Nineteen
 

Mary kept her eyes closed and tried to ignore the slight slam of the door as Kenneth left their chamber. She told herself she had nothing to feel guilty about, but she couldn’t quite convince herself of the fact.

The way he’d been making love to her had been so poignant—so sweet—she’d reacted in fear, attempting the whore’s trick she’d overheard some women talking about once.

It had worked. Mary knew she should be happy. She’d won. Yet it hadn’t felt like a victory. Increasingly, her attempt to keep herself at a distance, to not let an emotional entanglement complicate the passion they shared, felt wrong. No, she corrected—it always felt wrong.

The past weeks had been some of the happiest of her life. She was spending time with her son, enjoying every moment of the baby growing inside her, and experiencing passion that she’d never thought could be hers. But she knew that wasn’t all of it. It was her marriage—or, more specifically, her husband. He’d eased some of the burden she hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying. With him she felt safe for the first time in a very long time. It didn’t seem to matter that the war was coming, that he would be riding off in some not-too-distant future to fight against their countrymen; he made her feel safe and protected.

Slowly but surely, he was chipping away at her defenses. The passion they shared at night had spilled over into the day—and not just because of the romantic gestures like the bath, flowers, sweets, and ribbons. It was hard to stay distant with a man who knew every part of her body, who could make her weep with pleasure, and who slept beside her every night. Even watching him dress in the morning had taken on a new fascination. All these little things that she’d never shared with a man—with anyone—before were drawing them closer. It was so different from her first marriage. She had never shared a bed with Atholl. Never shared a washbasin in the morning. Never helped him with his shirt and surcote. Never jested with him. Never talked with him. She’d never known him. Not in the way she was coming to know Kenneth.

She liked challenging him. Liked the combat of wills that had risen between them. He made her feel bold and strong. Nothing like she’d felt with Atholl; with him she’d been timid and accepting. Kenneth not only listened to her, he seemed interested in what she had to say.

More and more, she could see that her new husband was nothing like her first.

He was funny and smart, wicked and passionate, and the fierce attraction was wearing her down.

She liked him. And it terrified her.

Had she misjudged him?

He’d given her no cause to doubt him. Indeed, he was attentive almost to the point of doting. It was clear he was trying to win her heart, but why? Was it just some kind of game, or was it something more?

Could she dare to hope?

But she knew it was too late to ask that question. Hope had been lit that first night and had been stoked hotter every day since.

She didn’t know how much longer she could keep her defenses up. Perhaps … perhaps tonight, she wouldn’t.

A slow smile curled her mouth. Buoyed by the thought, she tossed off the covers and called for her maid. She had a busy day ahead of her and wanted to make sure she was back in plenty of time to get ready for the massive feast planned for later today.

With tomorrow being Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Lent, this would be the last celebration until Easter. Anticipating the deprivations of the next forty days, the castle inhabitants would be celebrating to great excess. Given Cornwall’s lavish taste for entertainment, it felt more like a long celebration than a preparation for war.

Though Kenneth had grumbled, she’d extracted a promise from him to dance with her. She knew it was silly, yet she felt like a young lass at her first dance being picked by the most handsome knight at the feast, and she was looking forward to it.

Dressing quickly, she hastened downstairs to break her fast and nearly ran into her son. He was clutching a sword and muttering to himself, and didn’t see her right away.

She clutched his shoulders before he plowed into her. “Davey, where are you going in such a rush?” He glanced up, and she caught a look at the dark expression on his face. “What’s wrong?”

He twisted out of her hold, refusing to meet her gaze. “Nothing.”

But it was obvious something was wrong. She’d thought he’d seemed preoccupied the past week but had attributed it to his duties. Now, she wondered if it was something more. “Is there something I can do? Does it have to do with your duties? Shall I talk to Sir John?”

He drew back in horror. “God’s blood, no! That will make it worse.”

“What worse?”

His face twisted with an emotion she couldn’t read, except that he was in turmoil. She wanted to reach for him and comfort him, but instinctively she knew that was the last thing he wanted right now.

“I have to go,” he said, pulling away even more as if he sensed her impulse. “I need to get this done.” It sounded like he muttered “again,” before he hurried out of the Hall.

Mary watched him go with the familiar sense of helplessness rising up inside her. Being the mother of a thirteen-year-old lad was like walking through a thick forest. At night. In the snow. Without a guidepost. Just when she thought she found the path out, another obstacle blocked her path.

She startled, an idea taking hold. Maybe what she needed was another set of eyes.

