The Recruit (40 page)

She loved the young boy who’d always had to fight to
prove himself and had the confidence and belief in himself to become the best. She
loved knowing that beneath the seemingly impervious shell of the fierce warrior was
a man of surprising depth and—yes, Sir Adam was right—sensitivity. She loved his passion.
Envied it. Was drawn to it. Even when he lost his temper. She loved going toe-to-toe
with him—challenging him. He brought out her fight and made her feel bolder and stronger
than she ever had before. He’d never treated her as an afterthought or as chattel,
but as an equal. He listened to her. Cared about her thoughts.

Ironically, by trying to protect herself from having another marriage like her first,
she’d all but ensured the second turned out the same way. She’d sent him from her
bed; why was she surprised that he’d found another?

She regretted so many things. She’d been a fool to think it had only been passion.
The hollowness in her heart when he’d left her that night told her that. She shouldn’t
have let her pride and jealousy prevent him from telling him she cared. And she shouldn’t
have interfered in his argument with Sir John. Although Davey refused to discuss what
had happened, she suspected Kenneth had been protecting her son.

He was also right to urge her patience. Her son wasn’t used to having a mother around
to love him. It was no wonder that Davey was uncomfortable and defensive. Knocking
down those barriers would take time—especially when his attention was focused on trying
to become a knight. She needed to think of him as the man he would become, not the
boy she never had a chance to know.

But it was more than that.

“You should have more faith in me.”
He was right. She’d seen him fight. She knew what he could do; it was just that he
wasn’t fully healed. But his admonition was about more than his fighting skills. Yet
how could she believe in him when he wouldn’t make her any promises?

Of course, she’d never asked him for any. She’d just tried to accept what she
thought
was her fate. She’d tried to make do with what life had doled out, the way she always
did.

But that wasn’t good enough. Not this time. She wasn’t content to be grateful for
what she had. She wanted more. She wanted his heart.

But how was she going to breach the seemingly impenetrable wall that had been erected
between them?

Every time she inquired about his day or activities, he cut her off. Even her attempt
to tend the wound on his jaw he’d received in a tavern brawl the week before was refused.
Though he’d yet to resume full activity in the practice yard, he had suffered an inordinate
number of scrapes and bruises lately. But every time she expressed concern, he bristled
as if she were questioning his skill, so she’d stopped mentioning it.

Lent was nearly over, but she dared not wait for him to return to her bed. What if
he did, and it was merely a repeat of the last time? Or worse, what if he didn’t return
at all?

The answer of what to do came to her a few days before Easter when a missive arrived
for her from Brother Thomas, the monk who had confused her with the Italian nun. She’d
considered enlisting her husband’s help or Sir Adam’s in her search for more information
about the nun, but as Kenneth wouldn’t give her the opportunity and Sir Adam had returned
to Huntlywood Castle in preparation for his journey to France, she’d sent one of the
stable lads with a sizable donation to the church for Easter, and a note asking him
to send for her should he hear any more about the nun who looked so much like her.

To her shock and barely contained excitement, the castle priest found her after the
midday meal and passed on a message from Brother Thomas that the nun in question had
returned.

She raced back to the Hall, hoping to find her husband still lingering with his men.
She’d been wanting to ask him for help with her sister and now she had a chance. Surely,
he would accompany her?

She found his squire, Willy, and to her surprise learned that Kenneth had returned
to their chamber. She hastened across the courtyard and up the stairs.

But once she pushed open the door, the excitement fell from her face. He’d changed
from the fine surcote he’d worn to the evening meal into a worn dark leather
cotun
and chausses. Despair shot through her like a flame, scorching the insides of her
chest and throat. She knew what those clothes meant.

“You’re leaving?”

He stiffened, as if bracing himself for something unpleasant. “Aye, I have business
in town.”

“At another tavern?”

Perhaps he heard the unspoken accusation in her tone. One corner of his mouth curled.
“I thought you didn’t care.”

