The Ghost (Highland Guard 12) (42 page)

Alex didn’t need to guess what he meant. He wouldn’t feel it because he would already be dead.

Joan had been looking for an opportunity to talk to Alex in private since receiving the note, but with the men readying to march on Scotland any day, he’d been kept so busy with his duties that she’d hardly seen him. She told herself it had nothing to do with what she’d told him, but it was obvious that he was preoccupied with something.

She understood that only too well. Since receiving that note she’d been thinking of little else, not to mention jumping at her own shadow. Who had sent it? What did they know? Who else knew?

Margaret had been just as stunned as she—and just as worried. “You can’t stay,” her cousin had told her. “It’s too risky now.”

As much as Joan wanted to argue, she knew Margaret was right. Joan could not ignore the warning. Her time in England had just come to an abrupt end. For over six years, she’d done what she could for Bruce’s cause; she had to hope it would be enough.

Her hand went to her wrist, unconsciously seeking the solid metal of the bracelet that was no longer there. She’d gone into the village earlier this afternoon and left it in the church as Lachlan had instructed when she’d moved to Berwick.

How long would it take Lachlan to come for her? A day? Two?

Should she just walk out of here and try to leave on her own? Though tempting, she wasn’t going to overreact and do anything rash. How far would she get with no knowledge of the roads and little more than the clothes on her back in a countryside littered with soldiers? How long before they discovered she was gone and sent someone after her?

No, she had to be patient. Lachlan had promised to get her out when the time came. But if he didn’t come by the time the army marched, she would try then. When it was safer. When there were fewer men who might come in search of her.

And after she spoke to Alex.

She couldn’t leave without telling him the truth and trying to convince him to go with her. But he wasn’t at the evening meal for the second night in a row. As they were leaving the Hall, she was about to ask Sir Aymer where she might be able to find him—or when he was expected to return—when a man came rushing up to the vaunted commander and handed him a message that the earl immediately took to the king.

“I wonder what that is about?” Margaret asked.

Joan did as well.

It didn’t take her long to find out. With Sir Aymer unavailable, Joan had returned to her chamber, vowing to search Alex out later that night—in his room if she had to. She had finished lighting a few candles when Alice came in with Sir Henry. Immediately sensing the tension between the two, Joan bid a hasty good night and disappeared into her adjoining chamber.

Their voices, however, followed her.

“I am sorry our plans were interrupted,” she heard Sir Henry say. “But this is important. The king has called an emergency war council, and I have to return to the Great Hall. This message could change everything. You want us to win this war, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Alice said weakly.

Joan was too caught up in the knowledge that something important—war changing—was happening to notice the oddity of that. Her cousin never spoke weakly.

“Then this is how it must be,” Sir Henry said.

If Alice responded, it was too low for Joan to hear.

“Read it yourself,” Sir Henry said.

Joan prayed for her cousin to say something about the contents, but all she heard was silence. She tried to peek between the slats of the door that separated them, but she was only able to make out shadows and movement. She would give her eyeteeth to know what was in that missive.

“When will you be back?” Alice said with apparent resolve.

“Late,” Sir Henry said. Then as a concession, he added, “You can wait for me in my chamber if you like.”

Alice must have nodded.

“Good girl,” he said as if she were an obedient pup.

A few seconds later, Joan heard the sound of a door closing and Sir Henry’s departure. Not long after that, it closed for a second time, signaling Alice’s.

Joan debated all of a few moments, but she knew what she had to do.

“Change everything,”
Sir Henry had said. Had the earls decided to come after all? Had the English learned something key about Bruce’s movements? She couldn’t ignore what she’d just heard. She had to take a chance and try to find out what important news the messenger had brought.

After donning a black cloak, she slipped out of her room through Alice’s empty chamber and into the donjon stairwell. Exiting into the ward, she headed toward the Great Hall, which was situated in the south wall directly opposite. She didn’t have a plan exactly, but she knew there was a narrow corridor between the Hall and Captain’s Lodgings, and she hoped to be able to get into position to hear or see something. There were also a number of storage rooms in the vaults below that she could try. If anyone questioned her, she could claim to be hungry or to have lost something at the evening meal.

Though she was doing nothing wrong—yet—she was still undeniably nervous. Her usually light footsteps felt loud and ungainly, and despite the warm wool of her cloak, she was chilled to the bone.

It was that blasted note she’d received, playing on her normal composure.

Or was it?

Suddenly, she realized how quiet the yard was. There were very few people moving about, which was odd for this time of evening—the bell for compline had not yet rung.

The prickle of unease grew. Every hair at the back of her neck stood up. She told herself she was being ridiculous. Information like this didn’t just fall into your lap . . .

She stopped suddenly. No, it didn’t.
If it’s too good to be true, it probably is.
Lachlan’s warning came back to her just in time.

Joan knew better than to ignore what all her instincts were telling her. Something wasn’t right.

Without another thought, Joan turned to the left and headed not for the Great Hall but for the chapel. If anyone was watching, they would see a woman going to pray—hardly unusual with the men about to march off to war.

