But after taking off the lid, she stilled. There, sitting in her jewelry box, tucked into the MacDuff broach given to her by her mother—a broach she never wore—was a piece of parchment. She looked around, half expecting Lachlan to materialize from some shadow. Had he put it there earlier? Had Margaret?
Carefully, she took it out to read. Her heart was pounding as she slowly unfolded it. The handwriting was not familiar, but the words turned her bones cold and sent chills racing through her blood.
You are in danger. They suspect the truth.
21
IT HAD TAKEN two nights, but Alex had his answer. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the one he wanted.
As he approached the stones just after dusk for the second night to wait, he felt the sharp press of a knife against his back that confirmed his worst fear. There was only one man who could sneak up on him like that. He didn’t need to turn around to know that the man behind him was Lachlan “Viper” MacRuairi.
Apparently Alex’s leaving hadn’t made the Guard change their method of contact in an emergency. An unusual oversight on their part, but one that had enabled him to summon his proof. He’d gone to the Standing Stones at Diddo a short distance from Berwick and placed three rocks in a pyramid at its base. The stones, circles, and cairns that littered the Scottish (and English) countryside were a favorite meeting place and place to leave messages of Bruce and the Guard—the three stones were the signal to come right away.
And who had answered the call but his betrothed’s “father.” That was whom Joan had been waiting for the night he surprised her in her room. That was what she’d started to say—Father, not Fiona. The maidservant had been a lie, as he’d discovered the morning after Gifford’s death when he’d asked to see “Fiona.” No one had heard of her.
Alex couldn’t believe it. Joan was the spy; she was the Ghost. She’d been deceiving him all along. The clues had been there, he’d just been too besotted to see them.
All the little oddities suddenly made sense. The deft move that had enabled her to escape Despenser in the barn and the instinct to block Alex’s flipping her when they’d been in bed were because she’d been trained—no doubt by the very man holding the knife at his back right now.
Alex cursed. Of course, the knife! It had Norse carvings on the hilt just like the bracelet that she claimed to have received from her “father”—MacRuairi, not Buchan. How the hell had Alex not made the connection? MacRuairi carried an almost identical blade. And how could Alex not have realized her biggest mistake of all: dragon, not wyvern? She’d practically called him by his bloody war name. It hadn’t been the sword; she’d known he’d been a member of the Highland Guard all along.
Suddenly the ramifications of that hit him with the force of a hammer in his gut. Had she been purposefully using him? Had she been spying on him? Had it all been a lie? The white-hot knife of betrayal sliced through his chest and burned with a new kind of pain. The pain of loving someone who’d been lying to him.
MacRuairi was the first to break the silence. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t stick this knife in your back just like you did when you betrayed us.”
MacRuairi’s taunt might have had some effect if Alex weren’t so furious. How could Joan have done this? How could they have let her do this? Heedless of the knife digging slowly deeper into his back, Alex snapped back, “I don’t think Joan would like it too much if you killed the man she’s going to marry in a few weeks.” He paused and added sarcastically, “Shall I call you Father?”
MacRuairi cursed, and the press of the knife slackened for one instant. Having anticipated it, Alex was able to use his former guardsman’s moment of shock to twist away.
The two men faced off in the darkness, MacRuairi still wielding his blade and Alex retrieving his own.
“You hadn’t heard about our impending nuptials?” Alex taunted. “You must be slipping, Viper.”
“You are a liar as well as a traitor.” MacRuairi’s fingers tightened around the hilt of his blade as if he couldn’t wait to attack. “Joan would never—”
He slammed his mouth closed and gave Alex a deadly glare that might have intimidated him once. It didn’t any longer.
“What?” Alex seethed. “Marry me knowing what she knows about me? Is that what you were about to say? Don’t stop now, there is no need for secrets between old friends,” he said with the kind of biting sarcasm that could have come from the man opposite him. “I know everything.” MacRuairi’s weren’t the only fingers tightening around his blade. Alex was practically shaking with the need to vent his anger on the man he held responsible. “I know Joan is the Ghost, damn it. I know you’ve been using her since she was barely more than a girl to spy on the English and send information back to Bruce. I knew you were a coldhearted bastard, Viper, but I never thought even you would let your wife’s daughter play a whore for your own ends. Do you have any idea the kind of danger she’s been in? Does Bella know what her daughter is doing?”
It could have been a trick of the moonlight, but he thought MacRuairi might have paled. “Leave my wife out of this. You don’t know shite, you fucking English bastard. And we were never friends.”
Alex’s fingers were white, the intricate metalwork of the hilt biting into his skin. “Maybe you’re right. But you know what? I don’t care anymore. This isn’t about me, it’s about Joan. You can pretend ignorance, but you had to know what she was doing. Did you not question how she got close enough to Fitzgerald to get all those shipping routes?”
MacRuairi cursed again, but this time it didn’t seem to be directed at Alex but at himself. His blade came down just a little. “You are wrong. I didn’t know.”
Alex took a step toward him. “But you suspected, didn’t you? And turned a blind eye because it suited your needs.”
“You don’t know her at all if you think I had anything to do with it—Joan has her own mind.”
