The Recruit (4 page)

With the rents from the castle barely earning enough to pay the servants and keep
her and her solitary attendant fed, she knew that she had to think of something.
What would Janet do?
She asked herself that often, as she began the daunting prospect of fending for herself.

As a sheltered young noblewoman with little education and few talents, her options
were decidedly limited. About the only thing she knew how to do was sew. She and her
sister had shared a skill with the needle, and though it held painful memories for
her, she began to embroider small items like ribbons, coifs, and eventually purses—things
that would not draw attention to the craftswoman.

Unfortunately, that part of her plan had not worked as well as she’d hoped and her
“trinkets” had attracted attention. She, however, had not. Edward the son didn’t seem
to possess the same hatred toward her husband and the “Scot traitors” as his royal
sire, and so far the new king had left her alone. She intended to keep it that way.

“I have all that I need,” Mary said, surprised to realize that it was true.

It would have been easy to fall apart after losing her sister and husband, having
her son taken away again, and finding herself a virtual prisoner in an enemy land.
A bittersweet smile played on her mouth. No doubt Janet would have fought against
her velvet chains and railed against the injustice every step of the way. But Mary
had always been the more pragmatic of the two, coping with
the way things were, not the way she wished them to be. She didn’t waste time bemoaning
things she could not change. The early disappointments of her marriage had prepared
her for that.

Although her search for her sister had yielded frustratingly little, and her visits
with her son were heartbreakingly few, she’d made a life for herself in England. A
quiet, peaceful life, free from the destruction of war.

The constant danger that had been so much a part of her life with Atholl was gone,
as was the hurt of being married to a man who barely noticed her. Without them, she
felt as if a weight she didn’t know she’d been carrying had been lifted off her shoulders.
For the first time in her life she didn’t have a father or a husband to control her
actions, or her sister to protect her, and her confidence in her own decisions had
grown. She discovered that independence suited her; she quite liked being on her own.

The days had taken on a predictable rhythm. She tended her duties as the lady of the
castle, worked on her embroidery every extra hour she could find, and kept to herself.
She’d made the best of her situation and found herself if not happy, at least content.
About the only things she could wish for were news of Janet and more time with her
son, and she hoped Sir Adam would have good news for her on the latter soon.

She didn’t need to draw more attention to herself by taking on the additional work.

The merchant looked at her as if she’d blasphemed. “Need? Who speaks of need? One
can never have enough coin. How am I ever to make a tradeswoman out of you if you
talk like that?”

His outrage made her laugh.

The old man smiled back at her. “It is good to see you smile, milady. You are too
young to hide yourself behind those dark clothes.” She was only six and twenty, but
she looked ten years older. Or at least she tried to. He grimaced.
“And that veil.” He held up one of her ribbons. “You make these beautiful things for
others and will not wear them yourself. Tell me this time you will let me find you
something colorful to wear—”

Mary stopped him. “Not today, Master Bureford.”

The drabness of her clothing, like her working too hard, had become a familiar refrain
between them. But as everything else, her appearance was designed to draw little attention.
How easily pretty could become plain. Black, shapeless clothing, thick veils and unflattering
wimples in dark colors at odds with her coloring, long hours before the candlelight
that cut into her sleep, and perhaps most of all the gauntness that pinched and sharpened
her normally soft features.
Half-starved sparrow
. She recalled her sister’s words with a wistful smile. If Janet were here, she’d
put a pile of tarts in front of her and not let her up from the table until she’d
gained two stone.

Mary could see the old man wanted to argue, but their difference in rank held him
back.

“I should be leaving,” she said, suddenly aware of the time. Dawn had given way to
morning, and there were already people milling around the booths.

It was going to be another beautiful day. She’d come to quite love the north of England
in the summer. The lush verdant countryside wasn’t that different from the northeast
of Scotland where she’d grown up at Kildrummy Castle. She pushed aside the pang before
it could form. She didn’t think of her life then. It was easier.

