The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(11)

“You need to get the hell out of here,” Fergal urged, clearly on the verge of panic. “English ships are patrolling all over this place.”

“We know,” Erik said calmly. “We ran into one”—in a manner of speaking—”a few miles back.”

“Give me the coin and we can be done.”

Randolph, obviously eager to be away, reached under his armor to retrieve the bag he had tied around his waist, but Erik put a hand out to stop him. “Not just yet. Why don’t we all relax a little bit? We’ll get out of here, but I think we have some details to discuss first.”

Fergal sputtered, “But there’s no time, the English—”

“Are a bloody pain in the arse,” Erik finished with a conspiratorial wink. “I know.” Hornet’s nest or not, he had a mission to do. And until guards started rushing down that ramp, he wasn’t going to be rushed. “We don’t want there to be any misunderstandings. Isn’t that right, Fergal?”

The other man shook his head.

Erik took the bag from Randolph and weighed it in his hand. Fergal watched it hungrily. “Half now as we agreed, the rest when you bring the three hundred men to Bruce.”

“All we need to know is when and where.”

“There’s a beach near Fair Head, do you know it?”

Fergal nodded, a puzzled look on his face. “Aye.”

“Be there on the night of the thirteenth with your men.”

A skeptical look crossed the Irishman’s flat face. “Bruce intends to launch the attack from Ireland?”

Erik shook his head. “Nay. I will take you to the king myself.” Fair Head was the closest point on the Irish mainland to Rathlin, where Bruce planned to rendezvous.

Fergal’s expression hardened, realizing that Erik intended to keep him in the dark about the plan. But if Erik was disinclined to trust the McQuillan chief, he was even more so with Fergal.

“That’s not what we agreed,” the Irishman said angrily.

Erik took a step forward. Though Fergal was as thick and sturdy as a boar—and just as mean—Erik towered over him by at least a foot. As to who was the better warrior … they both knew there was no question. Only a handful of men had a chance of defeating Erik with a sword or battle-axe, and Fergal was not one of them.

Despite the implied threat of the movement, Erik smiled. “Now, Fergal,” he said complacently. “I remember quite well the conversation I had with your chief a few weeks ago, right here in this cave, and that’s exactly what we agreed. Half now, half at the rendezvous with Bruce. Why would you require more information?”

Fergal’s eyes shifted in the torchlight, understanding what Erik was implying. “I like to know where I am going.”

“You will, when you need to know. These are the terms. It’s up to you,” Erik said with a careless shrug, holding out the bag.

The Irishman snatched it and slipped it into his cotun. “Aye, the beach near Fair Head on the thirteenth. We’ll be there,” he said with all the enthusiasm of a dog who’d been backed into a corner. “Just make sure you are.”

A loud splash in the water behind him cut off Erik’s reply. Instinctively, he spun around, his battle-axe already in his hand. The rest of the men had drawn their weapons as well.

“What was that?” Fergal asked, holding up his torch.

Erik peered into the darkness. “I don’t know.”

The Irishman turned to two of his men and ordered, “Find out.”

This wasn’t good, not good at all.

Ellie knew she was in trouble the moment she started to get out of the water and heard the men coming down the ramp of the cave carrying torches. She’d originally intended to swim back to the beach, but the water was colder than she remembered—either that or she was well and truly getting old—so she’d decided to walk back to the beach from the cave.

To think, up until this point she’d actually been having a good time. Matty had been so excited to see her. It had been worth it just to see the surprise on her face. And once she’d thrown off her cloak and jumped into the water, Ellie realized how much she missed swimming. Even in the freezing water the sense of freedom was exhilarating.

Perhaps she should have ignored the men and continued walking up the ramp, returning to the group at the beach to claim her crown. But there was something about being soaking wet in a chemise without a cloak to wrap around herself that made her want to avoid a large group of rough-looking warriors in the middle of the night.

So she’d quickly retreated to the icy sea, intending to swim back the way she’d come no matter how freezing it was, only to have her escape route cut off by the arrival of the boat.

One look at the men on the birlinn was enough to stop her heart cold. It was dark, but she could make out enough.

Dear Lord, the Vikings are coming!

Enormous warriors with long blond hair visible beneath steel nasal helms, fur mantles, armed to the teeth, and … did she mention enormous? There was no way she was going to try to swim past them. She was well and truly trapped.

Taking refuge along the side of the cave in the darkness, she managed to pull herself up onto a small jagged rock before she froze to death—not that the cold night air was much better. Her entire body was wracked with shivers. Her teeth clattered and her wet hair froze in icy chunks around her shoulders. She drew her feet up under her as best she could on the sloping, jagged surface and wrapped her arms around her knees, rolling into a ball to try to stay warm.