Seduced by Destiny (20 page)

Simon glowered in revulsion and disappointment. Andrew wasn’t a spy, and he wasn’t a swordsman on the
tournament circuit. He was apparently enjoying a life of leisure, consorting with the enemy, playing Scots golf and swiving
Scots whores.

He was dishonoring the memory of his father, who had died at the hands of these despicable people. ’Twas an unforgivable affront.
It broke Simon’s heart to know his nephew had lied about everything, and he wouldn’t rest until he discovered the reason why.

But first he had to get the lad out of this godforsaken country. Andrew was family, and Simon had sworn on Edward Armstrong’s
grave to protect his son. Walsingham’s men were thick here. If any of them discovered the lad was consorting with the enemy,
he might well be viewed as a traitor to England.

His heart heavy, Simon limped back to his table, slugged down the beer, jammed his cap down over his head, snatched up his
walking staff, and headed home. Kidnapping was an undertaking that would require all three Armstrong brothers.

F
or once, Josselin had no trouble ignoring the man who came to her with the notched tankard. In fact, she almost forgot to
retrieve the note cached beneath his cup. This morn, she only had eyes for Drew MacAdam, who was teeing off in the distance.
Her gaze lingered on his broad shoulders, his strong arms, his fine arse. The memory of how he’d used them in her bed the
last three nights made her fan her face with her coif.

She understood now why the bards wrote sonnets to love, why troubadours sang of little else. ’Twas a proper obsession—a sport
as addictive as swordplay, a passion as moving as a prayer.

And yet ’twas more than that. In the forging of their bodies, she’d felt a forging of their hearts. There was something deeper
betwixt them—shared laughter, shared loyalty, shared… love.

Love?

The word brought a flash of heat to her cheeks. Surely she didn’t know the Highlander well enough to love him. She was only
confusing love with lust.

But that didn’t ring true. As Kate had oft told her, the
heart knew better than the head in matters of love. She’d assured Josselin that when her time came to choose a husband, ’twould
be best to listen to her instincts.

At the time, Josselin had only rolled her eyes. She’d had no intention of choosing a husband. ’Twas her ambition to follow
in her mother’s footsteps and devote herself to battle.

But that was before she’d met Drew. And ’twas before she’d tasted the glorious rewards of bedding a man who lavished her with
adoration.

She shivered at the memory, then glanced crossly at the sun, which was moving as slow as treacle across the sky today. Drew
had promised to buy her a midday meal at The Sheep Heid. She smiled to herself. ’Twas more than pottage she hungered for.

After what seemed an eternity, Drew finally came loping up to the beer wagon. As usual, her heart leaped at the sight of him,
until she saw that he wore a frown.

“I can’t sup with ye today,” he sighed.

Her heart sank.

He reached out and took her hand. “ ’Tisn’t that I don’t want to, darlin’.” He pulled her close, whispering, “Shite, I’m as
hard as a niblick for ye and hungrier than a wolf.”

His lusty words sent a thrill through her.

He glanced over his shoulder and waved to a young lad across the green.

“ ’Tis a messenger from some high and mighty clan chieftain,” he explained with a grimace. “He wants to meet me in the woods.”

“In the woods?” There was a prickling along the back of her neck. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Maybe he wants a second for a foursome.
Or maybe he’s just lookin’ to place a wager. Some nobles are secretive about their vices. They’d rather not have it bandied
about that they’re gamblin’ on such a… a vulgar game.”

“God’s cods,” she said with a pout.

“Anyway, I’ve got to go.” He hurriedly patted her hand, adjusted the clubs on his shoulder, and turned to leave. “I’ll make
it up to ye at supper,” he called back, giving her a wink, “I swear.”

What compelled Josselin to follow him, she didn’t know. Maybe she’d simply gotten into the habit of spying. Maybe she worried
he might come to mischief, meeting with some conniving clan chief. Or maybe she feared he’d already tired of her and might
be off for a tryst in the woods with some new lass.

Of course, she didn’t dare nip at his heels. She watched him carefully to see where he went, then had Davey tend to the wagon
while she followed Drew at a distance, keeping a cautious hand on her dagger.

