neck.

  He smiled. This was more like it. The little nursemaid was not wholly immune to him. Seeing her all flustered like this almost made up for the trouble she’d given him … almost.

  He wasn’t completely unaffected himself—especially when she leaned over to help put his hand in the bowl of warm water and her hair spilled forward, brushing over him like a thick, silky veil. He dipped his head a few inches closer, inhaling the heady, floral fragrance and fighting the urge to bury his face in the dark tresses and let the incredible softness wash over him in a billowy silken cloud.

  Hell, the sultry, darkening room was playing tricks on him. He shifted in his seat, and she looked up from her task with alarm.

  “Is something wrong? Did I hurt you?”

  He shook his head. “Not at all.” It was more an insistent throbbing. He couldn’t resist teasing her. “You can touch me anytime.”

  When she gave him a small smile and merely nodded, he thought she might have missed the suggestive lilt in his voice—until she gave his hand a not-so-gentle squeeze.

  He winced. “Ouch.” The little she-devil had done that on purpose. “That hurt.”

  She lifted those wide, green-flecked hazel eyes to his and blinked innocently. He hadn’t noticed before what thick, sooty lashes she had.

  “Did it?” she asked. “You’re not as tough as you look; I’ll try to be more careful.”

  His eyes narrowed, deciding not to tease her further until she was finished. But it turned out that teasing wasn’t necessary; his nearness was doing enough to rattle her.

  She wouldn’t look at him, but he could see the heat growing darker on her cheeks as she finished rinsing the sand and grit from his wounds, then drying his hands in a clean piece of linen.

  She set her jaw, trying to pretend he wasn’t getting to her, but the tiny white lines around her mouth gave her away. He could feel the tension radiating from her and knew that she had every instinct on high alert. Why, he’d wager that every hair at the back of her neck was standing on edge.

  Aye, this was more like it. This kind of reaction he understood. He was back on solid ground again. His ground.

  He had to bite back the smile when she leaned forward to pick up the jar of ointment that she’d found on the shelves and her breast accidentally grazed his shoulder. She jerked as if he’d burned her—as if her tightly wound body had never come into contact with a man before.

  Was that it? He frowned. It seemed a waste that a lass of her age—she must be nearing her mid-twenties—had never known a man’s touch. She was old enough to have a couple of children of her own by now, rather than be taking care of someone else’s. What was she waiting for?

  Her dark head was bent in concentration as she applied the cool salve to his wounds and carefully wrapped strips of linen between his thumb and forefinger across his palms, leaving his fingers free to move. He couldn’t resist pressing his thigh against hers as she worked, getting far too much satisfaction when her fingers fumbled with the final knot on his second hand.

  One little nudge and she would be in his lap.

  It was tempting—damned tempting. He was hotter than he’d been in a long time.

  As soon as she was done, she tried to spin away. “There you go,” she said with exaggerated brightness, as if her body wasn’t humming for him. “All done.”

  He caught her wrist and held her to him, not ready to let her go just yet. “Thank you,” he said, his voice surprisingly husky.

  “You’re welcome,” she said, not meeting his gaze.

  She tried to turn her head away, but he caught her chin and forced her eyes to his. Her lips parted and the pulse at her neck fluttered against his knuckle like the wings of a butterfly.

&n