The Hawk: A Highland Guard Novel

by Monica McCarty

  “Look for him,” the soldier ordered the three other men. To her, he said, “Stop struggling, my lady; we’re trying to help you.”

  The three other soldiers didn’t seem eager to get wet, but they followed the leader’s orders. The minutes tolled painfully by as the search continued. The soldier was talking to her, but she wasn’t listening. Tears streamed down her cheeks as Ellie prayed for a miracle. Erik could hold his breath longer than any man she’d ever seen. Maybe he’d been able to reach the cave.

  The man holding her must have reached a similar conclusion. “Where were you, my lady? We were watching the water, but you seemed to have come out of nowhere.”

  Ellie thought quickly. “Swimming around the other side of the rocks.”

  He looked as if he didn’t believe her, but thankfully one of the other soldiers approached, and he stopped questioning her.

  “Nothing, Captain.”

  Ellie didn’t know whether to be horrified or relieved. If they caught him, they’d only try to kill him again.

  The man holding her nodded. “Get Richard and Will—”

  He stopped, his gaze searching the waves. “Where’s William?”

  The other soldier shook his head.

  “Find him!”

  Ellie’s heart was in her throat. It had to be …

  Her faith was rewarded when Erik suddenly launched himself out of the water, thrusting the spear that had been thrown at him into the chest of the soldier called Richard. Ellie turned her gaze, but only for a moment. In that split second, he’d managed to pull Richard’s dagger free from his lifeless body and had turned to face the third soldier, who was approaching with his sword held high.

  The man holding her swore and tossed her to the ground. He pulled his bow from across his back and readied an arrow, aiming it at Erik, who was fighting the hip-high waves and the longer reach of the soldier’s sword.

  Ellie didn’t think. She sprang to her feet and knocked the soldier’s hand just as he released the arrow, sending it careening safely away from Erik.

  The soldier in the water raised his sword again and Erik made his move, barreling into him as the sword descended. He swung his arm up to block the blow with enough force to send the sword flying through the air. Moments later it plunged into the water. Unable to penetrate the soldier’s mail with the dagger, Erik wrapped his arm around the other man’s neck and gave a harsh, snapping twist.

  The soldier on the beach cursed and started to shout for help.

  More soldiers had to be nearby.

  Erik ran toward them from the water, looking like a demon possessed.

  The soldier grabbed Ellie again and started to run toward a small, grassy hillock nestling the south of the cove. But her weight and struggles slowed him down. Before they even reached the edge of the beach, Erik had caught up with them.

  “Let her go,” he boomed. His voice sounded different. Harder. Harsher. More forceful than she’d ever heard him.

  The soldier stopped and forced her behind him. Sword drawn, he turned to face Erik. But Erik was already on him. Heedless of the blade hovering over his head, Erik pummeled him in the jaw with his fist, knocking the soldier off balance. She heard a crunch as he followed the punch with an immediate side-of-the-hand blow to the soldier’s wrist—opposite of the way it bent naturally—causing the sword to fall from his flopping hand. With a quick swipe of his foot, he knocked the soldier to the ground and drew the dagger across his neck.

  Ellie quickly averted her gaze. War, dying, and bloodshed were all too common, but not something she ever got used to.

  And Erik’s coldly efficient killing style was something entirely different. It had been the most brutal display of fighting she’d ever seen, though it was over in a matter of seconds. Seeing him like this, she no longer doubted Domnall’s story of him facing a score of warriors.

  He pulled her from the rocks and drew her into his arms, holding her tightly against him. She could feel the press of his mouth on her head. The change from ruthless killer to tender lover couldn’t have been more dramatic.

  “God, Ellie, are you all right?”

  She nodded, her cheek resting against the cold, sodden linen of his tunic, the steady sound of his heartbeat calming her. “I’m fine.” She drew back, startled. “What about you?” Her gaze dropped to his side, where the saffron-colored fabric was now stained with a wide blotch of red. “You’re hurt,” she sobbed, pressing her hands to his wound.

  He cupped her chin with his fingers and lifted her gaze to his. “It’s nothing. A graze, that’s all.”

  She didn’t believe him until he showed her, lifting his shirt to reveal the thin, shallow slash on his side, and the hole in his tunic where the spear had caught and propelled him backward.

  She closed her eyes, saying a prayer of thanks. A few more inches and the spear would have skewered him.

  “You were lucky,” she said. Her throat thickened and tears sprang to her eyes. “They might have killed you.” As obviously had been their intent.

  He grinned and dropped a soft kiss on her mouth. “Ah, love, it will take more than four English curs to take me down. The wind at my back, remember?”

  She nodded. Fortune did seem to follow him. At another time she would have rolled her eyes at his boasting, but right now she was too grateful to care.

  “We need to get out of here,” he said, his face suddenly grim. “Those soldiers didn’t come alone. There must be a ship nearby.”

  Ellie tilted her head in the direction of the fallen soldier. “He was calling for help.”

  “That means they’re close. Go back to the skiff and get dressed; you must be freezing.”

  She’d been too terrified to notice, but she was shivering uncontrollably.

