Erik (Guards of Clan Ross Book 1), page 1
Erik
Guards of Clan Ross
Copyright © 2022 by Hildie McQueen
Kindle Edition
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The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Also By Hildie McQueen
About the Book
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
About Torac
A Note to Readers
About the Author
Also By Hildie McQueen
Clan Ross of the Hebrides
The Lion: Darach
The Beast: Duncan
The Eagle: Stuart
The Fox: Caelan
The Stag: Artair
The Duke: Clan Ross Prequel
Clan Ross Series
A Heartless Laird
A Hardened Warrior
A Hellish Highlander
A Flawed Scotsman
A Fearless Rebel
A Fierce Archer
Moriag Series
Beauty and the Highlander
The Lass and the Laird
Lady and the Scot
The Laird’s Daughter
Erik: Guards of Clan Ross
This fictional story takes place at the beginning of the 17th century on South Uist—an isle of the Outer Hebrides, off Scotland’s west coast.
Guards of Clan Ross is a spin-off series from Clan Ross of the Hebrides, which begins with The Lion. Enjoy!
If you would like to read The Lion first, here is the link.
Chapter One
Riding to where one could face death was not exactly Erik Larsen’s idea of a good day.
Two by two, the contingent of Ross warriors, archers and helpers rode southwest to an area that up until recently had remained unfamiliar to them. Since taking over lairdship, Laird Darach Ross had only visited once, briefly, the tiny villages and farms that dotted the hilly landscape.
Newly charged with leadership, Erik Larsen scanned the surroundings, assessing the possibilities of any danger. The people of the area had brought a grave situation to Laird Ross’ attention and were anxious for help.
Just past the villages of Asbury and Welland—which belonged to Clan Ross, was a remote and isolated large village called Creag. There was a lush forest with a creek that ran through it that formed a natural boundary between the two borders. This creek had always been peaceably shared by both the Ross people and the inhabitants of Creag.
Then people—Ross people—began disappearing, others were injured, and several had been killed. Those that survived told of archers shooting down from trees, of men with thick wooden rods and swords attacking and robbing them.
Erik turned to his second. “The land is plentiful. I do not understand the need to hurt people for a meager reward of a deer, or a rabbit.”
“One young man was purposefully released without injury and told to return to his village and inform the people that the forest is forbidden territory,” Torac replied.
“Then it is about the land than what they can possibly acquire,” Erik added with a grunt. “The idiots must be aware of the Clan Ross’ power. They stand no chance against us.”
Torac nodded. “And yet our laird only sends a small contingent. He is honoring a decades old treaty. An agreement between us and them to not battle.”
Obviously, the inhabitants of the village were not adhering to the treaty. Erik had been about to ask the laird why Clan Ross why they were keeping the treaty when it wasn’t being honored by the others, but he had been interrupted by abrupt orders to mount and prepare to take their leave.
The light rain, continued steadily, pelting down on him and his men. Along with the rain came a chilled salty wind as they were near the western shore. Erik pulled his fur cape tighter around his shoulders and set his jaw.
He guessed their destination was another day’s ride and did not look forward to continuing to ride in the rain. As if in revolt, dark clouds gathered, and the rain became heavier.
“God’s foot,” Erik muttered, shaking the rain from his long blond hair. “We need to find a dry place to camp for the night.”
A scout rode toward him, the young man looking as miserable as Erik felt. “There is a cave like structure up ahead. There are trees near the opening which will provide shelter from the rain and cold wind.
They followed the scout back to the location and Erik agreed it was a fortunate find. They dismounted, some men taking the horses to be fed, while others sought what dry kindling they could find to start a fire.
Not soon after, a large fire provided warmth for both the men and horses. They hung cloaks, bed rolls and other items close to the fire to dry whilst standing closer in an effort to warm themselves.
Torac neared. “Hopefully it will not be too long of a ride to our destination. I want to see what has been done by the guards who came ahead of us. They should have our guardhouse and stables built by now.”
“Aye, I hope so. Although Laird Ross has not heard from them in over a fortnight.” He shook his head. “They were never the most reliable, which was why they were sent here and not to battle in the north with us.”
“They are disappointments then,” Torac said. Looking into the fire he changed the subject. “I hope we can rest tonight. Tomorrow will be a long day.”
The limp wet blankets showed no sign of drying, and with the continued rainfall, Erik doubted they would be usable. “We will have to gather branches and build elevated beds for the night. No use in dawdling.”
