The Hawk: A Highland Guard Novel (40 page)

Ralph was immediately contrite. “Of course you do. You must be exhausted. We can talk later. Your family will be overjoyed to have you returned safely.”

He gave the orders to turn about, and she frowned. “Are we not going to Ireland?”

He shook his head. “Forgive me, I forgot that you did not know. Your father has been ordered by the king to the castle at Ayr.”

Scotland
. She couldn’t believe it. While she’d been on Spoon Island, her father had been a coastline away.

Ralph sat her on a chest near the bow of the boat, bundled a few more blankets around her, and gave her a comforting squeeze of the hand. “It’s good to have you back, Lady Elyne. Lady Mathilda will be relieved.” A strange look crossed his face. “
All
your brothers and sisters will be relieved.”

He was kind, she realized. She’d known it before, but her odd discomfort around him had always gotten in the way. Guilt welled up inside her. She needed to tell him the truth. “My lord, there is something …” Her cheeks fired. “Something I must tell you.”

“There is no need,” he said firmly. She started to protest, but he stopped her. “You aren’t to blame for anything that has happened. Randolph told me that you had become … er, close with the man who took you.”

She couldn’t believe it. He knew—or at least suspected—and didn’t care. His understanding only made it worse. She couldn’t let him think that she’d been forced. “I was not unwilling, my lord,” she said in a whisper.

He gave her a long look—more pensive than accusing. “Whatever happened is in the past. You are safe now; that is all that matters.”

He was going to make it easy on her. Easier than even she’d expected. Easier than she deserved.

“Rest,” he said. “We can talk later.” He paused, a frown settling over his strong, handsome features. “I’m afraid your father will have many questions for you. King Edward is most anxious to catch this rebel sea captain they call the Hawk. He’s convinced Bruce is planning something.”

Her blood chilled, but she forced her expression to remain impassive. “I’m afraid I won’t be much help.” None, in fact.

He held her gaze, perhaps understanding too much, and then gave her a swift smile. “Be that as it may, you should be prepared.”

She nodded, appreciating the warning. She recalled that Ralph and Bruce once had been close friends. Was he more sympathetic to Robert than she realized?

He returned to his men, leaving her to the cruel solitude of her thoughts. Her parting from Erik had been so swift and unexpected that she hadn’t had time to think. But now, with every minute that took her farther away from him, the cold realization settled in. As the magnitude of what she’d lost hit her, Ellie was filled with an overwhelming sense of despair. The future seemed bleak and lonely. It seemed impossible to believe that she would never see him again. That the freedom and happiness she’d known were at an end.

How was she going to go back to her life as if nothing had happened? How was she going to do her duty and marry Ralph when she loved another man?

She didn’t want to believe that it could be over so suddenly, and she found herself glancing over her shoulder more than once. She knew he wouldn’t come after her. He couldn’t, even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t. But the foolish part of her that didn’t want to accept the truth wouldn’t listen to reason.

If only it didn’t have to hurt so much.

What had she expected? Hadn’t she known that this was the only way it could end?

She’d convinced herself that he cared for her. That she was different. That a future between them might be possible. But he’d never professed to love her or want anything more than the pleasure he’d offered. She’d given him a chance by confessing her feelings, but he hadn’t taken it.

The only thing tempering her heartbreak was that soon she would see her family. With favorable winds, the galley made short work of the crossing that only hours earlier had very nearly killed them. It wasn’t long before the sandy shores and verdant hillsides of the Ayrshire coast came into view.

She stiffened when she saw Thomas—Sir Thomas—approach. He sat down beside her; she pretended not to notice.

“He swam to Fair Head, didn’t he?” His voice was low so as to not be overheard by the soldiers nearby.

Her pulse jumped, but she held her expression perfectly still, keeping her gaze fixed on the shoreline. “If you are speaking of the captain, I told you what happened.”

“I didn’t tell them anything, Ellie—Lady Elyne—I swear.”

She gave him a sharp glance. “Except where to find us.”

Heat crept up his cheeks, but he thrust up his chest. “The way Hawk treated you was wrong. When I discovered who you were, I couldn’t let it continue.”

Ellie couldn’t believe it. Hawk’s entire mission could have failed because Randolph’s knightly sensibilities had been offended. She looked around to make sure no one was listening to them and whispered, “So you decided to set the English on us instead? Don’t you know what is at stake? Or do you no longer care?”

His flush grew hotter. “I know what’s at stake, although I haven’t been privy to the details. For once I’m glad my uncle did not fully take me into his confidence. I’ve said no more than was necessary to find you. As for Hawk, he always manages to land on his feet, or haven’t you figured that out yet?”

He seemed desperate for her to believe him, as if her opinion mattered, but he could not be absolved so easily. Erik had avoided capture, but just barely. Whether he’d succeeded, however, neither of them would know for some time.

“And yet you still switched sides?” she pointed out.

He met her accusatory stare unflinchingly. “I had no choice.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “Would you have rather we’d all been killed?”

Her gaze shot to his. “Of course not.”

“Well, that’s what would have happened had I not surrendered.” Much to Domnall’s anger, she imagined. But she could not blame Thomas for doing what he could to save their lives. It was what she would have done, even if Erik wouldn’t.

“Where are the rest of the men?”

“In the dungeon at Ayr.”

“And yet you are here.”

He bristled, his reaction implying censure to her tone. “My uncle and I have not seen eye-to-eye for some time. I’m a knight, not a pirate, and I wish to fight like one.”

So when he’d been given the opportunity to change sides, he’d taken it.

