The Recruit (27 page)

Kenneth had just learned from the lad that his mother was once again intending to
flee, when Felton interrupted and sent the boy on some fool’s errand. “Stay away from
my squire, Sutherland. I do not wish the lad to pick up any bad habits, and you are
keeping him from his duties.”

Kenneth quirked a brow. “
Your
squire? I thought David squired for Percy.”

Felton flushed angrily. “As his champion and the best knight in his retinue, Lord
Percy has entrusted me with the earl’s training.”

Kenneth wanted to ask him whether that included falling on his arse, but he knew it
was wise not to antagonize the knight any further. He was already out for blood as
it was, and Kenneth knew Felton would be watching him closely. He needed to keep his
temper in check.

But Felton made it damned hard to turn the other cheek. The knight leaned closer so
his words would not be overheard, his eyes narrow and hard. “I know why you’re doing
this. But it won’t work. Winning over the boy won’t win over his mother.”

The mention of Lady Mary was enough to loosen Kenneth’s tongue. “And getting him killed
will?”

Felton exploded in fury. “How dare you suggest I had anything to do with what happened!
No one could have anticipated they would attempt to escape by jumping over a cliff.
The earl was well protected.”

“Then how the hell did he nearly die, and I end up with this?” Kenneth lifted his
injured arm, which was stinging like the devil. “I warned you it was too dangerous
to take the lad. Next time don’t let your attempt to impress a lady affect your judgment.”

“By God, if you weren’t injured right now you would pay for your arrogance. I am still
the best knight around here, and I won’t have a disloyal, opportunistic Highland traitor
question my decisions. Winning a few barbarian games doesn’t make you a champion.
Here, you are nothing until you prove otherwise.”

The smug bastard had managed to strike a nerve—a rather raw nerve. Anger ran hot through
Kenneth’s veins and being wise was forgotten. “I don’t know, perhaps you
could use a little Highland instruction. The ‘barbarians’ seemed to have put you on
your arse easily enough.”

The look of raw hatred in the other man’s eyes almost made Kenneth regret his words.
Almost.

“I’ll see you pay for that, you traitorous bastard.”

“You can sure as hell try.”

They might have come to blows—injured arm or not—if Kenneth hadn’t glanced over to
the gate and seen something that made his blood run cold and his anger at Felton fizzle
like water on hot rocks.

Jesus. Christ. God damn it to hell
. A string of more oaths and blasphemes followed—silently, thank God. But it took
every scrap of his training not to react. Keeping his expression carefully blank,
Kenneth looked away from the group of women entering the castle gate, but fear prickled
on his skin like a sheet of ice.

Before Felton could reply or notice his distraction, he added, “I will look forward
to it.” And walked away, heading toward the practice yard where the women had gone.

It wasn’t unusual for women from the village to watch the soldiers practicing. Nor
was it unusual for the soldiers to find the evening’s entertainment from amongst the
spectators. Every camp had its followers, and a castle was no different. By the time
he’d made his way over to the far side of the yard near the barracks, the women were
already mingling with the soldiers who’d finished their duties for the day—including
the beautiful red-haired woman who’d caught his attention.

Long auburn hair tumbled down her back in a veil of loose waves. Her rough, homespun
kirtle was low on her chest, revealing far more of her bosom than he cared to see,
but which left no doubt of her plans to attract a companion for the night.

She was flirting with one of the older men-at-arms as he approached. A relatively
safe choice, but it didn’t temper his anger any.

When she saw him, her eyes widened in feigned excitement and a slow, seductive smile
curved on her mouth, as sensual and promising as any wanton’s. “My lord,” she said
in a husky gasp. “Where have you been? It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, I thought
you’d forgotten all about me.”

The man-at-arms turned to him, disappointment keen on his face when he recognized
Kenneth. “Sir Kenneth,” he bowed. “I did not realize mistress Helen was yours.”

“She’s not,” Kenneth said, looking into the twinkling eyes of his sister. Damn it,
she was MacKay’s responsibility now. What the hell was the bastard thinking? He managed
to control his anger long enough to play his part. “We met the last time I was in
Berwick.” He took her hand and placed a gallant kiss on it. “Though I am looking forward
to renewing our acquaintance.”

