The Ghost (Highland Guard 12) (20 page)

Alex’s hand returned to his dagger.

He wasn’t alone in his anger, although only a slight tinge of pink in Lady Joan’s cheeks betrayed her fury as she responded to the taunt. “Since right now. I am sorry to have disappointed you, Sir Hugh, it was not my intention. But there is no reason to be cruel. We have been friends a long time.”

The young knight’s eyes blazed. Clearly, friendship was the last thing he was thinking about. Alex silently begged him to make a move.
Give me an excuse
. His hand was practically itching.

But she stopped him. “There’s someone else,” she blurted.

“Who?” The other knight demanded angrily, echoing Alex’s thoughts.

She bit her lip, her hands twisting a little before her. “I’d rather not say.”

Despenser eyed her with disgust. “You do not need to. I’ve seen the way you look at Seton. It’s him, isn’t it?” Alex froze. Was it true? He couldn’t believe it when she nodded. Despenser cursed angrily. “You sure as hell don’t waste any time, do you? Had your bed grown so cold in a week that you needed to fill it with the first man you could find? I’m just surprised that he took you up on your offer. Seton isn’t known for dallying with whores.”

That might have been the excuse Alex had been waiting for, but Joan shifted just enough to block his direct line to Despenser.

“It’s not like that,” she said softly.

Sir Hugh must have seen something in her expression and gave a harsh laugh. “Unrequited lust, is that it? I’m not surprised. From what I know of Seton, he holds himself to rigidly high standards for a Scot. Still, he must have ice running through his cock to refuse a tasty piece like you in his bed.”

Alex wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. Only knowing the embarrassment he would cause her prevented him from revealing himself right then and wiping the crude words from Despenser’s mouth with his fists.

Joan stood in silence, but Alex sensed she was just as furious and anxious to defend herself. So why didn’t she? Perhaps she just wanted it over? If that was the case, it worked.

Despenser closed the distance between them. She tensed at the same time as Alex, but there was no cause. The young knight walked right past her. “When you realize your mistake do not bother trying to correct it. It is too late.”

“I am sorry.”

“Save your apologies,” he said. “I do not wish to hear them.” He smiled coldly. “But I assure you, you will be
very
sorry.”

The threat wasn’t subtle, nor was it meant to be. In rejecting him, Joan Comyn had just made herself a dangerous enemy, and she appeared to know it as well.

She sank down on a bale of hay with a heavy sigh and a distinctly worried look on her face. Perhaps sensing her mood, the dog trotted out of the stall to collapse into a ball by her feet. For a creature that had caused so many problems for Alex’s former brethren, it sure was a lazy little blighter. But Alex was almost jealous of it a moment later when Joan absently reached down to stroke it gently between the ears.

Alex should probably leave her alone. But it seemed he wasn’t very good at doing what he should do when it came to Joan Comyn.

“Despenser will not forget the slight,” he said, emerging from the shadows where he’d been watching.

She jumped to her feet. The dog that had roused a garrison barely lifted its head in Alex’s direction—apparently its watch days were at an end. Joan recovered quickly and rounded on him. “I knew I heard something! You were spying on me!”

Alex didn’t deny it. “It wasn’t intentional. I was coming back from the river after practice when I saw you come in here with him
alone
. Damn it, Joan, what were you thinking? You had to know the danger and what could happen. He could have . . .”

The words were so repugnant he couldn’t even get them out.

“Yes, I know ex—” She stopped. For a moment she looked haunted—devastated—but then the familiar defiance returned to her eyes. “I do not need you to protect me, Alex. I can take care of myself.”

Ignoring for the moment that she’d used his given name—and how much he liked hearing her do so—he wanted to argue but realized he couldn’t. She
had
extricated herself. Quite well actually. Her movements had been smooth and polished, as if it were something she’d done many times before. Perhaps she had. But something else about it niggled. Something familiar.

He frowned. “Where did you learn to do that?”

Joan knew that she’d made a mistake. Her third or fourth of the afternoon—so many she’d lost count. From thinking she could do what she had to do to avoid the confrontation like she’d just had with Sir Hugh, to nearly blurting out that she knew
exactly
what could happen, to reminding Alex of skills that she didn’t want him curious about.

She could bite off her tongue. But she was more shaken by the episode with Sir Hugh than she wanted to admit. Alex was right: he would not forget the slight, and Joan knew she would have to be
very
careful around Sir Hugh for the remainder of their time at Berwick.

Just like she was supposed to be careful around Alex. Knowing that she would likely only arouse more curiosity if she pretended that she didn’t know what he meant, she said, “My mother thought it was important that I learned how to defend myself.”

The frown that gathered between his brows didn’t release right away. He stared at her with an intensity that made her want to squirm, but she held her expression impassive. He must have trained with Lachlan many times; would he recognize something?

Finally, he relented with a nod. “That sounds like Bella. I’m surprised she did not have you practicing with swords.”

“Swords were too heavy. But I do have this.”

She pulled out her eating knife from the sheath on her girdle. The handle of horn was worn with use to fit perfectly in her hand. The four-inch steel blade had been honed to a razor’s edge to slice easily through the toughest meat—or whatever else she might need to cut through.

Alex shook his head. “Why am I not surprised? You know how to use it?”

She nodded. Not as well as him, maybe—even Lachlan had conceded Sir Alex’s superior skill with a dagger—but she could defend herself if need be.

He held her a little while longer with that too-penetrating stare that saw too much and made her want to shuffle her feet like a naughty child.

