The Ghost Read online

  But maybe not as soon as he’d like with his shite job Pembroke was trying to foist off on him.

  “Do you have a problem with that, Seton?” Pembroke asked.

  Knowing how to follow orders also didn’t mean Alex did so in silence. God knows he’d questioned half of Boyd’s orders whenever his partner had been put in charge of a mission. But Alex wouldn’t keep his mouth shut when he didn’t agree with something. Pembroke, it seemed, didn’t like it any better than Boyd had.

  “Aye. The loading of the ships can be overseen by the captain and his men.” Or any one of a dozen men of lesser rank in Pembroke’s command. “I can serve you and the king better by accompanying you. I know the roads between here and Dunbar better than anyone.”

  If they were scouting for places the army could be attacked, there was no one who could help more than Alex. Pembroke knew that. They all knew that. Shouldn’t they be trying to take advantage of his knowledge? Did they want to end the war or not?

  Christ, what the hell was he doing here?

  At times Alex wondered. The ineptitude was getting to him. Christendom might see the English as the “civilized” side, but clearly civilized didn’t mean sensible or rational.

  He was supposed to be doing some good, damn it. Somehow when he’d torn his guts out and betrayed his friends to try to put an end to this bloody war, he hadn’t imagined himself overseeing the loading of the cargo. It was drudge work, plain and simple. It was like having one of your best leaders in charge of digging latrines—a waste. How was any of this going to prevent villages from burning and innocents from being caught in the flames?

  “It was the king who suggested you for the job. Despenser said as much when he passed on the king’s instructions.”

  Alex cursed angrily. He should have guessed. Lady Joan wasn’t the only one who’d made an enemy of Despenser. Apparently Despenser was throwing some of the blame for his failed affair in Alex’s direction. He’d wager the king hadn’t said a word about who would oversee the loading of the cargo. But whatever Despenser had done last week, it obviously involved a meeting with the king.

  “I’m surprised that the king thought it important enough to name someone for the task,” Alex said, not hiding his skepticism.

  Whatever else he might be, Pembroke wasn’t a fool. He, too, probably questioned Despenser’s message, but apparently had no intention of challenging the king’s new favorite. “Aye, well, if I were you, I’d settle whatever score you have with Despenser, or I suspect you’ll be attracting a lot of notice with the king.”

  Alex didn’t know who angered him more: Despenser, for his underhanded attempt to settle personal grievances using his position with the king, or Pembroke, for going along with it even when it was clearly not the best thing to do to prepare for the battle, that if they were to relieve the garrison at Stirling Castle by midsummer’s day, could only be weeks away.

  Over the next few days Alex had a lot of time to think about it—and vent his frustration with the carrying of heavy crates and barrels. He had frustration aplenty. Not only toward the woman who practically ran the other direction when she saw him or Despenser for his juvenile vindictiveness and Pembroke for not taking advantage of his knowledge, but also for his continued exclusion from meetings of Edward’s top commanders—meetings that he should be a part of, and had been a part of, until someone suggested he was the damned spy.

  He was no closer to exonerating himself on that count either. He’d confronted Sir Adam about his suspicions yesterday, after the older knight returned from the scouting trip near Dunbar that Alex should have been on.

  Sir Adam hadn’t been surprised—or offended. “I would have been suspicious of me as well,” he said. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to look elsewhere.”

  Not only did Sir Adam have an explanation for being in the priory—it was where his youngest son had been laid to rest when he’d died of a fever exactly a year before—he also provided Alex with information that made it extremely unlikely that he was the spy.

  The night before Sir Adam had returned, a group of soldiers had stopped a monk after a night of revelry in town “to have some fun with him.” Alex’s mouth hardened. In other words, they were harassing him. “The monk seemed to be holding his pouch too tightly and grew agitated when they asked what he was hiding. It turns out he was carrying a missive with the approximate number of troops at both Wark and Berwick, including a breakdown of infantry and cavalry, as well as the names of all the barons who have arrived so far and the size of their retinues. My name was on it, as was yours.” But unlike Alex, Sir Adam had not been to Wark, making it unlikely that he had passed on the information. Sir Adam paused significantly before continuing. “There was also a mention of who had not yet arrived.”

  Alex grimaced, knowing Sir Adam was referring to the earls who had not answered—and might not answer—Edward’s call to muster.

  “Aye,” Sir Adam said, reading his expression. “I’m sure Bruce would like nothing more than to know that Lancaster and his fellow earls—and their cavalry—will not be joining the campaign. Although if it encourages King Hood to stay and fight and not scurry off into one of his fox holes, I almost hope they do not show.”

  Alex hadn’t thought of that, but Sir Adam might be right. One of the reasons Alex had gone over to the English was because raids, skirmishes, and ambushes weren’t getting them anywhere anymore. The pirate warfare, the so-called dirty war that Christendom accused Bruce of fighting, could only take them so far. The righteousness of Bruce’s cause would only be proved one way: by fighting like a knight—in other words, by a pitched battle of army versus army. But that was something Bruce had adamantly refused to do to this point. Would the earls’ absence change his mind? Could Bruce finally be brought from the trees and fox holes of ambuscade to the battlefield?

  Alex didn’t think so—Bruce had been adamant on this issue whenever Alex had brought it up—but he supposed if the odds were enough in his favor it was possible. But against such a powerful army, even without the earls, would Bruce ever think the odds in his favor?

  “But this is interesting,” Sir Adam added. “The note mentions Despenser’s mission, but that is all. No details are given.”

  That was interesting. Whoever it was had probably not been at the meeting last week. That he hadn’t probably only made them suspect him more.

  “I assume the monk was questioned further,” Alex said, referring to who might have given him the note.

  Sir Adam nodded. “Fortunately, he did not require much encouragement.”

  Torture was not uncommon on either side, but Alex didn’t like it. To him it was the very antithesis of chivalry and beneath the dignity and honor of a knight. Torturing a churchman—or woman for that matter—was even worse. The “do whatever it takes” and “ends justify the means” attitude wasn’t reserved just for Scots. The English fought just as dirty, they just hid it beneath fine surcoats with colorful arms.

  Right and wrong had always been so clear to him. Did anyone actually believe the vows of knighthood and code of chivalry anymore? Sometimes he wondered whether he was the idealistic relic that Boyd had so often accused him of being. It was not a little disconcerting.

  “Unfortunately,” Sir Adam continued, “he was unable to provide much information. He claimed to be just a courier. Messages were left for him in the confessional and he picked them up and delivered them to another confessional in Melrose.”

  Alex nodded. It was consistent with the practice Bruce had employed a few years ago. The “couriers of the cloth,” as Bruce called the monks and nuns who delivered messages and passed other important intelligence, were an important part of Bruce’s intelligence network.

  “So the monk never saw the person who left the message?”

  “He claims not.”

  “I suppose that would be too much to ask.”

  Sir Adam smiled at the wry comment. “Whoever it is, they are careful. They’ve been doing this for a long time and