The Recruit (25 page)

After that …

Her chest squeezed again.

After that, she would see.

Her hands instinctively went to her stomach. She would do whatever she had to do to
protect her unborn child.

The child she hadn’t planned for.

The child she’d never allowed herself to think was possible.

The child that for one moment she hadn’t wanted. What would she do? She wasn’t married.
The babe would be branded a bastard and she a whore.

But those few moments of fear had faded quickly and joy had set in. Joy that permeated
every bone, every fiber of her being. Joy at the miracle she’d been given. A baby.
A second chance to be a mother. In the face of such a gift, no matter how illicitly
given, everything else had seemed secondary.

Mary may not have been able to prevent them from taking her first child, but this
one would be different.

She did not delude herself that it would be easy, nor did she minimize the difficulties
that needed to be overcome, but she was determined to do whatever was needed to keep
her child.

It would not be the first time a woman had given birth out of the bonds of wedlock.
As long as she was careful, as long as there was a pretext to believe in, they might
whisper and wonder, but what else could they do?

France was to be her pretext. It was somewhere she could retire beyond the eyes of
Edward’s court. The child would be a foundling she’d brought back to England with
her.

Some might suspect the truth, but Lady Mary of Mar, the widowed Countess of Atholl,
in the far, war-torn north—far away from London—was hardly likely to provoke much
gossip. She’d been ostracized before when it
had been no fault of her own, so she could withstand anything for her child.

There was an added benefit to her plan. As a foundling, the child would be beneath
the scrutiny of any king, English or Scot. The babe would be hers. No one could take
it away.

Except for one person.

The chill that hadn’t left her bones since the moment she’d seen him standing in the
Hall made her shiver. If Sir Kenneth discovered the truth, he could threaten everything.
Perhaps he wouldn’t care—God knows he might have fathered hundreds of bastards, given
his reputation—but something warned her differently. There was more to her “perfect
man for sin” than she’d initially thought.

She’d never considered telling him. With him in Scotland loyal to Bruce, what was
the point? But now that he was here …

Nay. She shook off the thought. It was too late. The child didn’t change anything.
“What does that have to do with us?”
She couldn’t go through that again. Sir Kenneth was still too much like her husband,
and—she thought of the silly pang that had tightened in her chest when she’d seen
him—she was still too much the girl who would let him break her heart.

But it was going to be hard to leave Davey. She’d also hoped to have a chance to extend
the search for her sister to Berwick-upon-Tweed. She consoled herself that it would
not be for long. Davey would be too busy with his duties to Lord Percy to miss her,
and Janet …

Her sister could be anywhere. Even in France.

Mary was walking back to her chamber after breaking her fast when she learned that
Percy and the others had returned. But when she asked one of the other squires where
she could find Davey, the lad said that he’d gone to Sir Adam’s chamber with the doctor.
In a burst of panic,
Mary raced across the courtyard to the Constable’s Tower, which housed many of the
higher-ranking noblemen.

Although a royal castle, Berwick was primarily used as an administration center and
garrison. But with the call to arms, the important border castle that had already
seen more than its share of war could hold only a small portion of the three thousand
knights, men-at-arms, and servants who were expected to heed the king’s call to muster.
It was, she suspected, an indication of Sir Adam’s favor that she had been given a
room in the massive donjon tower with her attendants and a few of the other ladies.

By the time she’d climbed the three levels of stairs to Sir Adam’s chamber, she was
gasping for breath. Not bothering to knock, she opened the door. “Davey, are you all—”

She froze. Three faces turned toward her. Davey, an older man who she assumed was
the doctor, and the very last man she wanted to see: Sir Kenneth Sutherland.

—right?
she finished the thought. But it was clear Davey was fine. He was standing to the
side as the doctor finished wrapping a piece of cloth around Sir Kenneth’s forearm.
He
was the one who was injured, not her son.

Realizing they were all still staring at her, heat rose to her cheeks. “I’m sorry.
I heard a physician had been sent for, and I thought it was for Davey.”

“I’m fine, Mother,” her son said, embarrassed.