  “Where are you going?” Her voice sounded a little panicky, and after what had just happened, she didn’t want to let him out of her sight.

  He pointed to the hillock. “To see where the rest of them are.” He leaned down to pick up the fallen man’s sword. “Hurry.”

  She did as he bade, quickly donning the woolen gown, her hose, and slippers. She’d just finished wrapping the plaid around her shoulders when he joined her.

  She could tell from his harsh movements and fierce expression that something was wrong. Her stomach dropped, realizing it must be bad to have penetrated that unflappable demeanor.

  “What is it? Did you see their galley?”

  He dressed and armed himself as he spoke. “Aye, it’s on the other side of the hill—along with about a dozen soldiers.”

  “But that’s not what’s bothering you?”

  He finished buckling the scabbard that held his sword across his back and turned to meet her gaze. She could see the fury storming in his eyes.

  “There are four English galleys guarding the bay, and smoke is coming from the direction of the beach.” He pointed south, and she could just make out the gray wisps against the similarly colored skies. “The English have found us.”

  Time tolled at an agonizing pace as Erik waited for the English to give up their hunt. But they were relentless, turning over every rock on the small island.

  It had taken every ounce of self-control he possessed not to race back to the beach immediately. But he couldn’t. Two things stood in his way: he needed to protect Ellie—the sight of her in the English soldier’s grasp was not one he would soon forget—and he had to think about his mission.

  If he were captured, Bruce wouldn’t have his mercenaries in time. Nor would he have Erik to lead the fleet to Arran. The mission had to come first. His men were well trained and could take care of themselves.

  But hiding in a cave rather than joining the fight went against every bone in his body. Hours later he was going half-mad, feeling like a lion caged in a very small pen.

  How the hell had they found them?

  Knowing that the English would come looking for the missing soldiers, he’d dragged the skiff down the beach, making sure to leave plenty of tracks go
uged in the sand. He wanted the English to think they’d fled. They didn’t know the old skiff wouldn’t last five minutes in the heavy currents of the channel.

  He rowed them to the larger of the two small islets known as Sheep Island, off the northern tip of Spoon. From there he could see most of the western side of the island and the English ships guarding the bay, though not the beach itself.

  He’d left Ellie in the cave under another natural arch while he watched, paced, and tried to keep a rein on his anxiousness as he waited for the English to give up the hunt. But every minute passed with excruciating slowness.

  Time was his enemy. The McQuillans were expecting him tonight, and the short time frame for them to reach Arran for the attack—the very next night—left him little room for error. As the day wore on, and not knowing what he would find when he returned to the bay, the roughly fifteen-mile journey to Ireland suddenly loomed large.

  He knew there was nothing he would have done differently—the prudent move had been to stay put—but he couldn’t help second-guessing himself.

  The tension was tying him in knots. When Ellie came up behind him and put her hand on his arm, he jerked.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you.” She peered through the murky, drizzly skies to the cove where they’d nearly been discovered. “Have they gone?”

  He nodded. “A short while ago.”

  Not long after he and Ellie had fled in the skiff, a galley had landed in the cove. It left quickly and returned a short while later with a second ship. This time the English stayed much longer. Finally, a few minutes ago, one ship had sailed south, and the other headed north to Kintyre. Erik hoped that meant the English believed they’d fled the island.

  “Will they be back again?” she asked.

  “Probably. But not today. It will be dark in a couple of hours.”

  “What happened to the other ships?”

  “I don’t know. They moved beyond the mouth of the bay and I lost sight of them.”

  If the fleet was returning to the Ayrshire coast—where the English were stationed—they would sail south of the island, opposite where he and Ellie were now.

  “When can we go back?”

  He could see the agony of his own fears reflected in her eyes. “Soon.” Knowing how difficult this must be for her, he drew her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. It had been a tumultuous day for both of them—in more ways than one. Yet through it all, Ellie had demonstrated strength and resiliency that made him proud. Not to mention the arrow she’d saved him from.

  He wondered if she realized that she’d chosen him over the English from whom she’d sought rescue not two weeks ago.

  She curled against him, burrowing her head against his chest. He stroked her hair, feeling calm for the first time in hours. “You must be hungry.”

  She shook her head. “I haven’t even thought about food.”

  He understood. Like him, she was worried about his men and the villagers.

  “Do you think …”

  She didn’t finish the thought, but he knew what she’d been about to ask. He tipped her chin and dropped a soft kiss on her mouth. A hard pang squeezed his chest. “They’ll be fine,” he assured her with more confidence than he felt. He hoped the English would leave the villagers alone, but his men were outlaws and the dragon banner had been raised. Anger surged inside him, but he held it at bay, knowing he could do nothing about it—yet.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, lifting her face to his. He could see the tears shimmering in her wide hazel eyes. “I know you would have gone to help them if it wasn’t for me.”

  “Nay,” he said roughly. “I wouldn’t have.” He didn’t want her to blame herself. Actually, slipping away with Ellie might have just saved his entire mission. He could well be in the same circumstances as his men. “I couldn’t risk it. There is something important I must do.”

  “For Robert?” He looked at her strangely, and she blushed scarlet. “It’s how the family refers to him.”

