The Recruit

by Monica McCarty

  A flash of pain crossed the other man’s face, and Kenneth knew he was thinking about his first partner, the man who’d been a friend to them both: William Gordon.

  Rather than lash out as he usually did, however, MacKay merely shrugged. “Aye, well, the rest of them are too exhausted. Besides, your sister would have my hide if I let you crack your pretty head open on those rocks. She’s still mad about my taking advantage of your injury at the wrestling event.” He shook his head. “I must admit, you’ve surprised me these past few months. I didn’t think you had it in you. But you’ve shown more control than I thought possible. Hell, even I lost my temper a few times with Hawk’s needling.”

  Kenneth couldn’t believe it. He stared in shock at the man who’d been his enemy since the day he was born. “Does that mean you won’t stand in the way of my joining the Guard?”

  The Highland Guard was how they referred to the team.

  MacKay gave him a long look. “It isn’t over yet, but if you make it through training and the rest of it, I won’t object.”

  Kenneth wondered at “the rest of it,” but he knew he had to focus on one thing first: getting himself up this damned mountain. Whatever they threw at him these next few days—what remained of Perdition—he was going to be the last man standing. After that, “the rest” was going to be easy by comparison.

  Alnwick Castle, Northumberland, English Marches

  Mary sat before the looking glass in the tower chamber that had been provided for her and her attendants, as the serving girl put the finishing touches on her hair. It had been brushed to a shimmery veil of gold, twisted, and then braided around her head with a cerulean silk ribbon that matched her gown and—not coincidentally—her eyes. The back had been left loose to tumble around her shoulders in the manner of a young girl. She actually felt like a young girl. The intricate hairstyle was said to be popular on the Continent, and she had to admit it was flattering.

  After years of hiding and fading into the background, it felt strange to have her hair so visible. Strange, but also freeing. Slowly and cautiously, in the months since Mary had returned from Scotland, she had cast aside the dour armor that she’d used to protect herself. Armor that had kept her safe and hidden but had also prevented her from living a full life. A life of not just contentment, but passion and happiness. She was done hiding.

  She forced herself not to think about the man responsible for her transformation. The man who’d brought passion and so much more into her life. She’d thought of that night—thought of him—far more often than she wanted to admit, even to herself.

  The feeling that she might have made a mistake had not waned. She’d panicked, beset by a cacophony of feelings she hadn’t expected. She regretted the cold manner of her dismissal of his suit and wondered if she’d misjudged him. Admittedly, she barely knew him. But he’d reminded her so much of her husband and so much of her painful past that she’d felt her heart breaking all over again.

  She had given him a chance, she reminded herself. When she’d asked him about his betrothal, he’d made his views on fidelity in marriage perfectly clear: What does that have to do with us?

  If she’d hoped running away would make her forget, however, she’d erred.

  But it was too late now. Her life was here in England, and she had even more reason than the rational or irrational fear of another unwise emotional entanglement for never wanting to set eyes on Sir Kenneth Sutherland again. Still, she would thank him for what he’d given her for the rest of her life. She closed her eyes for a moment as the bubble of joy rose inside her, impossible to tamp down.

  As the serving girl stepped back, Mary took one last look in the glass and nodded her approval. There was very little that remained of the pale, gaunt woman in plain clothing who’d gone to Scotland to negotiate on her son’s behalf and had been awakened like a butterfly shedding its cocoon. Her face was fuller, her eyes brighter, her lips redder, and her skin a more healthy pink. Her gown, although not like the extravagant, height-of-fashion concoctions she’d been partial to in her youth, was pretty and befitting a lady of her stature—a far cry from the shapeless black, gray, and brown gowns she’d hidden behind for three years.

  The old merchant would be ecstatic, she thought with a smile. She might not be in the first flower of her youth, but the bloom was not completely off the rose. And more important, she was happy. Happier than she’d been in a long time. And it showed.

