The Ghost Read online

  “Nothing happened,” Joan finished for her. “I told you it went exactly as I planned.” Mostly. “As soon as the sleeping powder took effect, I searched his things and found the missive in his sporran.” She neglected to mention that she was so upset she was halfway down the stairs before realizing she’d forgotten to destroy the seal and had to return to his room. “That’s when I discovered that the seal had already broken off.” Irony, that. Her deception—her seduction—had all been for nothing. “You have nothing to fear. Your secret is safe.”

  Margaret studied her face for a long moment, and apparently satisfied, she smiled and heaved a sigh of relief. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear it. You’ve been watching the door so anxiously this morning I thought something had gone wrong.”

  Joan tried to return her smile and shook her head. “Nay, everything went perfectly.”

  “I’m so glad. I was so worried. I know you and Sir Alex . . .” Her cousin blushed awkwardly. “It couldn’t have been easy for you. Is there any chance—?”

  “No,” Joan said, stopping her before she could finish. She couldn’t let herself think like that. She needed to deal with reality.

  Margaret held her gaze, perhaps guessing her thoughts. “I don’t know how to thank you. If there is anything I can do?”

  Joan shook her head, the gratitude making her uncomfortable. She just wanted to forget it had ever happened.

  But how could she when it had been so perfect.

  Right. Perfect until she’d drugged him—unintentionally doing exactly what she’d originally planned to do!

  “Just promise me you’ll be careful, Margaret. No more sealing missives with special rings.”

  Margaret gave a sharp laugh. “You have my word on that.” After a moment, she frowned. “I suspect my days passing messages are at an end for a while anyway. Even before the monk’s capture, I felt . . .” She shrugged. “I don’t know, conspicuous maybe?”

  Joan leaned forward. “Do you think someone was watching you?”

  Margaret shook her head. “No, nothing like that. I suspect it’s because there are so many people around.”

  Joan nodded. She’d felt the same. Since she’d arrived at Berwick Castle—which brought back so many bad memories anyway—doing her job had felt more dangerous. For good reason; it was more dangerous. As her cousin had said, there were many more people around. There was also Pembroke and Sir Henry increasing the efforts to find the spy.

  And then of course there was Alex.

  Joan startled as the door crashed open. Her foolish heart lurched, only to drop when Alice came bursting through in an excited flurry of pink satin.

  Surprisingly, Sir Henry came following closely behind. Her cousin’s husband rarely made an appearance in their donjon rooms during the day.

  She was even more surprised to learn that she was the reason for that appearance.

  “What do you know about Seton’s sudden departure this morning?”

  Joan couldn’t have masked her shock if she wanted to. The color slid from her face. “He’s gone?”

  “Aye, he rode out of here this morning on some mission that no one seems to know anything about. He left a message for Pembroke that it was personal, but the earl is furious. He thinks he’s turned traitor again.”

  Dear God, was it possible?

  Despite a racing pulse, she managed to say evenly, “Has he given any indication that he might do such a thing?”

  Sir Henry’s eyes narrowed. “I was hoping you might answer that for me.”

  Joan was truly taken aback. “Me?”

  “Alice says you’ve been spending time with him. That there is something between you.”

  Joan’s gaze slid to her cousin’s before turning back to Sir Henry. “Alice is mistaken, my lord. I have spoken with Sir Alex only a handful of times—and merely in passing. I know nothing of his intentions.” It was painfully true. “Has he given any reason for you to suspect that he might turn traitor again?”

  Could she dare hope?

  Sir Henry waved the question off. “He’s a Scot,” he said as if that were all the explanation necessary, apparently forgetting that his wife, her sister, and her cousin were as well.

  Joan returned her attention to the embroidery in her lap, picking it up once again before saying, “I wish I could be of more help, my lord, but I don’t know anything about where Sir Alex might have gone.”

  She was aware of his gaze on her. When he was satisfied that she was not lying, Sir Henry said, “I am glad to hear it. I told Alice there could be nothing of significance between you.” He looked with reproach at his wife. “As your guardian, I am responsible for your wardship and marriage, and Seton is not the right sort of man for you.”

  In other words, he wasn’t the weak, ineffectual nobody who would never think to challenge her birthright.

  She nodded, keeping her eyes on the piece of half-stitched linen. It was to be a peacock, but all she could see was blue. “I understand, my lord. But marriage is the last thing on my mind.”

  It should be the truth.

  The next five days were some of the most miserable of Joan’s recent memory. As if Alex’s sudden abandonment wasn’t enough, Alice was suffering from “head-splitting” headaches that were preventing her from sleeping, and she was taking her temper out on Joan, whom her cousin blamed for making her look “foolish” in front of her husband.

  Apparently Alice failed to consider that it might be her own constant complaints and dramatic moans of pain that might be keeping her husband away from her bed at night, rather than anything Joan might have done.

  In any event, last night had been the first full night of sleep Joan had managed in nearly a week—she refused to think of the first night when she’d gotten no sleep—as she’d finally become fed up with her cousin’s whinging and distemper and given her what was left of the sleeping powder. It was welcome relief. She couldn’t bear to look at the reminder of her perfidy and was glad to be rid of it.

  On Friday morning, she woke for the first time to the feel of warmth on her skin and not a high-pitched screech in her ear. The novelty of feeling rested wore off soon, however, as the familiar questions began their daily—hourly—circling in her head.

  Where had he gone? Why had he left? Did he intend to return? Did any of it have anything to do with her?

  The one thing she knew was that he had not returned to the Bruce fold. She’d managed to get a message to her compatriots, and her answer had arrived yesterday. Seton was not in Scotland.

  She hadn’t really believed it possible, but the disappointment had been surprisingly acute.

  So where was he? And why, even after nearly a week, did his leaving without saying a word still hurt so badly? He’d been so upset after. Did he despise her? Blame her? Or was he just avoiding her?

  Joan didn’t think so. Alex might have betrayed Bruce and the Guard—she knew him well enough to know that he must have had a reason—but he was not a coward.

  With Alice still blissfully asleep, Joan crept out of her room and made her way to the Hall to break her fast. Margaret was already seated at one of the trestle tables, and Joan joined her. They spoke of nothing of import—and certainly nothing about their “treasonous” activities—but simply knowing that someone knew the truth was not only relaxing but oddly comforting. Joan wasn’t alone, and for the first time, she realized how much she’d missed having a friend. A real friend—one whom she didn’t need to deceive.

  They were walking back to the tower to check on Alice (“Must we?” Margaret had groaned) when they heard the guards on the rampart call out excitedly that the king’s banner had been sighted.

  The two women shared a look of dread. They knew well what the king’s arrival meant. The war that had largely taken a position in the back during the seven troubled years of Edward II’s reign had finally moved to the forefront. The English king was determined to defeat Bruce, and the definitive battle that the Scots had sought to avoid for year