The Ghost Read online

  The threat—and the only hope for an English victory—was eradicated.

  The final blow came when Bruce brought forward his own archers, who sent a hail of arrows down on the rear of the enemy. The English resistance crumbled, and the army was in full retreat.

  The melee became a bloodbath as the very ground that had constrained the English forces hampered their escape. The Bannock Burn, which stood in their way, became a giant burial pit as it filled to the top with bodies of men and horses. The Scots took to plunder—not only the bodies of the dead but the rich baggage train that Edward had laboriously brought with them.

  And it seemed the biggest prize of all just might be in Bruce’s reach. Surprised by the aggressiveness of the Scot attack, and the inability of his cavalry to penetrate, King Edward had been caught unawares. Only thanks to the insistence of Pembroke and the famed Gascon knight Sir Giles d’Argentan was he forced from the battlefield, Despenser and de Beaumont fleeing alongside him.

  Douglas was sent after them.

  But with or without a royal hostage, Robert the Bruce had his great victory on the battlefield. The one that would finally ensure Scotland’s independence and give God’s validation to his claim to the throne.

  Along the boggy carse of the battlefield, the grass and peaty pols now turned red with blood as the English fled and the Scots put down the last pockets of resistance, a great cheer went up. It was the cheer of a country that had fought for eighteen years for this moment—since Edward I of England had decimated Berwick in 1296, provoking the risings of William Wallace and Andrew Murray a year later. Scotland had its freedom.

  Alex, who’d fought during the battle alongside his former compatriots but had hardly been welcomed, joined in, but perhaps without the enthusiasm of back slaps, happy embraces, and arm pumping.

  He stood apart with his men who had joined Bruce at the start of the battle as he’d planned and started to take inventory of their injuries—his own would wait—when he sensed a familiar shadow move up behind him.

  He stiffened—defensively—and turned.

  “You saved my life,” Boyd said, his expression stony. “I owe you my thanks.”

  Alex shook his head. “You don’t owe me shite. Forget about it.”

  Boyd stood there staring at him, almost as if he knew what Alex was thinking. He didn’t want gratitude, but forgiveness was about the last thing he could ever expect from his former partner.

  “What made you decide to come back? Not that it wasn’t impeccably timed, riding into the rescue at the last minute. Bruce was ready to call for the retreat when you arrived with your information and persuaded him to fight.”

  “Does it really matter?”

  Boyd held his stare and shrugged. “I guess not.”

  He started to walk away, and Alex felt the anger rise up inside him. “You were right, is that what you want to hear? I judged you for things that I shouldn’t have. I tried to straddle both sides of the line, but just like you said, I had to choose. So I did. This is where I belong.”

  Boyd paused and looked at him as if he were an idiot. “It took you two years to figure that out?”

  “Aye, well I was busy trying to do some good. And I guess you aren’t the only one who is hardheaded and can hold a grudge.”

  Boyd’s mouth might have actually quirked. “You always were too much of a damned idealist.”

  “Someone needed to be.”

  Alex said it mostly to himself, so he was surprised when Boyd responded.

  “Aye, you’re right.” He looked like he was about to walk away again, but then he hesitated. “You weren’t the only one who was wrong. I owe you an apology.” Alex was stunned. Surely hell had frozen over? “I never gave you a fair chance—even after you deserved one. And you were right to do what you did for Rosalin. Defending her honor and trying to stop me from burning down her home.” He made a pained face. “I was blinded by rage, and if you hadn’t helped me see . . . she never would have forgiven me.”

  Alex felt his face heat. “Aye, well maybe not as right about defending her honor as I thought.”

  It took Boyd a minute to figure out what he meant, but he’d obviously been told of Alex’s relationship with Joan—at least some of it. “Bloody hell.” He shook his head. “I’d be tempted to gloat, but I almost feel sorry for you. You better hope MacRuairi never finds out.”

  Alex grimaced. “I intend to make it right as soon as possible.” If she’ll have me back. He looked around. “Where is MacRuairi?”

  “He, MacSorley, Campbell, and MacGregor went with Douglas.” He frowned. “Someone else was looking for him. Young Ross was around here a while ago with bad news—at least that’s how he looked. I wonder what it was about?”

  They found out soon enough. Bruce and his captains had returned to their camp in the New Park, and Alex, after seeing to his men and his wound—which was deeper than he thought—followed. Now that the war had been won, he was anxious to find Joan. Had she left Berwick? He hoped Bruce would know where she’d gone.

  The moment he entered the tent he knew something was wrong. Bruce didn’t look like a man who’d just achieved one of the greatest military victories in history. He looked upset and worried. Alex’s instincts flared when he noticed the pitying looks being sent in his direction by Sutherland, MacKay, and even Boyd.

  Joan.

  He steeled himself. “What is it? What’s happened?”

  The room fell to a dead silence as if no one wanted to answer him. Finally, Bruce motioned to MacLeod. “Let him see it.”

  Alex read the short missive dated June 19 that had finally found its way to John Ross, the Earl of Ross’s youngest son. Each word felt like a sword in the gut.

  Cousin imprisoned. I fear they mean to make her disappear. Send help. With all my love, Margaret.

  Somehow Alex remained standing, but it felt as if every ounce of blood had been sucked from his body. His stomach lurched sideways and his head swam.

  How could this have happened?

  He turned on Bruce. “You were supposed to protect her! I thought you had men watching her.”

  “We did,” the king said. “Something must have happened.”

  “Damned right something happened!” Alex said, furious. “You put her in danger and you screwed up.”

  “I’m sending a team to get her,” Bruce said. “She’ll be all right.”

  He didn’t know who Bruce was trying to convince, Alex or himself.

  Alex didn’t need to ask what team he meant. He turned to MacLeod. “I’m going.”

  Chief’s expression didn’t flicker. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

  Assuming it was because of his former place in the Guard, Alex clenched his jaw. “Do you need to see me crawl through the mud and beg your forgiveness? Because if that’s what it takes, I’ll do it—I’ll do whatever it takes, damn it, but I’m going.”

  MacLeod’s only reaction was a slight lifting of one brow. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

  “I wouldn’t mind seeing it,” Boyd quipped.

  “Sod off, Raider,” Alex shot back to him, not taking his eyes off MacLeod.

  “Are you sure you can stay rational about this? I don’t want any more rogue operators like MacRuairi when Bella was taken.”

  “I’m not like MacRuairi.”

  It turned out Alex was wrong about that, too.

  24

  AFTER ELEVEN DAYS in the hellish dark depths of Berwick’s pit prison, Joan was beginning to lose hope.

  They will come. Lachlan would search for her to the ends of the earth. But how long would it take for him to realize she’d been taken? And what if he couldn’t come? What if he and the rest of the Highland Guard were fleeing for their lives right now?

  Don’t, she told herself. Don’t think like that. They will come.

  But what if it takes two years? God in heaven, how had her mother done it? Joan’s appreciation for her mother’s strength after what she’d endured at