She swallowed, burying her pride and taking, if not a leap, at least the first step.
“What if I do?” she said softly, her heart drumming in her throat. Their eyes locked,
and for a moment she thought he wanted to say something, but then he turned away.
He didn’t want her to care.

“I may be back late.”

He was back late every night. She swallowed again, the second attempt to break through
even harder than the first. Her pride and her heart were raw and ragged. It was like
the time she’d asked Atholl to take her and their son with him. “May I come with you?
There is something I need to do in town. I’ve had some exciting news, and I would
be grateful for your help.”

“I’m afraid it will have to wait.”

“It can’t—”

“Not today, Mary.”

She flinched at his curt tone. Maybe it was too late.
Maybe he’d lost interest in her. Maybe it really had only been a game.

“All right.” She tried to hide her disappointment, but she feared she looked just
as wounded as she sounded.

“It’s not like that.” He took a step toward her before he stopped himself. “Ah hell.”
He muttered another oath, dragging his fingers through his hair. “There is a lot happening
right now. I have many things on my mind.”

Things he wasn’t going to talk to her about. “I understand,” she said, even though
she didn’t. “You are busy preparing for war.” And women.

“Aye.”

But that wasn’t all of it. She was sure of it. Something was bothering him. What was
he keeping from her?

“Edward will be coming north soon. I’ve spoken with Sir Adam, and I think it is time.”

“Time?” she echoed.

“For you to leave the castle.”

Mary froze, her senses struck numb. “You are sending me away?” Her voice sounded as
ragged and dry as it felt.

He wouldn’t meet her stricken gaze. “The child,” he said. “You won’t be able to hide
the babe much longer. There will be less talk this way.”

She didn’t say anything. Tears were burning at the back of her throat, and she feared
they would escape if she opened her mouth. He was right—her attendants had guessed
her secret weeks ago—but she knew it was also an excuse.

“This was always the plan, Mary.” She met his gaze. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“When?” she said dully.

“After the Easter celebration. It won’t be for long, and you will be only a few miles
away. Sir Adam has given us the use of Huntlywood Castle while he is in France. You
can bring your attendants. It has all been arranged.”

But no matter what he said, they both knew he was sending her away.

“How considerate of you both. Did you even contemplate taking my wishes into consideration?”

Why should he? She was his to do with as he pleased.

He didn’t answer, but moved to the door. “I know you don’t understand right now, but
it will be for the best.”

The best? Mary no longer knew what that was. But that didn’t mean she didn’t want
a chance to decide for herself. “How thoughtful of you to decide that for me.”

If he heard her sarcasm, she didn’t know. She wasn’t looking at him. She thought he
hesitated as he passed her on the way to the door, but whatever he felt, it wasn’t
enough to stop him.

Not long after he left, Mary donned her cloak and headed for the stables. Her heart
might be breaking, lying in pieces and stomped on, but she wasn’t going to allow the
first possible lead on her sister slip by.

She’d planned to arrange for a few of Percy’s men to accompany her, but Sir John happened
to see her as she was leaving and insisted on escorting her into town himself. Perhaps
because she knew how much it would anger her husband, she didn’t try to dissuade him.

She quickly regretted the moment of pique. By his manner, Sir John made it clear that
he did not see her marriage as an impediment to his courtship. He implied a number
of times—too many for her to be mistaken—that if something were to happen to Kenneth
or if things “did not proceed as she expected,” he would be there for her.
And
her son. Needless to say, her pregnancy had little to do with the uncomfortable ride.

Then, when they arrived at the church and she learned that neither the monk nor the
nun could be found—indeed, the abbess told her they’d had no visitors the past few
days other than the Bishop of St. Andrews and that the monk
must have been mistaken—her disappointment had been such that she would have welcomed
the quiet and peace of her own thoughts.

