The Ghost

by Monica McCarty

  When Alex stormed away with her stepfather, she turned to Robbie. “What is the matter with him? I’ve never seen him like this.” Alex wasn’t foolhardy, but taking on the greatest swordsman in Christendom certainly qualified.

  Robbie just shook his head. “He’s lost his bloody mind. He’s been out of control like this since he found out you were taken. Never thought I’d see the day.”

  From the way he smiled, he actually seemed pleased by the whole thing.

  It was from Robbie that she learned some of the details that Alex had left out, most important how his turning had come at a key moment in the battle when the king had been about to retreat. It was Alex’s timely intelligence and persuasiveness that had convinced Bruce to stay and fight.

  She would have told Alex how proud she was of him, but he was locked in another confrontation. This time with her stepfather.

  Good gracious, that didn’t take long! Alex and Lachlan’s temporary alliance hadn’t lasted all of about five minutes. She had just sat down to eat some of the beef and cheese that Alex had left her, when she noticed the two men arguing.

  From the way they occasionally glanced in her direction, she didn’t need to guess what they were arguing about. She could tell from Lachlan’s expression that he was making threats, but Alex seemed completely unmoved. He waited until Lachlan was done, and then said something while pointing to his side. It was chillingly effective. Lachlan’s face went white with anger—and maybe worry?—and a few minutes later he stormed off.

  She stood as Alex approached. “What was that about?” she asked.

  She wasn’t sure he was going to answer her. He put his hands on her waist to lift her back up onto the horse. After making sure she was comfortable, he said, “Your stepfather didn’t approve of my change of plans.”

  She turned around to look at him as he settled in behind her. The warmth and strength of his body felt so good she almost forgot what she’d been about to ask. “And what change of plans is that?”

  “To stop at my castle in Winton on the way to Edinburgh.”

  She frowned. Winton was on the old North road that ran mostly parallel to the coast. It was the road the first Edward had taken into Scotland, but not the road taken by Edward II nine days ago. “Does he not think the road is safe?”

  “That isn’t the reason for his objection.” He distracted her by putting his hand on her face with such tenderness it made her heart catch. “I’m going to kill the man who did this to you, but first I will see you cared for.”

  “I’m fine, Alex, truly. Especially now.” She didn’t want him going anywhere—and certainly not to take on Sir Hugh Despenser and whatever remained of King Edward’s army. From what she’d been able to gather, Lachlan and a few other Guardsmen had caught up with Alex after failing to track down King Edward before he’d reached the safety of Dunbar Castle, where he’d found temporary refuge with one of the few remaining loyal Scotsmen, Patrick, Earl of Dunbar. King Edward and the men who’d seen him to safety—including Despenser and the Earl of Pembroke—had reportedly left Dunbar for Berwick by sea and were probably not far behind them. None of which would explain why Lachlan was so angry. “What objection does he have, then?”

  With a snap of the reins, the palfrey moved forward. “To the wedding.”

  Joan froze, but her heart was beating fast. Very fast. “What wedding?”

  “Ours.”

  That fast heartbeat went still. “And when is this wedding to take place?”

  “Before the sun sets on another day, because the next time I go to bed you will be beside me.”

  In case she hadn’t gotten his meaning—which she had—the arm wrapped around her waist just under her breasts pulled her in a little tighter, and he slid her bottom back in the saddle. Aye, there was no mistaking that meaning—she could feel every inch of his meaning riding hard and solid against her.

  Good God, could he . . . like this?

  She wasn’t frozen anymore. Her skin was suddenly warm. But she forced all the shivering and quivering aside and straightened her back to give him a sidelong reproachful frown. “Haven’t you forgotten something?”

  “We don’t need to say the banns. I secured a dispensation from the Abbot of Inchaffray before I left Stirling.”

  She lifted a brow. He was quite certain of himself, wasn’t he? “How thoughtful of you, but I was referring to me. Do I not have a say in all of this?”

  “No.”

  “Alex!” she exclaimed, turning fully around this time.

  He shrugged. “It’s your fault. You wanted a brigand, now you have to deal with it.”

  His smile took away most of her outrage. Most. She gave him a long look. “I think I like you better with the shiny mail.”

  He laughed and pressed a kiss on the top of her head. “No more bossing around after this, I promise. I’m done switching sides. I’m right where I belong.”

  Her heart squeezed, hearing the bigger promise. He was hers forever. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said softly.

  He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “You were right.”

  She shuddered. And not just from the warmth of his breath against her skin. The hand tucked under her breast had taken the opportunity to roam under her cloak, and his fingers were caressing little circles in sensitive places. Very sensitive places.

  “I was?” It wasn’t the jarring of the galloping horse or the wind that made her voice so breathless.

  “Aye. I was so convinced that what I was doing was right, my pride wouldn’t let me see when it wasn’t anymore. You can say I told you so all you want—after the wedding.”

  She laughed, shooing his hand away before she started moaning. “How many times?”

  “As many as you want. Although I may need a few minutes’ rest between.”

  She had the feeling they weren’t talking about “I told you so’s” anymore. “A few minutes?”