She smiled at him tenderly. “I can see that.”

Her gaze turned to Sir Kenneth, although she was careful not to let it linger as he
wasn’t wearing a shirt. Memories of that tanned, muscular chest haunted her, and she
feared her face would show every one of her sinful dreams. Good God, he was even more
powerfully muscled than before! What had he been doing, lifting rocks the whole time?

She quickly shifted her gaze, her mouth dry. “I hope it is not serious?”

“As I was assuring your son, I’m fine. Isn’t that right, Welford?”

The older man frowned, two darts of blue narrowing under bushy white brows. “As long
as it does not fester. The barber seems to have been adept with his iron.” The disdain
in his voice gave the impression that this was not always the case. “It has stopped
the bleeding at least for now. But it was a wide, deep gash, and I may need to seal
it again.”

Mary shuddered, thinking of the pain of a hot iron seared across an open wound.

Kenneth waved him off and shrugged a linen shirt over his head, enabling Mary to breathe
again. “It will be fine.”

The physician had obviously dealt with stubborn, too-tough warriors before. He gathered
his belongings and started toward the door. “If it hurts, there is a medicine I can—”
He stopped, shaking his head. “I know, I know, it will not hurt.” He muttered something
under his breath as he left, shutting the door behind him.

Mary was tempted to go after him, but not without her son. What was he doing in here,
anyway? And how had Sir Kenneth been injured? “Davey, perhaps we should leave Sir
Kenneth to see to his injury. I’m anxious to hear about your journey to Roxburgh.”

He gave her an odd look. “We didn’t go to Roxburgh. We went to the Ettrick Forest
to catch Bruce’s phantoms.”

For the second time that morning, the color drained from Mary’s face. “You
what
?”

Not realizing the state of panic he’d thrown her in, Davey went on. “Hell’s gates,
it was something! We almost had them, thanks to Sir Kenneth.” He shook his head in
boyish amazement. “I’ve never seen men fight like that. At least I think they were
men. It was difficult to tell, until the one got close enough when he came at me with
his sword.”

Mary was grateful that the edge of the bed was so near, because her legs suddenly
didn’t feel strong enough to hold her. She sank onto the soft mattress, grabbing one
of the four wooden posts to steady herself.

Davey was oblivious and opened his mouth to continue, but Sir Kenneth cut him off.
“You’re frightening your mother, lad. Perhaps you might share your stories with your
fellow squires instead?”

The boy’s eyes lit up with excitement. It was obvious that the prospect of telling
battle stories to an appreciative audience was too tempting to resist. “If you are
sure you don’t need anything?” It was Mary’s turn to frown. Why was Davey being so
attentive to Sir Kenneth? “Do you need help with your armor?” he asked.

“I don’t think I will be wearing armor for a while, but I’m sure your mother can get
me anything I need.” Mary shot him a glare, not mistaking the innuendo. “Go,” he said
to Davey. “I’ll see you in the yard in a few minutes.”

Davey raced by her but she stopped him. “Wait,” she said, catching him by the arm.
She reached out and gently smoothed his hair back from his face. She gave him a tender
smile. “You have a smudge on your brow.” She tried to wipe it away with her thumb.

For a moment, he seemed to sink into the caress, enjoying the motherly contact. But
then he startled and twisted his head away. “Don’t!” He cast a mortified glance to
Kenneth. “It’s nothing.”

Before she could think how to respond, he darted out of the room.

The rejection, though understandable, stung. Thirteen-year-old boys didn’t need their
faces wiped by their mother. No matter how desperately she longed to go back to recapture
his lost childhood, she could not.

Not with Davey at least.

“When I was his age, everything my parents did was embarrassing to me—especially my
mother. Now I’d give anything to have her fussing over me.”

Mary stiffened, not realizing how carefully he’d been watching her—or how much her
expression must have
given away. Embarrassed and yet strangely moved by his effort to soothe her. “She
died?”

He nodded. “Some years back.”

Not liking the moment of connection—or perhaps liking it too much—she changed the
subject to the one that had been bothering her. “Why are you here in Sir Adam’s chambers,
and why was Davey with you?”