  With a word of thanks to the serving girl, Mary made her way down to the Great Hall of Alnwick Castle with her attendants, Lady Eleanor and Lady Katherine, the same two women who’d accompanied her to Scotland. She found pleasure in their company now. Once she relaxed her guard, she realized how much she’d missed female companionship. Perhaps it had been Margaret who’d made her remember.

  The trip to Scotland had brought back many memories, and though she knew it was best not to dwell on them, she missed her old friends and her former home. Maybe someday …

  She stopped the thought before it could form. Her life was here now; she would make do with what she had.

  The Hall was already crowded and boisterous when Mary and her ladies entered. The Great Hall of Alnwick Castle was something to behold, even without the colorfully dressed noblemen and women gathered for the midday meal. The castle itself was one of the largest and most imposing she’d ever seen, with its seven semicircular towers, square keep, and massive curtain wall. The Great Hall was its jewel. The massive, vaulted room looked like a small cathedral, except that the crown of rafters was of wood and not of stone. The plaster walls were painted a bright yellow and lined with wooden panels and decorated with tapestries. Colorful silk cloths with embroidery every bit as fine as hers covered the long tables and fine silver platters, candelabra, and pitchers sparkled from every corner of the room. Huge circular iron chandeliers hung from the rafters, and despite the midday hour were set ablaze with scores of candles.

  Lord Henry Percy had become one of Edward’s most important magnates, and his new castle certainly showed it. He had plans, he’d confided in her, to make it even more formidable, with more towers and improvements to the curtain wall and barbican. Those Scot barbarians (he immediately apologized—excluding her, of course) wouldn’t dare attempt an attack.

  Sir Adam was already seated at the dais, but he rose and came forward to greet her as she approached. She returned his smile, grateful as always for the presence of her old friend.

  “You look beautiful, my dear,” he said, leading her to her seat.

  She blushed, still not used to compliments.

  Another man rose and gave her a gallant bow. “I couldn’t agree more,” he said. The way his gaze slid over her brought another rush of heat to her cheeks.

  Sir John Felton was Percy’s best knight, and much to Mary’s surprise, since her arrival a few weeks ago he’d shown a marked interest toward her. As the mother of a young earl—who was presumably subject to influence—she was as much a marriage prize to the English as she was to the Scots. But his interest seemed to go beyond that, and she had to admit, she was flattered by it.

  At thirty years of age, Sir John was in the prime of his manhood. He was close to six feet tall (not as tall as Sir Kenneth, she thought, before she could push away the comparison), with a thick, muscular build that gave credence to his reputed invincibility on the battlefield. He was also reputed to be the most handsome of all Percy’s knights, and nothing Mary could see disproved that. With his thick, golden-blond hair, deep green eyes, and finely wrought features, he could give Gregor MacGregor a challenge—or Sir Kenneth, she thought again, this time unable to prevent the pang.

  Why was she doing this? What hold did this man have on her? For goodness’ sake, it had only been one night.

  But oh, what a night! Even as the memories flooded her, she pushed them away. She had to stop this pointless fixation on a man who could never be hers. Her future was here. But maybe some day, if she let herself, she might find a man with whom to share
it.

  The idea of marriage, of giving up her independence, which had once been anathema to her, no longer felt out of the realm of possibility. With the right man, under the right circumstances, perhaps she could be persuaded. The peace and solitude she’d once craved were now tinged with loneliness. She’d caught a glimpse of a life she’d been missing and had opened her eyes to the possibility.

  It wouldn’t be with Sir John. There were too many … complications. But perhaps it could be with someone else when she returned from France late in the summer—yet one more thing she had to thank Sir Adam for. He’d arranged for her to accompany him on his journey to the French court in the late spring.

  Had he guessed the truth? At times, she wondered. Something about their relationship had changed, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. He didn’t seem pleased by Sir John’s courtship.

  Unlike her son.

  Her mouth quirked with a smile, thinking of Davey, as she murmured her thanks and took the proffered seat between the two men on the bench. He would be vastly disappointed. Her son idolized Sir John in the way of a young squire who looked up to a great knight. He’d been shocked by his hero’s interest in his mother.

