The Recruit Read online

  “We can’t delay,” Janet said. “Christina’s men are waiting for us. We need to be there before dawn.”

  Still, Mary hesitated. Atholl’s capture hadn’t changed anything. Or perhaps it made it even more important that they not do anything rash. But waiting to see whether Edward’s wrath would fall on them was a little bit like stepping into a cage with a hungry lion and hoping he didn’t notice you.

  What should she do? Mary had little experience making important decisions. First her father, and then her husband, had made them for her. She envied her sister’s independence in a world ruled by men. Janet had been engaged twice, but both betrothals had ended in death.

  Janet must have sensed her uncertainty. She took her by the shoulders and forced Mary to look at her. “You can’t stay here, Mary. Edward has lost all reason. There are rumors …”

  She stopped as if the words were too painful.

  “What?” Mary asked.

  Tears filled her sister’s eyes. “There are rumors that he has ordered our niece Marjory to be hung in a cage atop the Tower of London.”

  Mary gasped. A cage? She could not believe it, even of Edward Plantagenet, the self-styled “Hammer of the Scots” and the most ruthless king in Christendom. Marjory, Robert’s daughter by their deceased sister, was only a girl. “You must be mistaken.”

  Janet shook her head. “And Mary Bruce and Isabella MacDuff as well.”

  God in heaven! It was almost too horrible to imagine such barbarity—against women, no less. She swallowed, but a lump of horror had lodged in her throat.

  Suddenly, her sister turned to the window. “Did you hear that?”

  Mary nodded, and for the second time that night her heart jumped in panic. “It sounds like horses.”

  Was it too late? Had the soldiers she feared finally arrived? A cage …

  The two women raced to the window of the peel tower, a square-shaped defensive structure that was common in the borders. It was dark and still pouring rain, but Mary could just make out the shadow of three riders approaching. It wasn’t until they entered the circle of torchlight below the gate, however, that she saw the familiar arms and her lungs released its vicelike hold on her breath. She heaved a heavy sigh of relief. “It’s Sir Adam.”

  But the relief was short-lived. If Sir Adam was here at this time of night, there was a reason, and given her current circumstances, it probably was not a good one.

  Her husband’s seneschal admitted him to the Hall a few minutes later. She barely waited for the door to close behind him before she rushed forward. “Is it true? Has Atholl been taken?”

  Obviously surprised that she’d heard, he frowned. But noticing her sister behind her at the table, his surprise faded. “Lady Janet,” he said with a nod of his head. “What are you doing here?”

  Before her sister could answer, Mary asked him again. “Is it true?”

  As he nodded, his rough, battle-weary face sagged. Sir Adam was only forty—the same age as Atholl—but the war had aged him. As it had them all, she realized. She was only three and twenty, but sometimes she felt as if she’d lived twice as long.

  “Aye, lass, it’s true. He’s being brought to Kent for trial at Canterbury.”

  Mary sucked in her breath. In choosing Kent as the place of trial, King Edward was leaving little doubt of the outcome. Like many Scot nobles, Atholl had significant lands in England, including vast estates in Kent. As such he’d been forced to do homage to Edward for those lands. It was as an English subject that the Scottish earl would be tried.

  She crumpled, knowing that the charming Earl of Atholl would not escape the noose this time.

  She saw the knowledge reflected in Sir Adam’s face. But she also saw something else. “What is it?”

  His gaze slid to her sister’s. “You shouldn’t be here, lass. You can’t let them see you.” He looked back and forth between the sisters. “If I didn’t know you so well, I’d have a hard time knowing who was who.”

  “Can’t let who see me?” Janet said, echoing Mary’s thoughts.

  Sir Adam sighed and turned back to Mary. “That’s why I came. I rode ahead to prepare you. Edward has sent his men to collect you and David.”

  Mary froze. She could barely get the words out. “We are being arrested?”

  “Nay, nay. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. The king merely wishes to see that you and Davey are provided for.”

  Janet made a loud scoffing sound. “ ‘Provided for’? That’s an interesting way of putting it. Is he ‘providing for’ our niece Marjory as well?”

  Sir Adam could not hide his repugnance. “Edward is in a rage right now, but he will reconsider when he has calmed down. I cannot believe he would see a young girl put in a cage.” His eyes met Mary’s. “The king does not blame you and David for Atholl’s actions. He knows you have been a loyal subject to him, and David is like a grandson to him, after the better part of eight years in Prince Edward’s household. You and the boy will not be in danger.”

  “But what if you are wrong?” Janet said. “Would you bet my sister’s life on the whim of Edward Plantagenet’s temper?” The monarch’s apoplectic fits of rage—a legacy of his Angevin ancestors said to be descended from the Devil—were well known. Janet shook her head. “Nay, I’ve come to take her home.”

  Sir Adam looked sharply at her. “Is it true, lass? Are you fleeing England?”

  But Mary didn’t answer his question. She looked up at him, silently begging him to tell her the truth. “Does the king mean to make my son a prisoner in another English household?”

  She saw the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “I don’t know.”

  Her chest squeezed painfully. Nine years had passed but it might have been yesterday, so sharp were the memories of having her baby ripped from her arms.

  Mary made her decision. She would not—could not—let her son be taken from her again. The son who was already more English than he was Scot. She held Sir Adam’s gaze. “Will you help us?”

  He hesitated. She didn’t blame him. She hated to ask so much of him when he’d already done so much, but with Edward’s men right behind him, she didn’t have a choice.

  His moment of hesitation didn’t last long. “You are determined to do this?”

  She nodded. Atholl wasn’t coming for them. It was up to her now.

  He sighed in a way that told her he did not agree but recognized the futility of argument. “Then I will do what I can to delay them.” He turned to Janet. “You have a means of transport.”

  Janet nodded. “I do.”

  “Then you’d best gather David and be gone. They will be here any minute.”

  Mary threw her arms around him. “Thank you,” she said, blinking up at him through watery eyes.

  “I will do whatever I must to see you safe,” he said heavily. Mary’s heart swelled with gratitude. If only her husband would have done the same. “I owe Atholl my life.”

  Though Sir Adam’s father had fallen on the battlefield at Dunbar, her husband’s heroics had enabled Sir Adam to escape. Once she’d been proud of her husband’s feats of bravery and battlefield prowess. But her pride hadn’t been enough for him. Admiring such a man from afar was very different from being married to one.

  She donned the garments Janet had brought for her—which were indeed too big and hung on her like a sackcloth—and went to wake her son. If her sister noticed the wariness in the boy’s eyes when he looked at his mother, Janet didn’t say anything. It would take time, Mary told herself. But after three months, David still pulled away from her touch. Perhaps if he didn’t look so much like his father it wouldn’t hurt so much. But except for having her light hair, the lad was the image of her handsome husband.

  Fortunately, David didn’t raise an objection to being woken in the middle of the night, covered in a scratchy wool cloak, and rushed out into the stormy night. Being raised in England as a virtual prisoner—albeit a favored one—had made him very good at keeping his thoughts to h