The Hawk: A Highland Guard Novel (46 page)

Their eyes held for a long heartbeat. For a moment she thought she saw something before his gaze quickly shuttered.

He stepped back, holding himself very stiffly. She could almost believe this was difficult for him. “Very well,” he said. “Goodbye, Lady Elyne.”

Her breath caught high in her chest. For one long heartbeat she just stood there, wanting to savor the moment because she knew it would be the last.

But it had to end. “Goodbye, Erik.”

She turned away and didn’t look back. A small but significant part of her life was over.

Twenty-four

St. John’s Eve (Midsummer’s Eve), June 23, 1307

    Erik had done the right thing. She was better off without him. Or so he told himself over and over the first few days after she’d left.

He’d wanted to ask her to stay, but he loved her too much to do that to her.

Love didn’t guarantee a happy ending. Sometimes love meant sacrifice. Sometimes love meant putting the other person’s happiness above your own, even if that meant you couldn’t be together.

He was an outlaw. But for her, he might have been a dead one by the next morning. Even with her help, he knew that they were still living on borrowed time. Maybe if she was the nursemaid he’d first believed her, it would have been different. But she was the daughter of one of the most powerful men in Christendom, engaged to an equally powerful man, and—most important—safe. She had a bright future ahead of her. He could not ask her to risk so much for him. He wouldn’t see her in a cage.

She might have stuck a dirk in his back and twisted, so excruciating was the pain. It felt as if he was being torn in two, his selfish desires warring with the knowledge of the right thing to do.

He just never expected what was right would have to hurt so much.

And he knew Ellie. If she sensed his weakness, she would not give up until she knew the truth. So he’d had to keep letting her believe that he didn’t love her.

But the look of resolve on her face before she walked away haunted him. Letting her go had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. It made MacLeod’s two-week-long period of training, nicknamed “Perdition,” seem like fun and games.

Despite her objection, he’d followed her all the way back to Ayr Castle. He suspected she knew he was there, but never once did she look back.

Then, five days after four hundred of Bruce’s followers had trapped fifteen hundred English knights at Glen Trool, sending Aymer de Valence retreating in humiliation, she’d left Ayr on a galley for Ireland. He knew that she’d gone, because he’d had her watched by one of their men in the castle. At the first indication that her nighttime venture into Bruce’s camp had been discovered, he would have gone to her.

But he never had the excuse.

Now, after a second decisive victory against Sir Aymer de Valence at Loudoun Hill in May, a skirmish a few days later that had Ellie’s betrothed chased back to Ayr, the defeat of Sir Philip Mowbray by Sir James Douglas and Boyd, and the news that the English king had taken to his sickbed once more, Erik feared he’d made an enormous mistake.

The tide had turned.

Men were rushing to Bruce’s banner, their ranks swelling seemingly overnight from hundreds to thousands. Gradually, the king was solidifying his position in the southwest, including the taking of key strongholds. But Bruce had learned a powerful lesson from Wallace: he would destroy the castles rather than allow the enemy to use them against him. So tomorrow, after a long night of feasting, Ayr Castle would be slighted. They would strip it of anything of value beforehand, but Ulster had taken almost everything before sailing for Ireland last week.

Largely oblivious to the raucous celebration going on around him, Erik sat in virtual silence, only occasionally joining in the conversation of MacLeod and Bruce or partaking of the many food offerings. The dark cloud that had hovered over him since he’d watched Ellie disappear behind these very castle walls had only grown heavier. As the days passed, he felt an increasing edginess inside him that was akin to panic. At times it wrapped around him so tightly he couldn’t breathe.

He was haunted by self-doubt, unable to escape the gnawing feeling that he should have told Ellie how he felt. That she’d deserved a choice.

With every victory his uncertainty had gotten worse. He couldn’t sleep. He could barely eat. All he could do was fight. So he volunteered for any mission he could, the more dangerous the better. Anything to keep his mind off the question of whether he’d done the right thing—and whether it was too late to matter.

“I’ve been hearing some complaints.”

Erik glanced up, realizing the king was addressing him. He frowned. “What kind of complaints?”

“You are working the new recruits too hard.”

Erik exchanged a glance with MacLeod before responding. “They need to be ready to fight. Edward has summoned more men to Carlisle by July. He’ll not give up so easily.”

“And we will be ready,” Bruce agreed. “If Edward recovers. But you can’t turn farmers and fishermen into knights overnight.”

“I’m not trying to make them knights, I’m trying to make them Highlanders. It’s harder, so it takes more work.”

Bruce laughed. “Aye, you’re right. I stand corrected.” He gave Erik a long look. “I’ve had some news that might interest you.”

Though he said it nonchalantly, every muscle in Erik’s body tensed.

“About my sister-in-law,” Bruce added. He took a swig of wine, watching Erik over the rim of his goblet, knowing well that he was making him squirm. “She’s marrying de Monthermer in the morning.”

Erik felt as if he’d been slammed across the chest with a war hammer. Every inch of his body revolted at the king’s words. The panic that had been festering inside him exploded. He knew with every fiber of his being that he had to do something. He couldn’t let it happen.

He was conscious of more than one set of eyes upon him, watching his reaction. “Where?” he demanded through clenched teeth.

“Dunluce Castle.” Bruce eyed him speculatively. “You know I’ve been thinking about something, and I believe I might have a mission for you.”

Erik was barely listening.
Married.
The word was spinning over and over in his mind. He couldn’t think of anything else. How could she do this? Ellie loved him, but in a few short hours she was going to marry someone else. Part of him hadn’t thought she’d go through with it.

It felt as though his insides were on fire. It took all of his control just to sit there calmly, when he wanted to jump in the nearest ship and race to Ireland.

