Though MacKay would never say it, Kenneth knew there was something else he was thinking about—that they were all probably thinking about. He might have earned his way onto the team, but he had yet to establish his place among the best warriors in Christendom. Men whose skills were obvious. Men who’d been fighting together for years and had formed a tight bond. He was the new man. The recruit. Unproven, and despite his accomplishments at the Games and in training, he knew they still had questions about him. He would answer them in time, but until then, he knew they would be watching him. Seeing what he could do. Evaluating and deciding where he could best be used.
His strength—his skill—lay in his versatility. Bruce and MacLeod would see that they could use him anywhere. Whether paired with MacSorley and MacRuairi on the seas, with MacKay, Campbell, and MacGregor in the Highlands, or with Seton, Boyd, MacLean, and Lamont in the Borders, he could be inserted in any mission wherever they had need of him.
Right now, he was also the best replacement they had for Gordon. But it remained to be seen whether his abilities with black powder would prove reliable enough to depend on. If only he had those old notes of Gordon’s grandfather. The old warrior fancied himself something of an alchemist and had written copious notes about his experiments with the Saracen thunder and flying fire while on crusade with Kenneth’s grandfather. It was in Outremer where the bond between the two clans had been formed. But unfortunately, the journal had burned in one of Kenneth and Gordon’s less successful experiments while they’d both been fostered with the Earl of Ross.
It seemed no matter what Kenneth did, he somehow still ended up having to prove himself. It might have been different had he bested MacKay at the Highland Games. But he hadn’t. He’d been so close …
His jaw tightened reflexively, as once again his wanton little nun’s face flashed before him. Not for the first time, he longed for their paths to cross again. He couldn’t help feeling that somehow she’d gotten the better of him. Next time—if there was a next time—she wouldn’t be so fortunate.
But he suspected it would be quite some time before he saw Mary of Mar again. The war might be under a truce, but the fighting had not ended. There were still skirmishes, especially along the Borders. And the truce would be coming to an end soon. It was originally supposed to end in November, but had been pushed back twice: first to January, and now until March.
Although Ewen Lamont and Eoin MacLean would be leaving for the Borders soon to help Boyd and Seton keep pressure on Edward, pressure that it was hoped would lead to a permanent truce, Kenneth assumed that he’d stay in Lorn with Campbell, MacGregor, MacKay, and Helen (Kenneth still couldn’t believe MacKay had agreed to her serving as the Guard’s de facto physician), while MacSorley, MacRuairi, and MacLeod kept watch on the west. In addition to keeping the trade routes open, the biggest threat right now came from the western seaboard. John of Lorn, the heir to the chiefdom of Clan MacDougall, was active again.
Mary of Mar would have to wait.
When neither he nor MacKay responded, the king apparently decided not to press. Instead, he asked, “Your sister mentioned that you were close friends with Henry Percy?”
Kenneth was taken aback by the question and immediately tensed, trying to clamp down on the defensiveness that sprang instinctively from any mention of his recent shift of alliance. It was only a little over a year ago that he’d been fighting with the English against Bruce. “We were,” he said carefully. “But that friendship ended when I gave my allegiance to you, Sire.”
Bruce must have realized the question was an awkward one. “No one questions your loyalty. I only wonder if you think it possible that this friendship could be rekindled?”
Kenneth frowned, wondering what the Bruce was getting at. “I doubt he was very happy with what he would perceive as my defection to the enemy camp. He is proud and arrogant in the manner of most Englishmen and unforgiving when personally slighted.” But theirs had been a friendship of mutual admiration for skills on the battlefield. “In the right circumstances, aye, I think we could be friends again.” A wry smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “But I should warn you, Sire, if you are thinking to find a sympathetic ear in Percy, you will be fighting a war you cannot win. He is English to the bone, and though he and Edward might not see eye-to-eye on the matter of Gaveston, he is loyal to the English crown.” His lands and fortune depended on it.
Bruce smiled. “It’s not Percy’s loyalty I was thinking of, but yours.” Kenneth stiffened, but the king waved him off. “A temporary shift, that’s all. I want you to go to England, renew your friendship with Percy, and see what you can find out about Edward’s plans. Percy has campaigned in Scotland before; Edward will rely on his experience.”
“You think war is finally coming, then? There will not be any more delays from the trouble with his barons?”
Bruce shook his head. “I think the election of the Lord Ordainers will force Edward’s attention north. He’ll fight a war in Scotland to avoid the supervision of his barons.” In large part because of Gaveston, King Edward had been forced to agree to reform of the royal household and the appointment of “Ordainers” who would carry out the mandate. “Aye, war is coming,” Bruce said. “This will be our first test against the English since Loudoun Hill over two and a half years ago, and I intend to be ready for it. We assume they will use Edinburgh Castle as their base, but see what you can find out. We want to know where he is going and hit him hard.”
Kenneth did not question the importance of the mission, just his role in it. He’d never spied before, and frankly, deception didn’t sit well with him. He was a Highlander, but he was also a knight. MacRuairi had warned him that if he wanted to fight with the Highland Guard he was going to get dirty, and he suspected this was his first test. He just hadn’t anticipated that his first test would be alone. He wasn’t going to break through the tight bond these men had forged from England.
