“Where are the rest of the men?”
“In the dungeon at Ayr.”
“And yet you are here.”
He bristled, his reaction implying censure to her tone. “My uncle and I have not seen eye-to-eye for some time. I’m a knight, not a pirate, and I wish to fight like one.”
So when he’d been given the opportunity to change sides, he’d taken it.
As much as she wanted to condemn him for it, she could not. Even aside from chivalry, Randolph had done what countless others had done before him, following his best interests, not his heart. Expediency over principle. Many of King Edward’s supporters supported him because it was prudent to do so, not because they believed in his cause. Even her father could be put in this category.
There were few William Wallaces willing to die for a noble cause.
Erik would. Loyalty, duty, honor—whatever she called it—the ties that bound him to the people he cared about were what mattered to him.
Death before surrender.
She shivered. When he’d spoken those words she did not doubt that he meant them. She could only pray that it didn’t come to that.
Had he reached the Irish in time and gotten them safely to Robert? Would Bruce’s last-ditch effort to take back his throne succeed?
It might be some time before she knew the answers to those questions. If they failed, she might never know. The agony of not knowing what had become of him just might drive her mad.
Chapter Twenty-one
After a long day of waiting—almost twelve hours since he’d left Ellie—Erik MacSorley sailed into the bay along Rathlin Isle’s western shore with the three hundred Irish soldiers he’d vowed to deliver to Bruce.
With all that had come before it, his arrival at Fair Head minutes after dawn had been strangely anticlimactic—though it had been close. The McQuillans had already begun to load their ships to leave, thinking that something must have happened to call off the attack. The Irish chief said they would have returned the following evening, but Erik wasn’t so sure. They’d already collected half their payment, and having fulfilled their end of the bargain, it would have been a substantial windfall for simply showing up.
In any event, Erik had reached them in time and, after taking care to hide the ships from any passing English patrols, they’d spent the day waiting for night to fall until they could leave for Rathlin.
Now, as he maneuvered the first of five ships into the bay, he knew he should be relieved—proud that he’d done what he set out to do, despite the many hurdles that he’d had to overcome. But the success of his mission held little satisfaction for him.
The last conversation with Ellie still sat too bitterly inside him.
The king needed to be told. But that unpleasant conversation would have to wait. First Erik had to get them to Arran, and, after the unexpected delays of the night before, he wanted to give himself as much time as possible.
The two score of men he’d left a few scant weeks ago were gathered on the shore to greet him: the king, his closest supporters, and the handful of Bruce’s loyal vassals who’d escaped with them from Dunaverty last September. But the group had swelled by an additional hundred soldiers—thanks to the additional Islemen provided by his cousin Angus Og.
Erik hopped over the edge of thebirlinninto the knee-deep water and strode toward them.
“Where have you been?” Bruce demanded before he’d even taken a step upon the rocky beach. “You were supposed to be here yesterday. This is cutting it too damn close, even for you, Hawk.” He looked around. “Where’s your ship? And my nephew?”
Erik’s mouth fell in a grim line. “The English found us on Spoon a few hours before we were to leave. I will tell you everything when we reach Arran, but Randolph and my men were taken.”
Even for a man who’d suffered so many disappointments, the blow did not fall any softer. Bruce flinched. “Dead?”
Erik shook his head. “I do not think so, your grace.”
He kept his suspicions to himself for now, but the king was shrewd, and Erik suspected he was wondering the same thing as he: how unwillingly Randolph had gone.
The king’s gaze hardened, his eyes as cold and black as polished ebony. “I hope you have a good explanation for how this could have happened.”
Erik nodded. So did he.
He glanced at Chief, who stood beside Bruce. “Is everyone ready?” Erik asked.
“Aye.”
