The Hawk: A Highland Guard Novel

by Monica McCarty

  “So you decided to give me no choice in the matter.”

  He grinned unrepentantly. “Of course you have a choice; I just decided to ensure you picked me.”

  She met his gaze unflinchingly. “What if I no longer want you?”

  His eyes flickered as if she’d struck him. The sudden look of uncertainty on that too-handsome, cocky face almost made up for the months of torture he’d put her through. Almost.

  He knelt down beside her and lifted her hand to his mouth. “Please, love, give me a chance to make it up to you.”

  Emotion swelled in her throat, making her voice raw. “Why should I believe you?”

  He looked into her eyes. “Because in your heart you know it’s the truth. I was the one too blind to see it. But I swear I’ll never give you a reason to doubt me again.”

  He sounded so sincere and looked so sorry, it made her heart soften—just a little.

  “Come on, lass,” Domnall interjected. “Show a little compassion for the rest of us and forgive the man. He’s been unbearable since you left.”

  She frowned at the older man. “I thought you weren’t supposed to be listening.”

  “And miss this?” Domnall chortled. “Lass, I’ve been waiting twenty years to see him grovel for a woman; I intend on enjoying every bloody minute of it.”

  “Grovel?” Erik said, horrified. “What the hell are you talking about? I’m not groveling.”

  Ellie lifted one delicately arched brow, challenging his assessment of the situation.

  He frowned, shooting a scowl at Domnall. “I thought you were supposed to be on my side.”

  “I am, laddie,” the other man laughed, “I am.”

  Ignoring their audience, Erik turned back to her. “Can you forgive me?”

  Ellie gave him a hard stare. Truth be told, she was already halfway to doing so, but she intended to let him suffer just a little longer. A few hours, after all, was nothing compared to four months.

  She lifted her chin, giving him her best nursemaid stare. “I haven’t decided. Perhaps you should take me home and let me think about it for a while.”

  He sighed and shook his head regretfully. “I’m sorry it has to be this way, lass, but you’ve left me no choice.” He looked over to Domnall. “I told you she wouldn’t be reasonable.”

  “That you did, laddie. That you did.”

  Ellie looked back and forth between the two men, wondering what devilry he was up to now. He had that wicked gleam in his eye that boded mischief. “What do you intend to do with me?”

  He leaned closer to her, brushing his mouth against her ear. She trembled, heat shivering down her spine. “I intend to take you home and prove it to you. Over and over again, until you believe me.”

  Ellie gasped, understanding his meaning. The sensual promise in his voice sent a flood of heated awareness tingling between her legs. “So you intend to ravish me?”

  “Over and over.”

  “I got that part.” She tried to bite back a smile. Once a Viking, always a Viking. But he intended to take her home? “I don’t think my father will approve of your methods.”

  He winked, knowing he had her. “Fortunately for me, he’ll be a long way away.”

  Ellie lay sprawled across his chest, her soft, naked body pressed to his in a tangle of limbs and bed linens. Filled with a happiness that humbled him, Erik didn’t want to think about how close he’d come to losing her.

  He twirled a dark silken lock around his finger, thinking that this must be as close to heaven as any living man would want to come.

  “So I was right,” she said. “This is your home.”

  He’d brought her back to Spoon Isle, to the great house that had belonged to his father. As promised, the king had returned his lands to him. John of Lorn might disagree, but they would deal with him soon enough.

  “I’ve come to think of it as home, although I’ve many others.”

  She smiled up at him, and his chest twisted. As a man who fortune had favored most of his life, he’d never truly understood how lucky he was until now.

  “Because of me?”

  “Aye.” He kissed her on the nose. “When the war is over, I’ll build you the finest castle you’ve ever seen.”

  She put her head down on his chest and gave him a squeeze. “I have everything I want right here.” She paused. “How long can we stay?”

  “A week, maybe a little longer.” He wanted to keep her to himself for as long as possible. Once his mother and sisters got a hold of her, he wouldn’t know a moment’s peace. “I’ll take you to Islay before I rejoin the king. You’ll be safe there with my mother and sisters.”