Part of him couldn’t help wondering whether there was another reason he was chosen. Was this a test of another kind? Was his loyalty still in question?
The acid of bitterness rose to the back of his throat, but he tamped it back down.
“They will be suspicious,” Kenneth said. He’d be fortunate if the English didn’t throw him in the closest dungeon.
“Perhaps at first,” the king agreed. “But your past should work in our favor. Your change of allegiance was both recent and reluctant.”
Kenneth’s jaw hardened, wanting to argue but knowing he spoke the truth. “At first, perhaps.”
“They don’t know that,” MacLeod pointed out.
“You aren’t exactly known for your even temperament,” MacKay added. “That hot temper of yours just might work in our favor. A falling-out with your brother the earl and Bruce won’t seem out of character.”
Kenneth bit back the angry retort, forcing himself to stay cool, though he wanted to point out that a hot temper didn’t equate to disloyalty. Instead, he addressed the king. “Percy will still be suspicious.”
The king smiled. “Well, then, you will just have to prove it to him.”
Any reluctance Kenneth might have felt was dismissed when he heard Bruce’s plan. It wasn’t without danger, but it should work to prove his “loyalty.”
Being sent to England on his first mission might not be his first choice, but he supposed there was one side benefit. He smiled. Lady Mary was in England. He just might have his chance to rekindle their “friendship” and exact a little retribution sooner than he’d anticipated.
Eleven
One Week Later, Candlemas, February 2, 1310
Berwick Castle, Berwick-upon-Tweed, Northumberland, English Marches
Kenneth would never have guessed how quickly he would come to appreciate his training. But being tossed in a dank, pitch-black hole all night—Berwick’s pit prison—seemed luxurious compared to some of the “accommodations” he’d had on Skye. He’d actually slept quite comfortably once his nose desensitized to the lingerin
g scent of shite and piss from the last occupant.
The first part of his plan hadn’t gone quite as smoothly as he’d hoped. His arrival and request to speak to Percy had caused a stir. He’d expected that. He just hadn’t expected that the first person he’d see would be Sir John Felton. It had definitely been a spot of bad luck to come face-to-face with Percy’s champion.
There had been tension between the two men from the first. Felton hadn’t liked the friendship that had sprung up between him and Percy. Nor had he liked it when Kenneth came close to besting him on the practice field with the sword one day—an act that he’d perceived as a challenge to his place as Percy’s greatest knight.
Upon seeing him and hearing that Kenneth was changing his allegiance once again, Felton had tossed him in the pit prison until he could find Percy. As it had taken him all night, Kenneth suspected he hadn’t been looking very hard.
The frosty reception from Percy hadn’t been much better, though the chill had warmed considerably when he’d heard what Kenneth had to say. Percy had barely blinked when Kenneth claimed to have had a falling-out with his brother after a heated argument over the recent attempt on Bruce’s life by his henchman (with whom Kenneth feigned sympathy). Shifting alliances were all too common in the long war, and Kenneth’s maneuverings to be in a position to claim his brother’s estates should Bruce lose might be opportunistic, but that also made it understandable. Kenneth also knew his well-known temper—damn MacKay for saying so!—was as much to blame for the ready acceptance of his story.
Perhaps he should be offended by how easily they’d believed him—except for Felton, who’d stormed out a short while ago in a huff—but he was just pleased that his stay in the pit prison would not be an extended one.
His new brethren wouldn’t have to come rescue him. At least not yet. He was being given a chance to prove himself. Kenneth was going to prove his loyalty to the English by betraying Bruce. At least that was how it would look.
He looked around the small solar at the decidedly more friendly faces. With Felton gone, there was only Percy, a handful of his most trusted knights, and Sir Adam Gordon.
Kenneth had been genuinely glad to see the older warrior. Sir Adam had been William Gordon’s uncle and head of the family. He’d been good to Kenneth when they were young, and when William had decided to fight with Bruce, they’d shared the disappointment.
When Kenneth had fought with the English, Sir Adam had looked after him, doing what he could to advance him in Edward’s army with choice words in the right ears. If there was anyone he looked forward to betraying less than Percy, it was Sir Adam.
“We will leave at sunrise,” Percy announced. “That should give us plenty of time to reach Ettrick Forest and intercept the supply carts before darkness falls. You are sure the attack is set for tomorrow night?”
Although English garrisons still held most of the important border and lowland castles in Scotland, including Edinburgh, Sterling, Bothwell, Roxburgh, and Perth among others, keeping them provisioned—especially those not accessible by the sea—proved a challenge. If the English controlled the strongholds, Bruce controlled the countryside, and the cart trains were often attacked by “the rebels.” Advance knowledge of one of these attacks was a difficult lure to resist. Adding Bruce’s phantom army made it impossible.
Kenneth wasn’t surprised that Percy had decided to go himself. The chance to capture members of Bruce’s secret army would tempt any Englishman with ambition or pretensions toward greatness. The reward from the king would be considerable, but being known as the man who’d finally caught the phantom band … that would make him a legend.