Seeing that another had claimed his entertainment for the evening, the man-at-arms
made his graceful retreat.

For the next few minutes they made a very public show of “renewing” that acquaintance.
Helen sidled up next to him, flirting, batting her lashes, and flaunting her heretofore-unknown
ample wares for all to see. If he were MacKay, he’d toss her over his knee for acting
like such a jade. Hell, he was glad for his sister’s sake that the fierce Highlander
wasn’t around to see the appreciative English glances at her breasts, which were practically
falling out of her gown. As her brother, he had to stop himself from pulling the useless
scrap of wool up to her neck and putting his fist through a few sets of teeth.

She ran her fingers up his arm. “You’re hurt!” Her eyes flashed naughtily. “Perhaps
there is something I can do to make it feel better?”

It wasn’t easy to pretend seduction with his little sister—especially when he’d like
nothing more than to throttle her—but Kenneth played along. “Why don’t we go someplace
where you can examine it in private?”

He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her against him, turning around to address
one of the men who was standing nearby. Percy was still keeping a close eye on him.
“Tell Percy I’ll be back in time for the evening meal. The lady is going to
tend
my wounds.”

“Aye, I’m going to make you feel all better,” she said with a lecherous wink.

Before the soldier could object, Kenneth started to pull her toward the nearest storeroom
but changed direction when he heard her mutter “stables” under her breath.

“Give us a few minutes, lads,” he said to the stable boys. “This won’t take too long.”

The boys snickered and moved outside.

The moment the door was closed, Kenneth turned to her in fury. “What in God’s name
do you think you are doing here? And why the hell did Saint let you come alone!”

“He didn’t,” MacKay said, jumping down from the rafters above where bales of hay were
stored. He was dressed as a peasant, and Kenneth detected the strong whiff of fish.
“And keep your voice down, Ice, unless you want half the English army to come investigate.”
He glanced angrily toward his wife. Though he’d called Kenneth by one of the “ironic”
names MacSorley had coined to prod him about his hot temper, MacKay seemed to have
forgotten his own. “And pull up your damned gown!”

Helen ignored the directive, put her hands on her hips, and looked at them both angrily.
“If you two would just relax—”

It was the wrong thing to say. Both Kenneth and MacKay exploded, expressing the depths
of their very
un
relaxed anger at seeing her acting the jade in a yard full of Englishmen. Apparently,
MacKay had caught quite a bit of her performance.

Helen let them have their say, but she clearly paid it no heed. “If you are both finished
acting like overprotective nursemaids, perhaps I can see to what we came for?”

Before Kenneth could bark out another “why the hell are you here?,” MacKay explained,
“She insisted on seeing to your arm herself.”

“And you let her?”

MacKay shot him a deadly glare. “I’d like to see you stop her. She said you were part
of this now, and it was her
duty
.” He spat the last word, mumbling under his breath that he must have been crazy to
let her do this—a point to which they were in agreement. “That it was my fault you
were hurt in the first place, and if you lost your arm, she would blame me.”

Kenneth turned to his sister, eyes narrowed. “You’ve been hanging around Viper too
long.” She was learning to fight dirty.

Helen lifted her chin. “It worked, didn’t it? Now, let me see it.”

MacKay handed Helen a leather bag, and she removed a few things as Kenneth shrugged
off his surcote and unwrapped the linen bandage that the doctor had used to bind the
cut. She gave a soft cry when she saw the ugly-looking mass of bloody, singed flesh,
but went immediately to work on it.

MacKay distracted him from the pain of her examination by asking him about what had
happened. Kenneth gave a quick explanation, hearing MacKay’s muttered oath when he
learned the identity of the soldier he’d almost killed.

“It was too dark to see his arms.”

Kenneth nodded. “I figured as much. It was just bad luck that your blade found a gap
between my mail shirt and gauntlet.”

He winced as Helen poked and prodded the wound, then applied a salve. “Ouch,” he said,
pulling his arm away. “That burns.”

“You think nothing of putting yourself in the line of a blade, but whinge about a
little medicine? By God, you
men are all alike. I don’t know why I don’t wash my hands of the lot of you.”

