“Leaving without saying hello?” he said in that low, taunting voice that she’d once found so charming.
Now it made her stiffen. Every muscle in her body turned rigid and hard as steel.
She looked up, meeting the amused gaze of the man who at one time had seemed to be everything she’d ever dreamed of.
He was undoubtedly handsome, but now she realized he was just a pale imitation of the man she’d seen all those years ago and unconsciously tried to replicate: Alex. But compared to Alex, Phillip came up short in every respect. Most significantly in the color of his soul.
He wasn’t as tall as she remembered, although he was considerably broader in the chest and shoulders. Most of it seemed to be muscle, but the belt around his surcoat cinched a gut that she suspected would tend toward portliness in a few years.
He still favored the short beard and longer hair that were popular among the nobility—although he wasn’t. He was the son of a minor baron who with a lucky arrow had saved his lord from being attacked by a boar and earned his son a place in Sir Hugh’s household. Joan’s rank had been part of her appeal, and when it was gone, Phillip had lost use for her, but she’d been too much of a fool to see it until too late.
But she wasn’t a fool now. She was no longer fifteen and trusting. She was no longer innocent and naive. He’d seen to that.
Her heart was now pounding in her ears and the shock that had weakened her limbs before was forgotten in the hot rush of anger and hatred that raced through her blood. Her instincts had changed, she realized. She had changed. She was no longer weak and helpless. She no longer cowered, rather she wanted to slip her blade from the scabbard at her waist and plunge it between his ribs.
Almost as if he knew what she was thinking, he took a small step back and frowned.
“Get out of my way,” she said, clenching her fists into balls at her sides. “I have nothing to say to you.”
He looked around as if concerned that someone might have heard. But they were well enough away from the tables—he’d seen to that—and the room was loud with its boisterous occupants.
“There is no cause to be impolite. We are old friends, are we not?”
The charming twinkle in his eyes and lazy grin that were probably fooling anyone watching them now seemed slimy to her. “We are not.”
His gaze hardened almost imperceptibly. “From what I hear, you are quite friendly. So there is no use playing the frigid maid with me.” He smiled again, with the glint of cruelty she would never forget. “Besides, I know differently.” He gave her a long, slow look that made her skin crawl and leaned in to whisper. “Perhaps I should remind you later?”
He’d obviously heard of her reputation.
She held herself completely still. It took everything she had not to react, not to show him exactly how repugnant his “offer” was to her. Her body shook from the effort as she looked him in the eye and said very slowly, “I am no longer a helpless fifteen-year-old girl to be forced by a common brute.” His gaze flared, she presumed at the word “common.” “Unless you want everyone in this room to know exactly what you are, you will step aside and not come near me again.”
His expression darkened. She’d angered him. Good. But he did not doubt her word. With a dramatic flourish, he bowed and stepped aside to let her pass. She held her back straight and strode calmly out of the Hall, not running until she reached the courtyard.
It was just after dark by the time Alex and his men rode across the wooden drawbridge. Fortunately, they’d made it just before the night bell and the porter locked the castle gates.
After dismounting, Alex pulled off his helm and gave it to his squire. He would have normally handed off his horse as well, but as the lad looked about ready to keel over with exhaustion, Alex led the palfrey to the stable himself.
He, too, was physically and mentally exhausted, as well as pushed to the breaking point by frustration and angry enough to kill someone—preferably the arse in charge at Hailes—but he’d driven his men hard to make it back tonight. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been wrong with Joan, and with the shite heap of trouble that he’d just gone through in East Lothian, he needed to know that not all of his life had gone to hell.
He raked his fingers through his helm-plastered hair. Christ, I need some sleep. But it would have to wait. He needed to make his report to Pembroke. It was going to take everything he had not to let him see exactly what he thought of the English “lordship” in Scotland.
The garrison commander hadn’t been so lucky. Sir Raoul had narrowly escaped with his life for what he’d done.
Damn it, this wasn’t supposed to happen. He’d come over to the English to prevent things like this from happening. Alex’s hand might not have been the one to light the fire, but innocent lives of people he was responsible for had been lost all the same.
The situation had been even worse than Alex anticipated. He should have known Pembroke’s information would be skewed. He’d gotten the full story from his mother and Sir Alan Murray, a trusted captain of Alex’s father who’d kept charge of their lands for as long as Alex could remember.
Alex’s tenants had indeed supplied victuals to the castle soldiers, who’d in turn promised to protect them from Bruce’s raiders. But they didn’t. When Bruce’s men had come, the bloody English cowards had refused to leave the protection of the castle walls to come to the farmers’ aid. That hadn’t stopped the castle soldiers from coming for more supplies later, however. When the farmers understandably refused—they had little left and even less inclination after being left in the lurch by English “lordship”—the English commander had raided their farms and villages, killing two men who’d been trying to free animals from a burning barn when it had collapsed on them.