That was it! Who better to have insight into the mindset of a young lad than someone who’d been there? Perhaps Kenneth would be able to help?

Feeling as if a weight suddenly had been lifted from her shoulders, Mary hurried about her tasks. For more reasons than one, she was looking forward to the night ahead.

Kenneth stormed out of the tower after breaking his fast and headed across the yard to the armory. For a man who had spent the morning being pleasured in the way every man dreams of being pleasured, he was in a foul mood. His body might be well sated from more than three weeks of increasingly passionate lovemaking, but the rest of him was teeming with frustration.

Nothing about this mission was going well. Bruce was furious that he’d married Mary without his permission; Kenneth hadn’t been able to offset his anger with any information of value; they were annoyed at him for straying from his task (apparently, someone was watching him and had informed them of his little journey to Roxburgh with Clifford); each day without practice he felt his battle skills withering like a grape in the sun, Felton lost no opportunity to give slight and offense, making MacKay look subtle by comparison; and to top it all off, his wee wife was proving infuriatingly resistant to his attempts to woo her.

He didn’t understand it. He—one of the most elite warriors in Scotland only months away from what might be the biggest battle of his life—had been dancing attendance on her for more than two weeks like some lovesick swain from one of the troubadours’ songs. The worst part was that he didn’t even mind. He liked spending time with her. Which was odd, as he could hardly characterize her as uncomplicated and eager to please. Complicated and constantly challenging was more like it.

“Maybe they would hold your attention longer if they had something more interesting to talk about?” Her words came back to him. Well, she sure as hell had his interest.

Women weren’t supposed to be this difficult, damn it. But every time he thought he was getting close to breaking through the wall she’d erected around her heart, she countered with a bold, sensual attack guaranteed to make him lose control.

Like this morning. He’d woken to see the sun streaming across her sleeping form and felt an unexpected wave of tenderness strike him. She looked so young and sweet. So peaceful and uncomplicated. Unable to resist, he’d started to make love to her while she was still half asleep. Slow and lazy, he stroked her with his hands, with his mouth, with his tongue. He’d felt her resistance slipping away, damn it. He’d seen it in her eyes. She was falling for him.

But then she turned the tables on him.

She’d kissed his chest before, so at first he didn’t realize what she meant to do. It was only when her mouth slid to his stomach that he had the first inkling, and by then it was too late.

His mind shut off and base instinct set in. With her mouth hovering inches from the tip of him, she could have had anything she wanted from him. He didn’t think he was the type of man who could be led around by his cock, but she’d proved him wrong.

The feel of her lips brushing him, her tongue darting out to lick him, and then—God help him!—lips wrapping around him and taking him deep into her mouth was more than any hot-blooded man could withstand. He’d been so out of his mind with lust—as no doubt was intended—his slow, tender lovemaking went to hell.

It was obvious that the skill was a new one to her, but she’d taken to the task with such enthusiasm that he had no doubt she’d be a master in no time.

Wonderful.

He should be counting his blessings, damn it. A wife who took to the marriage bed with all the passion of a harlot was every man’s dream, wasn’t it?

But he didn’t want just her passion; he wanted her heart.

For his mission, damn it.

God was sure as hell having a good laugh at his expense. The first woman he’d ever set out to woo wanted only one thing from him. And blast it, it grated. Stud.

His mouth tightened. It was a good thing he had no intention of letting emotion interfere with his marriage. He wasn’t like his sister and brother. He was different.

Except he didn’t feel so different right now.

He was so irritated, he barely noticed the other soldiers gathered in the yard readying for practice. But when he caught sight of Felton and David near the door to the armory, his irritation turned to full-fledged anger.

The bastard was berating the lad again.

Though he hid it well around Mary and the others, Felton was taking out his anger at their marriage on the lad. But Kenneth knew it would only be worse if he interfered. Until he was awarded David’s wardship—which could take some time—Percy, and through him, Felton, was David’s lord and master. Still, he couldn’t stand to see the strong prey on the weak. Kenneth already bore the bulk of Felton’s ire, but he wanted all of it directed toward him.

With a few more harsh words, Felton stormed off. Shoulders slumped, David slipped dejectedly into the armory.

Kenneth would have gone in after him, but Percy intercepted him. “Ah, Sutherland. ’Tis good to see you in armor again. I’d begun to fear your arm would never heal. Or perhaps you just have a hard time tearing yourself away from your pretty new wife?” He laughed heartily and slapped him on the back. Kenneth tried not to frown, realizing there was more truth in his words than he wanted to admit. He needed to focus on his entire mission, not just turning his wife and her son. “We need you, lad,” Percy added, still smiling, “if we’re ever to get this campaign moving.”