Darkness had fallen while she was in the church, and as they rode down the hill into
town Mary started to pay more attention to their surroundings. She’d never been in
town this late at night, and there was an unsavory element that seemed to have replaced
the merchants and tradesmen of the day.

Sir John must have sensed her unease. “You have nothing to fear. You are safe with
me. No one would dare attack the king’s men.”

Mary wasn’t so sure. Many of the rough-looking men they passed looked as if they would
dare quite a lot. But she was somewhat relieved to see a number of women in the crowd
as well.

The crowds were getting thicker on the high street. It was almost as if something
big were about to happen. A performance, perhaps? Some kind of festivity?

Her suspicions were confirmed when she heard a large cry go up, the roar of a crowd
exploding in applause. “What is that?” she asked.

Sir John’s eyes narrowed as he held his hand up for his men to stop. He scanned the
row of tall buildings and narrow wynds. It wasn’t hard to see where the noise was
coming from. There was a large pool of light shining from down one of the wynds. “I
don’t know, but we are going to find out.” He held his hand out. When she hesitated,
he added, “This won’t take long.”

Somewhat curious and bolstered by the presence of Felton’s half-dozen armed and mailed
men-at-arms, Mary allowed herself to be helped down, careful to protect her stomach
to keep anyone from learning her secret. As with her first child, Mary had put on
a relatively small amount of weight. In her heavy gowns, she looked more plump than
pregnant. Although with the child due in less than
two month’s time, she was much more uncomfortable of late and easily tired.

Another cry went up as they entered the wynd. It was dark between the two buildings,
but there was enough light coming from ahead of them to enable them to see.

As they drew near, she could see Sir John’s mouth harden.

“What is it? Is something wrong?”

He shook his head. “It’s as I expected.”

It didn’t take her long to figure out what he meant. By the time they reached the
source of the light, everything was perfectly clear. The narrow wynd opened up before
them into the space of a small square courtyard. A building had once stood there,
she realized, and in the bowels of that building two men were fighting.

Like a circle of fire, torches had been hung on the structures around the makeshift
pit, casting the entire area in blazing light. The crowd was dispersed around the
pit on a haphazard mix of old walls, stones, and planks of wood set out like stands.
People were also watching from the tops and windows of the adjoining buildings.

“A clandestine tourney?” she asked.

Sir John nodded. “The king will be very pleased to hear what we’ve discovered. He’s
been trying to put an end to all the unsanctioned combat tourneys in the Borders—if
you can call the crude brawling of common ruffians a tourney.”

She’d heard of the illegal brawls before but had never seen one. They were essentially
a melee of two. A no-holds-barred, no-rules fight that was supposed to end when one
person uttered “craven,” but often ended in death.

The crowd was chanting something. It sounded like “ice.” Curious, she edged forward
a few feet, trying to get a better look at the contestants.

She gasped in horror. Both men were helmed but stripped
to the chest, wearing only their braies and chausses. Sweat and blood stained their
broad, muscled chests as they attacked each other with a ferocity she’d never witnessed
before. There was nothing elegant, nothing noble. It was a contest of raw strength
and brutality. Each man wielded one crude weapon in addition to his fists. The taller
and more leanly muscled of the two had a crude-looking hammer; the heavier-set man,
with a neck as thick as his head, held a stave with a mace. Unlike in regular tournaments,
the weapons were not blunted.

The sight of such brutality alone would have made her knees go weak. But that wasn’t
what made her stomach lurch to the ground and her legs turn to jelly. Despite the
steel helms they wore to mask their identities, Mary instantly recognized the taller
of the two men as her husband. She would know those arms and chest anywhere.

Any relief she might have felt from discovering that he wasn’t in some tawdry tavern
with a woman was overwhelmed by the more immediate concern of the danger he was in
both from the man trying to kill him and from Sir John, were it discovered that he
was fighting in an illegal tournament.

The question of why he was fighting here and not with the other English soldiers floated
to the back of her mind to be answered later. She had to get Sir John and his men
out of here.