  She paled.

  He felt a pang, fearing she’d reconsidered. “Are you sorry already, love? I know you will miss your family. I’ve asked you to give up so much.”

  She gave him a sideways glance. “As I recall, there wasn’t much asking.”

  He grinned and squeezed her to him a little harder. “I couldn’t take a chance that you would refuse me. I’m used to getting what I want.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  He gave her a mock frown. “Spending time with my mother and sisters will be good for you.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “What do you mean?”

  “They’ll put you right about me being irresistible.”

  She nudged him in the stomach. Laughing, he rolled her under him, kissing her until the passion burning between them ignited once more. Slowly he made love to her again, holding her hand to his chest and gazing into her eyes, as he slid in and out with long, languid strokes.

  He watched the ecstasy transform her features with a heavenly light and sank into her one last time, holding her to him as the love he felt for her poured from his body in deep, shattering waves.

  It was some time before he could speak again. She’d resumed her position across his chest, and he could see that slight frown had gathered between her brows.

  He had that uneasy feeling again. “What is it, love? What’s bothering you?”

  “Will they like me?” she asked.

  He smiled, more relieved than he wanted to let on. “My mother and sisters?” He dropped a kiss on her nose. “They’ll love you as much as I do. Although …”

  Her eyes opened wide. “What is it?”

  He pretended to frown. “My mother is a rather traditional woman—she wouldn’t approve of your ravishing me like this—and as I have every intention of letting you continue, I’m afraid you’ll have to marry me.”

  She swatted at him again. “Wretch. You had me terrified for a moment.” She gave him a long look. “I suppose I could be persuaded to marry you.”

  He grinned and slid his hand over the soft curve of her bottom, pressing her more intimately to him. “Persuading is good.”

  She shook her head. “Is that all you think about?”

  He just grinned.

  She rolled her eyes. “I was talking about a few conditions.”

  The grin slid from his face. “What kind of conditions?”

  “No other women, for one.” Before he could respond, she added, “No flirting, touching, kissing, and none of those little bottom taps of yours.”

  He put his hand over his heart in mock horror. “Not the bottom taps?”

  She pursed her mouth. “I’m afraid I must insist upon this.”

  Their eyes met, and despite her playfulness, he sensed a layer of vulnerability beneath her words.

  All vestiges of teasing aside, he tipped her chin and looked deep into her eyes. “I haven’t been with anyone else since I met you.”

  He couldn’t blame her for the skeptical look that crossed her face.

  He smiled wryly. “Believe me, it’s just as surprising to me. But after four months, nine days, and,” he gazed out the window at the angle of the sun, “eight hours, give or take, I’m convinced. I love you, Ellie; you are all I want, and all I will ever need.”

  The smile that lit her features went straight to his heart. “
Really?”

  “Really.” He swept his fingers over her cheek. “I’m loyal, Ellie. Once given, my loyalty is yours forever.” He paused. “Perhaps I should be the one demanding conditions. It’s not me who was about to marry someone else.”

  She made a face, and he was surprised at how much it still bothered him. He had no right to be jealous, but damn it, he was.

  “Ah, yes, well, about that.” She bit her lip. “I’m afraid I left a rather important detail out about the wedding today.”

  His brow furrowed. “What kind of detail?”

  Her mouth quirked, as if she were fighting back a smile. “The identity of the bride.”

  If she’d wanted to shock him, she’d succeeded. “I don’t understand. The king said his sister-in-law was marrying de Monthermer.”

  “She is. My sister Matty should be marrying him as we speak.”

  “Your sister?” he echoed. He couldn’t believe it.

  She nodded, explaining how she’d sensed something strange going on between the two of them, but hadn’t put it all together until after she’d returned from Scotland and forced her sister to confess the source of her misery. With her father’s blessing, they’d quietly changed the names on the betrothal contract.

  Erik’s eyes narrowed. The naughty vixen. “And you didn’t think to tell me this?”

  She mimicked his unrepentant grin. “I thought you deserved a little penance for what you put me through.”

  His mouth twisted. Perhaps he did.