As much as she wanted to condemn him for it, she could not. Even aside from chivalry, Randolph had done what countless others had done before him, following his best interests, not his heart. Expediency over principle. Many of King Edward’s supporters supported him because it was prudent to do so, not because they believed in his cause. Even her father could be put in this category.

There were few William Wallaces willing to die for a noble cause.

Erik would. Loyalty, duty, honor—whatever she called it—the ties that bound him to the people he cared about were what mattered to him.

Death before surrender
.

She shivered. When he’d spoken those words she did not doubt that he meant them. She could only pray that it didn’t come to that.

Had he reached the Irish in time and gotten them safely to Robert? Would Bruce’s last-ditch effort to take back his throne succeed?

It might be some time before she knew the answers to those questions. If they failed, she might never know. The agony of not knowing what had become of him just might drive her mad.

Twenty-one

    After a long day of waiting—almost twelve hours since he’d left Ellie—Erik MacSorley sailed into the bay along Rathlin Isle’s western shore with the three hundred Irish soldiers he’d vowed to deliver to Bruce.

With all that had come before it, his arrival at Fair Head minutes after dawn had been strangely anticlimactic—though it had been close. The McQuillans had already begun to load their ships to leave, thinking that something must have happened to call off the attack. The Irish chief said they would have returned the following evening, but Erik wasn’t so sure. They’d already collected half their payment, and having fulfilled their end of the bargain, it would have been a substantial windfall for simply showing up.

In any event, Erik had reached them in time and, after taking care to hide the ships from any passing English patrols, they’d spent the day waiting for night to fall until they could leave for Rathlin.

Now, as he maneuvered the first of five ships into the bay, he knew he should be relieved—proud that he’d done what he set out to do, despite the many hurdles that he’d had to overcome. But the success of his mission held little satisfaction for him.

The last conversation with Ellie still sat too bitterly inside him.

The king needed to be told. But that unpleasant conversation would have to wait. First Erik had to get them to Arran, and, after the unexpected delays of the night before, he wanted to give himself as much time as possible.

The two score of men he’d left a few scant weeks ago were gathered on the shore to greet him: the king, his closest supporters, and the handful of Bruce’s loyal vassals who’d escaped with them from Dunaverty last September. But the group had swelled by an additional hundred soldiers—thanks to the additional Islemen provided by his cousin Angus Og.

Erik hopped over the edge of the
birlinn
into the knee-deep water and strode toward them.

“Where have you been?” Bruce demanded before he’d even taken a step upon the rocky beach. “You were supposed to be here yesterday. This is cutting it too damn close, even for you, Hawk.” He looked around. “Where’s your ship? And my nephew?”

Erik’s mouth fell in a grim line. “The English found us on Spoon a few hours before we were to leave. I will tell you everything when we reach Arran, but Randolph and my men were taken.”

Even for a man who’d suffered so many disappointments, the blow did not fall any softer. Bruce flinched. “Dead?”

Erik shook his head. “I do not think so, your grace.”

He kept his suspicions to himself for now, but the king was shrewd, and Erik suspected he was wondering the same thing as he: how unwillingly Randolph had gone.

The king’s gaze hardened, his eyes as cold and black as polished ebony. “I hope you have a good explanation for how this could have happened.”

Erik nodded. So did he.

He glanced at Chief, who stood beside Bruce. “Is everyone ready?” Erik asked.

“Aye.”

Erik could see from his gaze that the captain of the Highland Guard had questions for him, too. But like Bruce’s, they would have to wait.

Erik quickly conferred with the king about who would lead the Irish ships as well as two of the four
birlinns
of Islemen. Ewen “Hunter” Lamont and Eoin “Striker” MacLean had taken the other two ships with Bruce’s brothers south to Galloway for the second prong of the attack against the MacDowells.

With seven ships to deal with—five Irish and two of his cousin’s—it was decided that Erik would lead the fleet in one of the Irish ships, and Chief would captain one of MacDonald’s ships carrying the king. As the king’s largely Lowland retinue had limited sailing experience, Erik left the seafaring Irish to captain their other ships. He placed Gregor “Arrow” MacGregor—the only other member of the Highland Guard present—in charge of the remaining
birlinn
.

Less than an hour later, they were on their way. Erik led the way with the mercenaries, sailing point a short distance ahead to be able to give warning if needed.

Unlike the night before, it was a good night for sailing. The sky was clear—relatively; it was the misty Western Isles, after all—and a steady wind bore down on them from the north. Their destination, Arran Isle, lay to the northeast of Spoon, nestled in the armpit of the Kintyre Peninsula and the Ayrshire coast, forty or so miles from Rathlin.

But they would be forty tension-filled miles. Erik knew that danger lurked behind every wave. Evading the English patrols with one ship was one thing, but with seven it was another.

He took particular care near crossways, knowing that the English patrols liked to lurk where two or three bodies of water came together. After heading north around Rathlin, he ordered the ships to lower their sails.

It was a good thing he did. He was fairly certain he’d caught a glimpse of a sail to the south where the Rathlin sound met the North Channel. Once they’d skirted clear of Rathlin, there was nothing but open sea between them and Scotland.

He kept his eyes peeled for any sign of a ship, but all he could see for miles was the dark sky and the tremulous rise and fall of the glistening black waves.

It was almost too quiet—too peaceful—after the tumult of the night before.

He closed down his thoughts before they could take hold. Ellie had crept into his head too many times already, and he was determined not to think about her. She’d distracted him enough. Right now everyone was counting on him to get them safely to Arran, and this time nothing was going to interfere.

Not even a bossy, confounding termagant with green-flecked eyes, a stubborn chin, and the softest skin he’d ever felt.