The Ghost Read online

  Alice perked up at the magic word. “We should go in.”

  Joan’s smile betrayed none of her inward alarm. “It’s getting late. We need to get back to the castle if you are to have time to dress for the midday meal. We can come back next week after the fair when the crowds are gone.” She turned to Alex and finally she allowed their eyes to meet. If the shudder running through her was any indication, it had been a mistake. “I think we’ve taken enough of Sir Alex’s time today.”

  Alex knew she was anxious to get rid of him, and forgetting for a moment that he’d been just as anxious to avoid her, it grated.

  He smiled, knowing how much he was about to annoy her. “I have all the time in the world, my lady. I am at your command.”

  Her mouth pressed in a tight line, and he had to force himself not to laugh even if what he’d said wasn’t exactly true. He’d been pursuing a lead when he’d noticed the ladies—or rather one lady in particular—in the crowd. He might have let her go had he not noticed their lack of escort.

  Letting her go is what he’d been trying to do for the past week. As he would be at Berwick for the foreseeable future—or at least until he uncovered the spy—he knew he wouldn’t be able to completely avoid her, but he’d been doing his damnedest to try. Too often, however, he’d found his gaze straying in her direction.

  He couldn’t look at her without thinking about what he’d done, and that aroused very conflicting feelings in him. He was ashamed of his actions—he’d never treated a lady so dishonorably—but neither could he forget how incredible it had felt. Holding her . . . kissing her . . . it had felt so damned right. Which didn’t make any sense as it was so wrong in every way.

  Thus stymied, he’d focused his attention instead on identifying the spy, methodically going through what he knew about the information that had leaked and trying to match it with the most likely suspects. As much as he hated to admit it—and he really hated to admit it—Pembroke was probably right in that it was likely a Scot.

  It made the most sense. The one English suspect, Ralph de Monthermer, Robert Bruce’s former friend who most of the Guard assumed had been the source, had been away from England for much of the past few years patrolling the Irish Sea. Given the kind of information that had been passed, it was much more likely to have come from someone in the Borders.

  Alex was actually certain of it. He had information no one else in the English camp had. He knew the spy had been in the Roxburgh area a few years ago, as Lamont’s wife, Janet—who’d been posing as a nun—had been the contact.

  Unfortunately, narrowing it down to Roxburgh a few years ago didn’t help much, as the Border stronghold had been second only to Berwick as a headquarters for the English army at the time of Edward II’s first campaign. Most of Edward’s commanders—men who would have been in position to hear important information—would have been through Roxburgh at that time, as would the Scot barons in the Borders. Men like Alexander Abernathy, the Umfravilles (both the Earl of Angus and Sir Ingrim), William de Soules, Sir David Brechin, and Sir Adam Gordon.

  Gordon. There was another connection that Alex kept coming back to other than that Sir Adam’s nephew had been a Guardsman. One he wished to hell he didn’t know about. Janet’s twin sister, Mary—Sutherland’s wife—had been extremely close to Sir Adam. Alex also knew that Sir Adam secretly had passed on information about making black powder to Sutherland not long before Janet showed up in Roxburgh. Had that been all he’d passed on or was there more?

  Alex didn’t want to believe it was possible. Sir Adam was too honorable, too noble to be a spy. He was the last man Alex wanted to suspect.

  But when he’d seen the older warrior leave the castle early this morning, Alex had followed him. Alex hadn’t expected it to lead to anything, but Sir Adam had gone to the priory at Coldingham where Lamberton, the Bishop of St. Andrews and one of Bruce’s most loyal compatriots, had been for years.

  It could be a coincidence, and something told Alex it was, but he’d been on his way to confront Sir Adam when he’d noticed Joan and her cousins wandering the fair.

  He’d been unable to resist. Just like he’d been unable to resist prodding her.

  She was still glaring at him when her cousin responded to his offer to accompany them into the shop. It was the same mercery that Joan had been standing in front of before. The lass must like to shop through windows.

  “You are very kind, Sir Alex,” Lady Margaret said. “But I’m afraid my cousin is right. We had best get back to the castle.”

  “Then allow me to escort you,” Alex said.

  “That isn’t—”

  “I insist,” Alex said, cutting off Joan with a devilish grin. What was it about the lass that provoked him to wickedness?

  Suspecting he knew, he sobered. This attraction was damned inconvenient. Not to mention uncomfortable. All he had to do was stand next to her and his body responded. He knew he should stay away from her, but knowing was easier than doing.

  He was glad when Margaret engaged her sister in conversation. Alice de Beaumont was undoubtedly a beauty, but she was also spoiled and vain. The kind of woman who expected to be fawned over and flirted with—neither of which he was going to do.

  He and Joan walked in surprisingly companionable silence for a while. He had to reach out and steady her when someone in the crowd jostled her. The way she flinched from his touch stung. “Are you still angry with me? You have every right to be.”

  She gave him a sidelong glance that might have held a hint of reproach for bringing up the subject that she was obviously trying to ignore. But that was like trying to ignore a purple horse.

  “I am not angry with you. If I am mad at anyone, it is myself.” She paused, shifting her gaze. “I shouldn’t have provoked you.”

  She was blushing again, as she’d done earlier when her overzealous efforts to be rid of him had caught her cousin’s attention. He had to disagree with Lady Alice, however. Joan’s cheeks weren’t the color of beets; they were a much prettier rosy shade of pink.

  The girlish blush was adorable and so far from the seductive siren she was at other times, it was hard to jibe the two.

  Actually they didn’t jibe, and the incongruity intrigued him. She intrigued him. Was she the blushing, sweet young maid who’d charmed him the first time they’d met, or the practiced seductress linked to a number of men?

  The more he watched her and the more time they spent together, the more something about the siren didn’t feel right. But maybe that was just wishful thinking on his part? Maybe he wanted to believe that she might not be so wrong.

  His mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Aye, well it wasn’t without cause. I had no right to speak that way to you. My only excuse—and it’s not a good one—is that I was not in the best frame of mind.” He paused. “I know what you do is none of my business, but I just think someone should be looking out for you.”

  She lifted a brow. “Was that an apology?”

  He grinned. “Aye, it was meant to be, although I guess it wasn’t a very good one.”

  He was surprised and enormously pleased when she grinned back at him. “Well, it is accepted. But you do not need to worry yourself on my account, Sir Alex. I do have someone watching out for me.”

  “Who?”

  “The person in the best position to do so.”

  He understood the gentle reproach—even if he wasn’t sure he agreed with her. “Yourself.”

  She nodded, pleased that he’d guessed.

  They had just passed over the second wooden drawbridge and through the final gate before entering the castle when he said, “You and I got off on a bad foot.”

  She looked up at him, and the feel of those velvety dark blue eyes on his gave him a little jolt. “Don’t you mean bad ankle?”

  He laughed. “Aye, well maybe you are right, but I should like to change it.”

  She peered up at him from under her lashes almost shyly. “I should like that, too.”

  “Good