Once ordered, the men collected long branches and stacked them, each making their own bed. Some slept in the cave, others closer to the fire. Erik opted for the fire, as he detested closed-in spaces. It was a fear he’d never outgrown.
As a child he’d become lost in a cave once. It had been a nightmare. The more he walked the darker it had become until he could not see his own hand before his face. He’d crouched down and cried, his teeth chattering with fear. Thick blobs of wetness had plopped down on him, each time making him shudder in terror.
At the sight of a torch, he’d screamed for help. His father had lifted him from the wet ground and carried him out. It was then he’d seen all the bats hanging over him. It was an experience he’d never forgotten or gotten over apparently. Just looking toward the cave made his skin crawl.
“A hot meal will make it all better.” Auley MacBain, the cook, hurried from the creek with a large pot of water and hung it over the fire using an iron stand they’d brought. He then began chopping onions.
“What are we eating?” Erik asked. “Onion soup?”
“Nay, they’ve caught three fish already. A few more and we’ll have a hearty stew,” the ruddy, red-haired Scot replied in his usual brisk tone.
It had been a long time since Erik had eaten fish stew and his mouth watered in expectation. Instead of standing there and watching Auley cook, he went to check on his cloak. Surprisingly, it was drying. He flipped it so the other side would face the fire.
Balgair, another warrior, came closer. “How far will we be from Creag?”
The warrior was blood thirsty, the type of man every fighter wanted on his side. Erik hoped they’d be visible to the village of Creag. “We will be next to the forest that divides our lands.
“Good. The sooner we deal with them the better.”
“We will start patrols immediately upon arriving.”
“There are reports of archers in the trees,” Torac said walking toward them.
“We shall send archers with each patrol. Two will go with each set of warriors. Once Struan arrives, he makes five.” Erik let out a breath, his mind going over all that had to be done in a short time.
Torac let out a harsh breath. “Aye that is a good idea.”
It was good to have Torac with him. Along with their friend Struan, the three of them had fought together often and had developed a strong friendship.
Erik relied heavily on Torac for advice as the warrior was well versed on warfare and patrols. “Once we arrive in the morning, we can decide what is best upon assessing the situation.”
Torac walked away and went to sit with a group of others who had completed
Torac was as capable as Erik was, if not more so. In the years of knowing him, Erik had never seen him lose his temper. It did not make him weak; on the contrary, there was a silent strength about him that was as fearsome as any shout or strike.
Upon laying down for the night, Erik could not sleep, his mind whirling over what needed to be done and hoping to make the right decisions.
The air had a salty smell that reminded him of his youth on the Isle of Skye. His family home was near the shore, and he’d spent many days fishing and swimming.
As a warrior, he’d fought for the laird and had constantly moved from one place to the other, not settling anywhere long. In a way, the keep was as close a home as he had. It was where his belongings had remained in a small room in the guard quarters.
He’d emptied the room upon receiving the assignment of coming to the southwestern corner of the isle, where he’d remain for months. Perhaps he would settle there, in Welland.
The lonesome hoots of an owl brought his mind to the present. Erik turned to his side and attempted to get comfortable.
Still unable to settle his mind, he considered all the responsibilities that were on his shoulders. He had to make certain he thought things through before making any decisions. Tomorrow they would arrive to set up in an area they were not very familiar with. Whatever awaited would have to be dealt with.
It was a miserable night. No one got much sleep as the rainfall seeped through every opening between branches. Everyone and everything was completely soaked by morning.
When the sun finally rose, it was barely visible through thick gray clouds. The mist rising from the ground made for quite a dreary beginning to the day.
“Let us divert and go to the village to eat,” Erik said. “At least there we can find a tavern to get out of the elements for a bit and warm our bones.”
At the prospect of a hot meal, the men were more than happy to pack their soggy things and mount.
They rode in silence two by two toward the larger village. The promise of a hot meal and warm shelter helped them put up with the gloomy weather.
To Erik’s annoyance, it began to rain harder. It was doubtful any of the attackers would be out that day, which was the only thing he could feel good about at the moment. Drenched through and the wind blowing from the nearby sea made for a miserable journey.
By the time they arrived at Welland, the rain had dwindled to a drizzle and villagers hurried out to greet them. Children waved with wide grins while adults were a bit more tentative in their welcome.
They slowed when arriving at the village square where a gray-haired man waited, with an eager expression, for Erik and Torac to dismount before approaching. “Welcome to Welland, I am Athol, the constable”—he motioned to the woman with him—“and this is my wife, Helene.”