  She bit her lip, apparently considering something she hadn’t before. “I know you said you left a note, but I hope my disappearance doesn’t cause them to stop the wedding.”

  “I don’t think it will. This Matty, does she by chance have big blue eyes and long, wavy blond hair?”

  She nodded. “You know her?”

  “We met this morning.”

  It was her turn to be shocked.

  “I didn’t know which window was yours.” He gave a boyish shrug. “I picked the wrong one. At first I thought she was going to scream, but then she smiled and told me it took me long enough. She asked me if I intended to marry you, and when I said I did, she pointed me in the right direction.”

  Ellie laughed. “That sounds like Matty.”

  She nuzzled her cheek to his chest contentedly. He could feel her fingertip tracing the mark on his arm and wasn’t surprised when she said, “It looks different. This pattern that goes all the way around your arm like a torque wasn’t here before. It looks like a …” She looked up at him and smiled. “It’s a spiderweb! Because of the story you told me?”

  He dropped a kiss on her nose. “You are far too observant.”

  She ran her finger over it again. “And that looks like a birlinn in the web.” Aye, that had been in his idea. “I should have realized what the markings meant before: the rampant lion is the symbol of Scotland’s kingship,” she said. “But it signifies something else, doesn’t it?” He didn’t say anything. “It’s the reason you keep your identity secret. You and that man at camp—you’re part of the band of phantom warriors I’ve heard about.”

  “Ellie …” He shook his head. Secrets, it seemed, were going to be difficult around her. “You make it difficult for a man to keep his vow.”

  She grinned. “You didn’t tell me anything, I guessed.” She eyed him slyly. “But if I’m going to marry you, I think I deserve to know one thing.”

  He arched a brow. “What’s that?”

  “My new name.”

  He laughed and kissed her. “So does that mean you’ll marry me?”

  “I’m still thinking.”

  “Hmm. Did I mention that I own at least a dozen islands?”

  Her eyes sparked with excitement. “You do?”

  He nodded. “I might be persuaded to show them to you.” His expression turned serious. “Marry me, Ellie. I’ll take you wherever you want to go. I’ll show you the world. Just say you’ll be my wife.”

  “Aye,” she said softly, her eyes glistening with tears. “I’ll marry you.”

  He hugged her tight, half-tempted to take her to the church right now—before she could change her mind. But he knew his mother and sisters would never forgive him. He tipped her chin and kissed her tenderly. “It’s MacSorley.”

  She let out a gurgle of laughter, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Son of the summer traveler. I should have guessed. You really are a pirate.”

  He laughed, took her in his arms, and showed her just how ruthless a pirate could be. Over and over.

  Epilogue

  July 7, 1307

  Robert Bruce, King of Scotland, was sitting with the ten members of the Highland Guard in his temporary war room in the Great Hall of Carrick Castle when the messenger arrived.

  Now that Hawk had returned—married, and from the satisfied grin on his face, back to himself—only one of the elite warriors was missing. Not missing, he corrected, planted like a seed deep in the heart of his enemy, ready to take root when the time had come.

  Bruce motioned the man forward.

  “For you, sire.” He bowed, handing him the piece of parchment. “From Burgh-on-Sands.”

  Bruce frowned, wondering if this was the news they’d been waiting for. Edward had mustered his men in Carlisle a few days ago and was reported to have raised himself from his sickbed once more to lead the march on Bruce.

  He opened the missive, scanned the three words, and fell back in his chair.

  “What is it?” MacLeod asked. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Bruce gazed at him in stunned disbelief. “Perhaps I have. But this is a ghost I’m happy to see.” He looked around the room, elation slowly building inside him to replace the shock. “He’s dead.” He laughed, it finally sinking in that his old nemesis was gone. “Send out the word to ring every church bell from coast to coast. King Edward has gone to the bloody devil!”

  The men exploded in triumphant cheers. They would not show pity for the man in death who’d shown so little mercy to them in life. The self-styled “Hammer of the Scots” had gone to hell where he belonged, taking his dreaded dragon banner along with him.

