The Recruit (2 page)

She was so tired of living in fear all the time, trying to be brave. She cried against
her sister’s shoulder, letting the emotions that she’d fought so valiantly to contain
unfurl in hot, choking sobs.

“Of course I had to come,” Janet said, murmuring soothing words until her tears abated.
Only then did she grab Mary by the shoulders and hold her back to look at her. “What
have you done to yourself? You are as thin as a reed. When was the last time you ate?”

She sounded so much like their mother—gone nearly fifteen years now—that Mary almost
smiled. Despite being the younger of the two, Janet had always been the protector.
Throughout the disappointment and disillusionment of Mary’s marriage, the taking of
her son, and the deaths of their parents, sister, and brother, Janet had been the
one to dry Mary’s tears.

She hadn’t realized just how terribly alone she’d felt until the moment she’d seen
Janet standing before the fire, soaking wet and wearing odd clothes, but
here
.

Without waiting for Mary to answer, Janet took charge, calling for one of the servants
to bring them some wine, bread, and cheese. Looking back and forth between the two
nearly identical faces, the girl didn’t hesitate to follow Janet’s bidding. Mary could
only smile as she found herself seated beside her sister with a large platter of food
in front of her a few minutes later. Janet had divested herself of her wet cloak and
hung it by the fire to dry, but had yet to remove the wimple and veil, which, seeing
the big wooden cross hanging around her neck, Mary assumed was meant to suggest she
was a nun.

She looked at her sister again, the fear returning. “You shouldn’t have come, Janet.
Duncan will be furious that you have put yourself in danger.” She almost hesitated
to ask. “How did you manage to travel all the way from Castle Tioram to here without
his help?”

Janet’s mouth quirked. “I found a more sympathetic set of ears.”

Their eyes met. It wasn’t hard to guess who she meant. “Lady Christina?”

Their brother Duncan was married to Christina MacRuairi, known as the Lady of the
Isles, the only legitimate heir to the Lordship of Garmoran. A powerful force in her
own right, Christina wouldn’t hesitate to defy their formidable brother if she believed
in the cause.

Janet nodded. “It was her idea to dress like this. She provided the men and
birlinn
.” Of course, Mary realized. Only Lady Christina’s Islanders would have the seafaring
skill to slip right under the nose of the English fleet. “We came ashore just north
of Newcastle-upon-Tyne. From there I purchased a horse. Twelve pounds for an obstinate
nag that must be older than me and isn’t worth half that! The man will surely go to
hell for taking advantage of a nun.”

Janet was so outraged, Mary decided not to point out she wasn’t actually a nun.

“It took me a few hours longer than it should have, but
I made it. I passed right by a party of English soldiers and not one of them gave
me a second glance.”

Mary was glad she was sitting down. Only her sister would talk about sailing hundreds
of miles around Scotland through treacherous waters right through the heart of the
English fleet, riding ten miles through war-ravaged countryside, and then confronting
the enemy as if it were nothing. “Please do not tell me that you rode here alone?”

Janet looked at her as if she were daft. “Of course not. I had Cailin with me.”

Mary groaned. Cailin was sixty years old if he was a day. Her father’s former stablemaster
had been married to their nursemaid, and Janet had had him wrapped around her little
finger since they were two. He would protect them both to the death, but he was no
warrior.

Janet smirked. “He wasn’t too happy to have the top of his head shaved, but he makes
a fine monk. I sent him to the kitchens to dry out and get something to eat while
you gather your and David’s things. We should leave as soon as we can. I brought a
gown for you like mine, although I suspect it will be too big.” She wrinkled her nose
again at Mary’s appearance. “Jerusalem’s Temples, Mary, you look as pinched and woebegone
as a half-starved sparrow.” Trust her sister to not hold her tongue for the sake of
vanity. Mary knew she’d lost weight, but she hadn’t realized how much until she saw
her sister’s worried expression. “But it will have to do. I just brought a cloak for
Davey; he’s a bit young to be a monk.”

Her son was nine, conceived on her wedding night when she was just fourteen and born
while her husband was imprisoned in the Tower of London after his first rebellion.
She hadn’t seen her husband for nearly two years after they were married. It had been
a harbinger of things to come.

