The Recruit (Highland Guard #6)

The Recruit (Highland Guard #6)
Monica McCarty



FOREWORD

The year of our lord thirteen hundred and nine. Three years ago, Robert the Bruce’s bid for the Scottish throne and the torch for Scotland’s independence had been all but extinguished. But against nearly insurmountable odds, with the help of his secret band of elite warriors known as the Highland Guard, Bruce has waged one of the greatest comebacks in history, retaking his kingdom north of the Tay. In March, King Robert holds his first Parliament and enjoys a brief reprieve from battle following a much-needed truce.

But problems with his barons will not keep England’s King Edward II occupied forever. The truce is pushed back twice, but eventually the call to muster at Berwick-upon-Tweed and march upon the rebel Scots goes out.

With the English ready to invade and war looming, Bruce’s new kingship will face its first big test, and once again he will rely on the extraordinary skills of his Highland Guard to defeat his enemies—both English and Scot. Bruce’s kingship may have divided a nation, but he hasn’t given up hope of rallying all Scots—even those still loyal to the English—under his banner. But winning their loyalty may prove his biggest challenge yet.

Prologue

September 1306

Ponteland Castle, Northumberland, English Marches

Dear God, who could it be at this hour?

Mary’s heart was in her throat as she hurried down the torchlit stairwell, tying the belt of the velvet robe she’d donned over her night-rail. When you were married to one of the most hunted men in Scotland and the man hunting him was the most powerful king in Christendom, being awakened in the middle of the night to the news that someone was at the gate was sure to provoke a certain amount of panic. Panic that proved warranted when Mary entered the Hall, and the person waiting for her turned and tossed back the rain-sodden hood of her dark wool huque.

Her heartbeat slammed to a halt. Though the woman’s long, golden hair was hidden beneath the ugliest head covering she’d ever seen and her delicate features were streaked with mud, Mary knew her in an instant.

She stared in horror at the face that so mirrored her own.

“Janet, what are you doing here? You shouldn’t have come!”

England was no place for a Scot—man or woman—with ties to Robert Bruce. And Janet, like Mary, had too many to count. Their eldest sister had been Robert’s first wife; their eldest brother had been married to Robert’s sister; their four-year-old nephew, the current Earl of Mar, was being hunted with Robert’s queen, and their niece was Robert’s only heir. King Edward of England would love nothing more than to get his hands on another daughter of Mar.

Hearing the censure in Mary’s voice, her younger-by-two-minutes twin sister flashed her an unrepentant grin and put her hands on her hips. “Well that’s a fine welcome after I’ve sailed around Scotland and ridden nearly ten miles in nonstop rain on the most disagreeable old nag known to man—”

“Janet!” she interrupted impatiently. Though her sister might seem oblivious to the danger, Mary knew she was not. Whereas Mary chose to face reality straight on, however, Janet preferred to run right over it and hope it didn’t catch up to her.

Janet pursed her mouth the way she always did when Mary forced her to slow down. “Why I’ve come to take you home, of course!”

Take her home. Scotland. Mary’s heart clenched. God, if only it were so simple.

“Does Walter know you’re here?” She couldn’t believe their brother would have sanctioned such a dangerous journey. Mary’s gaze ran over her sister in the candlelight. “And what in heavens are you wearing?”

Mary should have known better than to ask two questions, as it gave her sister a chance to ignore the one she didn’t like. Janet smiled again, pulled back her dark wool cloak, and spread the skirt of the coarse brown wool gown wide, preening as if it were the finest silk, which, given her fashion-loving sister’s penchant for wearing exactly that, made her current choice of attire even more remarkable. “Do you like it?”

“Of course, I don’t like it—it’s horrible.” Mary wrinkled her nose, admittedly sharing more than a little of her sister’s love for fine things. Were those moth holes? “With that old-fashioned wimple, you look like a nun—and an impoverished one at that.”

Apparently that was the right thing to say. Janet’s eyes lit up. “Do you think so? I did my best, but I didn’t have much to work with—”

“Janet!” Mary stopped her before she could get going again. But God, it was so good to see her! Their eyes met, and her throat started to close. “You shouldn’t be h-here.”

Her voice broke at the last, and all traces of Janet’s feigned good humor fled. A moment later Mary was enfolded in her sister’s arms. The tears she’d managed to hold back for the six horrible months since her husband had abandoned her to this nightmare came pouring out.

“You’ll be safe here,” he’d said offhandedly, his mind already on the fight ahead. John Strathbogie, Earl of Atholl, had decided on his path and nothing would stand in his way. Certainly not her. The child bride he’d never wanted, and the wife he barely noticed.

She’d swallowed what little pride she had left and asked, “Why can’t we go with you?”

He’d frowned, the impossibly handsome face that had once captured her young girl’s heart turning on her impatiently. “I’m trying to protect you and David.” The son who was nearly as much of a stranger to him as his wife. Seeing her expression, he sighed. “I’ll come for you when I can. It is safer for you in England. Edward will have no cause to blame you if things go badly.”