He was undoubtedly right about that.
“But you helped her,” Alex countered. “You taught her how to defend herself and wield that knife.”
“Because I knew she would do it anyway, and I wanted her to be prepared. I was trying to protect her, damn it.”
Alex didn’t want to hear MacRuairi’s bloody excuses. Alex looked at his former compatriot, at the man whose respect he’d fought so hard to earn. Though why the hell he’d wanted it so badly, he didn’t know. MacRuairi was the antithesis of everything Alex believed in. But at times Alex had thought he’d seen more. He thought he’d glimpsed the man who a great hero like Bella MacDuff could see something in. “How could you, Viper? After what they did to Bella, how could you let Joan put herself in such danger? Do you want to see her in a cage, too?”
There was no mistaking the flinch this time—moonlight or not. MacRuairi lowered his blade completely, perhaps not even realizing it. “I told you I didn’t have a choice. I’ve argued against it since I found out, but she and Bruce would not be gainsaid. But she’s good—the best. Joan can take care of herself. She’s escaped detection for a long time.”
“Until now,” Alex pointed out.
MacRuairi’s eyes narrowed. “I warned her to stay away from you. I knew when you were spotted together in the village there would be trouble. What did you do? Trick her? Use your Sir Galahad routine to lure her in so you could betray her as well?” Another possibility appeared to occur to him and the knife lifted again. “If you touched her, I swear to God I’ll kill you.”
“It’s a little late to play the concerned father, don’t you think? And I have no intention of betraying her, I love her, you bloody arse, and she loves me.”
Looking completely poleaxed by Alex’s claim, MacRuairi didn’t say anything for a moment. But then his mouth turned in a slow sneer. “Are you so sure about that? Joan has been playacting a long time.”
Alex wasn’t sure about anything, but he wouldn’t let the other man see it. “Do you think she would agree to marry me if she didn’t?”
MacRuairi hesita
ted, contemplating the question. “She might if she didn’t think she had any other choice. If you were threatening her with something. Is that it? Did you threaten to uncover her to force her to marry you?”
“Blackmail is more your method, Viper, not mine. And in case you missed it before, I said I love her. Do you honestly think I would betray her, knowing what they would do to her?”
“I think there is little you wouldn’t do for the sake of your precious honor and knightly code.”
Alex stiffened; MacRuairi always knew how to strike where it hurt. But the other man was right. Protecting her would not come without compromising Alex’s honor and beliefs. He’d already lied for her, and he would have to do so again, forsaking his duty to Edward to ensure no one discovered what he had. He didn’t like it, but he would do whatever he had to to keep her safe. “Her secret is safe. But it’s over, Viper. Joan is done—the Ghost has provided her last intelligence. Find someone else to do your dirty work.”
MacRuairi eyed him with something like amusement. “Fine by me if that’s what Joan wants. I told you before, I was never a party to any of this. It was all her idea.” He paused. “I assume you’ve explained this to her?”
The bastard knew very well that he hadn’t. “She will agree. She will be my wife as soon as I return.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” MacRuairi said coldly. “But you have a lot to learn about wives if you think that will be enough. And don’t you mean if you return?”
Alex didn’t mistake the threat. “If you want to try to kill me you’ll have your chance in a few days—assuming you take the field like a knight. But that isn’t your way, is it? You’ve always been a pirate.”
MacRuairi held his stare, and for one moment, Alex thought he saw something in his gaze. A flicker of emotion, of betrayal, and maybe of hurt. Right—as if an emotion like that were possible from Lachlan MacRuairi.
“You’ve always tried to make it so simple, Seton. But you never understood shite. Not everything is black and white. We all do what needs to be done when the time comes—even you. Like turning your back on people who trusted you.” MacRuairi just stared at him, the accusation gleaming in his eyes. “How the fuck could you just leave like that? After everything we’d been through?”
Alex gritted his teeth, the words striking deeper and harder than he wanted. “Why the hell are you acting like you care? You made it clear from the beginning that I didn’t belong.”
“Aye, well I was wrong. You were one of us. You were the only one who never saw that.”
Alex didn’t know what to say. He felt as if he’d just had his legs cut out from under him. MacRuairi was the last person he ever expected to say something like that. Perhaps for the first time he understood the depth of his betrayal. He’d always told himself it had never really mattered to them—or some of them at least—but what if he had been wrong? That was something he didn’t want to contemplate.
“I didn’t think I had a choice.” He hadn’t seen any other way at the time. He’d just known he couldn’t go on doing what he was doing.
“That’s shite. You had a choice, you just chose wrong.”
Even if he had, it didn’t matter. It was too late. They both knew that.
Alex turned to go, but not without a warning. “Stay away from her, Viper. I will take care of her now.”
MacRuairi shook his head. “Not until I hear it from Joan. Besides, we have protective measures in place in case something goes wrong.”
“What kind of protective measures?”
The wily bastard just shrugged.
Suddenly Alex remembered a similar conversation he’d had with Pembroke and frowned. Pembroke had been talking about the spy, but at the time Alex hadn’t realized it was Joan. Were they planning something?
Alex swore.
“What is it?” MacRuairi asked.
