The Recruit (5 page)

Then, suddenly embarrassed, she pulled away. What must he think of her? But her usual
reserve seemed to have deserted her. “How much do I owe you?” she asked.

He bristled, waving her off as if she’d offended him. “They are a gift.”

She eyed him sharply. “Giving the merchandise away for free? You should be ashamed
to call yourself a tradesman.”

He chuckled at her attempt to sound like him. “It’s an investment in future returns.
How can you sew if you cannot see? I intend to make quite a healthy profit off you,
milady.”

Mary’s eyes felt suspiciously damp. “Careful, old man, your reputation as a ruthless
negotiator is in jeopardy.”

His eyes seemed to be shining a little brighter than normal as well. “I shall deny
every word. Now you’d best take yourself away from here, or mine isn’t the only secret
that will be in jeopardy.”

With one more hug, Mary did as he bade.

Though she would have loved nothing better than to enjoy the bright sunshine by wandering
around the fair for a while, she knew it was better if she did not. The instinct not
to draw attention to herself went deep.

If there was a slight wistfulness in her heart after the exchange with the children
and the merchant, she knew it would pass. She had everything she needed. If at times
she felt as if she were missing something, she reminded herself to be grateful for
what she had.

Finding the groomsman waiting for her where she’d left him, Mary mounted her horse
and started on the long ride back to the castle.

With the silver in her purse, the sun shining on her face, and no longer the need
to look over her shoulder, she felt a sense of peace that she would have thought impossible
three years ago. Against all odds, the frightened, sheltered, overlooked wife of a
traitor had built a new life for herself. On her own.

Mary’s hard-won contentment turned to barely restrained excitement when she saw who
awaited her on her arrival. Sir Adam! Did he bring news of her son?
Please, let him be squired nearby …

She burst into the room. “Sir Adam, what news of—”

But the rest of the question fell abruptly from her lips
when she realized he had not come alone. Her eyes widened. The Bishop of St. Andrews?
What was William Lamberton doing here? The former Scottish patriot, who most thought
responsible for Robert Bruce’s bid for the crown, had been imprisoned by the first
Edward for over a year before making peace with the second last year and given partial
freedom in the diocese of Durham. In her mind, Lamberton was inextricably connected
to the war.

Unease wormed its way through her excitement. She suspected, even before she heard
what he had to say, that the day she’d feared had just arrived.

After a quick exchange of greetings, it didn’t take the men long to tell her what
they wanted. Her legs wobbled. She fell to the bench, which was fortunately behind
her, in shock. Just like that, the walls of the life she’d built for herself came
crashing down.

Part of her had known this day would come. As the daughter of a Scottish earl and
the widow of another—even one hanged for treason—she was too valuable an asset to
ignore forever.

But she hadn’t expected this. Nay, she couldn’t do it.

She stared at Sir Adam, her fingers clenched in the black wool of her gown. “The king
wishes me to go to
Scotland
?”

Her old friend nodded. “To Dunstaffnage Castle in Lorn. Bruce”—the Scottish barons
who’d sided with the English refused to call him King Robert—“is holding the Highland
Games there next month.”

Mary knew the former MacDougall castle well. She’d been there once with her husband
years ago on a visit to his sister who had married the MacKenzie chief and resided
at Eileen Donan Castle, which wasn’t too far away.

“You will be part of our truce delegation,” the bishop added. Mary couldn’t believe
the king would grant the recently released prelate—and man so closely tied to Bruce—permission
to go to Scotland and negotiate on his behalf.
It was like handing the prisoner the keys and telling him to make sure to lock up
after himself. Unlike her, Lamberton didn’t have a son in England to ensure his “loyalty.”

“The king has granted permission for you to represent the young earl’s interests,”
Sir Adam explained.

Mary eyed him sharply. Surely Edward had to see the futility in sending her to plead
on her son’s behalf for lands in Scotland? With a few notable exceptions such as the
Balliols, Comyns, and MacDougalls, Robert Bruce had taken great care
not
to forfeit the lands of the earls and barons who still stood against him like Davey,
in the hopes of eventually bringing them back into the fold and winning their allegiance.
But neither would he recognize the claim—and the right to the rents—for those who
refused to do him homage. Essentially, they were at a stalemate. Davey was a Scottish
earl in name without the lands in Scotland to show for it.

Edward had to realize she would have little hope of success—not while David remained
in England. There had to be another reason. “Is that all?”

Sir Adam’s mouth thinned, unable to hide his displeasure. “He knows how fond Bruce
is of you.”

Ah, so that was it! Edward wanted her to spy. Aware that the bishop seemed to be watching
her intently, she kept her expression impassive. “How fond he
used
to be of me. I have not seen my former brother-in-law in many years. Even were I
inclined,” which she was not, “he’s hardly likely to confide in me.”

“I told him as much,” Sir Adam said with a shrug as if to say,
but you know the king
. Fortunately, she didn’t, and had done her best to keep it that way. “But Edward
is determined that a woman join our group. He thinks a feminine voice would set the
right tone for our negotiations, and who better than Bruce’s former sister by marriage?”

More like, who could be counted on to return? “So I’m to soften him up to accept Edward’s
terms, is that it?”

Lamberton couldn’t quite bite back his smile at her blunt assessment. “In a manner
of speaking, yes.”

“I thought you would be pleased,” Sir Adam said, studying her with a worried frown
on his face. It was an expression she’d grown quite used to over the past few years.

“I am,” she said automatically. She knew she should be. Three years ago she’d wanted
nothing more than to go home. But she was surprised to realize there was a part of
her that didn’t want to go. A
large
part of her that didn’t want to stir up painful memories.