Erik nodded to the woman before addressing the man. “I am Erik, and he is called Torac, we come at the laird’s request to see about restoring peace to the area.”
“I have gone several times to see him to ask for help. It is good to see I was heard,” Athol replied, a grin spitting his face.
There was no need to tell the man about all the other issues in the northern portion of the island that required attention and that was why it had taken them so long to come see about them. The man had to stand by and watch as his people were attacked and had done his best to defend his small village. He did not need to hear excuses.
“We will seek to ensure yer people remain safe,” Torac said. “Who, besides the men we sent ahead, are here to help defend?”
The man looked toward the south. By the lack of expression, it was obvious he was not at all impressed by the guards who’d been sent by the laird months earlier. It was only a small contingent of four, but it was all that could be spared.
“They seem to spend most of the time chasing after lasses and expecting to be fed,” Athol said. “Although grateful for their presence, they did not escort a group that traveled to the shore to seek passage on bìrlinns to visit kinfolk and the people ended up being attacked.”
The man shook his head. “I am sorry to not speak well of my laird’s men. Besides them, we have a small group of men who are learning to fight. However it is hard to defend against archers.”
“The truth is appreciated,” Erik said. “Is there a place for my men and I to warm up and have a good meal?”
They went to the village tavern. Inside there were plenty of tables and chairs and to their delight, a large fireplace that warmed the room through. Cloaks were draped over chairs that were dragged closer to the fire to help dry them.
The tavern owner and his helpers quickly dispatched ale, bread, and freshly churned butter. After a few minutes, bowls of hearty stew were slid before them along with offerings of cheese.
People lingered near the long table, some drinking ale, while others looked on with interest.
“Ye have been kind to serve us so quickly,” Erik told the tavern owner. “It is much appreciated.”
The man gawked when Erik paid him more than enough to cover the food and drink. “Thank ye.”
Torac spoke to the constable, who gave them shortcut directions to where their post would be. Once again, it was clear the guards assigned there had not come to the village often, and the constable was not aware of any patrols.
Erik’s blood boiled. The guards who’d been sent ahead had not taken their orders seriously.
If they’d been patrolling as expected, they would have known a large contingent of armed warriors had entered the village and would soon head their way.
“Make arrangements with the constable and ensure he is paid enough coin to procure our meals over the next few days,” Erik told Torac, who walked off to do as told.
By the time they rode up to the camp, Erik was enraged. The area was silent. Barks from inside the guardhouse meant a dog was kept inside. Other than four horses in the stables, there were no signs of the guards assigned there.
He jumped from his horse, drew his sword, and raced into the building with several warriors close behind.
Sleeping men awoke with a start and practically fell from their cots at the commotion. The only thing standing up to the intrusion was a hound who bared his teeth and growled.
Erik looked to the dog. “Good hound.” He made a hand signal to the dog, and it wagged its tail in recognition. Seeming smarter than the four idiots who scrambled to stand, the hound rounded the newcomers and loped outside.
The groggy guardsmen didn’t try to get to their swords as they were by the doorway, which meant they would have to go past Erik and his men.
On one of the cots a woman sat ramrod still, not bothering to cover her nakedness, her mouth agape and hair askew.
“Get dressed and get out,” Erik gritted out each word.
The woman slid from the cot, picked up her discarded clothes, and ran out, not bothering to dress.
Erik walked closer to the guardsmen. “Is this how ye perform yer duties?” he yelled. “Is this how ye represent our laird?”
One of the men managed a sheepish look. “We usually are on patrol…”
“Line up!” Erik yelled, interrupting him. “Now!”
The four hapless idiots stood shoulder to shoulder, none fully dressed.
Erik met each of their gazes. “None of ye were aware that I and a contingent of twenty rode into the center of the village. We could have decimated the entirety of them by now.”
Realizing they had no excuse all four looked to the ground. The same one who’d spoken before met his gaze and then away. “I accept that we have failed in our duties. We are only four…”
“When was the last time ye escorted people to the shoreline?”
No reply.
“When was the last time ye scouted the forest?”
Again there was silence.
“Go outside and remain standing. I require time to decide how best to proceed.”
Two men, who’d obviously been enjoying the woman’s company, grabbed their clothes and hurried out behind the other two, who were already half dressed.
Eric walked around the large interior noting with disgust the rotting food atop the tables and the fact none of the tasks the men had been assigned had been completed.