He reached for a black leather surcote that had been tossed on the back of the wooden
chair and started the somewhat tricky proposition of putting it on with a bandaged
arm. She resisted the urge to offer to help, knowing she shouldn’t get too close to
him.

She thought he might be avoiding her question, but finally he said, “I’m staying with
Sir Adam and the boy offered to help.” He arched a brow speculatively. “I could ask
the same of you.”

She blushed, knowing he had a point. She shouldn’t have come to Sir Adam’s chamber
alone. “Sir Adam is an old friend of my husband’s—and of mine.”

“Then it seems we have something in common. Sir Adam’s father fought with my grandfather
in the last crusade. I’ve known him since I was a lad. I fostered with his nephew.”

He winced when the bandaged part of his arm tried to pass through the sleeve.

She bit her lip, but kept her feet planted. “Your arm, will it be all right?”

He gave her a mocking smile, finally shrugging the surcote onto his shoulders. “I
didn’t think you cared, Lady Mary.”

She glared at him impatiently.

His mouth quirked. “I might not be able to lift my sword for a few days, but there
should be no lasting damage. Nor should it affect other body parts, if that’s what
you are worried about.”

She flushed, despite knowing that he was just trying to
embarrass her. Apparently the man was outrageous on both sides of the border. “I’m
sure England’s eager young widows and their attendants will be greatly relieved.”

The dry observation only seemed to amuse him. She knew she should go. But something
stopped her. Something about what Davey had said. Something she didn’t want to believe.

What did Davey mean,
“Thanks to Sir Kenneth?”
She worked it out as she spoke. “This journey to Ettrick was because of you. You
told them where Bruce’s men would be.” She stopped and looked at him, aghast. “You
betrayed them.”

Although there was no outward sign that her accusation bothered him—his expression
remained perfectly impassive—she had the feeling that it had. His perfect, dare-you-to-resist-me
mouth tightened almost imperceptibly. “I think that’s a rather dramatic way of looking
at it. I had knowledge, and I used it. This is war, my lady. ‘Betrayal’ is part of
the game.”

“Is that what this is to you, a game? Pieces on a chessboard to move around? Ebony
or ivory, you choose whatever side will put you in a better position?” The tic in
his jaw was the only sign that she’d pricked his mocking facade. “What of honor? What
of loyalty?”

He threw the challenge back at her with a taunting smile. “We all make our choices.
What of you, Lady Mary? You are a Scot in England, the same as I. What of
your
honor? What of
your
loyalty?”

She flushed and said starchily, “My honor and loyalty are to my son.”

His gaze bored into her, almost as if he were trying to see inside. Trying to read
her secrets. “Why do you care, Mary? Why does my appearance here seem to have caused
you so much distress?”

Some of the heat drained from her face as fear sent a chill racing through her veins.
Suddenly, she was very conscious
of the fact that they were in a room alone together, and she was sitting on a big
bed. She sprang up. “It doesn’t. It hasn’t. I was merely surprised. Last time I saw
you, Robert was lauding your many talents and getting ready to throw a celebration
in your honor.”

Something glinted in his eyes. “Aye, well, things change.” His gaze drifted over her.
The glance had been brief. Cool. Impassive. There was nothing in it that should have
made her stomach knot and her skin flush with heat. But she felt as if he had taken
store of every change, every detail, every slight difference in her appearance. His
words bore her out. “Like you, for instance. I see you aren’t hiding anymore.”

She stiffened, not sure why his words made her feel so uneasy. It was almost as if
he didn’t like the changes. “I wasn’t hiding.”

“Weren’t you? Then I take it you have reconsidered a life in a convent?” A knowing
smile curved his mouth. Though he hadn’t moved from his place across the room, she
inched closer to the door. His gaze darkened with heat. “Maybe I had something to
do with that?”

Mary told herself it was anger that made her feel so hot, not the memories that husky
tone evoked.

She forced herself not to react to his teasing, instead effecting a smile of bored
disdain. “Some things haven’t changed. You are as arrogant in England as you were
in Scotland.”