  Actually, it was probably Davey’s reaction just as much as Sir Kenneth that was responsible for Mary’s transformation. The first time her son had complimented her on her appearance, she’d realized it pleased him to see her looking well. She wanted to make him proud of her. Had she unwittingly embarrassed him by her former drab appearance? She cringed, hoping not.

  She knew preciously little about young boys, but since Davey had joined Percy’s household a few months ago, she’d begun to feel as if she was beginning to understand her son a little more. He was at an impressionable age, but also an age when he was trying to assert his manhood. As Sir Adam had suggested, the king had been pleased by her efforts on his behalf—even if it had yielded little—and had permitted her to see Davey as often as her duties allowed. Sir Adam had brought him to see her at Ponteland every other Sunday, but it wasn’t until the invitation came to Alnwick that they’d been able to spend any extended amount of time together.

  The polite reserve that had characterized their relationship had relaxed enough to make her think she glimpsed the occasional sign of genuine affection. Sir John was partially responsible for that, she knew. She peeked out from under her lashes at the formidable knight beside her. If he approved of her, she followed her son’s thinking, she couldn’t be all that bad.

  Mary was trying not to press Davey on their relationship, but her normal patience seemed to have deserted her. She longed to be closer to him and feared her eagerness showed along with her pride every time she looked at him. He was a favorite of the king and was on his way to becoming the same with Lord Percy. Having recently turned thirteen, her son was already exhibiting hints of his father’s prowess on the battlefield. He was a well-formed lad, tall and boyishly handsome. Though quiet and more reserved than his father had been, he was also more thoughtful—and more deliberate. Cautious, she realized. Like she. She had every right to be proud of him, and she was.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Sir John said from her side. “But I arranged for David and a few of his friends to join us at the dais tonight.”

  “Mind?” Mary turned to him in surprise, just in time to see her son enter the hall and look toward her. Tears of joy pricked behind her eyes. It wasn’t just at Sir John’s thoughtfulness—it must have taken some persuading to allow squires to sit at the dais—but also at what her son was wearing. Beneath his velvet surcote, she could see the edge of his shirt. A shirt she’d embroidered for him. She’d given him things before, but this was the first time she could recall seeing him wear one. “Thank you,” she said to Sir John, her eyes damp.

  He took her hand and bowed over it as he stood to make way for the youths. “You’re welcome,” he said with a smile that hovered just on the edge of intimacy. “I hope I shall have many more opportunities to bring a smile to your face.”

  She lowered her eyes, feeling the blast of heat to her cheeks. She knew she should stop him, that it wasn’t fair of her to encourage him, but it had been so long since a man had shown an interest in her. Appropriate interest, she amended, thinking once again of the man about whom she’d vowed not to think.

  But she couldn’t stop seeing Sir Kenneth’s face. Hard and intent in the semidarkness as he’d held himself over her—

  She pushed the image away. It hadn’t meant anything. He probably looked at every woman he’d made love to like that. Except she knew for a fact he hadn’t—at least he hadn’t with the woman in the stable.

  She had to stop this. But that one night had given her far more than she’d bargained for, in more ways that one.

  If Sir John noticed her momentary distraction, he didn’t show it. “I hope you have decided to accept Lord Percy’s invitation and travel with Sir Adam to Berwick for Gaveston’s arrival?”

  Mary nodded. She could hardly refuse. Piers Gaveston, the recently created Earl of Cornwall and King Edward’s much despised favorite, had been recalled from exile in Ireland (where Edward had been forced to send him when Gaveston had riled the anger of many important nobles) and been ordered to Berwick to ready for the planned campaign against Scotland when the truce expired in March. The king would follow in late spring. The barons had been called to rally at Berwick, including Sir Adam and Lord Percy—which meant Davey as well. Despite the call to war, her son’s presence guaranteed her eager acceptance.

  “Good,” he said, a decidedly anticipatory glint in his eye. “I want you to know, Lady Mary, you can rely on me for anything.”