  “Give or take. I’m still working on my stamina.” She laughed, and he pulled her in tight again. “I’m not letting you go again, sweetheart. I love you.”

  “If that is a proposal, I accept.” She turned, meeting his gaze in the moonlight. “And I love you, too.”

  He grinned, and she thought he looked more like himself, until he caught Lachlan’s gaze. The look he shot back at him was every bit as venomous as her stepfather’s.

  Clearly, it was going to take more than a wedding to make it right between them. But she was determined that one day it would be. Alex didn’t just belong with her and Bruce—he belonged with the Highland Guard.

  “What did you say to him to convince him?” she asked.

  Alex took a few moments too long to respond. “I told him we would have another celebration with your mother and siblings when you had had a chance to recover. He saw the wisdom of not having Bella see you like this.”

  Joan didn’t blame him. Joan could imagine her mother’s reaction to her injuries—and what she would have to say to Bruce, Lachlan, and Alex about them. But she knew that wasn’t all. “Why did you point to your side?”

  Alex’s face might have been in the shadows, but she would swear something resembling shame crossed his features. “I might have threatened him with something.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Alex . . .”

  “I made a vow.”

  She knew it wasn’t an accident when he flicked the reins and kicked his heels to urge the horse to a gallop, and the opportunity for conversation was lost.

  But she wasn’t worried. She would get the truth out of him tonight. She would have to remind him about his vow to give up vows when it came to her.

  25

  THEY ARRIVED AT the castle shortly before dawn. Alex’s mother had taken one look at the half-starved, beaten young woman in his arms—Joan had been asleep and he refused to set her down after she’d woken—and immediately whisked her away. After losing a husband and two sons to the war—her sons in horrific execution
s—Lady Agnes Seton had endured more than her share of tragedy, but had done it all with a strength that had never faltered.

  Alex knew there was no one who could care for Joan more capably than his mother—except maybe her own—but it was still hard to let her go.

  As he stood in the Hall and watched the two women disappear into the donjon stairwell, he felt a fist tighten around his chest. The rage that he’d experienced on first seeing Joan emerge from that pit—beaten, starved, and barely resembling the strong, passionate woman he’d left eleven days before—had turned inward. This was his fault. He’d done this to her.

  He hadn’t realized his former partner had come up beside him. “Get your sword.”

  “Why?”

  Boyd didn’t answer.

  Despite being exhausted—God knew the last time that he’d had more than a couple of hours of sleep—Alex followed him out to the practice yard.

  It didn’t take him long to figure out the answer to his own question. Alex needed to vent his anger, and there was no place better to do it than battling his former partner.

  It took only a few minutes for the light sparring to turn to no-holds-barred combat. That’s how it had always been between them. They never gave half-measure. The two men exchanged blow after blow, until Alex felt as if his arms were going to fall off. Until he could barely find the strength to lift his sword or block the powerful blows.

  Christ, the bastard had only gotten stronger in the past two years—which was saying something for the strongest man in Scotland. The fact that Alex was out of practice only made it worse. But he didn’t give up. Finally, Boyd took mercy on him and put down his sword.

  Dirty, thick with sweat, and exhausted, both men sat—collapsed—on the stacks of hay that the men used as benches.

  After they’d caught their breath, Alex said, “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure. If you want to beat yourself up, I’m always happy to help.” Before Alex could tell him to go to hell, Boyd turned serious. “There was nothing you could have done.”

  The fact that Boyd knew he blamed himself made it worse. Alex was almost too tired to argue—almost. “You’re wrong. If I hadn’t been so stubborn, if I’d admitted that I made a mistake and swallowed my damned pride a little earlier, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  “That’s shite. The only thing that would have changed was that we would not have won the war. If you’d come back any earlier, you wouldn’t have had the intelligence that you did to convince Bruce to fight. Joan still would have been arrested.”

  Alex didn’t want to hear Boyd’s blasted reason right now. “I could have protected her.”

  Boyd—the arse—laughed. “How? Did you intend to take on the entire English army yourself? They were coming for her whether you were there or not. All you would have done is get yourself killed or tossed down there with her.”

  “I should have sent her here to my mother or at least made sure she got away safely.”

  “It was too late for that. Margaret told you she was being watched even before you left. There wasn’t time to get her away.”

  Alex shot him a look of fury. “You have all the bloody answers, don’t you?”

  “Took you long enough to see the light.”

  Alex told him to bugger off, but Boyd just laughed. “If you are done with the self-flagellation, you might want to work on the foul temper before the wedding or the lass might reconsider.”

  Christ, Alex thought, dragging his fingers through his hair. The bastard was probably right. “I’ve been a little out of sorts.”

  Boyd laughed again. “That’s an understatement. You’ve made Viper seem pleasant the past two days, not to mention challenging Chief like that. What the hell were you thinking?”

  Alex winced. “I wasn’t. I should probably apologize.”

  “Aye, but if I were you I’d wait until after the wedding when the drink has been flowing for a while.”

  Alex quirked a brow, surprised. “You are all staying? I assumed Bruce would be anxious for you to get back.”

  Boyd shook his head, looking at him as if he were an idiot again. “He is, but he’ll understand. You think we’d miss this?”

