A splotch of rain slapped his face. Thunder boomed and the rain pounded the docks. The knights’ bolted for the overhangs of nearby buildings.
Taking advantage of their preoccupation, Colyne tugged his cloak tighter and stepped onto the wharf amongst the sailors, who, used to the adverse weather, continued to work.
As he neared several men carrying a container, he hefted an edge, kept his face toward the cargo, and fell in step. At the Kincaid, he hurried up the plank.
Near the top of the quarterdeck, a muscled sailor with a scraggly rain-sodden beard blocked his path. “State your business.”
Though shielded by the rain, the coming dawn would aid in exposing him to the English. Colyne stepped forward. “I need to see Lord Logan immediately.”
Cold warning flashed in the sailor’s eyes a second before he unsheathed his dagger. “The captain is busy.”
Before the sailor realized his intention, Colyne snared the man’s wrist. “Tell your captain Lord Strathcliff requests his presence.” The wind gusting through the wharf calmed, and the rain began to ease. To his right, English knights moved onto the docks. “Now!”
“Colyne?”
At Logan’s voice, Colyne dropped his hold on the sailor’s arm. “Aye.”
“Let him pass,” the captain ordered.
“A warm welcome,” Colyne muttered as he strode on deck and clasped hands with his friend, whose long black hair and piercing ebony eyes reminded him of a brigand’s. A title against the English his friend often fulfilled.
The captain’s gaze narrowed on the English duke’s knights, scouring the pier below. “They have been combing the wharf ever since I arrived in port. Whoever they search for, they are determined to find.”
Colyne grimaced. “They want me.”
Amusement trickled into his friend’s eyes. “Come to my cabin where we can speak freely.”
In his private quarters, Logan shoved back his hood. Water dripped onto a wooden deck stained by salty sea spray and the passage of time. “I am surprised you are in Glasgow. When I saw you a month past, you were headed to the Highlands.”
Colyne shook the rain from his cloak. “Which is where I was until an issue forced my hand.”
“An issue?” He lifted a brow. “Would it have anything to do with the abduction of King Philip’s bastard daughter?”
“So you have heard?” Colyne asked, nae surprised. Like the bishop, his friend had many well-informed connections.
“Do nae worry. ’Tis nae common knowledge. The information came to me through . . . how shall I say it? Discreet but reliable channels.”
Humor tugged at Colyne’s mouth. “Robert Bruce needs to have your ear on more than random occasions.”
Logan folded his arms across his chest. “My mistress is the sea.”
“There is a comfort to be found on land as well,” Colyne said, intrigued to find the proposition of spending time with Alesia brought him only happiness. “Do you think you will ever give up sailing?”
“Never. I have all I need beneath my feet.”
Colyne understood his friend’s reason for finding succor out to sea—the woman who’d broken his heart.
If asked a month before, Colyne would have agreed that his duties as earl and to his country’s fight for freedom fulfilled his needs. Alesia had changed everything. “Mayhap you shall meet a woman who will convince you otherwise.”
The captain uncrossed his arms. “Are those the words of experience, my friend?”
He nodded and gave a rueful grin. “Her name is Lady Alesia.”
“Ah. Perhaps ’tis nae only the king’s business that brings you to Glasgow, then?”
Colyne sobered at the reminder of his mission, along with Alesia, whom he’d left at the cathedral. “Nay. We met en route. She and other missionaries had delivered supplies to Beauly Priory. While traveling through the Highlands, their party was attacked.”
“By the English?”
