Monica McCarty - [Highland Guard 07]

by The Hunter

  “Is that so,” he said carefully, eyes narrowing. “And how is it that this thief made off with your purse and no one noticed?”

  Janet’s eyes widened innocently. “What a wonderful suggestion, Father. Perhaps I should ask around. Did you see something, by chance?”

  “Of course, I didn’t see something.”

  “I only thought since you were watching—”

  “What are you talking about? I wasn’t watching you!”

  She blinked a few times in confusion, hoping she wasn’t overdoing it. “You weren’t? But I thought I saw you standing over there gazing in this direction.” She pointed to the area where she’d felt someone watching her.

  “You were mistaken.”

  “That is too bad. I was hoping you might have seen something.”

  “That isn’t possible, as there was nothing to see.” She tilted her head. “But I thought you were not watching.”

  His face flushed. “I wasn’t.”

  “Oh! Pardon me! I must have misunderstood.” She shrugged. “My French is not perfect.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Sister Genna is from Italy, Father Simon,” Sister Winifred interceded on her behalf. “But she comes to us from the Sisters of St. Mary’s Priory at Coldstream.”

  His eyes lit up. “That’s in Berwick-upon-Tweed, is it not?” he said in perfect Italian.

  Janet nodded with a silent curse. Her heart raced even harder. She’d become fluent in the language, but she prayed she didn’t make any mistakes. “It is, Father. But I will be returning to Italy soon.”

  Very soon, she suspected. “Sister Genna” had probably just served her last mission. She would not take the chance in leading this man back to Berwick. She was going to have to change her identity again.

  “The Reverend Mother is going to be most displeased with me. The purse was worth a great deal of money.” She wrung her hands in despair.

  Sister Winifred moved to comfort her.

  Janet hoped that would be the end of it, but the man’s next words turned her blood to ice. “May I see the missive you removed from the purse at your waist and slid into the edge of your scapular?”

  Dunstaffnage Castle, Scotland, late autumn, 1310

  “What the hell do you mean you don’t know where she is?”

  Sutherland shot Ewen a glare, interrupting before the king—to whom the comment had been directed—could respond, and no doubt saving Ewen from a scathing set-down. “Janet hasn’t been seen since a week after Michaelmas. She left for a mission in Roxburgh and never returned.”

  But if Sutherland meant to calm him down, his comment only infuriated Ewen further. “October? Bloody hell, that was weeks ago. Why didn’t someone go after her right away?”

  Ewen had apparently forgotten that he was supposed to be not angering the king.

  “That’s exactly what I’d like to know,” Mary added, coming to stand beside him in front of the table opposite the king. If there was anyone in the room more outraged than he, it was Janet’s twin. From the moment Mary of Mar had learned of her sister’s survival (not long after Ewen discovered the truth), she’d hounded the king incessantly to bring her sister back. “I thought you said Janet was handling a few more things, and then you would call her back home?”

  If Robert the Bruce had a weakness, it was for the women in his life. His fondness for his former sister-in-law was evident by the contrite look on his face and the effort he took to mollify the obviously distraught female. He might chastise Ewen for speaking out of turn, but the pretty former Countess of Atholl and future Countess of Sutherland would enjoy far more leeway.

  “We were not concerned until recently.” He paused. “It isn’t uncommon for Janet to be delayed or take a couple of weeks longer than expected.”

  Ewen knew there was something he was leaving out.

  “But wouldn’t she find some way of letting you know?” Mary asked.

  Bruce looked decidedly uncomfortable. He may have even shifted in his chair. “We can’t check up on all the people we have working for us. It isn’t possible.”

  “You mean you let her out on her own without protection?” Mary accused, tears glistening in her eyes. “And Janet isn’t ‘people,’ she’s our sister.”

  Bruce appeared to wince. As Mary was doing such a good job, Ewen saw no reason to intervene. He simply stood to the side with his arms folded across his chest and watched the king squirm.

  Sutherland had taken his wife under his arm and was making some attempt to console her. “Of course, she is, love,” he murmured softly.

