Bruce would be mad with grief.
His thoughts went to Ellie, and this time he let them hold for a moment. He’d done the right thing. She needed to be kept far away from this madness.
“We need to do something,” MacRuairi said. Erik could finally understand the source of the frantic look in his eye. He was desperate to rescue his friends and companions.
“I’ll take you to the king.”
“I’m afraid there is more bad news,” Campbell said. Erik steeled himself, but it wasn’t enough. “The attack in the south failed. They were betrayed. The MacDowells knew they were coming and slaughtered almost the entire fleet. A few men escaped.”
A few out of nearly seven hundred men and eighteen galleys?
Erik felt a pit of despair settle in his stomach. “The king’s brothers?” he asked dully.
Campbell shook his head grimly. “Beheaded a few days ago in Carlisle.”
Three of Bruce’s brothers executed in as many months.
Would it never end? The small glimmer of hope they’d gained after the attack at Turnberry had been cruelly snuffed out. Crushed by the man who called himself the Hammer of the Scots.
“Striker and Hunter?”
“I don’t know,” Campbell said. Suddenly he stiffened, getting that eerie far-off look in his eye.
“What is it?” Erik asked.
“I’m not certain.” Campbell went to the window to investigate. “Horses,” he said.
“Were you followed?” Erik asked.
Campbell gave him a scathing look as if to say he should know better. “You’d best get out of here. I’ll take care of it.” When Erik started to argue, he added, “I can’t be seen with you.”
Erik nodded. He was right. Campbell’s subterfuge had to be protected. Moments later, Erik and his cousin slipped out of the church and disappeared into the shadows.
Chapter Twenty-two
St. Gunioc Day, April 13, 1307
Ellie stood gazing out the tower window of Ayr Castle, waiting for a ship that would never come.
It was a clear spring day, giving her a perfect vantage of the shimmering blue seas of the Firth of Clyde. The Isle of Arran loomed in the distance, and beyond that—a tiny speck on the horizon—she swore she could see the rocky cliffs of Spoon.
A sharp pang knifed through her chest, a longing that almost two months had yet to dull.
She needed to accept the truth. If he’d wanted to come for her, he would have done so by now.
When she’d heard of Bruce’s victory at Turnberry, a tiny ember of foolish girl’s hope had kindled inside her. Hope that he was hurting as much as she was. Hope that distance and time would make him realize they’d shared something special. Hope that he would suddenly decide that he loved her as much as she did him.
But, as the weeks passed in long, painful silence, Ellie could no longer make excuses. He had to know where she was—Domnall would have told him—and thanks to Sir Aymer’s regular updates to her father, she knew that Bruce was nearby, raiding and harrying the English supply routes from his refuge in the mountains of Galloway.
It was time to accept the truth: Erik wasn’t going to have some grand epiphany. He wasn’t going to send word or come for her. He wasn’t going to stop her wedding to Ralph. It was over, and she would probably never see him again.
The familiar burning gripped her chest. Yet, in spite of the pain, she could not regret it. In the short time they’d spent together, Erik had reminded her how to breathe again. After the adventure and excitement of the time she’d spent on Spoon, she vowed to not let herself fall into the staid existence she’d known before.
With a heart-wrench of finality, she turned from the tower window and started to descend the stairs. She wouldn’t shed any more tears for a man who had probably forgotten all about her. She needed to get on with her life and stop mourning a dream that was never meant to be.
But it was easier said than done, when the hunt for Bruce and his band of rebels dominated everything around her. Matty would be returning to Dunluce at the end of the week, and Ellie decided to join her. She’d been putting off the preparations for her wedding long enough.
With June fast approaching, the time for indecision was running out. Although her discomfort around Ralph had faded, Ellie couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. But neither could she find a reason not to marry him.