  He knew that with Edward Plantagenet’s death, the tide had turned once more from England back to Scotland. To the enemies within. Instead of Edward, Bruce would be facing his own countrymen across the battlefield: the murderous MacDowells in the south who’d killed his brothers, and his old enemies in the north, the Comyns and the MacDougalls.

  He smiled. The seed he’d planted was about to take root.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  As I mentioned in the author’s note for The Chief, in one of those cool, serendipitous moments while researching my “Special Ops in Kilts” idea, I found a stray mention of a “warband” of Islemen appointed by Angus Og MacDonald to protect Robert the Bruce on his return to Scotland after taking refuge in the Isles. The character of Erik MacSorley is based on Domnall (Donald) of the Isles, a son of Alastair Mor MacDonald and cousin to Angus Og, who is said to have been the leader of that warband.

  “Erik’s” father, Alastair Mor, is one of the claimed progenitors of Clan MacAlister—although this is debated. He was killed in 1299 (later than I suggested) in a battle with the MacDougalls.

  As clan names were not used consistently at the time, I decided to use the more global “MacSorley” (sons of Somerled) to differentiate Erik from his MacDonald cousins. MacSorley is used to refer to all the descendants of Somerled: the MacDonalds, MacDougalls, MacRuairis, et cetera.

  There is no record of “Erik’s” wife, but alliances with Ireland (and the Isle of Man) were common at the time for chieftains in the Western Isles. One of the hardest things for me to wrap my head around is the proximity of Ireland to Scotland and the importance of the “sea-ways.” At the narrowest point, it is a scant thirteen miles from the Mull of Kintyre (on Scotland) to the Antrim coast of Ireland. On a clear day, you can see between the two coasts. Getting to Ireland by boat from the coast of Scotland would have
been easier—and much faster—than going the same distance overland. A map makes it clear why Kintyre and the Ayrshire coast of Scotland, the Western Isles, the Isle of Man, and Antrim in Ireland were all so connected—politically as well as culturally.

  When trying to find a suitable bride for Erik, it didn’t take me long to settle on the de Burghs, especially after I came across a switched betrothal (you can’t make this stuff up!) between two de Burgh sisters that I knew would fit in perfectly with my story. Maud de Burgh was originally contracted for marriage with Sir John de Bermingham, the 1st Earl of Louth, but Louth ended up marrying her sister Aveline. (Maud later marries Ralph de Monthermer’s stepson, Gilbert de Clare, the 8th Earl of Hertford.) Ellie and Matty are my fictional version of these two sisters.

  The betrothal with Ralph de Monthermer (also known as Raoul) is also fictional, but his story is not. He married Edward’s daughter, Joan of Acre, clandestinely and suffered a stay in the tower for his transgression against the outraged king. He was eventually forgiven and given the titles Earl of Gloucester and Earl of Hertford during Joan’s lifetime, and Atholl temporarily after the previous earl’s execution. Later, he was made the 1st Baron Monthermer. He was also fighting in Scotland at the time and is said to have been chased back to Ayr Castle by Bruce a few days after the battle of Loudoun Hill, as I mentioned in the book. Despite Ralph’s loyalty to Edward, it was he who is said to have warned Robert the Bruce of the danger to him in 1306 from King Edward that led to Bruce’s revolt.

  In addition to the fate of the women in the cages—which is horrifically true—the unfortunate Earl of Atholl, who was executed after Methven, provides another glimpse into King Edward’s merciless attitude toward the rebels at the time. The first earl executed in over two hundred years attempted to appeal to Edward for mercy on the basis of their kinship. In response, King Edward ordered him to be hung from a higher gallows than the others as befitting his exalted status.

  Perhaps one of the best-known legends about Robert the Bruce is the spider story that leads off The Hawk. At least three caves in Scotland claim to be the location where this famous event took place, but Rathlin Island in Ireland seems to edge out the others as the favorite. The spider story is said to be the origin of the quote “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try, and try again.” Alas, despite its pervasiveness, scholars question whether the event ever took place, attributing the story instead to Sir Walter Scott (who seems to be the source for so many of these kinds of legends).