The Hawk: A Highland Guard Novel Read online

  “I hope you are ready to meet the king,” he teased.

  Ellie froze. “The king?”

  “After I meet your friend in Ireland”—she grimaced, realizing he meant the Irish scourge who’d wanted to kill her—“I’ll have to think of a way to explain your good health.” His eyes twinkled with mischief, as if he had an amusing secret. “You’ll come with me to Rathlin to join Bruce.”

  He smiled at her as if he’d just given her a wonderful gift.

  The blood drained from her face. “But you said you were going to take me home.”

  He frowned, as if she was ruining his surprise. “But lass, surely you see that I can’t do that now. There isn’t time. Besides, I didn’t think you wanted to go.”

  She didn’t. She did. He was confusing her.

  But if he meant to take her to Bruce …

  Ellie knew she couldn’t put it off any longer. She bit on her lip anxiously, her hands twisting in the folds of her cloak.

  She had to tell him. Even though she knew that everything would change when she did.

  But first she had to tell him how she felt, or she would never have a chance to know his true feelings.

  “I love you,” she said softly.

  He stopped rowing, the only indication that he’d heard her. His expression never flickered.

  But then he smiled and broke her heart. She never knew that a heart could be eviscerated with kindness. But his gentle smile did just that.

  “Ah, lass, I’m glad of it. Though I suspected as much after what happened in the cave this morning.”

  She might as well have just given him a tasty apple pie like one of his other admirers, not her heart.

  What had she expected? A return declaration?

  Nay, but she’d hoped for something more than quiet acceptance and gentle affirmation. Some indication that he might care for her, that what they’d shared was special. Some indication that he might be capable of loving her back. Kindness was so much worse.

  Her declaration was no different from the others he’d heard countless times before. He’d expected her feelings—perhaps even treasured them—but he would never return them.

  Nothing penetrated.

  Erik started to row again.

  It wasn’t the first time a lass had confessed her love for him, but hearing Ellie say the words was different.

  For one thing, it hadn’t given him that antsy, restless feeling that made him want to jump on the next ship. (He never actually did that, but instead started the gentle retreat of convincing the lass that she didn’t really love him.) With Ellie, he didn’t get that feeling at all. Actually, hearing her say she loved him had made him feel … pleased. More than pleased. Proud, moved, humbled, and happy.

  He told himself his reaction made sense: a wife should love her husband.

  The storm had convinced him that he’d made the right decision. The fierceness of the passion that had overtaken them surprised him. He wasn’t ready to let her go. So he was going to keep her. The fact that she loved him should make her even happier.

  But Ellie didn’t look happy. She looked as though she was going to burst into tears. That made him antsy. He adjusted his cotun, but it didn’t help the discomfort in his chest. The tight ache that intensified when he looked at her.

  He knew what she wanted: for him to say it back. All women did. He was used to this kind of disappointment, but he wasn’t used to wanting to do anything to make it go away.

  Even say it back.

  The thought shocked him nearly senseless. Cold sweat dampened his brow. Of course, he didn’t love her. The passion, the fierce possessiveness and protectiveness, the strange connection, the irrational fear that came over him when he thought of losing her, were because he cared about her.

  But love? That kind of “one man, one woman for eternity” romantic love had never occurred to him. He’d thought himself immune, incapable of that kind of emotion. He liked the chase, the flirting, the dance too much.

  Didn’t he?

  He might not be able to tell her he loved her, but he knew he could give her something even better. His offer of marriage would wipe that desolate look off her face. He was definitely going to see some tears, tears of joy.

  He never got the opportunity.

  “There is something I must tell you,” Ellie said, her voice strangely distant—regal almost. “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

  He paused mid-stroke, and then put down the oars. “About what?”

  She held her back stiffly, her gaze never faltering from his. “My identity.”

  He frowned but let her continue. He suspected she’d been hiding something.

  “I’m not a nursemaid in the Earl of Ulster’s household.”

  “You’re not?”

  She took a deep breath. “I’m Lady Elyne de Burgh.”

  Twenty

  Erik stilled, and then laughed. He couldn’t have heard her right. “For a moment it sounded like you said de Burgh.”

  Ellie tilted her chin, and her gaze leveled on his. “I did.”

  De Burgh. He didn’t want to believe it was as bad as the flare of alarm surging through his blood was telling him. “You are related to the Earl of Ulster?” he asked uneasily, hoping it was a tenuous connection.

  She eyed him unwaveringly. “He is my father.”

  Erik felt as if he’d just been poleaxed. He stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. Perhaps he was. He’d never really known her at all. His eyes narrowed, the muscles in his neck and arms flexing. “You lied to me.”

  She did not shrink from the accusation in his gaze. “I did.”

  He’d expected her to deny it, to prevaricate and attempt to explain her actions, not to give a simple admission of guilt. But she never acted the way she was supposed to.

  He felt strange. Ill. Queasy and aching. The way he felt after taking a blade to the gut. “Why?”

  “In the Mermaid’s Cave one of the Irishmen mentioned my father’s name. It was obvious the name de Burgh would only make it worse.”

  He didn’t think it could have gotten much worse. “And once we left the cave?”

  “You mean after I realized you weren’t going to ravish and then kill me?”

  The imperious arch of her brow infuriated him even more than the sarcasm—warranted or not. It was exactly the type of haughty, noble gesture he would expect from the daughter of an earl. The type of gesture he’d convinced himself was because of her position.

  He clenched his fists, trying to tamp down the strange emotions firing inside him. “You said you were a nursemaid.”

  “It seemed closest to the truth. Since my mother died, I’ve been taking care of my younger brothers and sisters. It was a bit of irony to amuse myself. But as to why I did not tell you after, it was because I thought you were a pirate.” He heard the note of censure in her voice. She was not the only one who’d kept a secret. He’d wanted it that way. He’d wanted to keep a distance between them. But never could he have imagined this. “And I couldn’t be sure you would not force me to marry you.”

  A real pirate would have done just that. But he was too damn angry to listen to rational explanations.

  The bitter irony was like a stab in the back. He had wanted to marry her. He’d thought he could give her position and wealth, that she would be grateful. He’d thought she needed him. But she didn’t need him at all. A daughter of Ulster was one of the most powerful prizes in Christendom. She could aim far higher than an outlawed chieftain, even one with ancient noble blood.

  Though he knew he had no right—he hadn’t asked for her trust—he felt betrayed. “And when you found out the truth, Ellie—or should I say, Lady Elyne—why not then?”

  She gazed at him in the moonlight, her face an oval alabaster mask. “I didn’t want it to end.”

  The pleasure. Bloody hell. The bottom fell out of his stomach as the ramifications poured down on him. Not just the injury to his pride that the nursemaid he’d so