“With irritation?”
The older man snorted. “Call it what you want. But what are you going to do about it?”
His jaw hardened. “Return her to her family as I promised.”
“So you’re just going to let her go?”
Erik didn’t like to be questioned, especially when the answers made him feel so angry. “What else would you have me do? I stole the lass from her home and family; I need to take her back. And I’m hardly in a position to be offering her anything else right now.”
“You could give the lass a choice. You could tell her you care for her. Maybe she’d wait for you.”
“For what?” Erik snapped back, irritated with the turn of conversation. “To be my leman? You don’t seriously think I’d marry a nursemaid, do you?”
“Why not?” his old friend challenged. “You do whatever the hell you want the rest of the time. Your mother and sisters would never object, not if you were happy.”
He was already happy, damn it. He sure as hell didn’t need a wife to make him so. “This is ridiculous. I’m not getting married. I’ve known the lass for barely ten days, and in ten more I’ll have forgotten all about her.”
He was certain of it.
Domnall gave him a pitying look, which, as they were nearing the camp, Erik promptly ignored. Everyone was making too much of this.
He whistled softly—letting the men standing guard know they were approaching—and heard the answering hoot. But when they turned the corner of the headland and the small bay came into view, he stopped in his tracks, noticing a small fishing boat coming from the east turn into the harbor.
As fishing was the mainstay of the Islanders and this bay was one of two anchorages on Spoon, it was an ordinary occurrence, but he didn’t recognize the boat. He motioned to Domnall to wait and hoped the guardsman watching the bay had seen the boat in time to alert the men in the cave.
It took a few minutes for the skiff to pull all the way into the shore. The full moon provided enough light to count five figures aboard. Something about one of the men set the hair at the back of his neck on edge. His size … he was far too big and burly for a fisherman. Erik knew only a handful of warriors that powerfully built.
He tensed, suspecting this man was no fisherman. But he couldn’t believe the English would be smart enough to attempt such furtive tactics—nor did the cowards like to travel in small groups without an army to protect them.
A few minutes later, two of the figures jumped overboard, including the large man, and waded through the knee-high water to the shore. Though he was dressed like a poor fisherman, wearing a plain wool cap and a rough brown plaid around his shoulders, there was no mistaking the muscular build of the strongest man in Scotland.
A broad smile crept up Erik’s face. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
“What is it, Captain?”
“It appears we have visitors.”
Erik left the shadows of the shoreline and strode down the beach. He called out, “Look what the tide dragged in.”
The big man turned at the sound of his voice. His granite-hard face didn’t give an inch, though it had been months since they’d seen each other. “I see no one’s killed you yet?”
“You don’t need to sound so disappointed.” Erik laughed and clapped a hand across his back. It almost hurt. “It’s not for lack of trying. What the hell are you doing here, Raider?” Erik turned to the man at his side, expecting to see Boyd’s partner, Alex “Dragon” Seton, but was surprised to see the king’s brother instead. His enjoyment dimmed somewhat. Edward Bruce was a volatile, arrogant prig who, unlike his royal brother, seemed to represent all the bad qualities in noblemen. Of Bruce’s four brothers, Edward was Erik’s least favorite. Erik gave him a curt nod of his head. “My lord,” he said, before turning back to Boyd. “How did you find me?”
“It’s a long story. One better told around a warm fire.”
Boyd instructed the fishermen to return for them before dawn.
Erik pointed him in the direction of the cave. “I look forward to hearing it.”
Boyd gave him a hard look. “And I look forward to hearing why you have half the English fleet crawling up your arse.”
Chapter Sixteen
Hours later, the men sat around the fire in the camp, having just enjoyed one of Meg’s fine meals and even more of the villagers’ fine ale. Edward Bruce was talking with Randolph, and this was the first opportunity Erik had had to speak with Boyd alone.
As good as it was to see his fellow guardsman, the news he’d brought had been grim. Nigel Bruce, Christopher Seton, and the Earl of Atholl all had been executed, and there had been no word from Viper, Saint, and Templar since they’d fled north with the women nor from Dragon since he’d gone after his brother.
“So, how did you find me?” Erik asked.
