The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(99)

She stiffened when she saw Thomas—Sir Thomas—approach. He sat down beside her; she pretended not to notice.

“He swam to Fair Head, didn’t he?” His voice was low so as to not be overheard by the soldiers nearby.

Her pulse jumped, but she held her expression perfectly still, keeping her gaze fixed on the shoreline. “If you are speaking of the captain, I told you what happened.”

“I didn’t tell them anything, Ellie—Lady Elyne—I swear.”

She gave him a sharp glance. “Except where to find us.”

Heat crept up his cheeks, but he thrust up his chest. “The way Hawk treated you was wrong. When I discovered who you were, I couldn’t let it continue.”

Ellie couldn’t believe it. Hawk’s entire mission could have failed because Randolph’s knightly sensibilities had been offended. She looked around to make sure no one was listening to them and whispered, “So you decided to set the English on us instead? Don’t you know what is at stake? Or do you no longer care?”

His flush grew hotter. “I know what’s at stake, although I haven’t been privy to the details. For once I’m glad my uncle did not fully take me into his confidence. I’ve said no more than was necessary to find you. As for Hawk, he always manages to land on his feet, or haven’t you figured that out yet?”

He seemed desperate for her to believe him, as if her opinion mattered, but he could not be absolved so easily. Erik had avoided capture, but just barely. Whether he’d succeeded, however, neither of them would know for some time.

“And yet you still switched sides?” she pointed out.

He met her accusatory stare unflinchingly. “I had no choice.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “Would you have rather we’d all been killed?”

Her gaze shot to his. “Of course not.”

“Well, that’s what would have happened had I not surrendered.” Much to Domnall’s anger, she imagined. But she could not blame Thomas for doing what he could to save their lives. It was what she would have done, even if Erik wouldn’t.

“Where are the rest of the men?”

“In the dungeon at Ayr.”

“And yet you are here.”

He bristled, his reaction implying censure to her tone. “My uncle and I have not seen eye-to-eye for some time. I’m a knight, not a pirate, and I wish to fight like one.”

So when he’d been given the opportunity to change sides, he’d taken it.

As much as she wanted to condemn him for it, she could not. Even aside from chivalry, Randolph had done what countless others had done before him, following his best interests, not his heart. Expediency over principle. Many of King Edward’s supporters supported him because it was prudent to do so, not because they believed in his cause. Even her father could be put in this category.

There were few William Wallaces willing to die for a noble cause.

Erik would. Loyalty, duty, honor—whatever she called it—the ties that bound him to the people he cared about were what mattered to him.

Death before surrender.

She shivered. When he’d spoken those words she did not doubt that he meant them. She could only pray that it didn’t come to that.

Had he reached the Irish in time and gotten them safely to Robert? Would Bruce’s last-ditch effort to take back his throne succeed?

It might be some time before she knew the answers to those questions. If they failed, she might never know. The agony of not knowing what had become of him just might drive her mad.

Chapter Twenty-one

After a long day of waiting—almost twelve hours since he’d left Ellie—Erik MacSorley sailed into the bay along Rathlin Isle’s western shore with the three hundred Irish soldiers he’d vowed to deliver to Bruce.

With all that had come before it, his arrival at Fair Head minutes after dawn had been strangely anticlimactic—though it had been close. The McQuillans had already begun to load their ships to leave, thinking that something must have happened to call off the attack. The Irish chief said they would have returned the following evening, but Erik wasn’t so sure. They’d already collected half their payment, and having fulfilled their end of the bargain, it would have been a substantial windfall for simply showing up.

In any event, Erik had reached them in time and, after taking care to hide the ships from any passing English patrols, they’d spent the day waiting for night to fall until they could leave for Rathlin.

Now, as he maneuvered the first of five ships into the bay, he knew he should be relieved—proud that he’d done what he set out to do, despite the many hurdles that he’d had to overcome. But the success of his mission held little satisfaction for him.

The last conversation with Ellie still sat too bitterly inside him.

The king needed to be told. But that unpleasant conversation would have to wait. First Erik had to get them to Arran, and, after the unexpected delays of the night before, he wanted to give himself as much time as possible.

The two score of men he’d left a few scant weeks ago were gathered on the shore to greet him: the king, his closest supporters, and the handful of Bruce’s loyal vassals who’d escaped with them from Dunaverty last September. But the group had swelled by an additional hundred soldiers—thanks to the additional Islemen provided by his cousin Angus Og.