Kenneth showed no reaction, but his senses pricked. “Has a date been set, then?”

Percy hedged. Kenneth knew his former compatriot was beginning to trust him—but only beginning. “More than one. The king was supposed to arrive after Easter, but now there is word he may be delayed.” His mouth hardened. “Cornwall is eager to show off his military prowess and has written to Edward asking to let him proceed without him. I have urged the opposite. We need a king to rally the men, not a pretentious peacock.”

It appeared that the chasm between Cornwall and the other barons was deepening. Percy could barely hide his disdain for the king’s favorite. Kenneth filed the information away for the next time he could manage to get a message to Bruce and the Guard. Division in the ranks was good for the Scots. As long as the English were fighting each other, they would not be able to unite their strength against them. Perhaps they could even find a way to take advantage of it?

“I assume Clifford agrees with you? I haven’t seen him around as much of late.”

Percy gave him a look that was hard to characterize. It wasn’t suspicious, but he’d taken more note of the question than Kenneth would have liked. “There has been trouble with the rebels in Douglasdale again. But he agrees with me, of course.”

It was a logical explanation. There was always trouble in Douglasdale. But was that all? “Has the king given an indication of how long he will be delayed?”

“Not long, I hope.” Percy slapped him on the back again. “Time enough to get your strength back. I know Felton is looking forward to meeting you on the lists again. I’m afraid my champion has not forgotten the last time you nearly bested him.”

Kenneth was anxious to ask him more about Edward’s plans, but it was clear Percy was finished with the subject. Was he purposefully avoiding discussing it with him? He didn’t know. But the fact that Percy was keeping the battle plans so secret alone suggested that they were up to something. The English didn’t typically rely on stealth, but on strength in numbers and weaponry. Perhaps they were taking lessons from Bruce.

“I look forward to the challenge,” he lied. Though he would like nothing more than to silence Felton, he knew he couldn’t, and the idea of having to lose to the bastard rankled. But he couldn’t put it off much longer. Felton had already accused him of delaying his recovery. “But it may take a few weeks yet to get back my strength. The ligament was nearly severed.”

“Aye; Welford is surprised by how well the injury has healed.”

Not surprising, since it hadn’t been the physician’s skills that had healed it. “I feel fortunate indeed.”

“I will see you on the practice yard?”

Kenneth nodded. “If I can track down my squire. I sent him to sharpen my sword some time ago. I fear it has grown dull with disuse.”

Much like his battle skills. Kenneth had been in the peak of physical condition and battle readiness when he’d arrived. He intended to be ready when the time came both for war and for another chance at MacKay. But how the hell was he going to do that if he was sluggish from holding back?

Stepping away from Percy, Kenneth started back toward the armory.

Upon entering, he found his squire speaking to a very irate young Earl of Atholl. David’s voice was raised, and it was obvious he was complaining about Felton to a sympathetic ear. Despite the circumstances, Kenneth was actually relieved to see some emotion on the lad’s face. For his age, David had an unnaturally blank expression most of the time, making it difficult to guess his thoughts.

Kenneth’s status as hero and rescuer had taken a blow since the wedding. It was clear young Atholl didn’t know what to make of the sudden marriage, and his behavior had been watchful and wary.

The two squires fell immediately silent upon seeing him.

Willy jumped up guiltily. “My lord, I was just coming to find you. I’ve finished your sword.”

Kenneth gave him a look that told him he knew better. But he’d deal with his squire later. He took the sword from him—one of the shorter arming swords—and after giving it a brief inspection, fastened it in a scabbard around his waist. “Wait for me outside. I should like to speak to David for a moment.”

Willy jumped to do his bidding, shooting a glance of apology to David on the way. But it wasn’t necessary. Kenneth had no intention of adding to the lad’s woes.

When they were alone, Kenneth sat on the bench beside David that had been recently vacated by his squire. The wariness had returned to the boy’s face as he resumed sharpening the blade of Felton’s sword.

“May I see that?” Kenneth asked.

David frowned, but after a moment handed it to him. Kenneth held it up to the light streaming through the wooden slats of the building, inspecting the edge, and then ran his gauntleted finger over the blade. “ ’Tis fine work. Though I take it Sir John does not agree?”

David’s mouth fell in a belligerent line. He knew better than to speak against his lord.

“I’m afraid this is my fault,” Kenneth said.

David shot him a look of surprise. “It is?”