By the time she reached the forest, he was nowhere to be seen. But Will had taught her how to track and how to look for signs
of passage. A path of freshly flattened grass led through the trees, and she took it, disappearing into the soft-shadowed
green. From Angus, she’d learned how to move silently through the woods, and she did so now. Her progress was slow and stealthy,
and though she listened for the sound of Drew’s passage, all she heard were twittering sparrows and the occasional scuffling
of a lizard.

Hell. Where had he gone?

She stopped in the shade of a sycamore, scanning the brilliant green leaves and ferns and moss around her for signs of movement.
A single squirrel scampered up an oak, but that was all.

Just as she was about to continue along the path, she heard a distant shout. She froze, listening intently. There was another
shout, and another. The shouts were too far away to distinguish, but it sounded like a pack of men.

She took a tentative step forward.

A loud bellow rang through the woods, and she knew at once ’twas Drew.

“Jesu.”

Her heart plummeted. She unsheathed, her fist clamped tight around her dagger, and charged forward.

It must be thieves, she thought. The woods were crawling with them. She only prayed ’twas thieves and not murderers.

She tore down the path now, not caring that she kicked up leaves and startled a bevy of quail. She was too alarmed to use
stealth, too desperate to consider she might be outnumbered. Drew was in danger, and she had to save him.

She followed the sounds of shouting. As she ran, her heart felt like a sharp stick poking her in the side, prodding her to
hurry, hurry before ’twas too late. The yelling quickly subsided, but she could still hear a scuffling further ahead, off
the path.

Finally she managed to locate the culprits. She broke through a thick grove of aspens beside the path into a clearing. There
she found Drew lying facedown on the ground, his clubs scattered amid the leaves.

There were three men holding him down. They whipped around when she burst upon them, their eyes wide with surprise.

She quickly calculated her fighting odds. They looked as old as her da’s, so she had youth on her side. One of the men, who
seemed vaguely familiar, was leaning on a
walking staff, but he and his two accomplices—one burly, the other tall and broad-shouldered—wore swords.

She was at a disadvantage. But she wasn’t about to let them know that. ’Twas time for a strong offense.

“Unhand him, ye villains!” she barked, snapping her skirts out of the way and wielding her dagger before her in threat.

“What the—”

“Ye heard me! Let him go!” She tossed her head and flared her nostrils, searing the ruffians with a glare. “Now!”

Her bravado wasn’t working. They only frowned up at her.

“Jossy!” Drew’s cry was muffled in the leaf fall.

“ ’Tis his Scots mistress,” the man with the staff explained to the others.

“With a blade.” The burly man shook his head. “Of course.”

“Come, my lady,” coaxed the tall man, in the foreign accent she knew all too well. “Put down your weapon. We won’t hurt you
if you’ll—”

“Bloody hell. Ye’re English!” she spat. All at once, the old rage she felt about her mother’s murder and the newfound protectiveness
she felt for Drew surged to the surface like lava in a volcano, and she exploded.

She charged the men, careless of the fact they had swords, with no other thought but to slash their despicable throats.

To her amazement, they didn’t draw their weapons, but stood to face her barehanded.

She froze, her dagger raised.

Ballocks! Now what was she supposed to do? She
couldn’t slay them in cold blood. Aye, they were English, but chivalry was chivalry.

Frustrated, she lowered her dagger. Then she realized she could still use their error to her benefit. They’d had to let go
of Drew to deal with her.

“Run, Drew!” she shouted. “Run!”

He pushed up from the ground and flopped onto his back, then rose up on his elbows. But he didn’t even try to escape.

Maybe he couldn’t, she thought. Maybe he was hurt.

“Bastards!” she yelled at the men. “English cowards!”

They winced, likely fearful her cries might draw others.

“Lass!” Drew said in warning.

“Are ye afraid to fight me, ye pig-swivin’ poltroons?” she challenged. “Are your English ballocks so shriveled ye can’t even
stand up to a wee Scots lass?” She waved her dagger in menace, but none of them would answer her. “God’s bones, ye’re nothin’
but a bunch o’ bloody lobcocks.”

“
She’s
got a mouth on her,” the burly one finally said in wonder.

“Lass,” Drew said.

“Come on!” she taunted, brandishing her blade. “Who’s to know? What’s to stop ye? Ye attacked an unarmed Highlander. Why not
me?”