The chapel was quiet and dark when she entered. There was a priest with his back toward her near the altar lighting a candle, but he appeared not to have taken notice of her arrival.

Stepping into one of the side chapels used for private prayer and confessions, she was about to kneel on the velvet-covered stool before the small altar when someone grabbed her from behind.

J
OAN RECOGNIZED HIM
right away. “Alex!” she exclaimed, twisting around to look up at him. “You scared me half to death.” One glance at his face was enough to tell her something was wrong. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

He didn’t answer her right away. His expression seemed dark and forbidding in the flickering candlelight of the chapel. His entire body seemed to be radiating with dangerous emotions. His eyes burned with dark flames that she hoped were a trick of the candlelight. He didn’t look like himself at all.

She could feel his fingers tightening almost imperatively on her arm. “Where are you going this late in the evening? And don’t tell me it’s to confess your sins—not that you don’t have plenty of them, Joan.” He leaned closer, saying with a low growl, “Or should I call you Ghost?”

No amount of training could have prevented the small gasp from escaping from between her lips or the draining of blood from every pore of her face.
He knows . . . Dear God, he knows
. And if the look of barely restrained fury burning in his eyes was any indication, he wasn’t in any mood to listen to excuses or explanations, though she had to try.

“Alex, I know you are upset—and you have every right to be—but if you will just give me a chance to explain—”

“Upset?” He cut her off with a roar of outrage. The hand set like a brand around her arm gave her a hard shake and hauled her closer. “Now why would I be upset to discover that the woman who has agreed to be my wife and to whom I have given my heart has been deceiving me since the day we met? That she has
drugged
me”—Joan winced—“and spied on me? That she has acted the wanton to entice information from men? That she has put herself in unspeakable danger with no thought—” He stopped, apparently realizing that his voice had grown too loud, and took what she hoped was a calming breath. “When I saw you come out of the donjon and feared I wouldn’t reach you in time . . . By God, you nearly walked right into their trap!”

It had been a trap. Hearing confirmation of what her instincts had told her should have filled her with relief, but instead her eyes narrowed. “I don’t need you to rescue me, Alex. I figured it out myself.”

“The hell you don’t—”

“Is something wrong, my lady?”

Joan turned, realizing the priest she’d seen upon entering was standing a few feet away. He must have heard their voices. If he’d heard anything else, his expression gave no indication. He looked at her with concern and at Alex with suspicion.

Alex released her arm, his expression suddenly stony.

Joan forced a cheery smile on her face. “I’m sorry if our voices disturbed you, Father. My betrothed and I were having a small disagreement about the wedding feast—or rather about certain guests at the wedding feast. Perhaps you might settle it for us? Tell me, Father, do you think a man should be excluded from the list just for smiling at me?”

The priest seemed to understand the problem right away. Alex was being irrationally jealous—or at least that was what she wanted the priest to think.

The portly middle-aged clergyman smiled and said as gallantly as any knight, “Your beauty deserves smiles, my lady. I should think if that is a criterion for exclusion you would be left with a feast full of women.”

Joan blushed prettily, as would be expected by the compliment, and Alex glowered, but the priest merely chuckled as he walked away.

“You lie convincingly, my lady,” Alex said in her ear as he led her out of the side altar and into a small room nearby.

It wasn’t a compliment.

Looking around, Joan realized they were in the sacristy. “Do you think we should be in here?” she asked as he closed the door.

Normally being in a small, mostly dark room with him would be making her senses jump with awareness, but now they were jumping with something more akin to trepidation. Good gracious, did he have to look so big and imposing? Where was her golden knight now?

“Don’t worry, this won’t take long,” Alex said, adding to the ominousness. “And this way we won’t be interrupted again.”

“How did you find out?” she asked, and then answered for herself. “It was the men, wasn’t it?”

“You mean learning that you were not a wanton but only pretending to be one?” he said sarcastically. “Aye, among other things. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I did, and if I can so can someone else. You may have avoided their trap tonight, but do not think that is the end. They are determined to find the person who has been feeding information to Bruce, and I sure as hell am not going to let that be you. It’s over, Joan. As of right now, the Ghost is no more.”

She bristled. It didn’t matter that she’d come to the same conclusion herself, she didn’t like being ordered and dictated to. It reminded her too much of her father. “That is for me to decide, Alex. Not you.”

“You are dead wrong about that. If you think that I’ll let this charade continue, that I will allow my wife to keep putting herself in danger, you are mad.”
Allow?
“Do you even realize the horrible position you’ve put me in? I’ve had to lie for you, but I will not keep doing so.” He paused, adding as if he knew her thinking, “And if you are thinking about running to your
father,
don’t bother. I’ve already talked to him.”

He’d seen Lachlan? If the
allow
comment wasn’t enough to make her angry, that threw her over the edge. “By God, Alex, what were you thinking? Are you sure you are not the one who is mad? He could have killed you. God knows, he’s been waiting for the chance.”

“Aye, well he didn’t. I pointed out that he might not want to stick a knife in the back of his future son-in-law.”