He nodded. “Bruce’s men like to attack at night in isolated areas. This pass in the forest right before the junction in the road to turn east toward Roxburgh,” he pointed to the spot on the map near the Aln River and the small village of Ashkirk, “was chosen for exactly that.”
“Furtive tactics,” Percy said with distaste.
“Aye,” Kenneth pretended to agree. “Bruce’s pirate warfare might work to capture supply carts, but it merely proves how ill-equipped he is to meet Edward’s army like knights on the battlefield.”
The coming war had been another reason given for Kenneth’s change of allegiance. But he understood what these men did not: that Bruce had no intention of taking the field against Edward until he was ready.
Percy stood and gave him an assessing gaze. “I hope you are right about this. It will go very badly for you if you are wrong. Now I have a feast to attend and a delay to explain to Gaves—” he stopped and corrected himself—“Cornwall. He may have some questions for you. After you change.” His gaze slid over Kenneth with a shudder. “It seems Felton was a bit overzealous in his greeting. He should have let me know of your arrival immediately.”
Kenneth tipped his head, acknowledging the semi-apology.
“You have some men with you?” Percy asked.
“Just a few of my household men,” he said. “I dared not attempt to leave with more. They are waiting for me in the forest.” His mouth turned. “I was unsure of my reception.”
Percy smiled for the first time. “Your caution was understandable in the circumstances.”
“I will send some of my men to fetch them,” Sir Adam said. “Sutherland can stay with me in my chamber.”
Under guard. Neither Percy nor Sir Adam said it, but Kenneth heard it nonetheless. He wasn’t surprised. They would keep a close watch on him for a while.
Kenneth was escorted a short while later by two of Sir Adam’s men to the Constable Tower, where a bath had been arranged while his horse and the bag holding the few items he’d brought with him was tracked down. Exchanging the mail shirt he’d been captured in for a surcote, he left one of his men to clean it while he was escorted to the Hall. The Earl of Cornwall did indeed have some questions for him.
Unfortunately, as he hadn’t eaten in nearly twenty-four hours, the tables had already been moved for the dancing and music. He was able to snatch a few pieces of cheese, however, from a passing serving girl who was removing the remaining trays.
The music had already begun and the revelers had formed the circle carol dance. He gave the dancers no more than a passing glance, weaving his way through the crowd to the dais at the back of the room.
Sir Adam leaned over and murmured something to the man at his side. Though Kenneth had never met him, his pretty face, fine ermine-lined mantle, and heavy gold chain with one of the biggest sapphires Kenneth had ever seen hanging from his neck identified him as the king’s favorite. Hell, he looked like the king himself.
The earl frowned, watching him with interest as Kenneth came forward at Sir Adam’s motion.
“Sutherland,” he said. “I hear you have had a change of heart.”
“Aye, my lord.”
The gaze that held his was more intense than he’d expected. For all the hate and condemnation he inspired, Kenneth could see right away that Sir Piers Gaveston was not a man to dismiss. He hadn’t gotten where he was by being a fool—not a complete one, anyway. “I will hear more about it after the feast.”
The brief interview concluded, at least for now, Kenneth and Sir Adam took their leave.
They’d just stepped off the dais when he felt a prickle on the back of his neck. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of golden-blond hair swinging in a cloud of shimmering silk.
He stilled, a buzz of awareness shooting up his spine, every nerve ending in his body coming alive.
He turned, looking at the woman who’d caught his eye. She had her back to him, and by any objective measure, there was nothing about her that should be familiar. She was laughing, for one thing. Dancing, for another. Her hair was tumbling loose about her shoulders for all the bloody world to see, not hidden behind some hideous veil. She was not skinny as a starved bird who looked like he could blow her over with one breath, but healthy-looking with gentle curves—nay, substantial curves, he corrected, looking at her shapely round bot
tom.
There was no way in hell he should have recognized her.
But he did.
It was only when he saw the man’s hand linger on her waist that he glanced over at her partner. At the man who was making her laugh.
Kenneth stiffened again, this time with rage. Every possessive bone in his body—bones he hadn’t even known he had—flared to life.
Felton. What the hell was she doing with Felton?
His mouth thinned, the reason for Felton’s early departure from the meeting suddenly clear.
“Is something wrong?” Sir Adam asked.
Kenneth forced his fists to relax, not realizing they’d instinctively clenched. He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak without the venom spewing through his blood.
The dance came to an end, and Felton started to lead her off the floor toward them. She was only a few feet away when she finally looked in his direction.
His breath caught, feeling as if he’d been poleaxed across the chest. The beauty that he’d glimpsed behind the nun-nish facade was revealed in its full glory. Her face was fuller, softening the features that had seemed too sharp. Her skin was luminous, a flawless ivory, pinkened with the flush of her dance. Her eyes were a bright and sparkling blue, her lips red and smiling. She even had a small dimple just to the left of her curving mouth.
His mouth, by contrast, fell in a hard line.
She didn’t see him right away, noticing Sir Adam first. But almost as if she sensed him, too, her gaze shifted to his.
He had the satisfaction—and right now, it was bloody well satisfying—of seeing her eyes widen, and every drop of the blush Felton had put in her cheeks drain from her face in shock.
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