“What?
Him
?” The burly man jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

To her astonishment, the three men laughed grimly and shook their heads.

“He’s no Highlander,” the man with the staff growled. “He’s as English as we are.”

W
hat?” Jossy snapped. “Don’t be ridiculous! Tell them, Drew. Tell them where ye’re…”

Drew gazed up at her, his heart heavy with guilt. A whole range of emotions played across Jossy’s face—disbelief, realization,
horror, rage, and finally a cold hatred—and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do or say to make her hate him less.

He wasn’t sure what pained him more, that his uncles believed he’d betrayed his father’s memory or that Jossy believed he’d
betrayed her trust.

Somehow he’d deluded himself into thinking he had a hope of happiness with Jossy. Maybe he’d lived so long as a Highlander
that he’d begun to believe his own fiction.

How could he have thought she’d never discover he was English? Or that if she did, she’d somehow forgive him?

He was a bloody fool.

“Jossy,” he tried, scrambling to his feet, “I never meant to hurt you.”

She flinched.

“You have to believe me,” he said. “I… I love you.”

Drew knew ’twas the truth the moment he said it. It
didn’t matter that she was Scots and he was English. Their hearts beat to the same rhythm. Their spirits soared in the same
dance. They were meant to be together… even if theirs had been an ill-fated love.

“Let her go,” Robert said.

“You’ll find another mistress,” Thomas chimed in.

“One who isn’t a bloody Scot,” Simon bit out.

Drew turned on them. “She’s not…”

He cursed under his breath. She
was
a Scot. But he’d been blind to that fact. He’d never once thought of her as his enemy. She was Jossy. Sweet, beautiful, spirited
Jossy.

He raised apologetic eyes to hers. But he couldn’t do anything to ease the pain of betrayal he saw there, the hurt that lay
naked underneath the fiery fury of her glare.

“ ’Tis time to come home, lad,” Robert said.

Drew clenched his jaw, his gaze still fixed on Jossy. “This
is
my—”

“She cannot love you,” Thomas said gently. “You’re her enemy.”

He looked into Jossy’s stormy eyes and glimpsed the awful truth. Thomas was right. She loathed him. Not only for being English,
but also for deceiving her.

He couldn’t blame her. Everything he’d told her was a lie. Everything except…

“I love you, Jossy,” he breathed.

Her chin quivered, and he saw her eyes fill with tears, but the brave lass refused to shed them. Instead, she shoved her dagger
back in its sheath, jerked her chin up proudly, and marched away.

“Jossy!”

Simon grabbed his forearm. “Let her go. You know it yourself. She’s better off this way.”

Drew hesitated, wondering if ’twas true. Could Jossy ever forgive him? Did her hatred for the English outweigh her affection
for him? Was she better off forgetting him and finding some lucky, loyal Scotsman to love?

The thought crushed him.

But as he thought about her leaving—walking swiftly out of his life—an even more unsavory thought wormed its way into his
brain.

Bloody hell, he had to stop her.

“Jossy!” he called, weaving through the trees. She was already well down the path. “Jossy, wait!”

His words had the expected effect. She began walking faster.

“Damn,” he said under his breath, taking long strides to catch her.

Behind him, his uncles shouted at him to let her go, but he paid them no mind. Did they truly believe that waylaying Drew
and forcing him to return home with them would somehow show him the error of his ways? He was a grown man, for God’s sake.
If he’d sneaked off to Scotland, ’twas because he wished to be there.

He should have ordered them home when he’d first laid eyes on them. If he had, the old fools might have made it safely to
the border.

But now they’d done damage. They’d revealed themselves to a fiercely loyal Scot.

“Jossy, wait! I only want to talk to you.”

’Twas an outright lie. But he’d already told her so many lies. What was one more?

She increased her pace, never looking back. Her skirts snapped in the air, and her hair streamed out behind her.

He began to run then. He had to catch her before she got out of the woods.

The unfortunate truth was he couldn’t afford to let Jossy go. He still didn’t know what her relationship with Philipe de la
Fontaine was, but he knew Jossy was devoted to Queen Mary. And the way she was feeling now, there was probably nothing she’d
like more than to turn four Englishmen over to the authorities. If he let her leave, she’d go immediately to the queen.