The Hawk: A Highland Guard Novel Read online

  His stomach dropped as the implications hit him. “How did they find out?”

  Meg shook her head. “One of the men or villagers must have told them.”

  Erik tried to control his anger. If the English knew about Ellie, they could use her as a weapon against him. It shocked him to realize how effective a weapon she would be. The thought of her in danger turned his blood cold.

  “I don’t think they’ve given up looking for you,” Meg said. “They’ll be back.”

  “I plan to be long gone by then.” His best bet—his only bet at the moment—was the old skiff. To make it seaworthy, he was going to have to improvise. But he didn’t have much time; it was already almost dark. “I’m going to need your help,” he said to Meg.

  She grinned eagerly. “Just tell me what to do.”

  He explained what he needed, and Meg returned to the croft to gather help and supplies.

  “What can I do?” Ellie asked.

  He turned, seeing that she was watching him with a determined look on her face. What he wanted to do was lock her away somewhere safe—preferably a high, impenetrable tower—until this was all over. But he had a feeling she wouldn’t agree to that, even if it were possible. She had that I-intend-to-help-and-you’d-better-not-try-to-stop-me look on her face.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve noticed a nice high tower around here, have you?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You won’t get rid of me so easily.”

  He didn’t doubt it. He liked that about her. She wasn’t easily pushed around. How had Domnall put it? She didn’t take his shite. “You can help Meg when she returns. Can you start a fire?”

  She nodded. “I think so.”

  “Good.” His wet clothes didn’t matter, but he wanted her warm and dry. “See what food you can find.”

  Her mouth tightened as if she knew what he was up to. “I’m not hungry.”

  “I am,” he said. “And I’m going to be hungrier before the night is through. You’ll do me no good if you are weak from lack of food.”

  They had a long night ahead of them.

  He led her back to Meg’s longhouse and told her he’d be back. “Where are you going?”

  “To see if there is anything I can salvage from the cave. And then I have a ship to build.”

  Her eyes widened. “You can’t mean to attempt to outrun the English fleet in that rickety pile of kindling.”

  He grinned. “Not attempt.” He dropped a kiss on her mouth before she could reply. “I’ll be back soon.”

  He started to go, but she stopped him. “You won’t leave without …”

  Me. He knew what she was trying to ask. But beyond getting her warm and fed, he hadn’t fully considered what he was going to do with her.

  He’d vowed to take her home, but he no longer had the time. He couldn’t leave her here in case the English returned. She knew too much. He trusted her, but not the English methods of persuasion.

  Assuming he was able to make the skiff safe enough to cross the channel, she would be safer with him—as long as the English didn’t catch up with him. But he didn’t have any intention of allowing that to happen.

  He wanted her close. So he could protect her, he told himself. If he left her here, it would drive him mad with worry, not knowing what was happening.

  He hated that he’d gotten her into this, but into it she was.

  “I’ll be back. Be ready to go.”

  It was the first smile he’d seen on her face since the morning, and he realized how much her unhappiness had weighed on him.

  He just hoped to hell he was doing the right thing.

  Ellie had never seen anything like it. Working with single-minded determination and purpose, in a few hours Erik had rigged the small skiff for a sail, turning tree branches into a mast, a few old planks into a rudder, and linen bedsheets into a sail. The axe that had slain more men on the battlefield than she wanted to think about had become a delicately honed instrument in the hands of a skilled shipbuilder.

  She stood on the beach, warm and fed, bundled in extra plaids and a thick fur mantle, admiring his handiwork as final preparations for their voyage were made.

  Though by no means as sturdy as his hawk birlinn, the skiff was eminently more impressive than when she’d last seen it. He’d repaired some of the warped boards by planing down the old ones for a tighter and stronger fit. One or two had been replaced, but he hadn’t wanted to do more because the wood was not cured. The hull had been blackened with a sticky material that Erik said would help keep it watertight.

  The mast was rustic-looking but appeared functional, as did the rudder attached at the back. The sail had been fashioned from two bedsheets that she and Meg had sewn together. An old fisherman had then spread some kind of rancid-smelling animal fat on it.

  Erik had finished storing the provisions that Meg had given him—extra blankets, food, water, and ale—in a small chest that he’d fastened to the hull for her to sit on and came up to stand beside her.

  “Your ship awaits, my lady,” he said with a gallant flourish of his hand.

  She shook her head and gave him a wry look. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

  He grinned. “Not that I know of, but I’m sure you’ll be the first to let me know if there is.”

  She laughed. “Count on it.”

  After all that they’d been through today, Ellie realized that his ability to lighten the mood definitely had its benefits. It was easy to see why his men admired him so much. In the darkness of battle, men needed a way to ease the tension. Erik was a natural morale-booster. Moreover, his unflappability in the face of danger and calamity must inspire and give confidence to the men he led. He would be the perfect man to have around when things didn’t go right—as was inevitable in war.

  What she hadn’t expected, however, was his incredible tenacity and determination. He had a job to do and nothing was going to get in his way. She suspected he’d swim off this island if he had to.

  Clearly, if he cared about something he took it very seriously.

  If only she could be that “something.”

  Giving the rickety-skiff-turned-seaworthy-sailing-vessel another glance, she shook her head and said, “Why do I get the impression that you never give up?”

  “It’s not in the blood. I’m a Highlander. Bas roimh geill.”

  Death before surrender, she translated. The shiver that ran through her had nothing to do with the icy, heavy mist hovering around them.

  Not noticing her reaction, he smiled as if something had suddenly amused him.

  “What is it?”

  “I was just thinking about a spider I came across recently.”

  She made a face. “You find spiders amusing? Remind me to introduce you sometime to my brother Edmond; he loves nothing more than to put them in my little sister’s bed.”

  He chuckled. “Not amusing, ironic. This wee spider inspired a king.”

  He told her the story of Bruce’s spider in the cave. How at the king’s lowest moment of despair and hopelessness, when Bruce was ready to give up, the spider’s perseverance and ultimate success in spinning its web had acted as a powerful omen. One that had reinvigorated the flagging king for the long struggle ahead.

  “It’s a wonderful tale,” Ellie said. “If Bruce succeeds, I suspect it will be used by nursemaids to inspire their charges for generations.” But given the source, she eyed him suspiciously. “How much of it is true?”

  His eyes twinkled in the darkness. “You think I could make something like that up?” He put his hand over his heart dramatically. “You wound me.”

  She gave him a stern look, which he ignored. Tucking her hand in the crook of his arm, he led her to the boat. The villagers had gathered around to bid them farewell, and Ellie was surprised to find herself included in many of the womanly hugs and manly back-slaps. But it wasn’t until they came to Meg that her throat constricted.

  Meg embraced Erik first. “Take care of yourself and the lass,”