He could see her blinking away tears and realized how worried she’d been about him.
He took her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. “I’m fine, Angel.” He used
the war name the Highland Guard had taken to calling her as the team’s healer. “Thank
you.”

She blinked up at him, nodded, and then proceeded to give him a long list of instructions
on how to care for the wound and what to look for, and extracted his promise to send
for her if it festered. MacKay gave him the name of a friendly barkeep in town who
could be trusted with a message, though they’d previously devised other ways of communicating
should the need arise.

Kenneth took the opportunity to apprise MacKay of what he’d learned from the English
warriors. So far, it wasn’t much—which bothered him. “I would have expected more activity
by now. More supplies going north to bolster the English-held castles for the additional
men.”

“There is still plenty of time.”

“Aye.” It was true. He frowned.

“What?”

“I don’t know. I guess I would have expected Clifford to be more involved. He and
Percy are close, and with his interests in the Borders”—Sir Robert Clifford had vast
holdings in the North of England and had been given James Douglas’s lands in Scotland
by Edward—“I would have expected him to stick close to Percy. But he seems to be coming
and going from Carlisle Castle quite a bit. I was thinking of volunteering on his
next—”

“Let us worry about Clifford. Your job is to stay close to Percy. Stay on task, Sutherland.
You don’t want to screw this up.”

Kenneth’s jaw clenched, hearing the warning he didn’t need: he was on probation. He
nodded. Message received loud and clear.

Realizing the stable lads wouldn’t stay away for long, Kenneth said, “You need to
get out of here. I assume you have a plan?”

“I will go out the way I came in,” Helen said.

“Striker and Hunter are waiting outside,” MacKay said before Kenneth could object.
“I came in up the postern gate from one of the fishing boats.” That explained the
smell. “I left a very pungent bag of salmon near the kitchens to retrieve for my descent.”
He smiled. “The stench should be enough to prevent too many questions.”

While Helen packed up her bag, MacKay asked in a soft voice, “Everything else is all
right? They do not suspect anything?”

Kenneth shook his head. “The ruse worked. How is Dragon?”

MacKay frowned. “Angry, bitter, and short-tempered as usual, but he’ll mend.”

Kenneth had been surprised that the Yorkshireman was part of the Guard. From what
he’d seen, the disgruntled, England-born, Scotland-bred Alex Seton was often at odds
with the other members of the Guard—especially his partner, Robbie Boyd.

Kenneth thought about mentioning Lady Mary’s presence at the castle, but something
held him back. He supposed he knew MacKay would warn him off, and he didn’t want to
hear it.
“Bàs roimh Gèill,”
he said. Death before surrender.

MacKay repeated the favored parting words of the Highland Guard and gave his wife
a too-long-for-Kenneth’s-mind kiss before retreating to his hiding place.

Kenneth was about to put on his surcote, when Helen told him, “Leave it.” She reached
over and untied his shirt, pulling it loose from his breeches. “There, you look more
rumpled.”

He reached down and picked up a handful of hay, tossing it over her head, laughing
as she waved her hands in
protest. Then he reached over, snatching a piece of hay from her hair, and grinned.
“So do you.”

She shook her head in mock chagrin. “Lord knows you probably have far too much practice
at this. I assume the English lasses are as silly and adoring as the Scottish?”

She was right about the practice, he thought with a wry turn of his mouth, his mind
going back to the last time he’d been caught in the stable. But his grin fell at the
mention of “silly and adoring.” Helen’s words were all too close to the accusations
Mary had made. She was wrong. He didn’t surround himself only with women who flattered
him. He was sure he’d had countless conversations on other subjects, though damned
if he could think of any that hadn’t been with his sister—or Mary. But she held his
attention more than any woman before, and he didn’t like half of what she said.

It also reminded him of what he’d learned before his sister’s arrival. But if Mary
of Mar thought she was going to escape from him again, she was in for a surprise.

Arm in arm, they exited the stable, looking to all who might see like very contented
lovers. Kenneth wasn’t surprised to see the men who Percy had watching him standing
nearby, nor was he surprised when they followed him to the gate.