He nodded. “Aye. Sir John hoped to marry your mother. He’s angry at me for doing so, and since he can’t take it out on me,” he lifted his arm, “I’m afraid you are an easy scapegrace.”

“I thought he was going to marry my mother, too.”

“Are you upset that he didn’t?”

The boy eyed him with far too much composure and maturity. It was hard to believe he was only three and ten. He shrugged noncommittally. “It was a surprise, that’s all.”

He bowed his head and resumed working on the blade. Kenneth debated what to say. David was obviously confused. The lad deserved an explanation. “If I tell you something, will you promise to keep it a secret?”

Puzzled, David nodded.

“We needed to marry quickly,” he said meaningfully. But it was clear the lad didn’t understand. “Your mother is carrying my child.”

Shocked, David’s hand slipped. He would have sliced his finger had he not been wearing gloves. Once he’d composed himself, he turned to Kenneth. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

“I suspect she’s embarrassed and was waiting for the right time.” Belatedly, Kenneth realized that she might not appreciate him telling her son.

“That’s why she’s seemed so happy lately,” David said, almost to himself. He thought for a minute, appearing to try to sort out his own feelings. “I’m glad for her. My mother has had a difficult time.”

Once again, Kenneth was struck by how unnaturally composed and mature David seemed. Because of his long captivity? “As have you,” Kenneth said quietly.

David met his gaze and shrugged.

“You don’t have to worry about her anymore, David. I will protect your mother—and you, if you’ll let me.”

David gave him a look as if he wanted to believe him, but his long-held wariness held him back. Given what the lad had been through, it was understandable. Like his mother, Kenneth realized. Mary, too, was wary because of her past. Earning her trust was the key to unlocking her heart. But how the hell was he going to do that when he wasn’t telling her the truth about his allegiance and purpose for being here?

The lad stood. “I need to return this to Sir John or he’ll have me spending the rest of the day mucking stalls and cleaning garderobes like a serf.”

Kenneth chuckled. “There’s no shame in hard work, lad. I’ve had to muck a few stalls and dig in a few cesspits myself.”

He might as well have announced he’d grown wings and flown to the moon.

“You have?”

“Aye. Name any unpleasant task, and I assure you I’ve done it.”

David eyed him skeptically. “When you were a squire?”

“Nay, when I was a knight. In war, you do what needs to be done, no matter how unpleasant or menial. I’ll let you in on a little secret: I actually find ‘menial’ labor relaxing.”

David laughed as if he knew he must be jesting now. “I’ll know who to come to then the next time I’m punished.”

Kenneth smiled and watched the boy hustle away. A few minutes later he followed. Reluctantly. David wasn’t the only one not looking forward to Felton’s punishment. Kenneth knew it was going to take everything he had to keep his temper under control.

* * *

It was late morning by the time Mary finished her transaction with the merchant recommended by Master Bureford in the village. But if she hurried, she should have time for one more errand before returning to the castle.

There was a small church and nunnery nearby, and she couldn’t pass by either without inquiring about her sister. She gazed up at the sun, already high in the sky. She bit her lip, knowing that the feast would be underway soon. But this wouldn’t take long.

Collecting the two soldiers who’d accompanied her from the place where she’d asked them to wait while she went about her business—not wanting them to see that she wasn’t shopping, but selling, she mounted the old horse that she’d borrowed from Sir Adam and informed them of their next destination. Assuming that she meant to pray or give a donation, the men didn’t protest the change in the instructions given to them by Sir Adam to see her to the market and back. Though the horse was docile and it was still safe for her to ride, she had to admit she wouldn’t have minded Kenneth’s protective arms around her.

Mary felt a stab of guilt at not telling Kenneth where she was going. But she knew he would question her, and she didn’t want to lie to him. She would not be caught in the position of helplessness and dependency that she was in before. The money she earned from her embroidery work was her protection against that. It belonged to her, no matter that the law would see it otherwise. She had nothing to feel guilty about.

Yet she did. And not just about hiding the money from him, but also for this morning. I’ll make it up to him, she vowed, but still couldn’t completely assuage the niggle of disquiet.

The small church and nunnery were located just on a hill above the bustling Berwick-upon-Tweed market. It took only a few minutes to reach the gate. Walls protected most of the churches in Berwick and other border towns, not that they seemed very efficient in keeping out raiders.

Leaving the soldiers with the horses, she approached the church first, and then when her inquiries proved fruitless, the nunnery.

“I’m sorry, my lady,” the abbess said. “I was here three years ago, and I don’t recall a woman as you describe seeking refuge.” She studied Mary a little closer. “You say she was your twin?”