  He didn’t say anything. Though he knew he could trust her, he was under orders to keep his mission a secret.

  But she’d already put most of it together. “The Irish soldiers …” Her voice dropped off. “You are to bring them to him. When?”

  “Tonight.”

  Her eyes widened. His sentiments exactly.

  “What if you are late?”

  “That’s not an option.”

  He felt her eyes on him. “I see.”

  He knew she realized what it meant: an attack was imminent. “I don’t need to tell you what is at stake.”

  She shook her head and fell into a contemplative silence.

  He waited as long as he dared. With only an hour of daylight left, he helped Ellie into the skiff and rowed back to the bay, staying close to the shoreline and carefully checking before rounding any blind curves.

  It was deathly quiet as he pulled the skiff around the headland into the mouth of the bay. The fires that had been lit on the beach still smoldered, and the deathly scent of smoke tinged the tangy sea air. The bay itself was empty, with not a single fishing boat in sight. He swore, realizing what must have fueled the fires. His situation had just gotten even worse. The English were taking no chances. If he was still on the island, they were going to make sure it stayed that way by burning any method of transport off the island.

  Though he knew it was implausible that his men hadn’t been found, he half expected to see Domnall wander out of the cave. Hell, right now he’d even welcome Randolph’s grousing.

  But no one came to greet them.

  It was eerily quiet, the heavy mist thickening the still air in a drizzly cloud.

  He pulled the skiff onto shore and ordered Ellie to stay in the boat. That she didn’t protest told him she understood why.

  He passed the charred remnants of a few fishing boats as he made his way up the shore. From the number of footprints in the sand, it appeared that the English had descended in force on the beach. His men would have had some warning, but against so many the battle would have been brief. He suspected they’d hidden in the cave, waiting to attack if necessary.

  His suspicions were confirmed a few minutes later when he found the first body at the entrance to the cave. A few feet beyond were two more. Death was nothing new to him, but the pain of losing a man never lessened.

  He bit back his rage and braced himself for the worst, expecting a slaughter. But surprisingly, he didn’t find any more bodies among the scattered belongings of his crew.

  What the hell had happened to them?

  He walked back to the beach, the gravity of the situation hitting him full force. As much as he was worried about his men, his first concern had to be his mission. He needed to get to Ireland to meet the McQuillans, and at the moment he didn’t have men or a boat. He also couldn’t be sure when the English would be coming back, which meant he needed to leave here as soon as possible.

  Ellie was watching him intently as he approached. He read the question in her eyes and told her what he’d found.

  “What about the others?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “And Meg?”

  “That’s where I’m going now.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “That’s not a good idea.” There was no telling what he’d find.

  Ellie squared her shoulders and got that stubborn nursemaid look on her face. “I don’t need you to protect me.” Undoubtedly realizing how ridiculous that sounded in light of what they’d just been through, she amended. “Not from this.” She gave him a pleading look. “Please, Meg is my friend, too.”

  He held her gaze and nodded. Meg’s house was dark as they approached, and Erik wasn’t surprised to find it empty. Hoping that she’d retreated inland when the English arrived, he suggested that they continue on to the next holding.

  Meg must have seen them approach and raced out to greet them. Ellie had tears in her eyes as Meg folded her in he
r arms, relief that he shared.

  “Thank God,” Meg said. “I thought they’d found you, too.”

  “What happened?” Erik asked.

  Meg told them that the ships had arrived not long after they left. She claimed there had been at least a dozen of them, and they’d circled the island. “It’s almost as if they knew you were here,” she said.

  He’d reached the same conclusion.

  As he suspected, Meg said there had been a warning but not enough time for the men to attempt to escape. The English had come in full force. Meg had watched from the cliff as the English searched the beach, and, eventually, as they led the men from the cave.

  Erik frowned. It wasn’t like his men to surrender. Highlanders fought to the death.

  Meg must have guessed his thoughts, because she said, “I saw Thomas talking with their leader.”

  Randolph surrendering, now that made sense. Meg went on to explain how the soldiers had gathered up the villagers and questioned them, searching every house.

  “You are all right?” he asked.

  She nodded. “They didn’t harm any of us.” A puzzled look crossed her face. “The English commander wasn’t as bad as most.”

  Erik was relieved but surprised. It wasn’t like the English to show such restraint, especially for harboring fugitives. “My birlinn?” he asked.

  “Taken,” Meg said.

  Erik’s mouth fell in a flat line. He would rather have seen it burned than captained by an Englishman.

  “I need to find a ship right away.”

  Meg shook her head. “There is nothing left. Not even a fishing boat. They burned them all.” She explained how the fishermen from around the island were gathered at the church in the village, devastated by the English soldiers’ cruelty in destroying their livelihoods. Erik vowed to make sure that every one of those boats was replaced. But first, he had to figure out a way to get out of here.

  “They were looking for you,” Meg paused. “And the lass.”

  Erik swore. He glanced at Ellie and noticed that she’d paled.

  “Me?” she intoned, eyes wide.

  “Not by name,” Meg assured her. “Just that Hawk was with a lass.”