There was nothing left for her in Scotland. Her brother Duncan had died with Bruce’s
brothers over two years ago in the failed landing at Loch Ryan when Bruce made his
bid to retake his crown. All that remained of her family was her son and her nephew,
the five-year-old current Earl of Mar, who had been captured with his mother, Bruce’s
sister, and the rest of the queen’s party at Tain. But both of them were in England.
Like her son, the young Earl of Mar was a favored prisoner in Edward’s household.

But why now? Why after nearly three years had the king decided to notice her? Just
when she’d found some small modicum of peace far from the battlefield of war and politics,
he wanted to drag her back in. Resentment she hadn’t even realized she had came bursting
forward. Hadn’t they taken enough from her? Why couldn’t they just leave her alone?

Aware that both men were watching her with troubled expressions, and knowing she didn’t
have the words to explain what she was feeling, she attempted to cover her reaction.
“I was merely hoping you’d brought other news.”

Sir Adam guessed to what she referred. “The king is quite fond of David. He doesn’t
seem to be in any hurry to relinquish him. A decision as to which of his barons
will have the Earl of Atholl as his squire has not been made. But I think there is
a good chance Percy will win the honor.”

Her fingers clenched even harder. It was almost too much to hope for. Lord Henry Percy,
1st Baron Percy, had just purchased the Castle of Alnwick in Northumberland. Her son
would be so close. “Do you think …”

She couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

Sir Adam finished for her. “I don’t see any reason why you should not be allowed to
see him as often as his duties permit. That is—” He stopped.

But she guessed what he was about to say. “That is as long as I do Edward’s bidding.”

He shrugged apologetically. “Davey—the earl—is most eager for you to go on his behalf.”

Her heart leapt with embarrassing eagerness. “Did he say so?”

Sir Adam nodded. “He has not forgotten that it was you who petitioned the king two
years ago to return the English lands that had been forfeited upon Atholl’s death.”

It was the only time she’d ever purposefully brought herself to the English king’s
attention. With the help of Sir Adam and Sir Alexander Abernethy, who’d raised the
coin to pay off de Monthermer, who’d been temporarily given the earldom, her petition
had been successful. Her son had half his patrimony—the English half.

If she’d ever had a thought to refuse, she knew she could not. Her son had never asked
her for anything before. This was her chance to do something for him. He was nearly
ten and three, and still almost a stranger to her. The divide between them would only
widen as he approached knighthood. This might be her last chance to bring them closer.

It was time to hold to her vow to see her son restored to the earldom. And perhaps
this was a chance to hold to her
other vow as well. There was one question that had haunted her the past three years,
despite the improbability: Could Janet have somehow made it back to Scotland? It seemed
unlikely, and Lady Christina had assured her the men had returned to the Isles alone,
but Mary had never asked Robert if he knew anything. Now she could.

Echoing her thoughts, the bishop urged gently, “It is time, lass.”

Mary met the prelate’s gaze. The years of imprisonment had not been kind to William
Lamberton. Like her, he was thin to the point of gaunt. But his eyes were kind, and
oddly understanding. His words tugged at her, almost as if he were trying to tell
her something.

Resolved, she nodded. “Of course. Of course, I shall go.”

Perhaps it wouldn’t be as painful as she feared. It could be worse. She’d thought
when Edward finally remembered her, it would be to try to marry her off to one of
his barons. She shuddered. Being a peace envoy to Scotland was infinitely more palatable
than that.

She had no intention of spying for Edward, but she would do her duty and return to
her quiet life in England, hopefully with more opportunities to see her son.

Sir Adam looked much relieved. He took her hand, patting it fondly. “This will be
good for you, you’ll see. You’ve been too long alone. You’re only six and twenty.
Far too young to lock yourself away.”

Having heard similar words a few hours earlier, Mary bit back a smile. No doubt the
proud knight turned respected statesman would be surprised to realize how much he
had in common with a merchant. Sir Adam didn’t approve of her choice of attire either,
but she suspected he’d guessed the reason for it.

“I haven’t been to the Games in years,” Lamberton said. “As I recall, your husband
was quite a competitor.” She remembered. It was where his armor had begun to shine.
“It will be fun.” Then, apparently forgetting which side he was supposed to be on,
he added, “Perhaps one of the competitors will catch your eye.”

Mary thought she was more likely—and perhaps more eager—to catch the plague.

Two
 

Kenneth Sutherland was surrounded as soon as he entered the Great Hall of Dunstaffnage
Castle. He was accustomed to a certain amount of feminine attention, but the frenzied
atmosphere of the Highland Games took some getting used to. The competitors enjoyed
an almost godlike status, with the favorites such as himself having large entourages
of followers. Very enthusiastic followers.

Though usually there was nothing he liked more than being the focus of so many beautiful
women, tonight he was on a mission. While the king had been here at Dunstaffnage negotiating
with the envoys from England, Kenneth had been on a peacekeeping undertaking of his
own. He’d just returned from a two-week-long journey north to pacify the Munros, longtime
allies of his clan, after a misguided attempt by Donald Munro, his brother’s henchman,
to kill the king.

Now that Kenneth was back, he was anxious to speak with the king. The Bruce, as the
men had taken to calling him, had been putting him off for too long. But as the king
seemed to be locked away in the laird’s solar with his men, it seemed their conversation
would have to wait.

He should be enjoying hearing his deeds on the battlefield recounted minute by minute,
but it was out of habit
more than true enthusiasm that Kenneth laughed, teased, and accepted the ladies’ compliments
for a few minutes before taking his seat at one of the trestle tables just below the
dais. Normally being the heir to an earldom would warrant a place at the high table,
but with the Highland Games about to begin, most of Scotland’s nobles—at least those
loyal to Bruce—were here.