“I was thinking,” the king continued, “that it might be prudent to strengthen the ties with Ireland. As I’ve put you in charge of keeping the western trade routes open to keep us supplied, I think you are the right person to do it.”
Vaguely, Erik was aware that the king was getting at something important. He forced himself to listen to his words, and not the fierce voices screaming in his head to get the hell out of here.
“Did you know that Lady Elyne is a great favorite of Ulster’s?” Bruce asked pointedly.
Erik’s gaze shot to his, suspecting what the king was suggesting. “Aye,” he said carefully. “I believe the lady helped her father after her mother died.”
Bruce leaned forward. “I’d wager he’d forgive her just about anything.” He paused reflectively. “Twodaughters married to Scots might make that blind eye of his doubly so; what do you think?”
Erik stilled. The king’s meaning was clear. The “mission” he was suggesting was an alliance to marry Ellie—even if it meant clandestinely. Bruce thought Ulster would forgive her.
If he’d been waiting for Bruce’s support, he had it.
But Erik knew he would have gone even without it. The weeks of torture were at an end. He’d made a mistake; he knew that. He just hoped to hell he could arrive before she made a worse one—one that was irrevocable.
When he thought of how badly he’d hurt her …
He winced, thinking how he’d let her think that he didn’t love her. That he meant to return to the woman at the feast. Some of the panic returned. What if she refused to talk to him? Ellie could be stubborn. What if she didn’t forgive him? His stomach dropped. What if she wouldn’t change her mind?
He couldn’t let that happen.
He smiled, his first genuine smile in a long time. He would just have to make sure they had some time alone, where he could make it up to her and prove how he felt. He knew just the place.
He turned to Bruce. “I need to leave immediately.”
Bruce returned his smile. “I thought you might.”
He paused, thinking of Ellie’s stubbornness. “It might take me a few days.”
Bruce laughed. “I think it might take you longer than that. You have two weeks. Make good use of your time.”
Erik grinned. “I intend to—every minute of it.”
This was one mission where he was going to make damn sure nothing went wrong.
It was a crisp, sunny summer’s morning. A perfect day for a wedding. Ellie watched her reflection in the looking glass as the maidservant finished brushing out her hair.
She smiled, if not happy, then at least content with how her life had progressed in the past couple of months. She’d made the right decision and was getting on with her life.
She’d even stopped looking out the window.
By the time the maid was putting the finishing touches on her hair—an intricate arrangement of curls fastened with a jeweled circlet—and had finished pinning her into the fine dark-emerald damask gown she would wear to the wedding, the sun was streaming full force into her window.
A dark shadow passed over her, making her glance toward the window. Seeing nothing, she figured it must have been a cloud.
“Is there anything else, my lady?” the maid asked.
Ellie shook her head, admiring the girl’s work. She smiled wistfully. She looked almost pretty. “Nay, why don’t you see if Lady Mathilda needs anything.”
The maid bobbed and made her exit.
The door had barely shut when Ellie found herself grabbed from behind. A strong hand covered her mouth before she could scream.
“Shush,” he whispered in her ear, pressing her more firmly against him. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Ellie’s heart dropped, recognizing the voice, the familiar windblown, soapy scent, and every hard ridge of the muscular arms and chest holding her.
Erik.
