The Recruit (21 page)

“I hope you don’t mind,” Sir John said from her side. “But I arranged for David and
a few of his friends to join us at the dais tonight.”

“Mind?” Mary turned to him in surprise, just in time to see her son enter the hall
and look toward her. Tears of joy pricked behind her eyes. It wasn’t just at Sir John’s
thoughtfulness—it must have taken some persuading to allow squires to sit at the dais—but
also at what her son was wearing. Beneath his velvet surcote, she could see the edge
of his shirt. A shirt she’d embroidered for him. She’d given him things before, but
this was the first time she could recall seeing him wear one. “Thank you,” she said
to Sir John, her eyes damp.

He took her hand and bowed over it as he stood to make way for the youths. “You’re
welcome,” he said with a smile that hovered just on the edge of intimacy. “I hope
I shall have many more opportunities to bring a smile to your face.”

She lowered her eyes, feeling the blast of heat to her cheeks. She knew she should
stop him, that it wasn’t fair of her to encourage him, but it had been so long since
a man had shown an interest in her. Appropriate interest, she amended, thinking once
again of the man about whom she’d vowed not to think.

But she couldn’t stop seeing Sir Kenneth’s face. Hard and intent in the semidarkness
as he’d held himself over her—

She pushed the image away. It hadn’t meant anything. He probably looked at every woman
he’d made love to like
that. Except she knew for a fact he hadn’t—at least he hadn’t with the woman in the
stable.

She had to stop this. But that one night had given her far more than she’d bargained
for, in more ways that one.

If Sir John noticed her momentary distraction, he didn’t show it. “I hope you have
decided to accept Lord Percy’s invitation and travel with Sir Adam to Berwick for
Gaveston’s arrival?”

Mary nodded. She could hardly refuse. Piers Gaveston, the recently created Earl of
Cornwall and King Edward’s much despised favorite, had been recalled from exile in
Ireland (where Edward had been forced to send him when Gaveston had riled the anger
of many important nobles) and been ordered to Berwick to ready for the planned campaign
against Scotland when the truce expired in March. The king would follow in late spring.
The barons had been called to rally at Berwick, including Sir Adam and Lord Percy—which
meant Davey as well. Despite the call to war, her son’s presence guaranteed her eager
acceptance.

“Good,” he said, a decidedly anticipatory glint in his eye. “I want you to know, Lady
Mary, you can rely on me for anything.”

Mary didn’t know what to say. The last thing she wanted to do was rely on a man again,
but she heard the heartfelt honesty in his words, and the tiniest part of her—the
girl-who’d-longed-for-a-handsome-knight part of her—responded.

Would he feel the same way when she returned from France? It seemed unlikely. There
were some things no man would be expected to overlook. Although she had a plan, she
knew there would be whispers.

She was saved from having to reply, however, by her son’s arrival with his friends.
Sir John had made room for him to sit beside her, and when Davey sat down on the bench,
all her thoughts turned to her son.

“You’re wearing your shirt,” she said, unable to hide her eagerness.

His face heated and his gaze flickered to his friends. She could see the relief when
it was clear they hadn’t heard. “It’s very … fine.”

Mary couldn’t tell whether that was good or not. Should she not have mentioned it?
She bit her lip.

“Thank you,” he added, looking uncomfortable but not ungrateful.

“You’re welcome,” she answered softly, letting his attention return to his friends.

It was clear he was in awe of being seated at the high table but was doing his best
not to show it in front of the other lads. Though she longed to pepper him with questions
and learn everything she could about his new duties, Mary took a cue from her son
and forced aside her exuberance, acting with an equanimity she did not feel. Even
if she still thought of him as the babe torn from her arms, he wasn’t that child anymore.
He didn’t need her to wipe his nose when he sneezed, cut his meat when he ate, or
dry his tears when he fell.

What did he need her for?

She didn’t know but was determined to find out.

It soon became apparent that as eager as she was to learn about him, the boys were
eager to hear from Sir John. So rather than ask questions, Mary contented herself
with basking in her son’s happiness as Sir John regaled them with war stories. Though
many times Mary wanted to object to the more gory details, she kept her mouth firmly
closed. Davey and the boys were spellbound.

She had her reward at the end of the night. Davey was about to race off with the rest
of his friends, when he turned over his shoulder and said with all the careless, nonchalance
of youth, “Thank you, Mother. That was the best meal ever.”

He didn’t realize the gift he’d given her or the swell of happiness he’d put in her
chest.

This was going to work.

Mary was being given another chance at motherhood, and she would do whatever she had
to do to hold on to it. Nothing and no one would take it away again.

Ten
 

“I hear congratulations are in order,” the king said, looking up from the stack of
parchments waiting for his signature before him.

One week after Kenneth had finished his training on the frozen peak of the Black Cuillins
by successfully avoiding capture from the other ten members of the Highland Guard
for nearly two days (one day longer than the other recruit), he stood in the laird’s
private solar of Dunstaffnage Castle before Robert the Bruce and most of his new Highland
Guard brethren. Only Boyd and Seton were absent, having been sent south to join Edward
Bruce in the borders as soon as they’d finished training on Skye.

Kenneth indeed had been the last man standing, and the satisfaction of his victory
had not waned one bit. He’d done it. He’d earned his place in Bruce’s secret army,
even if not in the outright way he’d planned.

“Thank you, Sire,” he said.

“You are to be commended,” Bruce added. “From what I hear of Chief’s Perdition, surviving
at all is an accomplishment, but he said you distinguished yourself.” Bruce shot a
glance toward MacKay, who was standing in the back corner of the solar. “Even managed
to quiet Saint’s objections, I see.”

