The Recruit (Highland Guard #6)(2)

But never could they have imagined just how badly things would go. He’d left so confident, so certain of the righteousness of his cause and eager for the battle ahead. The Earl of Atholl was a hero, always among the first to lift his sword to answer freedom’s call. He’d fought in nearly every major battle in the past ten years over the long war for Scotland’s independence. For the cause he’d been imprisoned, forced to fight in Edward’s army, had his son held hostage for more than eight years, and had his lands on both sides of the border forfeited (and eventually returned). But none of that had stopped him from answering the call again, this time to take up her former brother-in-law Robert Bruce’s bid for the throne.

But after suffering two catastrophic defeats on the battlefield Robert’s army was on the run. As one of only three earls who’d witnessed Bruce’s coronation and joined the would-be king in his rebellion against Edward of England, her husband was one of Scotland’s most hunted men.

But so far Atholl had been right: Edward had not turned his vengeful eye on the wife and son the “traitorous earl” had left behind. The son who’d been taken from her before he was six months old to be raised in an English court and had only been returned earlier this year on the condition that he remain confined to their English lands. But how long could they continue to escape Edward’s wrath and the taint of Atholl’s treason? Every day she feared looking out the tower window and seeing the king’s army surrounding them.

She was so tired of living in fear all the time, trying to be brave. She cried against her sister’s shoulder, letting the emotions that she’d fought so valiantly to contain unfurl in hot, choking sobs.

“Of course I had to come,” Janet said, murmuring soothing words until her tears abated. Only then did she grab Mary by the shoulders and hold her back to look at her. “What have you done to yourself? You are as thin as a reed. When was the last time you ate?”

She sounded so much like their mother—gone nearly fifteen years now—that Mary almost smiled. Despite being the younger of the two, Janet had always been the protector. Throughout the disappointment and disillusionment of Mary’s marriage, the taking of her son, and the deaths of their parents, sister, and brother, Janet had been the one to dry Mary’s tears.

She hadn’t realized just how terribly alone she’d felt until the moment she’d seen Janet standing before the fire, soaking wet and wearing odd clothes, but here.

Without waiting for Mary to answer, Janet took charge, calling for one of the servants to bring them some wine, bread, and cheese. Looking back and forth between the two nearly identical faces, the girl didn’t hesitate to follow Janet’s bidding. Mary could only smile as she found herself seated beside her sister with a large platter of food in front of her a few minutes later. Janet had divested herself of her wet cloak and hung it by the fire to dry, but had yet to remove the wimple and veil, which, seeing the big wooden cross hanging around her neck, Mary assumed was meant to suggest she was a nun.

She looked at her sister again, the fear returning. “You shouldn’t have come, Janet. Duncan will be furious that you have put yourself in danger.” She almost hesitated to ask. “How did you manage to travel all the way from Castle Tioram to here without his help?”

Janet’s mouth quirked. “I found a more sympathetic set of ears.”

Their eyes met. It wasn’t hard to guess who she meant. “Lady Christina?”

Their brother Duncan was married to Christina MacRuairi, known as the Lady of the Isles, the only legitimate heir to the Lordship of Garmoran. A powerful force in her own right, Christina wouldn’t hesitate to defy their formidable brother if she believed in the cause.

Janet nodded. “It was her idea to dress like this. She provided the men and birlinn.” Of course, Mary realized. Only Lady Christina’s Islanders would have the seafaring skill to slip right under the nose of the English fleet. “We came ashore just north of Newcastle-upon-Tyne. From there I purchased a horse. Twelve pounds for an obstinate nag that must be older than me and isn’t worth half that! The man will surely go to hell for taking advantage of a nun.”

Janet was so outraged, Mary decided not to point out she wasn’t actually a nun.

“It took me a few hours longer than it should have, but I made it. I passed right by a party of English soldiers and not one of them gave me a second glance.”

Mary was glad she was sitting down. Only her sister would talk about sailing hundreds of miles around Scotland through treacherous waters right through the heart of the English fleet, riding ten miles through war-ravaged countryside, and then confronting the enemy as if it were nothing. “Please do not tell me that you rode here alone?”

Janet looked at her as if she were daft. “Of course not. I had Cailin with me.”

Mary groaned. Cailin was sixty years old if he was a day. Her father’s former stablemaster had been married to their nursemaid, and Janet had had him wrapped around her little finger since they were two. He would protect them both to the death, but he was no warrior.

Janet smirked. “He wasn’t too happy to have the top of his head shaved, but he makes a fine monk. I sent him to the kitchens to dry out and get something to eat while you gather your and David’s things. We should leave as soon as we can. I brought a gown for you like mine, although I suspect it will be too big.” She wrinkled her nose again at Mary’s appearance. “Jerusalem’s Temples, Mary, you look as pinched and woebegone as a half-starved sparrow.” Trust her sister to not hold her tongue for the sake of vanity. Mary knew she’d lost weight, but she hadn’t realized how much until she saw her sister’s worried expression. “But it will have to do. I just brought a cloak for Davey; he’s a bit young to be a monk.”