“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
ught to grace with his name was one of the richest heiresses in the land, but exactly what he’d done. He’d deflowered Ulster’s daughter.
But not just Ulster’s daughter. He grabbed her by the arm, biting back his fury. “You’re Bruce’s sister!”
The man he owed loyalty to above all else.
She didn’t even bother to feign shame at the magnitude of her deceit, but held her head high. “By marriage, yes.”
“But Edward Bruce saw you that night. Why did he say nothing?”
“I’ve met him only once, at the wedding.” She laughed, though the harsh sound held no amusement. “Apparently, he did not remember me.”
Erik felt ill. The first time he’d debauched a maid and he had to pick one who was sacrosanct. His liege lord’s sister. Bruce might have turned to the Highland style of warfare, but the heart of a chivalrous knight still beat inside him. He would not forgive the insult—no matter what the circumstances.
It wasn’t just Bruce’s sense of honor that would be offended. There was every likelihood that Ulster would blame Bruce for Erik’s actions. It could drive a wedge between them. A wedge that might stop Ulster from looking the other way at Bruce’s activities. A wedge that could jeopardize the western trade routes and prevent Bruce from getting much-needed supplies.
If Ulster didn’t kill him, Bruce would.
His mission hadn’t included debauching virgins.
My God, it suddenly made sense. The reason the English hadn’t given up the way they usually did. His grip on her arm tightened, forcing her to look at him. “They weren’t chasing me, they were looking for you.” By taking her, he’d brought the full force of the English fleet down on him.
She looked surprised by the accusation—as if it had never occurred to her. Her brows wrinkled. “I never thought—” She stopped, and then shook her head. “My family didn’t know what had happened to me.”
His blood turned to ice. “Perhaps not at first, but they did after I sent the message.”
His misplaced gallantry and the urge to please her had led his enemies right to them.
Ellie’s stomach dropped. Was it possible the English had been searching for her on Spoon when his men had been captured and killed? “My lady.” The soldier’s deference on the beach suddenly made sense. They’d been trying to protect her.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
He wouldn’t even look at her.
“We’ll be married as soon as I can secure a priest.”
Her heart stopped. Married. The word she’d longed to hear uttered coldly and without emotion. It was exactly what she’d feared, and why she hadn’t wanted to tell him her identity. Because she knew that the cursed nobility of his would rear its cruel head. She was Lady Elyne de Burgh, his king’s sister by marriage and daughter of one of the most powerful men in Christendom. He had no choice but to marry her.
It might be illogical, but she would not marry a man she loved. Not when the offer was motivated by duty and not emotion. Unrequited love held no illusions for her. She would not make her mother’s mistake and think she could make a man love her with the force of her own will.
Inside, Ellie felt like crumbling, crawling into a ball and sobbing her sorrow in a pathetic heap. But her pride wouldn’t let her. She was Lady Elyne de Burgh. He would never know how much he hurt her—or how hard it was for her to refuse him.
“That won’t be necessary,” she said with all the emotion of his “offer.”
His eyes were like slits. “Need I remind you exactly why it is necessary?”
She didn’t give him the satisfaction of flushing. She wasn’t ashamed of what they’d done, and he wasn’t going to make her be.
“I appreciate your gallant offer, but it isn’t necessary. I’m already betrothed.”
If Ellie thought she’d ever seen him angry, she was wrong. The change was so startling that she gasped and instinctively recoiled. In the semidarkness of the approaching dawn, his eyes turned pale blue and utterly cold, utterly merciless. The handsome Norseman had become the ruthless Viking.
He made a move toward her. For a moment she actually feared him.
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 fiancé 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.”<
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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.”
He stilled, but quickly discarded the idea. “They’ll look for us once they discover the boat is empty. I can’t risk it.”
“I’m not going.”
Anger spiked inside him. “If you think I’m going to leave you—”
She didn’t let him finish. “I’ll be perfectly safe. They are looking for me. I’ll tell them that you drowned in the storm. No one will look for you. You still have time, but you need to go now.”
He looked to the coast and knew she was right. He could make it. The Irish would wait until dawn, and if he was lucky, a little longer. He would have to make the crossing to Rathlin and then on to Arran in one night, but he could do it. Bruce would still arrive in time to launch his attack on the appointed day. He could salvage his mission.
But it went against every bone in his body to leave her behind. Even though she’d lied to him, she was …
What? What was she to him?
She must have sensed his hesitation. “Go. There is nothing to keep you.”
But there was, even if he couldn’t put a name on it. Indecision—not something he was familiar with—warred inside him. He might be able to save his mission, but in doing so, he would be putting an end to his relationship with Ellie.
What relationship? She was betrothed to de Monthermer, for Christ’s sake. Edward’s former son-in-law and one of his most important naval commanders.
She belonged to someone else. The knowledge ate like acid in his chest.
She was sitting so still, her expression as hard and brittle as glass. Something didn’t feel right. She was too composed. Too calm. She’d told him she loved him only a few minutes ago, yet here she was doing her best to get rid of him.
He took her arm, wanting to shake the icy look of inevitability from her face. “What do you want from me?”
She turned her gaze to his. “Nothing. Can’t you see that? There was never any other possibility. Go, so that I can get on with my life and forget this ever happened.”