  Not long ago the display of affection would have made Ewen do a little squirming of his own, but in the past few weeks since he and Sutherland had returned to Dunstaffnage after Edward’s retreat to England for the winter, he’d grown used to such displays. He’d grown surprisingly close to Sutherland’s bride. The unusual ease he’d felt around Janet apparently extended to her sister. Actually, being around Lady Mary was easier. Despite their similarity in appearance, Sutherland’s wife didn’t set every one of his nerve-endings on edge, heat his blood, or make him harden like a lad at a Roman orgy.

  Once Mary had learned that he’d spent time with her sister, she’d asked him hundreds of questions about what he could remember. He was sure that was why every detail about Janet of Mar was so fresh in his mind even after all these months. Her sister had kept her that way.

  “I am sure there is nothing wrong,” the king said, but it sounded as if he was trying to assure himself as much as them. “But you don’t have to worry, Mary. I’m sending my best man after her. Hunter will find her.”

  Although an attempt had been made to keep the wives ignorant of the Highland Guardsmen’s identities, it had proved impossible. Of the men who were married, only MacLean’s wife was unaware of her husband’s role in the king’s secret army. But as his wife was a MacDowell that was hardly surprising. To Ewen’s knowledge, MacLean hadn’t seen his wife in years. If he hadn’t disavowed her formally, he’d done so de facto.

  Ewen was tempted to refuse. If he were smart, he probably would. But he couldn’t do that with Mary looking up at him. For a moment she looked so much like her sister, his chest ached. “Will you?”

  He nodded. “I will leave as soon as it can be arranged.”

  “Wonderful. I’m going with you,” Mary said.

  The four male occupants of the room went silent, showing varying degrees of alarm. Bruce had an “oh no” look on his face, Sutherland an “over my dead body” one, and Chief a “you’d better do something about this” look directed at Sutherland. Ewen supposed his was a combination of all three.

  It was Sutherland who made the first attempt to get his wife to see reason. “Now, Mary, you know how dangerous it would be for you to go to England. I’m sure the king will see fit to allow me to accompany Hunter—”

  “Don’t ‘now, Mary’ me! It’s just as dangerous for you to go to England as it is for me. Even more so with Felton recovered and looking for blood—your blood. Besides, a man and a woman traveling together will draw much less attention than you two.”

  Sutherland’s jaw was clenched so tight, Ewen was surprised he could still talk. “If you think I’m going to allow you to travel with Hunter alone—”

  Mary waved her hand dismissively. “Then come along if you must.”

  Apparently the lass had more of her sister in her than Ewen had realized. She may have tricked her husband into conceding the point, but Ewen wasn’t falling for it. “I will travel much faster alone, my lady. If you come, you will only make my job more difficult.”

  The blunt, matter-of-fact assessment (rather than worrying about her tender feelings) worked. Mary’s demeanor changed from bound and determined to chastised. “I did not think about that. I do not wish to be a burden.”

  “Then let me do my job. You can trust me—I will not let anything happen to your sister.”

  Mary nodded. Sutherland and Bruce eyed him as if he’d just accompl
ished some kind of miracle.

  In the end, it was decided that Sutherland and MacKay would accompany Ewen and MacLean in the event they came across any English patrols. The war might have come to a standstill while Edward retreated to the comfort of Berwick for the winter, but the hunt for the “rebels”—Bruce’s phantoms in particular—had not diminished. If anything, their reputation had only grown after the past few months of fighting. The surprise attacks for which they’d become known had taken on a prescient edge. No matter what the English did, the Highland Guard “magically” knew where to find them.

  Of course it wasn’t magic; it was exceptional intelligence. Whoever this new informant of Bruce’s was (the king had refused to say), he hadn’t been wrong yet. Some of the other Guardsmen were speculating that it must be someone high up in Edward’s command. The best guess was Ralph de Monthermer, who was married to a sister of both the king’s and Hawk’s wives. Ewen didn’t care who it was, as long as the information continued.

