“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.
