The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(3)

Can’t you see it’s a losing battle?

His thoughts on the boat came back to him. He’d been as foolish as the spider to think he could defeat Edward of England. He should never have tried. Right now, he could be in a house in Carrick with his wife and daughter, managing his estates instead of running for his life and seeing his friends and supporters die for him.

It was a life he would have been happy with, were it not for the unshakable belief that the crown belonged to him. He was the rightful king of Scotland.

But what did that matter now? He’d gambled everything and lost. There was nothing left.

God, he was tired. He wanted to close his eyes, to drift off to sleep and put the nightmare behind him. Turning his head, he caught sight of Hawk conferring with the leader of the Highland Guard, Tor MacLeod, known as “Chief,” at the water’s edge. The two formidable warriors approached him together.

Sleep would have to wait.

His secret Guard had been the one bright spot in the past few months. The team of warriors had exceeded his own expectations. But even they had not been able to stave off the disastrous repercussions of his mistake at Methven.

As the warriors drew near, Bruce could see signs of weariness etched on their battle-hard countenances. It was about time. Unlike the rest of them, the Highlanders didn’t seem demoralized by the series of defeats that had forced them from Scotland. Impervious to the frailty of normal emotions, nothing seemed to rattle them. Although he appreciated their determination and resilience, it sometimes made his own frustration feel like weakness.

“How’s your head?” MacSorley asked. “You took quite a knock.”

The mast, Bruce remembered. He rubbed the side of his head, massaging the large knot that had formed there. “I’ll live.” For now. “Where are we?”

“Rathlin,” MacLeod said. “At our destination safe and relatively sound.”

MacSorley lifted a brow. “Did you doubt it?”

Bruce shook his head, used to the Highlander’s jesting by now. “The rest of the men?” he asked.

“Safe,” Tor responded. “They’ve found shelter in a nearby cove since this cave can hold only about a dozen men. I’ve instructed Hunter and Striker to approach the castle tomorrow for provisions. You are sure Sir Hugh will help?”

Bruce shrugged. “The Lord of Rathlin is loyal to Edward, but he is also a friend.”

Tor’s mouth fell in a grim line. “We cannot chance staying here for long. Once the English realize we are no longer at Dunaverty, they’ll have the entire fleet out looking for us. With your ties to Ireland, this will be one of the first places they look.”

The Bruce family had held lands in Antrim along the north coast of Ireland for years. And his wife, Elizabeth de Burgh, was the daughter of the most powerful earl in Ireland. But his father-in-law, the Earl of Ulster, was Edward’s man.

“Once I have the supplies, it will not take longer than a day or two to repair the boats,” Hawk said.

Bruce nodded, knowing he should give orders but unable to shake the overwhelming sense of futility weighing down on him.

What did it matter?

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the spider leap once more from the rocky ledge. “See that spider?” he said, pointing to the wall on the right. The men nodded blankly. Bruce was sure they were wondering whether he’d lost his mind. “I keep waiting for her to give up. That’s about the sixth time I’ve seen her try to cross that span only to fall into nothingness.” He shook his head. “I wonder how many more times it will take before she realizes it will never work.”

Hawk flashed him a grin. “I wager that’s a Highland spider, your grace, and she’ll keep trying until she succeeds. Highlanders don’t believe in surrender. We’re a tenacious lot.”

“Don’t you mean stubborn and pig-headed?” Bruce said wryly.

Hawk laughed. “That, too.”

Bruce had to admire the affable seafarer’s ability to find humor even in the most wretched of situations. Usually Hawk’s good humor kept them going, but not even the towering Norseman could rouse Bruce from his state of hopelessness tonight.

“Get some sleep, sire,” Tor said. “We’ve all had a long day.”

Bruce nodded, too weary to do anything but agree.

Light tugged at his eyelids and a gentle warmth caressed Bruce’s cheek like a mother’s gentle embrace. He opened his eyes to a beam of sunlight streaming through the cave. A new day had dawned bright and sunny, a sharp contrast to the apocalyptic storms of the day before.

It took a moment for the sleep to clear and for his gaze to focus. He looked at the rocks above his head and swore.

Well, I’ll be damned.

Spanning about a twelve-inch space between two rocks was the most magnificent web he’d ever seen. The intricate threads of silk glistened and sparkled in the sunlight like a magnificent crown of thinly woven diamonds.

She’d done it. The little spider had built her web.

He smiled, for a moment sharing in her triumph.

Methven. Dal Righ. The deaths and capture of his friends. The separation from his wife. The storm. Maybe they weren’t God’s vengeance after all, but his test.

And the spider was his messenger.

He noticed the seafarer stirring a few feet away and called him over. “You were right,” he said, motioning above him.