  But for the next few months, while Edward rested and tried to bolster the spirits of his demoralized troops, the fighting would be reserved for the local skirmishes in the Borders. There were talks of peace—even now, Bruce was negotiating for a parley at Selkirk before Christmas—but the Borders had been and still were a war zone, and venturing into the English Marches near any of the English strongholds had grown increasingly perilous for the much hunted “phantoms.”

  The Highland Guard might be the best, but they weren’t invincible—or invisible for that matter, though Ewen did his damnedest to make them so. This mission would not be without its risks, and Ewen would be glad for the extra sword arms in the event they drew any unwanted attention.

  It was decided that they would leave at first light. Sutherland led his wife from the room, but not before exchanging a glance with Ewen. He nodded in acknowledgment of the silent communication. Ewen would fill him in on the rest later, when Mary wasn’t around to hear it. Like Ewen, Sutherland had sensed that there was something else going on.

  “What aren’t you telling us?” Ewen asked as soon as the door closed behind them.

  The king’s expression turned grim, sending a flicker of unease racing down Ewen’s spine. Hell, it wasn’t a flicker, it was more of a deluge. If Ewen didn’t know better, he’d think the anxious feeling twisting around in his chest was fear.

  “One of our couriers—a friar—was found dead a few weeks ago.”

  His chest squeezed like a fist. Bloody hell, it was fear.

  “What connection did he have to Janet?” Ewen managed.

  “Very little, but he was our main contact in Roxburgh when Janet’s, uh, work took her there.”

  Ewen hoped his annoyance didn’t show. The king knew what he thought of Janet’s “work.” A lass had no part in any of this. “Why was she in Roxburgh?”

  Bruce seemed to be debating how much to tell him. “Selling embroidery and exchanging messages with someone in the castle. The friar helped facilitate her place at the market.”

  “Is there a chance she could have been discovered?”

  “Possibly, but our person inside is safe.”

  “Might he have betrayed her?”

  Bruce gave him a strange look and shook his head. “No.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I am; that’s all you need to know.”

  “But the friar’s death bothers you.”

  Bruce nodded. “It seems too much of a coincidence.”

  Ewen agreed. But he wouldn’t let himself consider that something had happened to her. He had to keep his mind clear for the search that lay ahead.

  “Find her,” Bruce said, “and bring her home.”

  Ewen nodded. “I will.”

  The king gave him a long, measured look. “I trust this mission won’t be a problem for you?”

  He stiffened. “Why should it?”

  “My former sisters by marriage have always been pretty little things, as I suspect you noticed. But I’ll remind you that while she might not be a nun, she is meant for another.”

  Ewen’s mouth hardened. “I’m aware of that, Sire.” And he sure as hell didn’t need the reminder. But obviously, Bruce had sensed something from before and was letting him know in no uncertain terms to steer clear of her. Ewen didn’t need it spelled out.

  “Good.” The king bowed his head, dismissing him. Ewen turned on his heel to leave, but Bruce stopped him with a sharp laugh. “Although when you do find her, you may not want to tell her that I have a husband waiting for her—she’s liable to get it in her mind to disappear again.”

  The reminder of her betrothal set Ewen’s teeth on edge. But he managed a smile, as it seemed to be expected of him.

  He would find Janet and bring her back to her betrothed. But he wasn’t looking forward to it.

  Nine

  Rutherford Priory, Scottish Marches, December 1, 1310

  Janet’s self-imposed exile had begun to chafe. An excess of caution did not sit well with her, especially when anyone would be hard pressed to connect the Italian “Sister Genna” with “Novice Eleanor,” the English widow from Cumberland. She might not be able to change her face, but she’d done her best to change everything else—her name, her nationality, even the color of her veil.

  Not much longer, she told herself. Friar Thom would come for her when it was safe, he’d told her as much.

  But what was taking him so long?

  The leaves had been thick on the trees and the grass still green when he’d delivered her to the nuns at Rutherford’s priory, the small convent of Cistercian nuns located a few miles west of Roxburgh, after her unfortunate confrontation with Father Simon.

