The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(72)

He whistled softly—letting the men standing guard know they were approaching—and heard the answering hoot. But when they turned the corner of the headland and the small bay came into view, he stopped in his tracks, noticing a small fishing boat coming from the east turn into the harbor.

As fishing was the mainstay of the Islanders and this bay was one of two anchorages on Spoon, it was an ordinary occurrence, but he didn’t recognize the boat. He motioned to Domnall to wait and hoped the guardsman watching the bay had seen the boat in time to alert the men in the cave.

It took a few minutes for the skiff to pull all the way into the shore. The full moon provided enough light to count five figures aboard. Something about one of the men set the hair at the back of his neck on edge. His size … he was far too big and burly for a fisherman. Erik knew only a handful of warriors that powerfully built.

He tensed, suspecting this man was no fisherman. But he couldn’t believe the English would be smart enough to attempt such furtive tactics—nor did the cowards like to travel in small groups without an army to protect them.

A few minutes later, two of the figures jumped overboard, including the large man, and waded through the knee-high water to the shore. Though he was dressed like a poor fisherman, wearing a plain wool cap and a rough brown plaid around his shoulders, there was no mistaking the muscular build of the strongest man in Scotland.

A broad smile crept up Erik’s face. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“What is it, Captain?”

“It appears we have visitors.”

Erik left the shadows of the shoreline and strode down the beach. He called out, “Look what the tide dragged in.”

The big man turned at the sound of his voice. His granite-hard face didn’t give an inch, though it had been months since they’d seen each other. “I see no one’s killed you yet?”

“You don’t need to sound so disappointed.” Erik laughed and clapped a hand across his back. It almost hurt. “It’s not for lack of trying. What the hell are you doing here, Raider?” Erik turned to the man at his side, expecting to see Boyd’s partner, Alex “Dragon” Seton, but was surprised to see the king’s brother instead. His enjoyment dimmed somewhat. Edward Bruce was a volatile, arrogant prig who, unlike his royal brother, seemed to represent all the bad qualities in noblemen. Of Bruce’s four brothers, Edward was Erik’s least favorite. Erik gave him a curt nod of his head. “My lord,” he said, before turning back to Boyd. “How did you find me?”

“It’s a long story. One better told around a warm fire.”

Boyd instructed the fishermen to return for them before dawn.

Erik pointed him in the direction of the cave. “I look forward to hearing it.”

Boyd gave him a hard look. “And I look forward to hearing why you have half the English fleet crawling up your arse.”

Chapter Sixteen

Hours later, the men sat around the fire in the camp, having just enjoyed one of Meg’s fine meals and even more of the villagers’ fine ale. Edward Bruce was talking with Randolph, and this was the first opportunity Erik had had to speak with Boyd alone.

As good as it was to see his fellow guardsman, the news he’d brought had been grim. Nigel Bruce, Christopher Seton, and the Earl of Atholl all had been executed, and there had been no word from Viper, Saint, and Templar since they’d fled north with the women nor from Dragon since he’d gone after his brother.

“So, how did you find me?” Erik asked.

“Luck. The king sent us to scout Arran for the attack, but when we tried to return we found our route cut off by a blockade of English galleys. We took refuge at the village near Dunaverty Castle to wait for the sea-ways to clear and spoke with our friend at the castle. When he told me how you’d arrived, I figured you must be close. Edward mentioned that he’d scouted from this island when you made your escape from Dunaverty last time, so I took a chance.” He gave him a hard look. “What the hell did you do to piss off de Monthermer?”

Erik had already relayed the circumstances of his meeting with the McQuillans—including being forced to take Ellie—and the subsequent confrontation with the English ships. “Pricked his pride, that’s all.”

Boyd shook his head. “I don’t think so. Our friend at the castle said de Monthermer was there a few days ago on a rampage, questioning the servants about some ghost.”

Erik frowned and relayed the unexpected encounter with the boy in the granary, of course leaving out the part where he got knifed.

If de Monthermer was at Dunaverty, he was close. How had the Englishman made the connection? Erik had an uneasy feeling. Perhaps it was a good thing they were leaving.

“Did you have any trouble on Arran?” Erik asked.

“Nay. The English stopped on the island last week but didn’t search very closely.” Probably around the same time they’d stopped here, Erik realized. “But they’re stationed all around the waterways. We were forced to come overland and catch a boat at Dunaverty. You are going to have a hell of a time getting one boat through, let alone an entire fleet.”

Erik wasn’t worried. He’d think of something. Even if he had to lead the English away himself, Bruce would get to Arran.

They talked some more and decided that Edward and Boyd should return to Arran, rather than risk a trip through the English gauntlet, and prepare for the arrival of the army. Since Erik would be leaving tomorrow night to meet the Irish and lead them to Rathlin, he would take word back to Bruce of what Boyd and Edward had found.