Mary nodded. “We look very much alike.” Even more so now that Mary no longer looked like a “half-starved sparrow.” She glanced down at the gown she wore. For her journey into the city, she’d donned one of her old veils and gowns. She was surprised how much she disliked doing so. She’d grown used to pretty things again. But it had seemed wiser not to draw attention to herself at the market. Her mouth quirked. “Although she would have been far more colorfully dressed than I am. With long golden hair—”

The nun shook her head. “I’m sorry, my lady. She was not here.”

Mary tried to smile. But no matter how many times she asked, she couldn’t hide her disappointment. “Thank you.” She handed her a coin. “Please, take this, and remember her in your prayers tonight.”

The woman nodded but seemed to avoid meeting her gaze. Mary was almost out the door when the nun called after her. “I hope you find her, my lady. Someday.”

Mary smiled for real this time, tears glistening in her eyes. “So do I.”

Lost in thought, she wasn’t watching where she was going and nearly collided with a monk outside. He dropped a book he’d been holding—obviously, he hadn’t been looking either—and bent down to pick it up. “I’m sorry, sister—” He startled when he saw her face. Mary saw the flicker of recognition before he smiled. “You’re back!”

A buzz ran up her spine and spread over her skin. Her entire body froze with excitement. “Do you know me, brother?”

He looked surprised again, taking in the details of her face and clothing that he hadn’t before. “You aren’t a nun.”

“But have you seen me before?”

His expression grew troubled. “I thought so, but now I can see that I made a mistake. You look a great deal like a young nun who traveled through here before.”

Mary felt every nerve ending in her body flare with excitement. This was it. This was the break she’d been waiting for. She tried to control the frantic pounding of her heart, but it was blaring in her ears. “When?” she breathed.

He stroked his chin. “About a year ago, I think.”

“What do you know about her? Whom was she with?”

Without realizing it, Mary had grabbed onto the monk’s arm. He was looking at her as if she were a madwoman. “No one, my lady. She stopped for the night to take a meal, that is all.”

“Where was she going?”

Obviously wishing he hadn’t said anything, the young churchman carefully extracted his arm. “I don’t know, my lady. Do you know her?”

“I think she is my sister. She’s been missing for over three years.”

His eyes filled with sympathy, and something else. Pity, she realized.

“I’m sorry, my lady. It couldn’t have been your sister. The young woman I spoke of was Italian.”

Mary felt her heart sink. “Are you certain?”

He nodded. “She didn’t speak a word of English and very little French.”

The disappointment was even more crushing than before. Despite the monk’s certainty, Mary wondered if maybe he was mistaken. But why would her sister be pretending to be Italian? Janet had been horrible with languages.

Mary apologized to the monk for her zealous questioning and quickly took her leave. But she could think of nothing else on the ride back to the castle.

It was later than she’d realized by time she passed through the gates. The feast had already been going on for nearly an hour by the time she’d changed and started toward the Great Hall.

She’d half hoped Kenneth would be waiting for her. Not only was she eager to speak to him about Davey, she also wanted to get his impression about what had occurred at the church. Usually she would have gone straight to Sir Adam, but her first instinct was to find Kenneth.

She had to apologize for what had happened this morning. A blush stained her cheeks. Well, maybe an apology wasn’t necessary in light of how much he’d enjoyed it, but she knew things could not go on as they had been. She wanted to give him—them—a chance.

The Hall was a flurry of sound and color as she entered. Obviously, the ale and wine had been flowing freely for some time. People were swarming about the room. She stood on her tiptoes, trying to see where Kenneth was seated but was unable to see over all the heads.

Finally, after fighting her way through the crowd near the door she saw him. The smile that had become reflexive in such a short time rose and then fell. The blood drained from her face, as everything inside her body seemed to curl inwardly. Her heart. Her stomach. Her hope.

The sear of white-hot pain across her chest was nearly unimaginable.

He was surrounded by women and basking in the glow of their adoring light, like some Greek god at a temple. The women on either side of him were leaning so close their bodies were pressing against his. He wasn’t doing anything to encourage them. Yet. But it was only a matter of time. He’d made her no promises. The picture before her was brutally familiar and a reminder that she could not forget that. No matter how much she wanted to. If she’d wanted her eyes opened, they were now.

Oh God. I can’t do this again.

“Are you all right, my lady?”

In a daze, Mary turned, seeing that Sir John had come up beside her. “You look quite pale.”

“I’m not feeling too well. I-I think I shall return to my room.”

She could see the concern in his face. “I will escort you.”

Mary nodded, too numb to object.