“I was thinking,” the king continued, “that it might be prudent to strengthen the ties with Ireland. As I’ve put you in charge of keeping the western trade routes open to keep us supplied, I think you are the right person to do it.”

Vaguely, Erik was aware that the king was getting at something important. He forced himself to listen to his words, and not the fierce voices screaming in his head to get the hell out of here.

“Did you know that Lady Elyne is a great favorite of Ulster’s?” Bruce asked pointedly.

Erik’s gaze shot to his, suspecting what the king was suggesting. “Aye,” he said carefully. “I believe the lady helped her father after her mother died.”

Bruce leaned forward. “I’d wager he’d forgive her just about anything.” He paused reflectively. “
Two
daughters married to Scots might make that blind eye of his doubly so; what do you think?”

Erik stilled. The king’s meaning was clear. The “mission” he was suggesting was an alliance to marry Ellie—even if it meant clandestinely. Bruce thought Ulster would forgive her.

If he’d been waiting for Bruce’s support, he had it.

But Erik knew he would have gone even without it. The weeks of torture were at an end. He’d made a mistake; he knew that. He just hoped to hell he could arrive before she made a worse one—one that was irrevocable.

When he thought of how badly he’d hurt her …

He winced, thinking how he’d let her think that he didn’t love her. That he meant to return to the woman at the feast. Some of the panic returned. What if she refused to talk to him? Ellie could be stubborn. What if she didn’t forgive him? His stomach dropped. What if she wouldn’t change her mind?

He couldn’t let that happen.

He smiled, his first genuine smile in a long time. He would just have to make sure they had some time alone, where he could make it up to her and prove how he felt. He knew just the place.

He turned to Bruce. “I need to leave immediately.”

Bruce returned his smile. “I thought you might.”

He paused, thinking of Ellie’s stubbornness. “It might take me a few days.”

Bruce laughed. “I think it might take you longer than that. You have two weeks. Make good use of your time.”

Erik grinned. “I intend to—every minute of it.”

This was one mission where he was going to make damn sure nothing went wrong.

*   *   *

It was a crisp, sunny summer’s morning. A perfect day for a wedding. Ellie watched her reflection in the looking glass as the maidservant finished brushing out her hair.

She smiled, if not happy, then at least content with how her life had progressed in the past couple of months. She’d made the right decision and was getting on with her life.

She’d even stopped looking out the window.

By the time the maid was putting the finishing touches on her hair—an intricate arrangement of curls fastened with a jeweled circlet—and had finished pinning her into the fine dark-emerald damask gown she would wear to the wedding, the sun was streaming full force into her window.

A dark shadow passed over her, making her glance toward the window. Seeing nothing, she figured it must have been a cloud.

“Is there anything else, my lady?” the maid asked.

Ellie shook her head, admiring the girl’s work. She smiled wistfully. She looked almost pretty. “Nay, why don’t you see if Lady Mathilda needs anything.”

The maid bobbed and made her exit.

The door had barely shut when Ellie found herself grabbed from behind. A strong hand covered her mouth before she could scream.

“Shush,” he whispered in her ear, pressing her more firmly against him. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Ellie’s heart dropped, recognizing the voice, the familiar windblown, soapy scent, and every hard ridge of the muscular arms and chest holding her.

Erik
.

But what was he doing here? More important, how had he gotten here?

Good God!
He had to have come through the tower window—a good forty feet above the cliff, and a hundred additional feet above the water below.

I’m not going to hurt you
. She’d heard that before.

She tried to wrench free, elbowing him in the stomach to little effect. The granite-hard body didn’t yield an inch.

“Promise you won’t yell?” he whispered.

She nodded, and he let her go. Only to snap his hand back across her mouth when she opened her mouth to scream.

He made a tsk-tsk sound. “I thought you might be unreasonable, but fortunately I came prepared.”

He dangled a couple of thin bands of silk before her eyes. “I had hoped the next time I tied you up it would be under different circumstances.” Her eyes widened with outrage, but he only chuckled. “Sorry, lass, but we need to talk and I can’t take the chance of your not listening to reason. You can caterwaul all you want once we are away from here.”

Reason? When he was about to abduct her for the second time? And she didn’t caterwaul.

After deftly managing to replace his hand with the silk, he bound her hands. Unfurling the plaid from around his shoulders, he pulled a burlap sack from his belt and gave her an apologetic grimace. “As we can’t go out the way I came in, I’m afraid this is necessary.”

When she realized what he was going to do she tried to back away, but he caught her by the waist and dropped the sack over her head. She squirmed and kicked at him like a banshee, but he tossed her over his shoulder as if she were an unruly sack of flour, wrapping the plaid around his shoulders to cover her legs.

So much for her hair and finery. Of all the …

She was infuriated by his brutish treatment, but couldn’t help wondering why he was doing this.

Only one answer made sense, but she wasn’t going to fall into that trap again of letting herself believe that he cared for her.

She bounced along as he made his way down the dark corridors and winding stairs of the main tower of Dunluce. With all the excitement and confusion of the wedding, it seemed no one noticed the big man with the squirming sack swung over his shoulder.

She put up a good fight despite her circumstances, landing a good kick or two, until he put his hand on her bottom. The smooth caresses sent shivers of awareness shooting through her that made her body go limp and boneless. When she squirmed again it was with something else, and the blighter—drat the chuckling braggart—knew it.

She felt the cool breeze when they exited the tower. A few minutes later the ground became steeper, and she knew he must have crossed the bridge and started down toward the cave. She didn’t struggle for fear she would send them both down the cliffside. But sure-footed as usual, he navigated the terrain like a wildcat.