“There are four English galleys guarding the bay, and smoke is coming from the direction of the beach.” He pointed south, and she could just make out the gray wisps against the similarly colored skies. “The English have found us.”
Time tolled at an agonizing pace as Erik waited for the English to give up their hunt. But they were relentless, turning over every rock on the small island.
It had taken every ounce of self-control he possessed not to race back to the beach immediately. But he couldn’t. Two things stood in his way: he needed to protect Ellie—the sight of her in the English soldier’s grasp was not one he would soon forget—and he had to think about his mission.
If he were captured, Bruce wouldn’t have his mercenaries in time. Nor would he have Erik to lead the fleet to Arran. The mission had to come first. His men were well trained and could take care of themselves.
But hiding in a cave rather than joining the fight went against every bone in his body. Hours later he was going half-mad, feeling like a lion caged in a very small pen.
How the hell had they found them?
Knowing that the English would come looking for the missing soldiers, he’d dragged the skiff down the beach, making sure to leave plenty of tracks gouged in the sand. He wanted the English to think they’d fled. They didn’t know the old skiff wouldn’t last five minutes in the heavy currents of the channel.
He rowed them to the larger of the two small islets known as Sheep Island, off the northern tip of Spoon. From there he could see most of the western side of the island and the English ships guarding the bay, though not the beach itself.
He’d left Ellie in the cave under another natural arch while he watched, paced, and tried to keep a rein on his anxiousness as he waited for the English to give up the hunt. But every minute passed with excruciating slowness.
Time was his enemy. The McQuillans were expecting him tonight, and the short time frame for them to reach Arran for the attack—the very next night—left him little room for error. As the day wore on, and not knowing what he would find when he returned to the bay, the roughly fifteen-mile journey to Ireland suddenly loomed large.
He knew there was nothing he would have done differently—the prudent move had been to stay put—but he couldn’t help second-guessing himself.
The tension was tying him in knots. When Ellie came up behind him and put her hand on his arm, he jerked.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” She peered through the murky, drizzly skies to the cove where they’d nearly been discovered. “Have they gone?”
He nodded. “A short while ago.”
Not long after he and Ellie had fled in the skiff, a galley had landed in the cove. It left quickly and returned a short while later with a second ship. This time the English stayed much longer. Finally, a few minutes ago, one ship had sailed south, and the other headed north to Kintyre. Erik hoped that meant the English believed they’d fled the island.
“Will they be back again?” she asked.
“Probably. But not today. It will be dark in a couple of hours.”
“What happened to the other ships?”
“I don’t know. They moved beyond the mouth of the bay and I lost sight of them.”
If the fleet was returning to the Ayrshire coast—where the English were stationed—they would sail south of the island, opposite where he and Ellie were now.
“When can we go back?”
He could see the agony of his own fears reflected in her eyes. “Soon.” Knowing how difficult this must be for her, he drew her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. It had been a tumultuous day for both of them—in more ways than one. Yet through it all, Ellie had demonstrated strength and resiliency that made him proud. Not to mention the arrow she’d saved him from.
He wondered if she realized that she’d chosen him over the English from whom she’d sought rescue not two weeks ago.
She curled against him, burrowing her head against his chest. He stroked her hair, feeling calm for the first time in hours. “You must be hungry.”
She shook her head. “I haven’t even thought about food.”
He understood. Like him, she was worried about his men and the villagers.
“Do you think …”
She didn’t finish the thought, but he knew what she’d been about to ask. He tipped her chin and dropped a soft kiss on her mouth. A hard pang squeezed his chest. “They’ll be fine,” he assured her with more confidence than he felt. He hoped the English would leave the villagers alone, but his men were outlaws and the dragon banner had been raised. Anger surged inside him, but he held it at bay, knowing he could do nothing about it—yet.
“I’m sorry,” she said, lifting her face to his. He could see the tears shimmering in her wide hazel eyes. “I know you would have gone to help them if it wasn’t for me.”
“Nay,” he said roughly. “I wouldn’t have.” He didn’t want her to blame herself. Actually, slipping away with Ellie might have just saved his entire mission. He could well be in the same circumstances as his men. “I couldn’t risk it. There is something important I must do.”
