The Hawk: A Highland Guard Novel Read online

  Seamus MacDonald was one of the best cooks in the Highlands. Angus Og had been reluctant to forgo his skills, but had realized that the old man could better serve as a cook to the English. Most of the castle servants were his cousin’s men. The English brought plenty of soldiers and weapons, but they made use of the locals for labor. The arrogant knights, accustomed to the strictures of feudalism, discounted the danger of “peasants,” failing to understand that many household positions in the Highlands were a sign of prestige.

  “Seamus,” he whispered, nudging the man with his foot.

  Knowing the danger of waking a sleeping Highlander, Erik stood back, which was a good thing when the old man sprang up like a lad of two and twenty, dirk in hand.

  Erik smiled in the darkness. “I thought you’d be expecting me.”

  The cantankerous cook—a redundancy, in Erik’s experience—scowled at him. “Why do you think I’m here and not sleeping in the comfort of my bed?” His gaze dipped over Erik’s blackened body and hair. “God’s blood, you look like something just dredged up from a bog.” He threw Erik a plaid. “Cover yourself before you kill someone with that thing.”

  Erik grinned. As he’d said before, he’d never come up short in his life. “The lasses don’t seem to object.”

  The old man chortled. “What do you need this time?”

  Seamus had never been one for pleasantries.

  “Any word from our friend?”

  The cook shook his head. “Not yet.”

  “But you were able to send word?”

  “My man left the next morning. If something had happened, I would have heard.”

  Erik nodded. He would have preferred confirmation that his message had reached Bruce, but it would have to do for now.

  “Will I be sleeping any more nights on the floor?” Seamus asked.

  “Perhaps a few. I hope to return once more before I leave.”

  “Have care, lad, the English are looking for our friend but also for you. There is a price on your head of two hundred marks.”

  Erik feigned disappointment. “Is that all?”

  Seamus’s mouth didn’t even twitch. It was a fortune. Not as much as the three hundred they’d offered for Wallace, but more than offered for any other man except for Bruce. “It’s nay a joking matter, lad. There is something odd going on.”

  “You worry too much, old man.” But seeing the concern on his friend’s face, he sighed. “I promise to be careful. Believe me, I’ve no more wish to see the inside of an English dungeon than you do.” He paused. “In the meantime, I have another request.”

  “A message?”

  “Aye. But this time to Ireland. Do you have someone?”

  Seamus’s brows furrowed like two furry gray caterpillars. He stroked his long, bristly beard. “Aye, what do you need?”

  “To reach someone in Ulster’s household.”

  “Is this for our friend?”

  Erik shook his head, not surprised that Seamus thought it was a message from Bruce to someone in his wife’s family. “It’s a long story. But I need to get word to the earl’s seneschal that Ellie the nursemaid is safe and will be returned home soon.”

  Erik could tell the other man was curious but knew better than to ask questions. Suddenly, he frowned.

  “What is it?” Erik asked.

  “Could the lass have anything to do with the unusual fervor of the English hunt?”

  Erik considered the question and then quickly dismissed it. Even if they’d connected the missing nursemaid with the woman who’d cried for help in the water, the English were not likely to be concerned about an Irish lass of little consequence. “Nay.” He shook his head. “It’s me they want.”

  “I can only imagine what you did to rile their anger to such a frenzy.”

  Erik just smiled. “How soon can you get it there?”

  Seamus shrugged. “A day, two at most.”

  “Good.” He slapped Seamus on the back. “Get some sleep, old man. I’ll return in a few days, if I am able.” He unwrapped the plaid from around his shoulders. “Here, you’d better take this,” he said, handing it to him. He would have to dispose of it before he got back into the water. No use ruining a good plaid for a few more minutes of warmth.

  Seamus shook his head, looking him over. “You nearly scared me half to death the first time I saw you. I thought you were one of the devil’s minions coming for me.”

  Erik chuckled. “Not yet, old man. You’ve still got a few more years to atone for the last sixty of hell-raising.”

  Seamus snorted. “Sixty? I’m nine and forty, you arse.”

  Erik laughed and took his leave.

  He was halfway through the tunnel when he felt that first prickle of unease—the first sensation that something wasn’t right. Even before he heard anything, he knew someone was coming. Sliding the dirk from his waist, he stopped against the wall and listened. A moment later the soft rumble of distant voices confirmed what his instincts had already told him.

  But instead of a single guardsman, as it should have been, at least a dozen men were coming from the sea-gate. A galley must have arrived.

  Damned inconvenient of them.

  Normally, taking on a dozen English soldiers single-handedly would be nothing Erik thought twice about. He’d been trained well. That he was naked and armed only with a dirk merely gave the English a fighting chance.

  But he couldn’t, blast it. Though it went against every bone in his body to shirk from a challenge, he didn’t want to alert the English to his presence by leaving a pile of bodies around to explain, not if he could help it. Not only would it cut off Dunaverty as a source of communication, it would also draw unwanted attention to an area that was far too close to Arran a week before the attack.

  Knowing he wouldn’t be able to make it past them in the narrow tunnel, Erik started to retrace his steps backward. He would hide somewhere in the kitchen vaults until they passed.

  At least that was the plan.

  It was a good one, too, except that when he ducked into the first storeroom, his quick scan of the room neglected to notice the lad who must have been nestled among the bags and barrels of flour, oats, and barley. He was so intent on trying to hear the conversation of the approaching soldiers, he didn’t sense the movement behind him until it was too late.

  He spun around. The boy opened his mouth to scream and lashed out wildly in the dark with a knife.

  Erik reacted almost instantaneously, clasping a hand over the boy’s mouth and pinning him to the wall with his forearm. He was quick enough to stifle most of the sound, but not quick enough to prevent the blade from slicing across his gut.

  Erik winced at the sharp burn of pain and felt the dampness of blood dripping down his stomach, but didn’t make a sound.

  The boy’s eyes widened as their gazes met in the darkness.

  Erik couldn’t believe it. A lad of no more than seven or eight—probably in charge of keeping the rats away from the food—had not only gotten the jump on him, but had managed to inflict some damage as well. He didn’t want to think about how close that knife had come to gelding him.

  Erik was sure as hell glad the other members of the Guard weren’t here to see this; he would never hear the end of it. Especially from Seton and MacGregor, who usually bore the brunt of his needling. It was their own fault for making it too easy on him. Seton for being a bloody Englishman, and MacGregor for that pretty face of his.

  “What was that?” Erik heard someone say from outside the door. He went utterly still, disaster only the slightest sound away.

  He kept his eyes on the boy’s and shook his head in silent warning not to make a sound.

  The boy’s eyes grew even rounder. The wee lad was clearly too terrified to do anything other than stare at Erik as if he were seeing a ghost.

  Walk by, Erik silently encouraged the soldiers in the tunnel.

  To no avail.

  A moment later he heard a commanding voice order, “See to it, Will