The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(105)

“I’m not certain.” Campbell went to the window to investigate. “Horses,” he said.

“Were you followed?” Erik asked.

Campbell gave him a scathing look as if to say he should know better. “You’d best get out of here. I’ll take care of it.” When Erik started to argue, he added, “I can’t be seen with you.”

Erik nodded. He was right. Campbell’s subterfuge had to be protected. Moments later, Erik and his cousin slipped out of the church and disappeared into the shadows.

Chapter Twenty-two

St. Gunioc Day, April 13, 1307

Ellie stood gazing out the tower window of Ayr Castle, waiting for a ship that would never come.

It was a clear spring day, giving her a perfect vantage of the shimmering blue seas of the Firth of Clyde. The Isle of Arran loomed in the distance, and beyond that—a tiny speck on the horizon—she swore she could see the rocky cliffs of Spoon.

A sharp pang knifed through her chest, a longing that almost two months had yet to dull.

She needed to accept the truth. If he’d wanted to come for her, he would have done so by now.

When she’d heard of Bruce’s victory at Turnberry, a tiny ember of foolish girl’s hope had kindled inside her. Hope that he was hurting as much as she was. Hope that distance and time would make him realize they’d shared something special. Hope that he would suddenly decide that he loved her as much as she did him.

But, as the weeks passed in long, painful silence, Ellie could no longer make excuses. He had to know where she was—Domnall would have told him—and thanks to Sir Aymer’s regular updates to her father, she knew that Bruce was nearby, raiding and harrying the English supply routes from his refuge in the mountains of Galloway.

It was time to accept the truth: Erik wasn’t going to have some grand epiphany. He wasn’t going to send word or come for her. He wasn’t going to stop her wedding to Ralph. It was over, and she would probably never see him again.

The familiar burning gripped her chest. Yet, in spite of the pain, she could not regret it. In the short time they’d spent together, Erik had reminded her how to breathe again. After the adventure and excitement of the time she’d spent on Spoon, she vowed to not let herself fall into the staid existence she’d known before.

With a heart-wrench of finality, she turned from the tower window and started to descend the stairs. She wouldn’t shed any more tears for a man who had probably forgotten all about her. She needed to get on with her life and stop mourning a dream that was never meant to be.

But it was easier said than done, when the hunt for Bruce and his band of rebels dominated everything around her. Matty would be returning to Dunluce at the end of the week, and Ellie decided to join her. She’d been putting off the preparations for her wedding long enough.

With June fast approaching, the time for indecision was running out. Although her discomfort around Ralph had faded, Ellie couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. But neither could she find a reason not to marry him.

Since her return, she’d made an effort to get to know him better and had been rewarded by the discovery that she actually liked him. Of course, he’d earned her unending gratitude when he’d granted her plea for mercy for Erik’s men by sparing their lives and moving them from the horrible dungeon to a secure building in the village. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised when two nights later, a strange explosion blew a hole in the stone wall of the building and the men were able to escape.

She knew who was responsible.

He’d been so close …

She crossed the Great Hall to the adjoining solar, intending to tell her father of her plans to return to Ireland, but the sound of voices stopped her.

Sir Aymer was here again. Despite her avowal to put the past—and Erik—behind her, her pulse jumped. The English commander was sure to have brought the latest news of the “rebels.”

Though the door was closed, she and Matty had discovered some time ago that if they sat before the fire doing their needlework, they could hear most of the conversations through the thinly partitioned wall. She knew she should be ashamed, but her craving to learn what was going on had overcome the minor twinges of guilt at eavesdropping weeks ago.

Sir Aymer’s voice was raised even higher than usual, and his obvious excitement made her heart sink with trepidation. She heard Ralph say something and then Sir Aymer’s annoyed response. “I’m certain we have it this time. I’ve seen their lair myself.”

Her stomach dropped. It couldn’t be! She forced herself to calm. She’d heard Sir Aymer say the same thing many times before, but Bruce always managed to evade him.

Her father must have had a similar thought. “How can you be sure they won’t move before you can get the troops in position?” he asked. “Bruce doesn’t stay in one place for long.”

“They’re preparing for a feast—one of his men’s saint’s days, apparently—and have sent for some of the village lasses and a barrel of ale. They aren’t going anywhere tonight.”

Women. Her heart twinged. Not just with fear, but with something else. She knew Erik too well.

But Sir Aymer was right: if they were preparing for a feast, they weren’t likely to be on the move. Could this finally be the time the English captured the elusive King Hood?