“Wait,” he said. “I have something for you.”

Before she could object, he ducked into the canvas tent that he’d set up behind the
table, leaving her alone to watch his goods. She could hear him muttering as he tossed
things around behind her and smiled. How he found anything in all those trunks and
crates, she didn’t know.

Unconsciously, her gaze scanned the crowds for a golden-blond
head attached to a woman of middling height. She wondered whether she would ever be
able to go where a crowd was gathered and not look for her sister—and not feel the
resulting twinge of disappointment when she didn’t find her. Sir Adam begged her to
stop. She was only torturing herself, he said. But even if her searches had yielded
nothing, Mary couldn’t accept that her sister was gone. She would know … wouldn’t
she?

She turned at a sound, seeing that a mother with two small children had come up to
examine a tray of colorful ribbons on the opposite side of the table. From their clothing,
she could see that they did not possess the wealth of Bureford’s typical customers.
She guessed the woman to be the wife of one of the farmers. She was clearly exhausted.
She held one child in her arms—a babe of about six months—and another by the hand,
a little girl of three or four who was staring at the ribbons as if they were a stack
of gold. When the child reached for one, her mother pulled her back. “Nay, Beth. Do
not touch.”

All of a sudden another little girl peeked out from behind her skirts and wrapped
her chubby little fist around a handful of the ribbons. Before the mother could stop
her, she turned and darted off into the crowd.

The young woman shouted after her in a panic. “Meggie, no!” Seeing Mary standing there
and obviously assuming she was the merchant, she shoved the baby in her arms and put
the little girl’s hand in hers. “I’m sorry. I’ll fetch them back for you.”

It had happened so fast, it took her a moment to realize she was now holding two children.
Mary didn’t know who was more shocked, she or the children. Both the baby and the
little girl were staring at her with wide eyes, as if they couldn’t quite decide whether
to cry.

She felt a small twinge in her chest. She remembered so precious little of those few
months she’d had with David
after he was born, but that look was one of them. It had terrified her. The
baby
had terrified her. She’d been scared of him crying, of every sound he’d made in his
sleep, of how to hold him, of whether he was getting enough to eat from the wet nurse.

Of him being taken away from her.

She pushed the memory aside. That was a long time ago. She’d been so young. And now …

Now it was in the past.

But the twinge sharpened when she gazed into the baby’s soft blue eyes. David was
younger than this when he was taken from her, and she didn’t think she’d held another
baby since. She’d forgotten what it felt like. How they instinctively latched against
your chest. The pleasant warmth, and the soft baby smell.

Apparently deciding she wasn’t a threat, the baby gave her a big, gummy smile and
started to babble at her like a sheep. “Ba, ba …”

Mary couldn’t help smiling back at him. He—or she, it was impossible to tell at this
age—was a cute little devil, with big blue eyes, a velvety cap of short brown hair,
and bright, rosy cheeks. Brimming with healthy plumpness, he was quite an armful.

All of a sudden, she felt a tug on her hand. She looked down, having almost forgotten
about the little girl. Apparently, she’d decided not to cry either. “He wants his
ball.”

Mary bit her lip. She thought she was too young to be talking, but the girl possessed
a confidence Mary would have envied at her age. “I’m afraid I don’t have one.” She
looked around, not seeing anything that resembled a toy on the table. Recalling the
coins the merchant gave her, she dug in her purse and retrieved the small leather
bag. “How about this?” Holding it up before the baby, she started to shake it and
was rewarded when he flapped his arms and started to laugh. He grabbed for it, and
she
grinned as he mimicked what she’d done by jingling it up and down, albeit with far
more enthusiasm. She hoped the bag was tied tightly.

The little girl—Beth—must have read her mind. “Careful he doesn’t open it. He puts
everything in his mouth—especially shiny things. He nearly choked on a farthing last
week.”

Mary frowned, realizing she hadn’t thought of that. This little girl knew more about
babies than she did.

She was also older than Mary had realized. “How old are you?”

