The Recruit Read online

  He winced when the bandaged part of his arm tried to pass through the sleeve.

  She bit her lip, but kept her feet planted. “Your arm, will it be all right?”

  He gave her a mocking smile, finally shrugging the surcote onto his shoulders. “I didn’t think you cared, Lady Mary.”

  She glared at him impatiently.

  His mouth quirked. “I might not be able to lift my sword for a few days, but there should be no lasting damage. Nor should it affect other body parts, if that’s what you are worried about.”

  She flushed, despite knowing that he was just trying to embarrass her. Apparently the man was outrageous on both sides of the border. “I’m sure England’s eager young widows and their attendants will be greatly relieved.”

  The dry observation only seemed to amuse him. She knew she should go. But something stopped her. Something about what Davey had said. Something she didn’t want to believe.

  What did Davey mean, “Thanks to Sir Kenneth?” She worked it out as she spoke. “This journey to Ettrick was because of you. You told them where Bruce’s men would be.” She stopped and looked at him, aghast. “You betrayed them.”

  Although there was no outward sign that her accusation bothered him—his expression remained perfectly impassive—she had the feeling that it had. His perfect, dare-you-to-resist-me mouth tightened almost imperceptibly. “I think that’s a rather dramatic way of looking at it. I had knowledge, and I used it. This is war, my lady. ‘Betrayal’ is part of the game.”

  “Is that what this is to you, a game? Pieces on a chessboard to move around? Ebony or ivory, you choose whatever side will put you in a better position?” The tic in his jaw was the only sign that she’d pricked his mocking facade. “What of honor? What of loyalty?”

  He threw the challenge back at her with a taunting smile. “We all make our choices. What of you, Lady Mary? You are a Scot in England, the same as I. What of your honor? What of your loyalty?”

  She flushed and said starchily, “My honor and loyalty are to my son.”

  His gaze bored into her, almost as if he were trying to see inside. Trying to read her secrets. “Why do you care, Mary? Why does my appearance here seem to have caused you so much distress?”

  Some of the heat drained from her face as fear sent a chill racing through her veins. Suddenly, she was very conscious of the fact that they were in a room alone together, and she was sitting on a big bed. She sprang up. “It doesn’t. It hasn’t. I was merely surprised. Last time I saw you, Robert was lauding your many talents and getting ready to throw a celebration in your honor.”

  Something glinted in his eyes. “Aye, well, things change.” His gaze drifted over her. The glance had been brief. Cool. Impassive. There was nothing in it that should have made her stomach knot and her skin flush with heat. But she felt as if he had taken store of every change, every detail, every slight difference in her appearance. His words bore her out. “Like you, for instance. I see you aren’t hiding anymore.”

  She stiffened, not sure why his words made her feel so uneasy. It was almost as if he didn’t like the changes. “I wasn’t hiding.”

  “Weren’t you? Then I take it you have reconsidered a life in a convent?” A knowing smile curved his mouth. Though he hadn’t moved from his place across the room, she inched closer to the door. His gaze darkened with heat. “Maybe I had something to do with that?”

  Mary told herself it was anger that made her feel so hot, not the memories that husky tone evoked.

  She forced herself not to react to his teasing, instead effecting a smile of bored disdain. “Some things haven’t changed. You are as arrogant in England as you were in Scotland.”

  “So there is another reason I find you looking as beautiful and fresh as a May queen, and not buried beneath the drab habit of a nun?”

  Mary hated the way her heart skipped at “beautiful.” He thought she was beautiful? It shouldn’t give her so much pleasure.

  Embarrassed by how close he’d come to the truth, and at her own weakness, she shot back at him angrily, “What makes you think I’ve given you a second thought since leaving Dunstaffnage?”

  “Because I can think of nothing else.”

  The curt, matter-of-fact admission took her aback. She blinked at him in shock, waiting for him to take it back with a mocking smile or turn it into a sensual ploy with a heated glance. But he did neither. He just stared at her, a challenge in that steady blue gaze.

  Was it true? Had he been thinking of her?

  She felt a strange lurch in her chest but forced it back. Why was he doing this? What game was he playing?

  Perhaps that was it. Lust, like war, was a game to him. She’d refused him, and like any born competitor he wanted to win.

  She forced a laugh. “You expect me to believe that? What is it, my lord knight, were there not enough admirers tossing flowers at your victory parade? Did you need one more? The only reason you are talking like this is because I did not drop willingly at your feet like all the others. Perhaps I should just tell you how wonderful you are and then you can forget it as I have. Is that why you surround yourself with all those starry-eyed young girls? Girls who don’t think beyond a pretty face and impressive display of muscle? Maybe they would hold your attention longer if they had something more interesting to talk about!”

  For a minute she wondered if she’d gone too far. Instinctively, she glanced toward the door, ready to make an escape. But in three long strides he’d crossed the distance between them and blocked her.

  How had he moved so fast? For such a big man, he moved like a cat. A very big, very strong cat.

  They were standing close now. Too close. She could feel his heat, feel the shadow of his big, muscular body looming over her. He should smell horrible. The sweat of battle and of his long ride should be overpowering her. But instead, the heady scent of leather and wind made her want to inhale. Desire flooded her. Memories flooded her. Hot damp skin. The faint taste of salt on her tongue.

  “There was no victory parade.”

  The words shocked her from her sensory stupor. “What? When I left, you were—”

  “When you left, I was facing my final competition. I lost.”

  There was something in his voice that bothered her. Her brows gathered together. “It was just one event. You won many others.”

  He shrugged.

  “You were still named champion?”

  “Aye.”

  She didn’t understand why one loss was so important to him, but she sensed that it was. Very important. “It was just a game.”

  He gave her a long look. “Not to me.”

  “Why is winning so important to you?”

  “Because I know what it’s like to lose.”

  It was almost as if he were somehow blaming her. “Well, I’m sorry, but as I had nothing to do with it—”

  She tried to sweep by him, but he took her by the arm. “Didn’t you? You left before we finished.” Her heart was fluttering wildly. It’s fear, she told herself. “I could almost think you were running away. Just like you are now. If you don’t care, what are you scared of?”

  She froze. “Nothing.”

  His eyes held hers. “I don’t believe you.”

  He leaned closer, and Mary felt a burst of panic. “We were—are—finished, whether you choose to accept it or not. Believe it or not, you are not the only man in the kingdom, my lord.”

  His eyes flared. She didn’t know what provoked her to challenge him, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

  “You can’t be talking about Felton?”

  Something about his attitude infuriated her. Did he think the handsome knight could not be interested in her?

  She arched a brow. “Just because I did not wish to marry you does not mean I could not be persuaded to marry someone else. Why not the most handsome man at Berwick?”

  She was doing it again. Challenging a man who couldn’t resist a challenge. Who was volatile. Raring for a fight. It