The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(73)

“You’re cutting it kind of close, aren’t you?” Boyd asked. “Bringing the Irish to Rathlin at the last minute?”

“The king decided it would be more risky to attempt to hide hundreds of men on a small island.” Erik smiled. “And he knows I won’t let him down.”

“What if you can’t get through?”

“I’ll get through,” Erik said with a laugh. “We’ll travel at night; they won’t even know we’re there. Besides, they’re only English.”

Boyd grinned. Of all the Highland Guard, Boyd had cause to hate the English the most. He hailed from the borders, which had borne the brunt of English injustice for years. “I can see your confidence hasn’t suffered any. You’re still a cocky bastard.”

“And you’re still bitter over the lass in Scone. You can hardly blame her for choosing beauty and charm over brute strength.”

Boyd shook his head. Erik knew he didn’t care about the pretty barmaid. “Sod off, Hawk. She only wanted you because Arrow wasn’t there.”

Erik grinned. Boyd was probably right. When Gregor MacGregor stepped into the room, the lasses tended to forget about anyone else. The famed archer hated the attention. A damned waste, to Erik’s mind.

“I hear you’ve been keeping yourself occupied,” Edward Bruce interjected, approaching with Randolph. “Only you, Hawk, could manage to get yourself marooned on an island with your own captive.”

Erik shot a glance to Randolph, wondering what tales he’d been carrying to Edward Bruce. The lad wasn’t going to last long if he didn’t learn to keep his mouth shut. Erik’s sisters used to tattle when they were young, but at least they’d outgrown it by the time they turned ten.

“She’s not my captive,” Erik said with a hint of a warning in his tone. He didn’t want to talk about Ellie.

Edward didn’t take the hint. “Randolph here says you’ve taken a real liking to the lass. She must be a beauty, eh?”

Erik felt the muscles in his neck and shoulders begin to knot.

Unaware of Erik’s reaction, Edward continued, “Soft and sweet, with big, juicy tits?” He made a squeezing motion with his hands. “When you’re done f**king her, maybe I’ll—”

Erik saw black. He was filled with a dark, mindless rage unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. He had his hand around Edward’s neck and pinned him against the wall before he could finish.

Blood roared in his ears. His heart was hammering so fast, all he wanted to do was squeeze. “Don’t say it,” Erik warned in a deadly voice.

Edward clutched at Erik’s hand and started making gasping noises. But it was futile; Erik’s arm was as rigid and unbending as steel. “Let go of me,” he wheezed, “you bloody barbarian.”

Erik squeezed a little tighter and Edward’s eyes started to bulge.

“Let him go, Hawk.”

Boyd’s calm voice broke through the haze. Slowly, Erik’s mind cleared and, realizing he was about to strangle the king’s brother, he released his hold on Edward’s neck.

Edward bent over at the waist, with his hands around his neck, gasping for air. “What the hell do you think you were doing?” he accused, red-faced and spitting angry. “How dare you put your hands on me. My brother will hear about this.”

That was exactly Edward Bruce’s problem. He’d never learned to live out of the shadow of his much greater brother. He was a crude, arrogant bastard who thought his nobility gave him the excuse to say and do whatever he wanted. Usually Erik ignored him. But when Edward had mentioned Ellie …

All he could think about was killing him. That Edward had been able to provoke such a reaction was disconcerting. It was nothing Erik hadn’t said before—albeit less crudely. In fact, not long ago, he’d made a similar jest to MacLeod about his new bride and nearly had his head lopped off by his decidedly unamused friend. It was the first time Erik had realized just how besotted MacLeod was with his wife.

But that situation was nothing like this one.

He peered over at Edward. “Do what you need to do, Number Two.” Edward’s eyes flared even redder at the name Erik had jokingly coined for him a few months back—ostensibly a reference to his birth position, but just as much a reflection of his always coming second to his much admired brother. Edward stormed out of the cave, and Erik sat back down on the rock that he’d so swiftly vacated.

He felt Boyd’s gaze studying him. For a vicious brute, he was annoyingly perceptive. “So that’s what it looks like when you get angry? Chief mentioned something, but I’ll admit I didn’t believe him.”

Erik took a deep drink of ale, wondering why he felt like a bug under a damned rock.

Boyd gave a soft whistle. “She must be some woman. You’ve just made yourself one hell of a powerful enemy.”

“It had nothing to do with her. Edward’s an arse. That’s been a long time coming.” It was true, but it still didn’t explain Erik’s reaction.

Boyd studied him a little longer and then, thankfully, changed the subject.

The cold night air numbed her cheeks as Ellie peered out the small window into the darkness. She could see little beyond the circles of light cast from the torches positioned on either side of the entry of Meg’s longhouse.