“Fournahalf,” she said proudly. Reading Mary’s mind again, she added, “Da says I’m
small for my age.”

Mary noticed her cast another longing glance toward the ribbons. “It’s all right,”
she said. “Would you like to hold one?”

The girl’s eyes widened to enormous proportions and she nodded furiously. Not giving
Mary a chance to reconsider, she immediately reached for the bright pink one embroidered
with silver flowers. She took it between her tiny fingers so reverently Mary couldn’t
help smiling.

“You have an excellent eye. I think you’ve picked the prettiest of the bunch.”

The child’s smile stole her breath. Longing rose up hard inside her before she tamped
it firmly down.
In the past …

The mother returned in a flurry of excited breathing and excuses, the wee bandit clamped
firmly by the wrist. “I’m so sorry.” She placed the purloined ribbons back down on
the table and relieved Mary of the baby with her newly free hand.

Mary was surprised by how much she wanted to protest. She felt suddenly … bereft.

Forcing the oddly maudlin moment aside, she managed a wry smile. “You seem to have
your hands full.”

The woman returned the smile, relieved by her understanding. “This is only half. I’ve
three lads helping their da
with the livestock.” Suddenly, she noticed the bag the baby held in his hand. Her
eyes widened like her daughter’s had. “Willie! Where did you get that?”

“Don’t worry,” Mary said, taking it back. “I let him play with it.” Anticipating a
similar reaction to the ribbon in Beth’s hands, she added, “I hope you don’t mind.
But I should like Beth to have this.”

The woman started to protest that it was too much, but Mary insisted. “Please, it
is a trifling, and she—” she stopped, her throat suddenly thick. “She reminds me of
someone.”

It hadn’t struck her until now, but the girl bore a distinct resemblance to her and
Janet when they were girls. Wispy blond hair, pale skin, big blue eyes, and fair,
delicate features.

Seeming to sense the emotion behind the offer, the young woman thanked her and hustled
her children away.

“I leave you alone for a few minutes and you are giving the merchandise away for free?
That’s it, I wash my hands of you. You will never be a tradeswoman.”

Mary turned, surprised to see the merchant standing there watching her. Though his
words were chastising, his tone was not. From the glimmer of sadness in his eyes,
Mary could see that he’d seen more than she wanted him to.

She gathered the frayed ends of her emotions and bundled them back together. That
part of her life was over. She’d been both a wife and a mother—even if neither had
turned out the way she’d planned. There was no use dwelling on what was past. But
the brief exchange sent a ripple of longing across the quiet life she’d built for
herself, reminded her of all that she’d lost.

She might never be able to get David’s childhood back, but she was determined to have
a part in his future. The handful of opportunities she’d had to see him the past few
years hadn’t brought them any closer, but she hoped that would change. Her son would
be leaving the king’s household soon
to become a squire, and Sir Adam was doing his best to see him placed with one of
the barons in the north of England, close to her.

The merchant handed her a small wooden box.

“What is this?” she asked.

“Open it.”

She did so and gasped at what she saw. Carefully, she removed the two round pieces
of glass framed in horn and connected by a center rivet from the silky bed upon which
they rested. “You found them!”

He nodded, inordinately pleased at her reaction. “All the way from Italy.”

Mary held them up to her eyes, and like magic the world had suddenly become larger.
Occhiale
, they called them. Eyeglasses. Invented by an Italian monk more than two decades
ago, they were still quite rare. She’d mentioned them once when she’d realized how
much of a toll the long hours working by candlelight were taking on her eyesight.
It was getting harder and harder to see the tiny stitches. “They are magnificent.”
She carefully placed them in the box and threw her arms around him, giving him a big
hug.

“Thank you.”

He blushed, chortling happily.

Such displays of emotion weren’t normal for her—at least not since she was a girl—and
she was surprised at the emotion welling in her chest. She realized she felt more
affection for the old merchant than she had for her own father.

Just for one moment, her arms tightened as if she would hold onto him for dear life.