  Mary didn’t know what to say. The last thing she wanted to do was rely on a man again, but she heard the heartfelt honesty in his words, and the tiniest part of her—the girl-who’d-longed-for-a-handsome-knight part of her—responded.

  Would he feel the same way when she returned from France? It seemed unlikely. There were some things no man would be expected to overlook. Although she had a plan, she knew there would be whispers.

  She was saved from having to reply, however, by her son’s arrival with his friends. Sir John had made room for him to sit beside her, and when Davey sat down on the bench, all her thoughts turned to her son.

  “You’re wearing your shirt,” she said, unable to hide her eagerness.

  His face heated and his gaze flickered to his friends. She could see the relief when it was clear they hadn’t heard. “It’s very … fine.”

  Mary couldn’t tell whether that was good or not. Should she not have mentioned it? She bit her lip.

  “Thank you,” he added, looking uncomfortable but not ungrateful.

  “You’re welcome,” she answered softly, letting his attention return to his friends.

  It was clear he was in awe of being seated at the high table but was doing his best not to show it in front of the other lads. Though she longed to pepper him with questions and learn everything she could about his new duties, Mary took a cue from her son and forced aside her exuberance, acting with an equanimity she did not feel. Even if she still thought of him as the babe torn from her arms, he wasn’t that child anymore. He didn’t need her to wipe his nose when he sneezed, cut his meat when he ate, or dry his tears when he fell.

  What did he need her for?

  She didn’t know but was determined to find out.

  It soon became apparent that as eager as she was to learn about him, the boys were eager to hear from Sir John. So rather than ask questions, Mary contented herself with basking in her son’s happiness as Sir John regaled them with war stories. Though many times Mary wanted to object to the more gory details, she kept her mouth firmly closed. Davey and the boys were spellbound.

  She had her reward at the end of the night. Davey was about to race off with the rest of his friends, when he turned over his shoulder and said with all the careless, nonchalance of youth, “Thank you, Mother. That was the best meal ever.”

  He d
idn’t realize the gift he’d given her or the swell of happiness he’d put in her chest.

  This was going to work.

  Mary was being given another chance at motherhood, and she would do whatever she had to do to hold on to it. Nothing and no one would take it away again.

  Ten

  Late January 1310

  Dunstaffnage Castle, Lorn, Scotland

  “I hear congratulations are in order,” the king said, looking up from the stack of parchments waiting for his signature before him.

  One week after Kenneth had finished his training on the frozen peak of the Black Cuillins by successfully avoiding capture from the other ten members of the Highland Guard for nearly two days (one day longer than the other recruit), he stood in the laird’s private solar of Dunstaffnage Castle before Robert the Bruce and most of his new Highland Guard brethren. Only Boyd and Seton were absent, having been sent south to join Edward Bruce in the borders as soon as they’d finished training on Skye.

  Kenneth indeed had been the last man standing, and the satisfaction of his victory had not waned one bit. He’d done it. He’d earned his place in Bruce’s secret army, even if not in the outright way he’d planned.

  “Thank you, Sire,” he said.

  “You are to be commended,” Bruce added. “From what I hear of Chief’s Perdition, surviving at all is an accomplishment, but he said you distinguished yourself.” Bruce shot a glance toward MacKay, who was standing in the back corner of the solar. “Even managed to quiet Saint’s objections, I see.”

  Not completely, Kenneth thought. Enough for MacKay to not stand in the way of Kenneth joining the team perhaps, but not enough to take him as a partner. MacKay had made it clear their partnership on the mountain had been temporary. Kenneth shouldn’t give a shite what his onetime enemy thought, but surprisingly, he did. His brother-by-marriage still didn’t completely trust him, and it bothered him. But as much as it pricked, Kenneth could not completely blame him. His temper had gotten the better of him more than once with MacKay around to witness it—including a time last year when he’d gone after MacKay and very nearly taken his sister Helen’s head off instead. But he vowed to earn that trust. They were brothers now. In more ways than one.