She wanted to hurt him, as he’d hurt her. “Are you so sure of that? I’ve survived a broken heart before; what makes you think I can’t do it again?”
His eyes flashed. He grabbed her arm and pulled her close to him. “This is different, and you know it. This isn’t some girlish fantasy; this is real.”
She sagged against him, not bothering to struggle. If he wanted a fight, he wasn’t going to get it from her. “Is that right? Nothing feels very real to me right now. It all feels like a lie.”
He released her, dragging his hand through his hair, clearly trying to cool his temper. “Let’s go downstairs. We can talk about this—”
“Do you honestly think I intend to share a bed with you? I can’t bear to look at you right now.” She gave him a hard look. “I want you to leave.”
“Mary …”
He reached for her, but she shrugged away. The tears at last caught up with her, choking her voice. “God, can you not even give me this? Or do you intend to throw me over your shoulder and carry me out of here right now?”
If she weren’t so angry, the turmoil of the emotions crossing his face might have softened her heart. “The day after tomorrow,” he said. “As soon as Sir Adam leaves.”
She stared at him in horror. “So you gave me two days to decide.”
“I gave you two days to prepare.”
She stared at him mutely, understanding. He wasn’t giving her a choice. He’d stuck the last blade through her heart. “It seems you’ve decided everything, then.”
“It’s not like that.” He reached for her, but she flinched from his touch. The look of hurt in his eyes was mildly satisfying. She wanted him to feel as bleak and horrible as she did now. If he could only know an ounce of the pain he’d just inflicted on her. “I love you, Mary.”
“Don’t! Don’t you dare say that to me! If you loved me, you wouldn’t have done this to me.”
He dropped his gaze, looking away from the challenge in her eyes. “Very well, I’ll go. I need to be back at the castle by morning as it is.” He took her chin and forced her gaze to his. “I know you are angry and scared, but we have our whole lives for me to make it up to you. I’m asking you to have faith in me, Mary.”
She turned away coldly, the sting of betrayal still reverberating through her. He asked for more than she could give.
It was still a few hours before dawn when Kenneth arrived outside the walls of Berwick Castle. With the gate closed for the night, he dismounted and found a rock to sit on while he waited.
It had been worse than he expected. He’d known Mary would be upset, but the look of betrayal in her eyes had cut him to the quick. She’d looked shattered. Disillusioned. Hurt. She’d looked at him as if she didn’t know him. As if he’d let her down beyond repair.
But that wasn’t possible. He wouldn’t allow himself to consider the possibility that she wouldn’t forgive him. She was hurt now, but she’d come around eventually.
Wouldn’t she?
A knot of uncertainty lodged in his chest. What if she didn’t? What if he’d wounded her so deeply and shattered her illusions so thoroughly that he’d lost her love forever?
Jesus. His stomach turned, and he felt the sudden urge to retch.
Nay, he couldn’t let himself think like that. She would forgive him. Once she had time to think, she would see that he’d had no choice. That he’d done the best he could under the circumstances.
He only hoped she thought quickly. He didn’t know what the hell he was going to do if he showed up to take her away and she refused to go. Recalling her taunt, he didn’t relish the idea of abducting his own wife.
What a bloody mess.
Knowing there was nothing he could do about it for now, he exchanged his rock for a tree to lean back on, closed his eyes, and tried to sneak in a few hours of sleep.
But given the events of the night, the cold morning mist, and the general discomfort of using a tree for a bed, it was a fitful sleep—which proved fortunate. About an hour before dawn, when the blackness of the evening sky had just started to soften to gray, he heard the faint sounds of grinding metal.
Jolted fully awake, he peered through the cold, shadowy mist to the castle, where the metal portcullis was being raised. It was the sounds of the chain being winched and the gate sliding through the grooves that he’d heard.
He came immediately to attention, thinking it odd that the gate was being opened so early. Peering through the mist, he watched as a team of a half-dozen men rode out. He recognized the “Chequy Or and Azure, a Fess Gules” of Clifford’s arms. That pricked his senses immediately. English knights much preferred to travel in large war parties. Where was Clifford going so early in the morning without a score of men to protect him?
It had all the vestiges of a secret or clandestine mission.
Every instinct urged to follow them. But Percy was expecting him. How would he explain his absence?
He debated for all of ten seconds. He would think of a way. This was just the opportunity he’d been awaiting.
“Let us worry about Clifford.” He pushed aside MacKay’s voice. Kenneth’s mission might be to stay close to Percy, but part of his skill was his versatility. Adapting. Fitting in where they needed him. And every instinct clamored that this was important.
Mounting his horse, he set off after them. He might not be as ghostlike as Campbell or MacRuairi, or as good a tracker as Lamont, but for second best he was damned good.
“Are you sure there is nothing wrong, my dear? You look a little pale.”
Mary gazed over her bowl of stew to the concerned visage of her old friend. Everything was wrong. She’d given her heart to a man only to have him betray her in the worst way possible. He was a traitor. A rebel. She wanted to sink her face into her hands and weep. But she’d already done that for most of the night, and it hadn’t helped.
