The Ranger (Highland Guard #3)(44)

The man standing beside Erik “Hawk” MacSorley made a sharp sound—reminiscent of a laugh, but with scorn rather than amusement. “Hawk’s wife has him by the bollocks. She’d due to have a child any day now, and he jumps at every sound, thinking it’s the damned messenger.” Lachlan MacRuairi, known by the war name of Viper among the Highland Guard, shook his head with disgust. “It’s bloody pathetic.”

Hawk grinned. “My wife can hold my bollocks anytime she wants. And we’ll see how calm you are when your time comes.”

A dark look came over MacRuairi’s face, his slitted, piercing gaze glowing like a wildcat’s in the moonlight. And people thought Arthur was eerie.

“It’ll be a cold day in Hades before that time comes. I’ve had a wife. I’d rather have my bollocks cut off and stuffed through my nose than have another.”

Of all the members of the Highland Guard, MacRuairi was the only one whom Arthur didn’t like—or trust. The West Highland descendant of the mighty Somerled, King of the Isles, had a black heart, a vicious temper, and a biting tongue. Like the cold-hearted snake from which his war name had derived, MacRuairi also had a deadly, silent strike.

From the first Arthur’s senses had flared, cautioning wariness. But while it didn’t take any unusual abilities to sense the anger emanating from MacRuairi—nay, rage—what bothered Arthur was the darkness that went with it. Darkness that had only grown deeper since the king’s wife, daughter, sister, and Bella MacDuff had been captured by the English on MacRuairi’s watch. Getting them back was all he cared about. He’d tried a few months back to free Bella from her cage hung high above Berwick Castle, but it proved an impossible task, even for the elite warriors of the Highland Guard. She’d been freed from her cruel prison recently, but no one knew where she was.

But MacRuairi had his uses. Aside from expertly wielding the two swords he wore crossed over his back, he could get in and out of anywhere. A lack of conscience also came in handy for unpleasant tasks. To win this war, they would all need to get their hands dirty. MacRuairi’s were just dirtier than most.

Only MacRuairi was more of an outsider in the Highland Guard than Arthur. Most of the men were wary of the hostile Islander—and rightly so. The leader of the Guard, Tor MacLeod, tolerated him, having come to some kind of understanding with his former blood enemy, but only William Gordon and MacSorley genuinely seemed to like him.

“Never say never, cousin,” MacSorley said. “Your problem was marrying the wrong woman. One of these days the right one will come along.” He paused and gave him a sly look. “If she hasn’t already.”

Arthur suspected MacSorley was referring to Bella MacDuff, Countess of Buchan. She’d taken an immediate dislike to the infamous cateran pirate. Arthur thought the dislike was mutual, but he hadn’t been around enough to know whether MacSorley spoke true.

But if he were MacSorley, he’d watch his back for the next few days. MacRuairi looked as if he wanted to kill him. “You don’t know what the f**k you’re talking about.”

MacSorley only grinned. “Such crude language. Could I possibly have hit a nerve, cousin?”

Not a few days. Arthur would watch his back for a week. MacRuairi looked ready to strike. “I’m just damned sick and tired of hearing about it. You’re like a priest trying to convert the pagans. Spread your poison about the joys of marriage somewhere else; I’m not interested.”

MacSorley’s wide grin only seemed to make his kinsman angrier.

Arthur couldn’t believe he was hearing the swaggering seafarer exalt the virtues of marriage and “the right woman.” MacSorley’s bigger-than-life personality and bold charm drew almost as many women as MacGregor’s pretty face. Hawk loved women and they loved him. Hard to think of him settling down with one. She had to be a stunner. The big Viking always had a bevy of bold beauties with lush figures at his command.

Knowing MacSorley wouldn’t stop needling his kinsman until they came to blows, Arthur changed the subject. “Why did you need to see me? I assume it must be important to risk meeting like this.”

To preserve Arthur’s cover, the king had taken great precautions. Meetings were arranged only on an as needed basis, by leaving coded messages at one of the numerous stone monuments that littered the countryside, such as the stone circle where they’d gathered tonight. King Robert relished the connection with Scotland’s ancient past, and the mystical stones seemed a fitting allusion for his secret guard of the greatest warriors in Scotland.

Most communications were by messenger—only rarely did Arthur risk meeting with his fellow guardsmen. After infiltrating the MacDougalls, it had become even more difficult. He’d lost much of the freedom of movement he’d enjoyed working on his own. Tonight, he’d had to sneak out of Duntrune Castle in the middle of the night and hope to hell no one discovered he’d gone.

MacSorley sobered. “Aye, we received word last week that you’d come south. I’m glad you saw our message.”

Arthur tried to check the monuments as often as he could. When he’d seen the three smaller stones arranged in a triangle in the center, he’d known: it was the code to come as soon as possible. It was the same message he’d left at the cave north of Dunollie Castle before he’d gone south. With its access to the sea, the cave was the safest place for Bruce’s men to venture and only a few miles south of Dunstaffnage. “I assume since you knew where to leave it that you received mine?”