The Recruit (20 page)

Every instinct in Kenneth’s body urged him to tell McKay to bugger off. To refuse.

To quit.

Going up there right now would be a suicide mission. One slip on the icy rocks and
Kenneth would fall to his death. MacKay knew it as well as he did. Kenneth could see
the challenge in the other man’s gaze, not daring him to refuse as much as daring
him to accept.

How far will you go?
he seemed to be asking.

To the death
. That was what was required of them. Chief had told them many times before. If you
want on this team, you have to be willing to sacrifice your life for the good of the
team. Did Kenneth want it that badly?

He thought he did, but it wasn’t until that moment that he knew it for a certainty.
He wanted to be the best. He wanted to be part of something that was not just important
but also historic. He’d been working for this moment his entire life, and he wasn’t
going to turn back now.

“Aye, you’re right,” he said equitably. “I’ll be able to see much better from there.”

Something flashed in the other man’s eyes. Respect? Kenneth didn’t know. Truth be
told, he no longer cared. He wasn’t proving anything to MacKay, he was proving it
to himself. He turned and started toward the peak. Almost impossible wasn’t impossible.
He would do this, damn it.

He’d reached the base of the area from where he would start his ascent when he heard
the sound of footsteps behind him. It was bloody disconcerting how he knew who it
was. Apparently, he didn’t even need a shadow to recognize his old nemesis.

“Have you learned nothing in three months?”

Kenneth turned slowly to face his brother-in-law. He bit back a few choice replies,
and simply stared at him. For once he didn’t feel like fighting, even with MacKay—he
was too bloody tired.

MacKay gave him a long look. “If you’re going to get yourself killed, don’t do it
without your partner.”

“Aye, well you sent my partner on a fool’s mission for fresh meat.”

He couldn’t bite back all the sarcasm, and MacKay shook his head. “You had me worried
for a minute. I’ve grown so used to seeing that belligerent, ‘I dare you to try’ look
on your face, and I thought we’d actually beaten it out of you. Hell, without the
prickly attitude I could actually learn to
like
you.” He gave a dramatic shudder from behind the long wool scarf wrapped around his
neck and lower face. Like the rest of them, he hadn’t shaved in nearly two weeks and
tiny droplets of ice clung to his face. They had all begun to look and smell like
wild beasts. “And you never know, the recruit might find something. You just have
to know where to look.”

Belligerent?
What was he talking about?

MacKay had retrieved a rope from his pack and had started to tie it around his waist.
He handed him the other end.

“
You’re
going to be my partner?” Kenneth couldn’t keep the incredulity from his voice.

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.

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.