He arched a brow. “And you are the expert? I didn’t realize you were such a romantic, Ellie.” His eyes swept down over her, lingering at her bodice. “What else are you hiding beneath that prickly nursemaid facade?”
“None of your business,” she said starchly, her cheeks firing an adorable red. “And I’m not a romantic. But at least I know there is a difference between love and lust. Although I’m not surprised that you don’t.”
His mouth tightened, hearing the slight disdain in her voice and picturing that little nursemaid measuring stick of hers again. He’d had enough of her scrutiny and analysis. His life was fine. He wasn’t the one bottled up as tight as a nun at Lent. “And what about you, Ellie? What do you want?”
She startled, looking completely flummoxed—as if she’d never contemplated such a basic question. When she did, however, the answer didn’t seem to make her very happy. The wistful smile that turned her mouth sent a jab to his chest. He had the strange yearning to pull her into his arms and make her forget whatever it was that was making her sad.
She didn’t look at him, keeping her eyes glued to the smoldering peat. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”
“Of course it does,” he said gently. “It’s your life. You always have a choice.”
His words had the opposite effect than what he’d intended. Instead of giving her encouragement, they provoked her shoulders to draw up sharply and her hazel eyes to blaze green with anger. “That’s easy for you to say. You don’t play by the rules. You are an outlaw with no responsibilities, no loyalties, and no sense of duty. You do what you want, when you want.”
She couldn’t be more wrong. No responsibilities? Not only was he responsible for securing nearly Bruce’s entire fighting force, he was also charged with getting them through the heavily patrolled North Channel to Arran to launch the attack.
Nothing was more important to him than loyalty. Loyalty to Bruce. Loyalty to the Guard. Loyalty and duty to his clan to reclaim its lands. It was the reason he was here and why he was being hunted by the English. It was the reason he would follow Bruce into battle no matter what the odds. It was the reason he could not fail in his mission. Not only did he believe in Bruce’s claim to the crown, he believed in the man. Failure was inconceivable.
Bruce and Erik’s fellow Guardsmen were counting on him, and he would die before he let them down.
He would have been angry if he hadn’t heard the note of envy in her voice. She wanted what she thought he had: freedom. Whatever weighed on her, she obviously didn’t think she had a way out of it.
He studied her, taking in that air of authority, her quiet confidence, the elegant tilt of her chin, and the regal grace of her bearing. Every inch the prim, proper nursemaid. What was he missing? There was something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but he sensed that there was more to Ellie than met the eye.
What was she hiding? And why the hell did he care? Whatever secrets his little nursemaid had didn’t affect his mission. All he should be worrying about was making sure nothing—including her—jeopardized his mission.
He shook his head. How did she always manage to turn every conversation into a matter of grave import? He was going to make it his personal mission over the next few days not only to make her smile, but to show her that not everything needed to be so bloody serious.
“I don’t always do what I want,” he said bluntly, his eyes locking on hers.
To hell with it. He was done fighting this strange attraction sizzling between them—especially after the desire he’d seen on her face earlier. Once he got this lust out of his system, his strange fascination with the lass would end. The fact that she was a maid didn’t trouble him; he could control himself.
“If I did, I wouldn’t have stopped with a kiss, and I sure as hell wouldn’t have been sleeping outside the past few nights—alone.”
The sharp little intake of air that greeted his bold declaration sent a hot thrill of anticipation shooting through him. It seemed an acknowledgment.
“You shouldn’t say such things,” she said, flushing scarlet.
“Why not? I want you. And you know what?”
She eyed him warily.
“You want me, too.”
“You’re wrong,” she said quickly, looking away. “I know it’s hard for that arrogant head of yours to comprehend, but not everyone thinks you are irresistible.”
We’ll see about that. He smiled, content to let her hold on to that lie for a little longer. But he’d just thrown down the gauntlet. He was looking forward to watching her struggle not to pick it up—but not quite as much as he was looking forward to the moment when she did. For Erik MacSorley did not doubt for a minute that eventually she would.
Chapter Twelve
Ralph de Monthermer was a patient man. He’d learned that patience in the month he’d spent in the tower, waiting for Edward to decide whether to divest him of his head for the treasonous offense of marrying his daughter without permission.
Then, as now, Ralph’s patience had been rewarded.
He’d been searching for Lady Elyne and the infamous hawk ship for days—careful not to spread word of a missing woman for fear that the scourge would use her as a ransom—with nothing but wind-burned skin, an aching back, and sore arms to show for it.
He’d been stymied at every turn by belligerent barbarians. The Islanders were sheltering them, he knew it. But finding one ship among the hundreds of Isles along the western coast of Scotland was like trying to find a pin at the bottom of the ocean.
Now, at last, they had word.
