The Ghost Read online

  “Your father?” Sir Hugh asked.

  She shook her head. Knowing it was dangerous but unavoidable, she admitted, “Nay, my mother.”

  She’d spent years distancing herself from the “rebel” Isabella MacDuff, severing any connection between them, and she hated reminding anyone of it.

  His eyes sharpened with something that made her wariness seem warranted. “Seton knew your mother? How? When?”

  “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him.”

  He stroked his short, pointed beard thoughtfully. “I may just do that.”

  She didn’t like the speculative edge to his voice and was glad when he let the subject drop. But she couldn’t help but feel that she’d made a mistake. She didn’t want Alex Seton’s scrutiny, but she did not want to make trouble for him either.

  And Sir Hugh Despenser was trouble. She had no doubt about that.

  More trouble than he was worth.

  Joan had escaped detection for so long because she knew when to back away, and every instinct was clamoring for her to do that now.

  She always listened to her instincts.

  But as she didn’t look forward to telling Sir Hugh that she had indeed reconsidered, she was glad when they arrived back at Berwick to be told that her cousin “needed her immediately,” and that she was to “find her the instant she arrived.”

  Thank goodness for her cousin’s “emergencies.” Joan wondered which hem had come undone or which stain “the stupid laundress” had not gotten out. For someone so concerned with her appearance, her cousin was not a neat eater or drinker. She had dribbles of wine and greasy fingermarks on her gowns after each meal. Stains that, of course, it was the laundry maid’s responsibility to get out—not Alice’s to keep clean.

  But before Joan could answer her cousin’s summons, Sir Hugh caught her by the wrist. She tried not to flinch. There was nothing offensive or repulsive about his touch, yet there was no denying that something about it felt that way.

  “I will expect to see you tonight.” His voice left no room for argument.

  She pretended to misunderstand. “I will be at the evening meal if my cousin does not need me.”

  “See that she doesn’t,” he said, his gaze holding hers. “And I wasn’t talking about the evening meal.”

  The surprise that widened her eyes did not need to be feigned. He certainly didn’t waste any time.

  She was tempted to tell him of her decision right then, but wanting at that moment only to get away, she merely nodded.

  He released her, and she went to join Margaret, who had waited for her. “What was that about?”

  Joan shook her head. “Nothing.”

  “It didn’t look like nothing.” Realizing Joan wasn’t going to say anything, Margaret added, “Be careful with him, cousin. Sir Hugh is spoiled, and not used to being told no.”

  Once again realizing how astute—maybe too astute—her cousin was, Joan nodded.

  A few minutes later they entered a maelstrom. Every item of clothing that her cousin possessed seemed to be strewn across all available surfaces of the bedchamber. A young maid—Bess—was standing before the fireplace twisting her hands and near tears. She’d never looked so relieved to see anyone.

  Joan immediately took control. “What seems to be the problem?”

  “Finally!” Alice said, turning from where she was buried under a stack of velvet, wool, and silk. “If I’d known you were going to be gone so long, I would never have agreed to let you go. I needed you.”

  Joan ignored the dramatics and didn’t point out that she’d been gone only a half-day—less time than she’d told her.

  Margaret rolled her eyes. Whereas Joan thought it easier to humor Alice, her sister did not. “Stop being so ridiculous, Alice. You knew exactly how long Joan would be gone. She is your companion, not your villein. She doesn’t need your permission to enjoy a morning ride. Now, what dire emergency is it this time?”

  Alice gave her sister a blistering glare, but did not argue with her. Though Alice was the elder by two years, sometimes it seemed the opposite.

  “I can’t find my new bracelet. One of the maids must have stolen it.”

  No wonder the girl looked close to crying. She probably thought she was about to be tossed into some prison cell or put in the stocks. Joan’s mouth pursed in anger. Her cousin’s dramatics were one thing, but her inclination to accuse the servants of everything was inexcusable and ugly. She hated when those in power took advantage of those who were not.

  “I’m sure you just misplaced it,” Margaret said. “Why don’t you wear another one?”

  “I can’t wear another one! Henry gave me this one.” She looked close to tears. “He loves when I wear his gifts.”

  Joan began to suspect that there was more than a bracelet at work here. “The gold and ruby bracelet?”

  Alice nodded.

  Margaret walked over to the maid and told her what she wanted her to do. Relief swept her face, and she nodded enthusiastically before rushing out the door.

  “Wait! Where is she going?” Alice demanded.

  “To fetch your bracelet,” Joan said calmly. “The clasp came loose on our journey from Carlisle. You asked me to take it to the goldsmith as soon as we arrived. Bess has gone to fetch it.”

  “Oh,” Alice said, oblivious to the terror she’d inflicted on the maid. “I must have forgotten.”

  Margaret gave her a look and shook her head. “I guess so. Much to poor Bess’s misfortune. And look at this mess!”

  Joan pushed a few gowns out of the way to clear some space and motioned for her cousin to sit. “Now,” she said. “Why don’t you tell me what this is really about.”

  To which Alice responded by bursting into tears—real ones, which was unusual for her cousin. Through the chokes and sobs Joan surmised that Alice suspected Sir Henry of having—or at least planning—another affair.

  Alice’s eyes hardened to a glittering and very icy blue. “He was talking with that shameless flirt Lady Eleanor. I know she’s had her eye on him for some time.” Joan very much doubted that. Lady Eleanor seemed to be fiercely in love with her dashing young husband, Lord Henry de Percy.

  Joan had actually been surprised to see the Percys at Berwick. Having recently been freed from prison after his part in the execution of the king’s favorite Galveston, de Percy did not seem likely to fight for the king who’d imprisoned him. He’d reportedly refused his summons. But he was close to Clifford, which she suspected explained his presence now.

  Alice was still sobbing. “Now he claims that he has an important meeting tonight, which may go very late. He told me not to wait up for him.”

  Important meeting? That caught Joan’s attention.

  “What kind of important meeting?” Margaret asked.

  Alice threw up her hands, exasperated by what she clearly thought an irrelevant and inconsequential question. “He said something with only the king’s closest advisors. Pembroke, Clifford, Despenser, Henry, and maybe a few others, I don’t know. But don’t you see, it’s probably an excuse.”

  “There is a war coming,” Margaret said dryly.

  Alice ignored her and wiped her tears, turning to Joan. “You’ll help me, won’t you?”

  Suspecting what she was going to ask her to do, Joan smiled. “Of course.”

  Alex stopped at the river before returning to the castle. Now instead of angry and slightly drunk, he was angry, mostly sober, and cold. Not a nice dulling, numb cold, mind you, but a shivering, freezing-to-the-bones cold.

  The quick dunk in the water hadn’t cleared his head or calmed any of the restless emotions teeming inside him. First he’d been called to Berwick for a meeting that he’d been excluded from at the last minute, and then he’d been forced to sit for two long hours while Despenser and Lady Joan made spectacles of themselves.

  All right, maybe that wasn’t fair. Maybe all they’d done was share a trencher and smile and whisper a lot, but did they have to look so damned in