The Recruit (Highland Guard #6)(3)

Her son was nine, conceived on her wedding night when she was just fourteen and born while her husband was imprisoned in the Tower of London after his first rebellion. She hadn’t seen her husband for nearly two years after they were married. It had been a harbinger of things to come.

She wanted nothing more than to jump at her sister’s offer, and if it were just her, she would. She’d do almost anything to return to Scotland—almost. But she had David’s future to think about. Atholl’s rebellions against Edward had robbed their son of his childhood; she would not let them take his patrimony. Not if there was a chance they could escape this nightmare unscathed.

Mary shook her head, wanting to cry all over again. “I can’t. I want to, but I dare not. If we attempt to leave England, Edward will consider us traitors, and David’s claim to the earldom will be forfeit. Atholl will come for us when he can.”

She had to believe that. Even with all that had happened, she couldn’t believe he would leave them to face this alone.

Janet stilled, her big blue eyes growing round and wide. “You haven’t heard?”

Something in her sister’s voice alerted her; a chill spread over her skin like a thin sheet of ice. “Heard what?”

“Robert has escaped, fleeing to the Isles with the help of our brother and Lady Christina. But the queen’s party was taken in Tain over a week ago. The Earl of Ross violated the sanctuary of St. Duthac’s and had them arrested.” Mary sucked in her breath at the sacrilege. “That is why I came.”

The blood drained from Mary’s face. “And Atholl?” she said numbly, though she knew the answer.

Janet didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. Mary knew her husband would be with the women. He was always with the women. They adored him. He was a hero, after all.

But now it was over. Scotland’s hero earl had been captured. Her heart squeezed. After all the disappointments and all the hurt, she still felt the pangs of the girlish love she’d once borne him. Those feelings had been crushed a long time ago, but the thought of her husband in chains resurrected whatever vestiges of those dreams that remained.

Why, John? Why did it have to end like this? She didn’t know whether she was talking about their marriage or his life. Perhaps both.

“I’m sorry,” Janet said, putting a hand on hers. She had never liked Mary’s husband, but she seemed to understand her feelings. “I thought you knew.”

Mary shook her head. “We are alone here. Sir Adam comes when he can. But he was called to court nearly a week ago—” She stopped, realizing the timing was probably not a coincidence. Had he known?

Nay. Mary shook off the thought. Sir Adam Gordon had done everything he could to protect her and David the past six months, even becoming surety for her son’s release. He was one of Atholl’s closest friends. The two men had fought together for Scotland at Dunbar and Falkirk, and served time together in Edward’s army in Flanders when they lost. Although the two friends had taken opposite sides over the issue of Bruce’s kingship, with Sir Adam loyal to the deposed King John Balliol and siding with their former English allies against Bruce, she knew Sir Adam would do his best to keep them safe.

“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.”