“Request, my lord king,” Errol amended as King Robert glanced at his assembled warriors. “Mayhap my father told you as well that we know the very island where Thorgren Sigurdson makes his home.”
“Aye, from the raiders he left behind tae fight for him that survived tae become your prisoners. What if they lied tae save themselves? What if Sigurdson moves from one island tae another so he can never be found? What if the lass lives no more, Sutherland? Do you believe her strong enough to have survived what she must have suffered since last summer?”
Errol didn’t readily answer, the king’s pointed questions making his chest grow tight and his fist to clench again upon the hilt of his sword.
All of these same queries had tormented him night after night, but what else was he to do than to try and rescue Tira? If there was even a chance she was alive…
“Forgive me for my boldness, King Robert, but have you given up hope for your wife held prisoner these past eight years in England?”
An audible intake of breath went up from the assembled warriors as the king’s broad face grew ruddy with anger, though an instant later he exhaled heavily and shook his head.
“I will never give up hope of seeing Elizabeth again…holding her again—och, Sutherland, you will have your ship and crew,it’s already been decided. I was testing your resolve, and it’s clear you willna give up, either. In truth, your father didna try tae dissuade me, but requested that you have a chance tae retrieve the lass in place of her own father. Monroe’s grief over his wife’s passing and his daughter’s abduction brought about his untimely death, God rest him.”
Now everyone in the room nodded solemnly while Errol’s chest felt as tight as ever, impatience once more overwhelming him.
“When, my lord king? I canna bear many more days tae pass without knowing if Tira…”
His throat tightening, too, Errol couldn’t say it—and he wouldn’t believe for a moment that she was dead. He would have known it in his heart, which pounded now with relief that he had won a ship, a crew!
“Aye, I know as well how you feel, man. I’m certain in my heart that Elizabeth still lives, though even as a king, I havna been able tae discover where the English have imprisoned her.Bastards! You will leave at dawn with Laird Gavin MacLachlan, who will accompany you tae the Orkneys on one of his warships. He knows the sea and its currents like no other, and he has plundered as a raider and knows their ways—though he was wise enough tae stay away from any of my ships. Aye, MacLachlan?”
Gavin’s grim nod did little to stunt Errol’s surprise that the renowned laird would accompany him, but now it was King Robert who sounded gruffly impatient.
“Enough, we have a battle tae plan! You have ten days tae search for the lass and bring her back tae Scotland, Sutherland, no more. I need Laird MacLachlan with me tae prepare for war. Now get some food and some rest, dawn will come soon enough.”
Ten days? Errol was about to protest only to be waved to silence by Gavin, who indicated to him with a pointed glanceto leave the room. Already the king had turned his back and returned to the table along with his warriors, who began to pore again over maps and discuss strategy in low voices as if Errol had never interrupted them.
Ten days. Would it be enough time? Exhaling heavily, Errol did as he was bade and went to the door, only to glance over his shoulder to see that King Robert watched him.
A pensive look on the man’s face as if he wished that he was setting off as well to find the woman he loved—och, Errol swore then and there that he would do anything to help the king regain his beloved wife once he rescued Tira.
As to how or when that chance to assist King Robert might occur, he had no idea…but for now, Errol couldn’t have said anything more, his heart was pounding so hard with gratitude.
CHAPTER 2
HOY ISLAND, ORKNEY
“Shut the door, lass, you’ll catch your death in that cold wind!”
Tira pretended not to hear the stout older woman left to watch her—no, guard her was more the truth of it. Instead she leaned out the rough-hewn door as the wind buffeted her, icy drizzle lashing at her face.
Icy drizzle that made her squint at the gray expanse of ocean with its angry, white-capped waves until she was roughly hauled inside and the door slammed shut behind her, the woman’s face flushed red with outrage.
“Are you mad? Thorgren will lash me tae the prow of one of his ships if any harm comes tae you! It’s well into May, but the foul weather’s not done with us yet. Go sit by the fire and dinna defy me again, do you hear?”
How could she not hear Brinda with all her screeching? When the woman’s back had been turned while stirring a potful of fish soup, Tira had seized her chance to pull open the door to breathe in fresh air.
The turf-roofed cottage with its dirt floor and rock walls so stuffy that she felt sick much of the time and with no appetite for food—not that she cared at all about eating.
In truth she didn’t care about anything, no, not anymore, Tira settling awkwardly into a chair near the hearth. She stared into the flames as fresh despair overcame her, along with memories of her one chance for rescue that had gone so wretchedly awry.
She had heard the battle cries on that wintry November day and guessed the Orkney raiders’ camp was under attack, wild hope flooding her until her hulking captor, Thorgren Sigurdson, had lunged into the tent and thrown her over his shoulder.
A young woman with long red hair already hoisted over his other shoulder, Tira had gaped in shock at Rowen Sutherland, whom she hadn’t seen since they were girls.
Both of them carried swiftly to Thorgren’s ship where he dumped them over the side, Tira sobbing with such desolation that she could hardly breathe as Rowen gathered her close to try and comfort her.
Yet within a moment Thorgren had wrested her, screaming, from Rowen’s arms to pass her to another raider and then lunge at Rowen, who screeched so vehement a string of curses that he stopped in surprise to stare at her.