She wanted nothing more than to jump at her sister’s offer, and if it were just her,
she would. She’d do almost
anything to return to Scotland—almost. But she had David’s future to think about.
Atholl’s rebellions against Edward had robbed their son of his childhood; she would
not let them take his patrimony. Not if there was a chance they could escape this
nightmare unscathed.

Mary shook her head, wanting to cry all over again. “I can’t. I want to, but I dare
not. If we attempt to leave England, Edward will consider us traitors, and David’s
claim to the earldom will be forfeit. Atholl will come for us when he can.”

She had to believe that. Even with all that had happened, she couldn’t believe he
would leave them to face this alone.

Janet stilled, her big blue eyes growing round and wide. “You haven’t heard?”

Something in her sister’s voice alerted her; a chill spread over her skin like a thin
sheet of ice. “Heard what?”

“Robert has escaped, fleeing to the Isles with the help of our brother and Lady Christina.
But the queen’s party was taken in Tain over a week ago. The Earl of Ross violated
the sanctuary of St. Duthac’s and had them arrested.” Mary sucked in her breath at
the sacrilege. “That is why I came.”

The blood drained from Mary’s face. “And Atholl?” she said numbly, though she knew
the answer.

Janet didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. Mary knew her husband would be with
the women. He was always with the women. They adored him. He was a hero, after all.

But now it was over. Scotland’s hero earl had been captured. Her heart squeezed. After
all the disappointments and all the hurt, she still felt the pangs of the girlish
love she’d once borne him. Those feelings had been crushed a long time ago, but the
thought of her husband in chains resurrected whatever vestiges of those dreams that
remained.

Why, John? Why did it have to end like this?
She didn’t
know whether she was talking about their marriage or his life. Perhaps both.

“I’m sorry,” Janet said, putting a hand on hers. She had never liked Mary’s husband,
but she seemed to understand her feelings. “I thought you knew.”

Mary shook her head. “We are alone here. Sir Adam comes when he can. But he was called
to court nearly a week ago—” She stopped, realizing the timing was probably not a
coincidence. Had he known?

Nay. Mary shook off the thought. Sir Adam Gordon had done everything he could to protect
her and David the past six months, even becoming surety for her son’s release. He
was one of Atholl’s closest friends. The two men had fought together for Scotland
at Dunbar and Falkirk, and served time together in Edward’s army in Flanders when
they lost. Although the two friends had taken opposite sides over the issue of Bruce’s
kingship, with Sir Adam loyal to the deposed King John Balliol and siding with their
former English allies against Bruce, she knew Sir Adam would do his best to keep them
safe.

“We can’t delay,” Janet said. “Christina’s men are waiting for us. We need to be there
before dawn.”

Still, Mary hesitated. Atholl’s capture hadn’t changed anything. Or perhaps it made
it even more important that they not do anything rash. But waiting to see whether
Edward’s wrath would fall on them was a little bit like stepping into a cage with
a hungry lion and hoping he didn’t notice you.

What should she do? Mary had little experience making important decisions. First her
father, and then her husband, had made them for her. She envied her sister’s independence
in a world ruled by men. Janet had been engaged twice, but both betrothals had ended
in death.

Janet must have sensed her uncertainty. She took her by the shoulders and forced Mary
to look at her. “You can’t
stay here, Mary. Edward has lost all reason. There are rumors …”

She stopped as if the words were too painful.

“What?” Mary asked.

Tears filled her sister’s eyes. “There are rumors that he has ordered our niece Marjory
to be hung in a cage atop the Tower of London.”

Mary gasped. A cage? She could not believe it, even of Edward Plantagenet, the self-styled
“Hammer of the Scots” and the most ruthless king in Christendom. Marjory, Robert’s
daughter by their deceased sister, was only a girl. “You must be mistaken.”

Janet shook her head. “And Mary Bruce and Isabella MacDuff as well.”

God in heaven! It was almost too horrible to imagine such barbarity—against women,
no less. She swallowed, but a lump of horror had lodged in her throat.

Suddenly, her sister turned to the window. “Did you hear that?”