Not completely
, Kenneth thought. Enough for MacKay to not stand in the way of Kenneth joining the
team perhaps, but not enough to take him as a partner. MacKay had made it clear their
partnership on the mountain had been temporary. Kenneth shouldn’t give a shite what
his onetime enemy thought, but surprisingly, he did. His brother-by-marriage still
didn’t completely trust him, and it bothered him. But as much as it pricked, Kenneth
could not completely blame him. His temper had gotten the better of him more than
once with MacKay around to witness it—including a time last year when he’d gone after
MacKay and very nearly taken his sister Helen’s head off instead. But he vowed to
earn that trust. They were brothers now. In more ways than one.

Though MacKay would never say it, Kenneth knew there was something else he was thinking
about—that they were all probably thinking about. He might have earned his way onto
the team, but he had yet to establish his place among the best warriors in Christendom.
Men whose skills were obvious. Men who’d been fighting together for years and had
formed a tight bond. He was the new man. The recruit. Unproven, and despite his accomplishments
at the Games and in training, he knew they still had questions about him. He would
answer them in time, but until then, he knew they would be watching him. Seeing what
he could do. Evaluating and deciding where he could best be used.

His strength—his skill—lay in his versatility. Bruce and MacLeod would see that they
could use him anywhere. Whether paired with MacSorley and MacRuairi on the seas, with
MacKay, Campbell, and MacGregor in the Highlands, or with Seton, Boyd, MacLean, and
Lamont in the Borders, he could be inserted in any mission wherever they had need
of him.

Right now, he was also the best replacement they had for Gordon. But it remained to
be seen whether his abilities
with black powder would prove reliable enough to depend on. If only he had those old
notes of Gordon’s grandfather. The old warrior fancied himself something of an alchemist
and had written copious notes about his experiments with the Saracen thunder and flying
fire while on crusade with Kenneth’s grandfather. It was in Outremer where the bond
between the two clans had been formed. But unfortunately, the journal had burned in
one of Kenneth and Gordon’s less successful experiments while they’d both been fostered
with the Earl of Ross.

It seemed no matter what Kenneth did, he somehow still ended up having to prove himself.
It might have been different had he bested MacKay at the Highland Games. But he hadn’t.
He’d been so close …

His jaw tightened reflexively, as once again his wanton little nun’s face flashed
before him. Not for the first time, he longed for their paths to cross again. He couldn’t
help feeling that somehow she’d gotten the better of him. Next time—if there was a
next time—she wouldn’t be so fortunate.

But he suspected it would be quite some time before he saw Mary of Mar again. The
war might be under a truce, but the fighting had not ended. There were still skirmishes,
especially along the Borders. And the truce would be coming to an end soon. It was
originally supposed to end in November, but had been pushed back twice: first to January,
and now until March.

Although Ewen Lamont and Eoin MacLean would be leaving for the Borders soon to help
Boyd and Seton keep pressure on Edward, pressure that it was hoped would lead to a
permanent truce, Kenneth assumed that he’d stay in Lorn with Campbell, MacGregor,
MacKay, and Helen (Kenneth still couldn’t believe MacKay had agreed to her serving
as the Guard’s de facto physician), while MacSorley, MacRuairi, and MacLeod kept watch
on the west. In addition to keeping the trade routes open, the biggest threat
right now came from the western seaboard. John of Lorn, the heir to the chiefdom of
Clan MacDougall, was active again.

Mary of Mar would have to wait.

When neither he nor MacKay responded, the king apparently decided not to press. Instead,
he asked, “Your sister mentioned that you were close friends with Henry Percy?”

Kenneth was taken aback by the question and immediately tensed, trying to clamp down
on the defensiveness that sprang instinctively from any mention of his recent shift
of alliance. It was only a little over a year ago that he’d been fighting with the
English against Bruce. “We were,” he said carefully. “But that friendship ended when
I gave my allegiance to you, Sire.”

Bruce must have realized the question was an awkward one. “No one questions your loyalty.
I only wonder if you think it possible that this friendship could be rekindled?”

Kenneth frowned, wondering what the Bruce was getting at. “I doubt he was very happy
with what he would perceive as my defection to the enemy camp. He is proud and arrogant
in the manner of most Englishmen and unforgiving when personally slighted.” But theirs
had been a friendship of mutual admiration for skills on the battlefield. “In the
right circumstances, aye, I think we could be friends again.” A wry smile lifted one
corner of his mouth. “But I should warn you, Sire, if you are thinking to find a sympathetic
ear in Percy, you will be fighting a war you cannot win. He is English to the bone,
and though he and Edward might not see eye-to-eye on the matter of Gaveston, he is
loyal to the English crown.” His lands and fortune depended on it.

Bruce smiled. “It’s not Percy’s loyalty I was thinking of, but yours.” Kenneth stiffened,
but the king waved him off. “A temporary shift, that’s all. I want you to go to England,
renew your friendship with Percy, and see what you can
find out about Edward’s plans. Percy has campaigned in Scotland before; Edward will
rely on his experience.”

“You think war is finally coming, then? There will not be any more delays from the
trouble with his barons?”

Bruce shook his head. “I think the election of the Lord Ordainers will force Edward’s
attention north. He’ll fight a war in Scotland to avoid the supervision of his barons.”
In large part because of Gaveston, King Edward had been forced to agree to reform
of the royal household and the appointment of “Ordainers” who would carry out the
mandate. “Aye, war is coming,” Bruce said. “This will be our first test against the
English since Loudoun Hill over two and a half years ago, and I intend to be ready
for it. We assume they will use Edinburgh Castle as their base, but see what you can
find out. We want to know where he is going and hit him hard.”