  She had to admit her heart had been beating fast there for a minute. Knowing she couldn’t deny the missive, which the priest had obviously seen, she’d slid the folded piece of parchment out of the hem of her scapular. “This?” She smiled. “It isn’t a missive, it’s a list.”

  The priest’s eyes had narrowed to hard beads. “What kind of list?”

  It had been her idea to use an inventory as a kind of code when passing messages about troops and supplies, and never had she been so glad of it. The priest had already unfolded the paper and scanned it when she replied, “As you can see, it’s a list of items for my next journey.”

  She hoped her heart wasn’t pounding as loudly as it sounded in her ears and prayed he didn’t ask her where, as she had no idea of the specific contents of the letter.

  “Why would a nun from Berwick travel to Carlisle? I thought you were returning to Italy.”

  She heaved a silent sigh of relief. Carlisle! “I am. After next month’s market in Carlisle. As for why, our embroidery is much sought after, and surely a few miles isn’t too far in the name of the Lord’s work?”

  He didn’t bother answering her. “Surcotes, purses—why are only two items written on this list?”

  Men and horses. Those were the numbers the king was requesting for the English at Carlisle, if the information could be obtained.

  Janet shrugged as if she were puzzled by his question. “Those are the only items of which I am short.” Her face fell, and she forced tears to well in her eyes. “Which makes the loss of the alms purse so much worse. It took Reverend Mother nearly six months to make. The level of detail was exquisite. It would have fetched a goodly sum that would have helped to feed the unfortunates—”

  “You cannot remember two things?” he asked, cutting off her verbal detour.

  “I am very forgetful, Father. It is a terrible sin,” she bowed her head for a moment as if shamed by the admission. “But the Sisters are helping me work on it. Lists help.”

  “Is something wrong, Father Simon? Why are you questioning Sister Genna like this? She has done nothing wrong. It is she who is a victim of a crime.”

  Janet had never noticed how formidable Sister Winifred could be, but she did so now.

  Father Simon sniffed as if at something unpleasant. It was clear he and the older
nun did not like each other. “She was acting suspiciously.”

  “By possessing a folded piece of paper?” She laughed, and the priest’s face flushed an angry red. He looked foolish and knew it.

  Fortunately someone had indeed gone for the constable, and he chose that minute to arrive. Janet held out her hand to Father Simon. Reluctantly, he handed her back the note. She knew the priest was suspicious but could think of no reason to question her further. No legitimate reason, at least.

  Thankfully, that was the end of the unfortunate incident. It had been a closer call than most, but Janet had escaped unscathed—or relatively unscathed. Initially, she’d resisted Father Thom’s suggestion that she remove herself from Roxburgh for a while. But at his urging, she’d decided to take precautions.

  Friar Thom had seen what had happened and had intercepted Janet as soon as she left the market. He’d told her that Father Simon, the priest who’d questioned her, was thought to be trying to earn himself a bishopric by ferreting out suspected rebels in the clergy for Edward. The priest from the castle church of St. John’s was much hated and feared in Roxburgh.

  With Friar Thom’s help—and that of a handful of nuns who’d provided a distraction in case she was still being watched—Janet slipped away from the market and didn’t return to the Priory of Roxburgh, where she’d been staying at the convent. Instead, she changed her veil from black to white and made her way to Rutherford. There, Sister Genna had disappeared and Novice Eleanor had emerged. She’d given the friar a message for Lamberton, explaining her change of identity and where to find her, and Janet went about the long, tedious process of biding her time and waiting for his return.

  She used her time to read, pray (mostly for patience), indulge to her heart’s content in enjoying her favorite nuts (which the nuns were kind enough to buy for her when they went into town), and try to think of a way to get a message to her source at the castle that didn’t involve going to the market and potentially coming face-to-face with Father Simon again.

  After four weeks the friar still hadn’t returned, but Janet had a way to make contact, which proved far easier than she’d anticipated.