The Recruit (Highland Guard #6)(119)

Her frown deepened, not understanding. He’d done so much for her. But there was no time to question him. Magnus sent Sir Adam on his way, ordered her to go with two men he called Hawk and Viper, and took the two other men he called Hunter and Striker with him to find Kenneth.

They’d been riding for a few minutes when the first pain struck with rather alarming intensity. She pulled up on the reins of her horse so sharply that she nearly fell off.

The marginally less terrifying of the two—the one who smiled—swore and managed to get her horse back under control. “What’s wrong?”

Mary put her hand over her stomach. “I don’t know.” But she did know. “I think I might be … that is, I think the babe—”

It was too early. The baby wasn’t due for at least another month.

The one Magnus had called Viper swore. “Bloody hell, don’t tell me you’re having the baby right now?”

If she wasn’t wracked by another painful cramp, she might have laughed at the terrified expressions on the faces of the two men who themselves looked as if they were the bogeymen of children’s nightmares.

“Not right now,” she hedged.

“But the pains have started?” the man they called Hawk asked in a far gentler voice.

She nodded.

The man called Viper swore. He looked at the other man. “You take her. You’ve done it more than I have. I don’t think I can handle it again.”

“I thought you could handle anything, cousin. You actually sound scared.”

“And you’re not?”

Hawk grimaced. “Point taken. Damn, I wish Angel was here.”

Mary was trying to prevent herself from crying out, but a small sound must have escaped.

The two men swore in unison, although the one called Viper used a far more vile word. She found herself lifted from her saddle and put in front of the man who used to be smiling—he wasn’t smiling anymore.

She could feel the tension emanating from him in the seemingly interminable ride to the eastern seaboard, though it couldn’t have been more than a few miles. Every time a pain wracked her—the pains were erratic, but seemed to be about twenty minutes apart—she could feel the anxiety building in him.

“Just hold on, lass,” he said, trying to soothe her.

But the two men were clearly out of their element and their tension and anxiety increased her own. She wanted her husband. Where was he?

She must have spoken her question aloud.

“He’ll be here soon, lass,” Hawk said, leaving off the “I hope” that she heard unsaid.

One hard contraction later they reached the ship, which the men had hidden in a cove, somewhere north of Berwick. There were a dozen additional men waiting for them aboard the birlinn, the type of ship favored by the West Highlander seafarers. She shivered seeing the terrifying-looking hawk carved into the prow, which was all too reminiscent of their ancestor Viking longships.

At least she knew how one of the men had earned his name. She didn’t think she wanted to know the other. “Viper” had all kinds of ominous connotations that seemed to fit the menacing-looking warrior. The captain—Hawk—helped her into the boat, trying to make her as comfortable as possible. She could see the wide-eyed look of fear spread over the crew as her situation became known, which didn’t relax her any. Mary was scared and in considerable pain, but she did her best to hide it from the others, seeing their helplessness.

She tried to take long, deep breaths, thinking it would calm her. It didn’t, but at least it kept her mind focused on something other than the prolonged absence of her husband. She could feel the men getting restless. Obviously, sitting in wait a few miles from three thousand English soldiers was making them uneasy.

Surely, Kenneth should be here by now? Her party had been forced to travel at a much slower pace; he should have caught up. What if he hadn’t been able to get away? What if they’d taken him to the pit prison in Berwick Castle? How would three men—even Bruce’s phantoms—be able to get him out?

She smothered a cry, holding her stomach in her hands and curling up in a ball as another pain struck.

“Count,” one of the sailors said from beside her. He was a heavily bearded man with the rough, craggy face of someone who’d spent many years on a boat. “My wife has had ten babes, and she says it helps to count aloud. If you know how long they’ll last it helps to bear the pain.”

Mary wasn’t sure about that, but at least it would give her something to do. She counted to twenty before the contraction started to release. “Men approaching, Captain!” someone shouted.

It seemed as if an enormous, silent cheer went up. Apparently, the men were eager to relinquish their responsibility: her. From her place in the curve of the hull, it wasn’t easy to sit up, so she was forced to wait for him to find her.

“Where is she?”

The men cleared a path, and she caught her first glimpse of him. He was filthy, covered in dirt and blood, his face streaked with soot, dark hair matted with sweat from his helm, but he’d never looked more magnificent. She wanted to throw her arms around him and bury her head against his chest like a bairn. She tried to sit up, but felt a pinch that made her wince and sink back against the comfortable hull.

Kenneth swore, his furious gaze shooting to Hawk. “What’s wrong with her? Is she hurt?”