“Don’t let it give you a false sense of confidence,” he said. “A blade like that will do little against armor, and it can be defended against by someone with the right training.” Like him, she supposed he meant. But she’d had training, too—not that she could tell him that. “You also have to be willing to use it.”

She eyed him unflinchingly. “I am.”

He didn’t seem impressed by her confidence. If anything it appeared to anger him. His mouth tightened. “Keep meeting men in barns and I’m sure you’ll have the opportunity to find out.”

How dare he
 . . .
!
The hot flush of anger flew onto her cheeks. She gripped the handle of the knife more purposefully, pointing it toward him in a manner that could only be construed as a challenge. “Does that include you, my lord?” she said with staccatoed sweetness.

He didn’t move a muscle, which in no way lessened the threat. Instead it only made it more ominous. The air was thick with the coiled tension of a snake ready to strike. He wanted to knock the blade from her hand and prove the truth of his words so badly she could practically taste it. And she was ready for him to try.

Whether he would be able to, she didn’t know, but she relished the challenge.

That was another mistake, which she realized when she saw the flicker of surprise in his eyes. She’d given too much away. She’d reacted like a warrior, not a lady with some basic training. Bold and challenging were not the same as mysterious, quiet, and unassuming.

With an inward curse, she lowered the blade. Hoping to curtail any more curiosity on his part, she said, “I am sure your
advice
is well intentioned, but as I’ve said before, I can meet whomever I want in barns or anywhere else for that matter—it is no concern of yours.”

The anger was back. His mouth hardened in a very formidable line, and the flare in his eyes . . . it burned with a strange light as he looked at her. “What if I wish to make it my concern?”

The declaration was so unexpected it took her a moment to realize that was what it was—and what he meant. And even then she didn’t quite believe it until their eyes met. She drew in her breath, seeing the truth. He wanted her and not just in a dishonorable manner. He was offering her more. Maybe a lot more. Maybe everything.

The pang of longing in her chest was as unexpected as it was deep. It took her breath away, making her lungs burn.

It seemed inconceivable that any respectable man would want her under her present circumstances, let alone a paragon of righteousness and moral certainty like Sir Galahad. That he did moved her—and tempted her—far more than it should. For one illogical moment she let herself wonder if it were possible. If she could let herself be courted by this man who had already made her feel more than she thought capable—and more than she wanted. The man who’d filled her girlish dreams of handsome golden knights in shining armor since the first time she’d seen him all those years ago. Could she open her heart? Try to have some semblance of a normal life that she’d thought impossible?

The longing was so strong that it took her a moment to come back to reality. But when she did it was with a hard thud. Good gracious, why was she even thinking about this? It
was
impossible. She’d made her choice years ago. There was no going back. Nor would she. What she was doing was too important. She was in a position—a unique position—to help the cause that she’d devoted her life to. Bruce needed her; there was no one else who could do what she did. And they were so close—closer than they’d ever been before. She couldn’t do anything to risk that with a potentially war-ending battle approaching.

And Alex Seton was definitely a risk. She couldn’t let herself forget who he was. He wasn’t just any knight, he was a former member of the Highland Guard who was searching for the spy—her—in the English midst. If she allowed herself to get close to him, how long would it take him to discover her secret? What would he do if he learned she was a part of the very team he’d betrayed? She had no doubt that whatever he might feel for her now would change if he learned the truth. The always-do-what-is-right knight would probably feel honor-bound to turn her in.

She couldn’t take that chance.

But it wasn’t just that they were on opposite sides, even if he didn’t know it. Joan also knew that she would never be able to live up to his standards. He lived in a world of gallant knights and chivalry, of innocent maidens who needed rescue, of right and wrong, and black and white. Joan’s world was gray, where people did what they had to do. She wasn’t innocent or maidenly. And one day, probably sooner rather than later, she would disappoint him.

Still, it was harder than it should be to get the words out. “Don’t,” she said softly, and then more firmly, “Don’t make it your concern.”

He gave no indication that her words had stung, but she sensed that they had. He drew himself up to loom over her in the shadowed light of the barn, seeming even taller than the few inches over six feet that she guessed him to be. She sensed that he wanted to touch her, but his arms were flexed rigidly at his sides. “Am I to be given an explanation? I heard what you said to Despenser. Was that just an excuse?”

She felt heat rising to her cheeks, embarrassed that he’d overheard that part of the conversation. Claiming there was someone else had been an excuse—a way to divert Sir Hugh—but it had also happened to be true. She did want Alex, and her feelings had made continuing the pretense with Sir Hugh impossible.

She would find another way to get the information she needed. But it would not be from him.

She did not need to feign discomfort. “I thought it would be easier if I gave him a reason.”

Alex’s eyes flared. He lost the rein on his control and reached out with one hand to take her by the arm. His fingers burned like a brand upon her skin. “Do you deny that there is something between us?”

“Nay.” Hating what she was about to say, but knowing it must be said, she added, “But that is hardly unusual, and I find it never lasts long.”

He flinched as if she’d struck him. The cold white lines etched around his mouth almost made her shiver. “I see.”

Clearly, he did, and knowing what he must think of her made her ill. But it was better this way.

He let his hand drop with hard finality, relinquishing her arm and his hold on her.

She felt the loss like a knife in the chest. Feeling the urge to explain, she started, “It’s just that . . .” What . . . what could she say? “I like my life, Sir Alex. I see no reason to change it.”

It was true. Lachlan was wrong. She wasn’t sad or lonely. She was alone by choice. Her work was what mattered—all that mattered—and whatever happiness she needed would come from that.

But which one of them was she trying to convince?