The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(40)

But his troublesome guest—and his equally troublesome thoughts—would soon be behind him. Though there was still a sizable English presence in the area, Erik had been chased by the English bastards enough times to know that they would eventually give up. And if they didn’t, well, he could get around them when he needed to. There was still plenty of time before he needed to meet the McQuillans to take them to Rathlin.

In the meantime, he’d found a way to get a message to Bruce. With his cousin Angus Og MacDonald’s castle at Dunaverty located just two miles from Spoon, it was the obvious choice—not to mention the quickest and most direct. Ironically, Dunaverty was the same castle that Erik had led Bruce away from four months ago. Though it was currently occupied by the English, his cousin still had men inside. He knew that if he could get a message to Angus Og, he would find a way to get it to Bruce.

Angus Og had a vast network of men along the western seaboard. Erik should know; he’d served as henchman to his cousin the Lord of Islay and one of the most powerful men in the Western Isles for nearly a decade, before he’d been tapped by Bruce for the Highland Guard.

Erik had been reluctant to leave the service of the man who’d done so much for him. Only a lad of seven years when his father had died, Erik had been too young to protect himself from the manipulative, land-grabbing mechanizations of the MacDougall kinsmen who’d pretended to help him. It was Angus Og who’d protected him and his family and shown him the meaning of loyalty. It was Angus Og who’d made him a man.

But his cousin had been insistent that he join Bruce, and Erik owed him too much not to do as he bid. It had also been a way to recover the lands stolen upon his father’s death by the MacDougalls.

The struggle for dominance between the two powerful branches of Somerled’s descendants—the MacDonalds and the MacDougalls—dominated West Highland politics. Right now the MacDougalls, who’d aligned themselves with Edward, were favored, but that would all change when Bruce reclaimed his crown. Seeing John MacDougall of Lorn suffer would be just as satisfying as seeing Edward kicked back to England with his English tail between his legs.

Erik could have tried to get the message through by boat, but it would be much simpler to swim—simpler for him, at least. The castle guards would be on the watch for a boat, but they wouldn’t be expecting a swimmer.

He grinned. It would be unexpected. Dangerous. Extreme. Just the way he liked it.

And it had worked. Last night he’d swum the two-mile divide between Spoon Island and Dunaverty and passed a message to one of his cousin’s men.

As Erik approached the door of Meg’s house, he heard the muffled rumble of Duncan’s laughter mixed with the much lighter—almost girlish—tinkle of a woman’s. Not Meg’s, he knew instinctively, but Ellie’s.

Something about the sound didn’t sit well with him. With a perfunctory knock, he pushed the door open.

And stopped cold.

Duncan had his hands around Ellie’s waist to lift her high in the air, as she reached for something on one of the large store shelves built into the rafters along the edge of the ceiling. But all Erik could see was his kinsman’s eyes fastened on her bottom, the surprisingly shapely curve of which was revealed all too clearly in the borrowed old leine, the linen thin from wear.

Ellie and Duncan startled at the interruption. Duncan’s grip slid from around her waist, and Ellie cried out when he nearly dropped her. But Duncan managed to catch her in his arms before she fell to the floor.

Bloody convenient, Erik thought, every nerve ending set at a blistering edge.

Ellie’s look of surprise turned to amusement as she met Duncan’s gaze, and they both burst out laughing again. Ignoring Erik’s presence entirely.

“I think maybe we should have gotten the ladder after all,” she said. Her eyes suddenly grew concerned. “Is your arm all right?”

Duncan laughed. “My arm is fine, lass, just like I told you. I could lift a wee thing like you with one arm—injured or nay. You must give me another chance to prove it to you or my pride will be wounded beyond repair.” He gave her a wink. “Besides, this is much more fun than a ladder.”

Erik almost felt sorry for his kinsman, knowing that Ellie was impervious to much more skillful flirting than his cousin’s feeble attempts at charm. Anticipating the set-down she was about to make, he was shocked instead to see a very maidenly blush stain Ellie’s cheeks.

Erik would have been dumbfounded, but he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about ripping Ellie out of his cousin’s arms, and then perhaps driving his fist through Duncan’s crooked grin.

His eyes narrowed on the other man. His mother claimed there was a resemblance between the cousins, but he didn’t see it. Duncan’s hair was darker, and Erik was at least two inches taller and had three stone of muscle on his younger-by-three-years kinsman.

Ellie finally remembered he was there. She glanced over him—briefly—then gave Duncan a little nod in Erik’s direction. “Perhaps we should see what your captain wants before we try again?”

Duncan didn’t appear to be in any hurry to set her down—until he met Erik’s gaze. With a puzzled frown, he reluctantly set her feet to the floor.

Erik felt his blood cool—marginally.

“Did you want something, Captain?”

Erik bit back the inexplicable rage he was feeling toward his kinsman. “Why aren’t you at your post?” he snapped.