She thought he might grab her, but he was perfectly still. Too still. She’d never realized how menacing still could be.
“Who?” The single word fell like an executioner’s axe.
An icy trickle slithered down her spine, but she refused to show her fear. “Sir Ralph de Monthermer.”
His eyes flared with dangerous intensity. “You are full of surprises, aren’t you, Lady Elyne? I heard of your engagement, though I admit I didn’t connect it with my abducted nursemaid and the new ‘earl’s‘ recent interest in a message from Dunaverty.”
Ellie paled. “He’s been looking for me?”
“Quite ardently, it appears.”
She did not mistake his carelessly uttered words; he was enraged. If it wasn’t ridiculous, she would almost think he was jealous. But Erik was about the last man she could imagine as jealous—he was too self-assured and devil-may-care to suffer from such a weak human frailty. It was the threat to his mission that drove his anger.
“And what about your lack of maidenhood? Do you think the newly coined earl will still want you for his wife? Or perhaps you hoped to deceive him on that point?”
She stiffened. How could he think her capable of such dishonor? She was under no illusions about Ralph’s interest in her. It was the alliance that mattered. “It’s none of your business. That’s between my betrothed and myself.”
He snapped, grabbing her arm and jerking her hard against him. “The hell it is.”
Ellie’s heart raced against his chest. She’d never seen him out of control. The look in his eyes …
She shivered. She didn’t know what he meant to do. His face was so close, she thought he meant to kiss her into submission. Nay, not kiss, ravage.
What would have happened next she would never know. He looked over her shoulder and froze. All the emotion and anger seemed to rush out of him. “It seems we shall find out.”
“What are you talking about?”
He pointed behind her. She turned, and in the soft glow of dawn, she noticed the unmistakable specks of color on the horizon behind them. Sails. At least a half dozen of them, closing in fast.
“I think your fiance has just arrived.”
Ellie saw something on his face she never thought to see: defeat. She realized what Erik had known the first moment he’d seen them: it was a death knell. Escape was futile. The coast was still too far away. Without a sail, they would never be able to hide or outrun them. Even Erik’s extraordinary skills had their limit, and single-handedly out-rowing a fleet of English galleys under sail was his.
He was going to fail. Because of her. And failure was something he would never forgive.
Her gaze flickered to the Irish coast. She felt a prickle of an idea. Maybe he still had a chance.
But would he take it?
She hardened her heart, knowing that she had to leave him no choice.
He was going to fail the king. The team. Everyone who was counting on him.
Even in his darkest hours during the storm, Erik had never contemplated anything but success. That he could actually fail seemed inconceivable. But the bitter taste of defeat soured in his mouth.
He replayed the events again and again in his mind, knowing that it was that very arrogance that had brought him to this point. If he’d taken it more seriously—focused on his task and not on the lass—he wouldn’t be here.
He couldn’t believe he’d gotten this far only to have victory snatched out from under him at the last minute. Two miles to the coast. He could practically reach out and touch it. But he would never be able to outrun the English—not in this small skiff—nor would he try and lead them right to the Irish soldiers.
They were trapped.
Still, he did not give in easily, and he wracked his brain for any way out.
“Go,” Ellie said flatly. “Before they see you.”
His voice was as hard as his gaze. “Unless you can conjure up a mast and sail, I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
“You can swim.”