She forced a wan smile to her face. “I did not sleep very well.” It was the truth, albeit only a small portion of what was making her such poor company for the midday meal.
Sir Adam gave her a wry smile. “I remember the last month or two was always the most difficult for my wife. She often slept poorly. Are you very uncomfortable?”
“It’s not so bad yet.”
He studied her, as if he suspected there was more. “Perhaps I should have told you I was bringing David. I wanted to surprise you, but I should have realized—”
“Nay!” she protested. “It is a wonderful surprise. I’ve missed him terribly since I left the castle. I’m just fortunate that Huntlywood is so close. I can’t thank you enough for allowing us to stay here.”
He waved off her thanks. “It pleases me to know someone will be livening up these old stone walls while I’m away.”
A dark shadow crossed over her. Would she be here? What choice did she have? Despite her brave words, she didn’t know if she could weather another storm of being declared the wife of a traitor. She felt a stab of anger, hating her husband for putting her in this position—not only of having her choices taken from her, but also of having to deceive a man who’d never been anything but wonderful to her. “I will miss you.”
Something in her voice must have betrayed her. A furrow appeared between her brows; he studied her carefully before he replied. “It will not be for long. Besides, I think you will be so well occupied, you will not know I’m gone.”
They spoke for a few minutes on other subjects before Sir Adam asked, “Where is Sutherland? I expected to find him here.”
Mary hoped she hadn’t flinched at the mention of her husband. She fought to keep her expression neutral. “He returned to the castle last night.”
Sir Adam frowned. “That’s strange. I did not see him this morning. Percy was looking for him. He was supposed to attend him this morning for some meetings with Cornwall.”
Her heart, which had come to a standstill after last night, flickered to life. It started to beat rapidly. There is no reason to be concerned.
“It
was late when he left. Perhaps he overslept?” Realizing how that sounded, she hastened to explain. “He was helping me clean out the garret. I found an old trunk of your father’s.”
Sir Adam stiffened almost imperceptibly, but she noticed.
“I’d forgotten that was up there. It’s been many years since I looked through it.”
“He kept the most wonderful journals.” Heat rose to her cheeks. “I hope you don’t mind that I took a peek inside?”
“Of course not.” He returned his attention to his food, making an effort to appear unconcerned. But it was an effort, she realized. “And your husband, did he admire the journals as well?”
She recalled the intensity with which she’d observed Kenneth poring over the journals. She’d been so surprised to see him, she hadn’t thought about it at the time. “I believe so, although we did not speak of it.” She paused. “Perhaps … Would you mind if I showed Davey? I think he would find some of the pictures interesting.”
“Not at all. And then when you are finished, I will move that old trunk out of your way.”
A short while later, Mary was in the garret chamber with her son. As she’d suspected, Davey had enjoyed looking over the drawings of the exotic locales. But she had another reason for bringing him up here. She’d been delaying telling him about the baby, not sure how he would react. Given the date of her marriage and the impending arrival of his brother or sister, she didn’t want him to think badly of her.
Without any furniture to sit on, she closed the lid of the trunk and invited him to take a seat beside her. “There is something I should like to tell you, and I hope you will be as excited about it as I am,” she said.
The handsome youth on the cusp of manhood looked at her oddly. “About the baby?”
Her mouth dropped open. “How did you know?”
“Sir Kenneth told me some time ago. He thought I was upset by the suddenness of your wedding.”
Kenneth’s perception took her aback. “And were you upset?”
He shrugged.
She bit her lip. How had she not realized? It must have been confusing for him. “I’m sorry, I should have told you.”
She raked his face with her eyes, trying to penetrate the enigmatic mask. More than anything, she would have liked to see some real emotion on her son’s face. Even anger would have been preferable to bland acceptance. It seemed to be the way he reacted to everything.
God, what had the years of imprisonment done to him?
“I am glad to see you happy, Mother. Sir Kenneth is a fine knight.”
“Are you happy, David?”
He considered the question as if he’d never thought of it before. “I make do.”
His answer took her aback. Her son was more like her than she’d realized. But it sounded different coming from him. Was “making do” enough for her son?
Was it enough for her? Didn’t they both deserve more?
“I know it has been difficult for you since your father was killed.”
His mouth tightened, and his eyes flashed with surprising venom. “You mean executed for treason. My father was a traitor who suffered the punishment he deserved. His dishonor has nothing to do with me.”
She’d wanted emotion, but not like this. Mary hoped her horror didn’t show. “Your father fought for what he believed in, Davey. He wasn’t a traitor to his people. To your people.”
It was strange to defend Atholl after so many years. But no matter what he’d done to her—to them—he had been a great patriot. She wanted Davey to see that. Time and her marriage to Kenneth had erased some of the bitterness and given her perspective.
He sniffed his nose as if at something unpleasant. The so thoroughly English mannerism took her aback even further. “My people are under the influence of a usurper. Once Bruce is defeated, they will see the truth.”
Kenneth had been right, at least in this. There was nothing Scottish in her son. My God, how she’d failed him! She’d made a vow to fight for his heritage, fight for his patrimony, but she’d ignored the most important part: his identity. He was a Scot. His father had been executed fighting for Scottish independence, and Davey was “Dear cousin Davey” to the men who’d done so.
