The Recruit Read online

  Though MacKay would never say it, Kenneth knew there was something else he was thinking about—that they were all probably thinking about. He might have earned his way onto the team, but he had yet to establish his place among the best warriors in Christendom. Men whose skills were obvious. Men who’d been fighting together for years and had formed a tight bond. He was the new man. The recruit. Unproven, and despite his accomplishments at the Games and in training, he knew they still had questions about him. He would answer them in time, but until then, he knew they would be watching him. Seeing what he could do. Evaluating and deciding where he could best be used.

  His strength—his skill—lay in his versatility. Bruce and MacLeod would see that they could use him anywhere. Whether paired with MacSorley and MacRuairi on the seas, with MacKay, Campbell, and MacGregor in the Highlands, or with Seton, Boyd, MacLean, and Lamont in the Borders, he could be inserted in any mission wherever they had need of him.

  Right now, he was also the best replacement they had for Gordon. But it remained to be seen whether his abilities with black powder would prove reliable enough to depend on. If only he had those old notes of Gordon’s grandfather. The old warrior fancied himself something of an alchemist and had written copious notes about his experiments with the Saracen thunder and flying fire while on crusade with Kenneth’s grandfather. It was in Outremer where the bond between the two clans had been formed. But unfortunately, the journal had burned in one of Kenneth and Gordon’s less successful experiments while they’d both been fostered with the Earl of Ross.

  It seemed no matter what Kenneth did, he somehow still ended up having to prove himself. It might have been different had he bested MacKay at the Highland Games. But he hadn’t. He’d been so close …

  His jaw tightened reflexively, as once again his wanton little nun’s face flashed before him. Not for the first time, he longed for their paths to cross again. He couldn’t help feeling that somehow she’d gotten the better of him. Next time—if there was a next time—she wouldn’t be so fortunate.

  But he suspected it would be quite some time before he saw Mary of Mar again. The war might be under a truce, but the fighting had not ended. There were still skirmishes, especially along the Borders. And the truce would be coming to an end soon. It was originally supposed to end in November, but had been pushed back twice: first to January, and now until March.

  Although Ewen Lamont and Eoin MacLean would be leaving for the Borders soon to help Boyd and Seton keep pressure on Edward, pressure that it was hoped would lead to a permanent truce, Kenneth assumed that he’d stay in Lorn with Campbell, MacGregor, MacKay, and Helen (Kenneth still couldn’t believe MacKay had agreed to her serving as the Guard’s de facto physician), while MacSorley, MacRuairi, and MacLeod kept watch on the west. In addition to keeping the trade routes open, the biggest threat right now came from the western seaboard. John of Lorn, the heir to the chiefdom of Clan MacDougall, was active again.

  Mary of Mar would have to wait.

  When neither he nor MacKay responded, the king apparently decided not to press. Instead, he asked, “Your sister mentioned that you were close friends with Henry Percy?”

  Kenneth was taken aback by the question and immediately tensed, trying to clamp down on the defensiveness that sprang instinctively from any mention of his recent shift of alliance. It was only a little over a year ago that he’d been fighting with the English against Bruce. “We were,” he said carefully. “But that friendship ended when I gave my allegiance to you, Sire.”

  Bruce must have realized the question was an awkward one. “No one questions your loyalty. I only wonder if you think it possible that this friendship could be rekindled?”

  Kenneth frowned, wondering what the Bruce was getting at. “I doubt he was very happy with what he would perceive as my defection to the enemy camp. He is proud and arrogant in the manner of most Englishmen and unforgiving when personally slighted.” But theirs had been a friendship of mutual admiration for skills on the battlefield. “In the right circumstances, aye, I think we could be friends again.” A wry smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “But I should warn you, Sire, if you are thinking to find a sympathetic ear in Percy, you will be fighting a war you cannot win. He is English to the bone, and though he and Edward might not see eye-to-eye on the matter of Gaveston, he is loyal to the English crown.” His lands and fortune depended on it.

  Bruce smiled. “It’s not Percy’s loyalty I was thinking of, but yours.” Kenneth stiffened, but the king waved him off. “A temporary shift, that’s all. I want you to go to England, renew your friendship with Percy, and see what you can find out about Edward’s plans. Percy has campaigned in Scotland before; Edward will rely on his experience.”

  “You think war is finally coming, then? There will not be any more delays from the trouble with his barons?”

  Bruce shook his head. “I think the election of the Lord Ordainers will force Edward’s attention north. He’ll fight a war in Scotland to avoid the supervision of his barons.” In large part because of Gaveston, King Edward had been forced to agree to reform of the royal household and the appointment of “Ordainers” who would carry out the mandate. “Aye, war is coming,” Bruce said. “This will be our first test against the English since Loudoun Hill over two and a half years ago, and I intend to be ready for it. We assume they will use Edinburgh Castle as their base, but see what you can find out. We want to know where he is going and hit him hard.”

  Kenneth did not question the importance of the mission, just his role in it. He’d never spied before, and frankly, deception didn’t sit well with him. He was a Highlander, but he was also a knight. MacRuairi had warned him that if he wanted to fight with the Highland Guard he was going to get dirty, and he suspected this was his first test. He just hadn’t anticipated that his first test would be alone. He wasn’t going to break through the tight bond these men had forged from England.

  Part of him couldn’t help wondering whether there was another reason he was chosen. Was this a test of another kind? Was his loyalty still in question?

  The acid of bitterness rose to the back of his throat, but he tamped it back down.

  “They will be suspicious,” Kenneth said. He’d be fortunate if the English didn’t throw him in the closest dungeon.

  “Perhaps at first,” the king agreed. “But your past should work in our favor. Your change of allegiance was both recent and reluctant.”

  Kenneth’s jaw hardened, wanting to argue but knowing he spoke the truth. “At first, perhaps.”

  “They don’t know that,” MacLeod pointed out.

  “You aren’t exactly known for your even temperament,” MacKay added. “That hot temper of yours just might work in our favor. A falling-out with your brother the earl and Bruce won’t seem out of character.”

  Kenneth bit back the angry retort, forcing himself to stay cool, though he wanted to point out that a hot temper didn’t equate to disloyalty. Instead, he addressed the king. “Percy will still be suspicious.”

  The king smiled. “Well, then, you will just have to prove it to him.”

  Any reluctance Kenneth might have felt was dismissed when he heard Bruce’s plan. It wasn’t without danger, but it should work to prove his “loyalty.”

  Being sent to England on his first mission might not be his first choice, but he supposed there was one side benefit. He smiled. Lady Mary was in England. He just might have his chance to rekindle their “friendship” and exact a little retribution sooner than he’d anticipated.

  Eleven

  One Week Later, Candlemas, February 2, 1310

  Berwick Castle, Berwick-upon-Tweed, Northumberland, English Marches

  Kenneth would never have guessed how quickly he would come to appreciate his training. But being tossed in a dank, pitch-black hole all night—Berwick’s pit prison—seemed luxurious compared to some of the “accommodations” he’d had on Skye. He’d actually slept quite comfortably once his nose desensitized to the lingerin