  Of course, how could Alex have forgotten. Joan was one of them. He shook his head. “I guess not.”

  Boyd frowned, suddenly solemn. “Besides, I won’t be going back right away. I have to see Rosalin and tell her in person.”

  Alex nodded in understanding, not envying Boyd’s task. It turned out that Rosalin’s urgency to visit her brother had been prescient. Lord Robert Clifford, Boyd’s former enemy turned brother-in-law, had fallen along with Sir Giles d’Argentan in a noble, but ultimately failed, attempt to rally the troops after seeing the king safely away.

  “She will be devastated.”

  Boyd nodded. “Tom”—Boyd and Rosalin’s firstborn son who would be two in November—“and the new babe when it comes will help. But you know how close she and Clifford were. I’m just glad she had a chance to say goodbye.”

  Alex’s brows shot up. “I thought you’d be furious when you heard.”

  Boyd gave him a sidelong look. “I was. At first.”

  Alex looked at him questioningly.

  Boyd shrugged. “She told me you were there. Between you and Clifford I figured she was as safe as she could have been.”

  The show of faith took Alex aback. “I appreciate the confidence, but I’m not sure it is deserved after what happened to Joan. God knows, I never would have been able to save her without you and the others. I know you didn’t do it for me, but I still feel I owe you a debt I can never repay.”

  “You’re wrong on both counts, Dragon.”

  At first Alex assumed the use of his war name was a slip of the tongue, but when he realized that it wasn’t—and what Boyd meant—he was both shocked and humbled. They’d done it for him as well. He might not have been completely forgiven—and they sure as hell wouldn’t be throwing him any welcome-back feasts—but the door had opened, and the long process of reconciliation had begun.

  Alex hadn’t been the only one who’d made a mistake, and he knew this was Boyd’s way of acknowledging it and making his own amends.

  “We might have won the war,” Boyd said. “But Edward has suffered a severe blow and a humiliation that he will not soon forget. There is still much work to be done.”

  “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  Boyd arched a brow at that.

  “Within reason,” Alex qualified.

  Boyd laughed. “You had me worried there for a minute. Where the hell would we be without Sir Galahad to remind us of right and wrong and point out that line in the sand?”

  Alex shook his head. “Go to hell, Raider.”

  He didn’t add that his line in the sand wasn’t as rigid as it used to be. He’d learned that when Joan was taken. There was nothing he wouldn’t have done to get her back safely. Nothing. He was a man, not an ideal.

  Alex had been looking for honor and nobility in the wrong place. It wasn’t in codes or rules of chivalry—those were ideals that didn’t exist—it had been right before him all the time. These men—and women, he added, thinking of Joan, Bella, Helen MacKay, and Janet Lamont, who’d all done more than their part for Bruce—were the most honorable he knew. They might push that line every now and then, but it was always there.

  “Come on,” Boyd said, standing. Alex was pleased to see that his legs wobbled a little, too. Maybe he wasn’t as out of shape as he thought. “You have a wedding to get ready for, and that river out there is calling your name. I know you’ve already anticipated the wedding night, but if you have any questions—”

  “Sod off, Raider.”

  Boyd laughed and slapped him on the back. “Now that sounds like old times.”

  They were married in the Seton family chapel at Winton Castle shortly after midday on Wednesday the twenty-sixth day of June. Less than forty-eight hours after Bruce had his great victory along the Bannock Burn, Joan was seated at the d
ais enjoying her own moment of happiness and triumph.

  She’d done it. She’d not only done her part to help win this war by uncovering key information, she’d helped to bring Alex back into the fold right in time, and found something she’d never thought to have: a future with the man she loved.

  It felt like a dream. She was happy. Truly happy for the first time in as long as she could remember.

  Since arriving this morning and being swept under the very comforting and capable wing of Alex’s mother, Lady Agnes, Joan had been bathed, fed, rested (forced to take a nap, for goodness’ sake!), had her cuts tended and ribs wrapped, dressed in a beautiful gown of blue silk, and given a beautiful jeweled circlet to wear in her hair.

  She hadn’t lifted a finger for any of this—which was probably a good thing, given how exhausted and weak she was. But if she ever wondered where Alex got his solid efficiency and at times overprotectiveness, she need look no further than her new mother-in-law.

  Joan did not warm to people very easily—her guard had been raised for too long—but it seemed Alex and his mother were the exceptions. She had a feeling that she and Lady Agnes were going to get along very well together, although a glance down at the end of the table made her wonder whether they would be living under the same roof for long. The two fair—slightly graying—heads were bent quite closely together, and with the way Lady Agnes was smiling, she looked more like a girl than a woman of six and forty.

  Alex, seated at her side, leaned over to whisper in her ear. “I would like to take credit for that smile, but it seems to be directed at my mother.”

  “Who is that man she is seated with?”

  Alex frowned. “Sir Alan Murray. He was one of my father’s most trusted captains and has served as the keeper of the castle for years.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What does ‘hmm’ mean?”

  She shook her head. Men could be so blind sometimes. “Your mother is an attractive woman. I didn’t expect her to be so young.”

  “She and my father were married as children. She had Chris when she was thirteen.”