Mary nodded, and for the second time that night her heart jumped in panic. “It sounds
like horses.”

Was it too late? Had the soldiers she feared finally arrived?
A cage …

The two women raced to the window of the peel tower, a square-shaped defensive structure
that was common in the borders. It was dark and still pouring rain, but Mary could
just make out the shadow of three riders approaching. It wasn’t until they entered
the circle of torchlight below the gate, however, that she saw the familiar arms and
her lungs released its vicelike hold on her breath. She heaved a heavy sigh of relief.
“It’s Sir Adam.”

But the relief was short-lived. If Sir Adam was here at this time of night, there
was a reason, and given her current circumstances, it probably was not a good one.

Her husband’s seneschal admitted him to the Hall a few minutes later. She barely waited
for the door to close
behind him before she rushed forward. “Is it true? Has Atholl been taken?”

Obviously surprised that she’d heard, he frowned. But noticing her sister behind her
at the table, his surprise faded. “Lady Janet,” he said with a nod of his head. “What
are you doing here?”

Before her sister could answer, Mary asked him again. “Is it true?”

As he nodded, his rough, battle-weary face sagged. Sir Adam was only forty—the same
age as Atholl—but the war had aged him. As it had them all, she realized. She was
only three and twenty, but sometimes she felt as if she’d lived twice as long.

“Aye, lass, it’s true. He’s being brought to Kent for trial at Canterbury.”

Mary sucked in her breath. In choosing Kent as the place of trial, King Edward was
leaving little doubt of the outcome. Like many Scot nobles, Atholl had significant
lands in England, including vast estates in Kent. As such he’d been forced to do homage
to Edward for those lands. It was as an English subject that the Scottish earl would
be tried.

She crumpled, knowing that the charming Earl of Atholl would not escape the noose
this time.

She saw the knowledge reflected in Sir Adam’s face. But she also saw something else.
“What is it?”

His gaze slid to her sister’s. “You shouldn’t be here, lass. You can’t let them see
you.” He looked back and forth between the sisters. “If I didn’t know you so well,
I’d have a hard time knowing who was who.”

“Can’t let
who
see me?” Janet said, echoing Mary’s thoughts.

Sir Adam sighed and turned back to Mary. “That’s why I came. I rode ahead to prepare
you. Edward has sent his men to collect you and David.”

Mary froze. She could barely get the words out. “We are being arrested?”

“Nay, nay. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. The king merely wishes to see
that you and Davey are provided for.”

Janet made a loud scoffing sound. “ ‘Provided for’? That’s an interesting way of putting
it. Is he ‘providing for’ our niece Marjory as well?”

Sir Adam could not hide his repugnance. “Edward is in a rage right now, but he will
reconsider when he has calmed down. I cannot believe he would see a young girl put
in a cage.” His eyes met Mary’s. “The king does not blame you and David for Atholl’s
actions. He knows you have been a loyal subject to him, and David is like a grandson
to him, after the better part of eight years in Prince Edward’s household. You and
the boy will not be in danger.”

“But what if you are wrong?” Janet said. “Would you bet my sister’s life on the whim
of Edward Plantagenet’s temper?” The monarch’s apoplectic fits of rage—a legacy of
his Angevin ancestors said to be descended from the Devil—were well known. Janet shook
her head. “Nay, I’ve come to take her home.”

Sir Adam looked sharply at her. “Is it true, lass? Are you fleeing England?”

But Mary didn’t answer his question. She looked up at him, silently begging him to
tell her the truth. “Does the king mean to make my son a prisoner in another English
household?”

She saw the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “I don’t know.”

Her chest squeezed painfully. Nine years had passed but it might have been yesterday,
so sharp were the memories of having her baby ripped from her arms.

Mary made her decision. She would not
—could
not—let her son be taken from her again. The son who was already
more English than he was Scot. She held Sir Adam’s gaze. “Will you help us?”

He hesitated. She didn’t blame him. She hated to ask so much of him when he’d already
done so much, but with Edward’s men right behind him, she didn’t have a choice.

His moment of hesitation didn’t last long. “You are determined to do this?”

She nodded. Atholl wasn’t coming for them. It was up to her now.