Alex had left the English commander in no doubt of what would happen if he ever did something like that again. He would also take the matter to the king, but he wasn’t going to count on Edward to do what was right. Even if Alex could convince him of the unjustness of the situation—which was unlikely—he knew the king was too focused on the war to worry about a few farmers in Scotland, even if it was his duty as overlord and king. So Alex had been forced to take on the role of enforcer. It was ironic, given how much he’d hated it when his former partner, Boyd, had done the same.
Protecting the people in the Borders was what had driven Alex to the English, but he’d been unable to keep his own people safe from English raids. They were on the same side, damn it. Was this the kind of overlordship and protection King Edward intended for his Scottish subjects?
The last thing Alex needed on leaving the stables after seeing to his mount was to nearly run into Sir Hugh Despenser—a visibly sotted Sir Hugh Despenser—and a few of his toadies.
“Back already, Seton?” he said with a snide grin. “I see you learned from my mistake. But from what I saw earlier, I fear you may be too late. The lass works quickly, I’ll give her that.”
A few of the men with him chuckled. Alex stiffened, but in no other way reacted to the bastard’s taunts. He didn’t need to ask what Despenser meant; it was obvious he was trying to goad Alex into a fight by slighting Joan.
But Alex didn’t for one minute put any store into what he’d alluded to. Joan cared for him. She’d accepted his proposal. Reluctantly maybe at first, but she’d come around. She wouldn’t turn her sights on anyone else.
If thoughts of the past intruded for a moment, he pushed them away. He wasn’t going to let Despenser get to him.
Ignoring the other men, Alex started to walk away. He was headed toward Pembroke’s rooms, but Despenser mistook his direction.
“You won’t find her in de Beaumont’s rooms,” he taunted with a laugh. “The last time I saw her she was with my father. But I doubt she’s there now. She’s probably renewing old acquaintances with one of his men. They were supposed to be quite in love a few years back, as I recall. They made quite a scene cavorting at the midday meal today, didn’t they, lads
?”
The other men snickered and hooted like puppets on a string. Alex wanted nothing more than to put his fist through Despenser’s malicious grin, but he wouldn’t give the lies credence. He was sure there was an explanation.
But what the hell did he mean by “in love”?
Alex walked away; they didn’t try to stop him again. Instead of heading to Pembroke’s room as he should, he headed for Joan’s. He knew he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on a damned thing until he saw her. He was sure she would clear up whatever misapprehension Despenser was operating under in a few minutes.
But “in love”? Christ, the very idea made him twist with uncertainty and left his chest feeling as if it had been opened up and acid poured inside.
A few minutes later, he stood outside her cousin’s door. This is silly, he told himself. Still, he knocked.
He heard voices inside and a moment later the door was cracked open a few inches by a young serving girl. “I’m sorry to disturb you so late,” Alex said. “But there is something I must speak with Lady Joan about.”
She looked worried. “She’s not here, my lord.”
“Who is it?” he heard Lady Alice demand from inside the room.
The girl looked to him.
“Sir Alexander Seton,” he replied to the silent question.
The girl relayed his name to Alice, and then added, “He’s looking for Lady Joan, my lady.”
“Tell him she’s not here. She’s gone off somewhere again. She always disappears at the most inconvenient time.”
The young serving girl’s look of worry and anxiousness increased. “I’d best get back, my lord. I’m curling her hair with hot tongs, and I’m afraid I’m not nearly as good as Lady Joan.”
Inconvenient indeed, Alex thought. He was glad Joan was nothing like her cousin, but he understood the barely opened door.
“I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” he said again, and left.
He should have gone to Pembroke’s at that point. But he didn’t. He waited and waited at the bottom of the tower until the pitying looks from the guard on watch outside the door proved too much.
To hell with this. It had been a long time since he’d put his Highland Guard skills to use, but he still remembered what to do.
Joan paused outside the door to Alice’s chamber and turned to her cousin. “Thank you for insisting on accompanying me tonight.”
Margaret grinned. “It was my pleasure. I’m not normally so pushy, but after what happened earlier, I did not want you to have to face that horrible man again—at least not alone. I’m just glad he was smart enough not to show his face; I don’t think I would have been able to feign politeness.”
Joan was glad Sir Phillip had stayed away as well. More than glad. Her cousin wouldn’t have been the only one to find it difficult to feign politeness, and Joan didn’t think her former guardian would have been as satisfied by the explanation as Margaret had been.
Joan had told her the truth—that she’d thought herself in love with him and he’d betrayed her—but omitted the specifics of that betrayal. Margaret had been content with the explanation that he’d lost interest when Joan had been disinherited.
“You, not pushy? Since when?” Joan laughed. “But seriously, I am thankful for the company. It was a delightful night.”
“It was,” Margaret agreed. “And fruitful.”
They exchanged glances. Sir Hugh had been partaking freely of the brandy and had confirmed what they’d already guessed: the earls of Lancaster, Warwick, Lincoln, Arundel, and Warenne had refused to answer the king’s call. Edward was understandably furious; Bruce on the other hand would be thrilled.
Joan met her cousin’s gaze. “You are being careful, remember? I will take care of this.”