Suddenly, Kenneth’s question last night came back to her. What would she have done, had she been asked? Listening to her son, she knew the answer. She would have stood behind Bruce. She’d believed in Robert as much as Atholl had. That belief was buried under years of fear and making do, but it was still there. Atholl should have protected them better, he should have given her a say in her future, but she could not fault him for his allegiance to Bruce.
“My sister was married to that ‘usurper,’ David. Robert is a great man—one of the greatest knights in Christendom,” she added, knowing what was likely to impress him. “I should like you to meet him. I think you would like him.”
“I will meet him. Across a battlefield.”
“He would like to have you back in Scotland.”
He frowned. “How do you know this?”
“He told me when I was there.”
“I will be. When we win.”
Mary knew she had to tread carefully. But it was his life at stake; he deserved some say in it. “You aren’t English, you know that, don’t you, Davey? You are a Scottish earl. You belong in Scotland. Wouldn’t you like to go home? To see the lands of your ancestors?”
He looked at her as if she’d just uttered treason, which perhaps she had. “Why are you saying this, Mother?”
She paused, debating how much to tell him. In the end, she decided she’d said enough. Why was she pressing her son for an answer, when she didn’t even know her own?
She smiled. “Don’t pay me any mind. I’m in a maudlin mood.”
He stared at her for a long moment and nodded.
Standing, he walked over to the window. “That’s strange.”
“What?”
“Sir John is approaching with at least two dozen men.”
Mary’s heart dropped. It’s probably nothing, she told herself. But every instinct told her otherwise.
Twenty-five
Kenneth followed Clifford’s party for hours. He’d expected them to take the road southwest along the border to Jedburgh, but instead they took a path due west toward the town of Biggar, skirting the dangerous Selkirk Forest, which was controlled by Bruce’s men under the command of Sir James Douglas.
Where the hell were they going? Continuing on this road up the Clydesdale would take them to Bothwell Castle, just south of Glasgow. He stilled. Bothwell Castle, where the English garrison could easily be supplied by Clifford’s border castles of Carlisle and Caerlaverock.
His senses hummed. He was on to something; he knew it. What if the reason there didn’t seem to be enough supplies going north to Edinburgh was because that wasn’t the path they were going to take? What if this was the path? What if Bothwell, Rutherglen, and Renfrew were the English-held castles that would keep the English army supplied and protected on their Scottish campaign?
It felt right, but how was he going to prove it? All he had was his gut to go on.
But Clifford wasn’t accommodating enough to hand him conclusive proof today. When the small party turned around near midday to return to the castle, Kenneth followed. The ride to seemingly nowhere only served to further convince him that it had been a scouting mission in advance of the army.
But he needed proof, damn it. Was it too much to ask for a nice, colorfully drawn map to fall into his hands? If only spying were that easy.
It was nearing dusk by the time Clifford’s party rode through the gate of Berwick Castle. Kenneth waited a short while before following.
He was expecting to have to do some explaining for his absence, but as he neared the gate, he wondered if it was going to take a lot more than that.
He heard the call go up when the men who were keeping watch from the battlements above sighted him. Was it his imagination, or had the air suddenly become more charged?
Were the men at the gate nervous? They seemed to purposefully not meet his gaze, and more than one hand was gripping the hilt of a sword. He was beginning to get a bad feeling—a very bad feeling—about this.
Had Mary betrayed him? For one horrible moment, he wondered. But he quickly pushed the thought aside. She wouldn’t. No matter how angry, he refused to believe she’d condemn him to the same fate as Atholl.
But it was clear something was wrong. The moment he rode through the gate, he could feel the men moving into position behind him.
He swore. Catching sight of Percy coming down the stairs of the Great Hall, he knew from the cold fury on the knight’s face that he was in trouble. Whether it was his unexplained absence, Felton giving him up for illegal fighting, or something else, he wasn’t going to stay and find out.
His time in the English camp was over, and he liked his chances of getting out now with only a handful of men behind him better than he did from a pit prison.
He could be completely wrong, but if he’d learned anything in this long war, it was that when in doubt, trust your senses. Sometimes they were the only things that kept you alive.
He didn’t hesitate. Swinging his mount around, he plunged through the men who’d come around to block his exit. The sudden move caught them by surprise, but one man managed to get his sword up in time to take a good swing at him. Kenneth yanked the sword from the scabbard at his back and managed to save his leg—and more importantly, his horse—from the soldier’s blade.
With a fierce cry, he landed another blow at one of the men guarding the portcullis to his right. Reacting quickly, he fended off a blow from the man at his left. He could hear the shouts behind him to lower the gate, to not let him escape, but it was too late. Lowering his head to the neck of his mount, he tore out the gate. He tried not to think about the arrows that were going to start raining on him from above—
He flinched as an arrow found its mark right in his back. But he felt more the impact than pain, and suspected it had only found the steel of his mail. A second arrow grazed his arm as he started to weave, the quick changes of direction making it harder for them to hold a target.
The Recruit Page 34