“Nothing, I hope. But I need to go find Joan.”
“I’ll come—”
“The hell you will, Viper. Your presence anywhere near here will only make it more dangerous for her. How long do you think it will take someone to make the connection if Lachlan MacRuairi is recognized? If there is a problem, I will take care of it.”
MacRuairi looked as if he wanted to argue, but instead he forcibly clenched his jaw. “You better—or I’ll be back. And next time you won’t feel my blade.”
Alex didn’t need to guess what he meant. He wouldn’t feel it because he would already be dead.
Joan had been looking for an opportunity to talk to Alex in private since receiving the note, but with the men readying to march on Scotland any day, he’d been kept so busy with his duties that she’d hardly seen him. She told herself it had nothing to do with what she’d told him, but it was obvious that he was preoccupied with something.
She understood that only too well. Since receiving that note she’d been thinking of little else, not to mention jumping at her own shadow. Who had sent it? What did they know? Who else knew?
Margaret had been just as stunned as she—and just as worried. “You can’t stay,” her cousin had told her. “It’s too risky now.”
As much as Joan wanted to argue, she knew Margaret was right. Joan could not ignore the warning. Her time in England had just come to an abrupt end. For over six years, she’d done what she could for Bruce’s cause; she had to hope it would be enough.
Her hand went to her wrist, unconsciously seeking the solid metal of the bracelet that was no longer there. She’d gone into the village earlier this afternoon and left it in the church as Lachlan had instructed when she’d moved to Berwick.
How long would it take Lachlan to come for her? A day? Two?
Should she just walk out of here and try to leave on her own? Though tempting, she wasn’t going to overreact and do anything rash. How far would she get with no knowledge of the roads and little more than the clothes on her back in a countryside littered with soldiers? How long before they discovered she was gone and sent someone after her?
No, she had to be patient. Lachlan had promised to get her out when the time came. But if he didn’t come by the time the army marched, she would try then. When it was safer. When there were fewer men who might come in search of her.
And after she spoke to Alex.
She couldn’t leave without telling him the truth and trying to convince him to go with her. But he wasn’t at the evening meal for the second night in a row. As they were leaving the Hall, she was about to ask Sir Aymer where she might be able to find him—or when he was expected to return—when a man came rushing up to the vaunted commander and handed him a message that the earl immediately took to the king.
“I wonder what that is about?” Margaret asked.
Joan did as well.
It didn’t take her long to find out. With Sir Aymer unavailable, Joan had returned to her chamber, vowing to search Alex out later that night—in his room if she had to. She had finished lighting a few candles when Alice came in with Sir Henry. Immediately sensing the tension between the two, Joan bid a hasty good night and disappeared into her adjoining chamber.
Their voices, however, followed her.
“I am sorry our plans were interrupted,” she heard Sir Henry say. “But this is important. The king has called an emergency war council, and I have to return to the Great Hall. This message could change everything. You want us to win this war, don’t you?”
“Of course,” Alice said weakly.
Joan was too caught up in the knowledge that something important—war changing—was happening to notice the oddity of that. Her cousin never spoke weakly.
“Then this is how it must be,” Sir Henry said.
If Alice responded, it was too low for Joan to hear.
“Read it yourself,” Sir Henry said.
Joan prayed for her cousin to say something about the contents, but all she heard was silence. She tried to peek between the slats of the door that separated them, but she was only able to make out shadows and movement.
She would give her eyeteeth to know what was in that missive.
“When will you be back?” Alice said with apparent resolve.
“Late,” Sir Henry said. Then as a concession, he added, “You can wait for me in my chamber if you like.”
Alice must have nodded.
“Good girl,” he said as if she were an obedient pup.
A few seconds later, Joan heard the sound of a door closing and Sir Henry’s departure. Not long after that, it closed for a second time, signaling Alice’s.
Joan debated all of a few moments, but she knew what she had to do.
“Change everything,” Sir Henry had said. Had the earls decided to come after all? Had the English learned something key about Bruce’s movements? She couldn’t ignore what she’d just heard. She had to take a chance and try to find out what important news the messenger had brought.
After donning a black cloak, she slipped out of her room through Alice’s empty chamber and into the donjon stairwell. Exiting into the ward, she headed toward the Great Hall, which was situated in the south wall directly opposite. She didn’t have a plan exactly, but she knew there was a narrow corridor between the Hall and Captain’s Lodgings, and she hoped to be able to get into position to hear or see something. There were also a number of storage rooms in the vaults below that she could try. If anyone questioned her, she could claim to be hungry or to have lost something at the evening meal.
Though she was doing nothing wrong—yet—she was still undeniably nervous. Her usually light footsteps felt loud and ungainly, and despite the warm wool of her cloak, she was chilled to the bone.
It was that blasted note she’d received, playing on her normal composure.
Or was it?
Suddenly, she realized how quiet the yard was. There were very few people moving about, which was odd for this time of evening—the bell for compline had not yet rung.
The prickle of unease grew. Every hair at the back of her neck stood up. She told herself she was being ridiculous. Information like this didn’t just fall into your lap . . .
The Ghost Page 29