Margaret nodded, but then looked at her worriedly. “You will be careful, too?”
“Always.”
They bid each other good night, and Joan entered the darkened room without knocking. It was close to midnight, and Alice was likely sleeping. She didn’t want to take the chance of waking her; her cousin was at her most unpleasant when roused from sleep (and that was saying something!).
A candle had been left burning, however, enabling her to immediately make out the empty bed. Sir Henry must have sent for his wife tonight. A fact that was confirmed a moment later when Bess lifted her sleepy head from the cushioned bench in the alcove near the window.
“I thought it best to wait for her,” the girl said, explaining her presence in the room. “In case she returns.”
“She won’t be back until morning,” Joan said. “But I can take care of her if she comes back earlier. You are safe to find your own bed in the garret.”
Bess looked relieved. After the bracelet debacle, the girl was understandably terrified of upsetting Alice. “Thank you, my lady. But I will help you with your gown first.”
She picked up the candle and they crossed the room to Joan’s chamber. After opening the door, Bess set the candle on the small table by the bed and started to work the ties of Joan’s gown.
“Oh, my lady, I forgot to mention. You had a visitor earlier,” Bess said, pulling the tight sleeves of her gown down her arms.
“I did?”
“Aye.” She helped her out of the overgown. The undergown came next. “Lady Alice said he was your betrothed.”
She couldn’t keep the excitement from her voice. “Alex is back?”
The girl nodded, handing her the velvet robe that she wore over her chemise at night. “He seemed anxious to see you.”
Joan wrapped the robe around her and tied it at the waist, aware that she was smiling like a well-fed cat.
Good grief, just hearing that he was anxious to see her made her happy. But she was also relieved that he was back safely.
She was about to ask if he had said anything else, when she glanced over at the shutter and noticed that the wooden crossbar that secured it had not been pulled down all the way into the iron fittings.
Joan was in awe. How had he done it? This window was even less accessible than the one at Carlisle.
Another mistake? She couldn’t believe that Lachlan would be so careless—and that she should be so lucky.
Her pulse quickened, eager to be rid of her company. “Thank you, Bess. I can finish the rest myself. You must be exhausted.”
The girl gave her a quick bob. “Thank you, my lady. I will see you in the morning.”
Joan’s door closed, and a few moments later, the outer door closed as well. She turned to the ambry and pulled open the door. “That was fast, Fath—”
She stopped, shocked mute when Alex—not Lachlan—slipped out of the darkness. His expression was so dark it almost didn’t look like him. When she managed to find her tongue, the word came out as a question. “Alex?”
“Expecting someone else?”
She hoped the room was too dark for him to see her face pale.
But the lapse was only momentary; she quickly got herself back under control and responded without hesitation. The ability to think of a lie quickly was one of the things that had made her so successful—although it wasn’t anything to be proud about under the circumstances.
“Aye, I did,” she said calmly. “I thought you were Fiona.”
He looked at her quizzically.
“The girl that keeps the brazier lit for Alice at night,” she explained. “It’s a game we play. She likes to hide and try to scare me.”
The lies that fell so easily from her tongue filled her with shame. God, she hated this. What once she’d not given much thought to now made her want to squirm.
Alex frowned. Not wanting to let him think too long—or ask any questions about a girl who didn’t exist—she used another tactic: making him be the one to hold up the shield and not her.
“I think I’m the one who should be asking the questions. What are you doing in my room, Alex? Spying on me while I undress?”
The tactic worked. Some of the darkness in his expression was repla
ced by sheepishness. From the way his gaze seemed to be avoiding anything below her neck, it was very clear that she was not the only one aware of her reduced state of clothing.
“I needed to see you. I’ve been waiting for hours. Christ, it must be midnight. Where the hell have you been?”
Joan’s eyes widened at his tone and the blasphemy that seemed to surprise even him.
Good Lord, whatever was the matter with him?
Suddenly, she realized what was the matter. Realized what he thought. Realized what had caused him to lose his temper and blurt out the accusation. For that was exactly what it was. He thinks I’ve been with another man.
Given what he’d seen before, and what she’d let him think, maybe it was fair. Maybe it was reasonable under the circumstances.
But it still hurt. She’d thought—hoped—they were beyond that.
She arched a brow, giving no hint of the wound he’d just inflicted. “Where do you think I was?”
His mouth turned white around the edges and his face darkened. “Just answer the question, Joan.”
She was tempted to tell him to go to Hades and let him think what he wanted. But she could see his torment and would not add to it just to salve her hurt.
“I was with my former guardian. Sir Hugh arrived at the castle earlier and invited me to his rooms so I could fill him in on what has happened since I’ve seen him last. We lost track of time. I didn’t realize it was so late.”
“And you were with him all this time?”
“I was,” she answered. “You can ask my cousin if you don’t believe me. Margaret was with us all evening.” But she sensed something more behind the question. “What is this about, Alex? Why are you sneaking into my room in the middle of the night, hurling baseless accusations as if I’ve done something wrong?”
The Ghost Page 24
