The Recruit (Highland Guard #6)(49)

Would he feel the same way when she returned from France? It seemed unlikely. There were some things no man would be expected to overlook. Although she had a plan, she knew there would be whispers.

She was saved from having to reply, however, by her son’s arrival with his friends. Sir John had made room for him to sit beside her, and when Davey sat down on the bench, all her thoughts turned to her son.

“You’re wearing your shirt,” she said, unable to hide her eagerness.

His face heated and his gaze flickered to his friends. She could see the relief when it was clear they hadn’t heard. “It’s very … fine.”

Mary couldn’t tell whether that was good or not. Should she not have mentioned it? She bit her lip.

“Thank you,” he added, looking uncomfortable but not ungrateful.

“You’re welcome,” she answered softly, letting his attention return to his friends.

It was clear he was in awe of being seated at the high table but was doing his best not to show it in front of the other lads. Though she longed to pepper him with questions and learn everything she could about his new duties, Mary took a cue from her son and forced aside her exuberance, acting with an equanimity she did not feel. Even if she still thought of him as the babe torn from her arms, he wasn’t that child anymore. He didn’t need her to wipe his nose when he sneezed, cut his meat when he ate, or dry his tears when he fell.

What did he need her for?

She didn’t know but was determined to find out.

It soon became apparent that as eager as she was to learn about him, the boys were eager to hear from Sir John. So rather than ask questions, Mary contented herself with basking in her son’s happiness as Sir John regaled them with war stories. Though many times Mary wanted to object to the more gory details, she kept her mouth firmly closed. Davey and the boys were spellbound.

She had her reward at the end of the night. Davey was about to race off with the rest of his friends, when he turned over his shoulder and said with all the careless, nonchalance of youth, “Thank you, Mother. That was the best meal ever.”

He didn’t realize the gift he’d given her or the swell of happiness he’d put in her chest.

This was going to work.

Mary was being given another chance at motherhood, and she would do whatever she had to do to hold on to it. Nothing and no one would take it away again.

Ten

Late January 1310

Dunstaffnage Castle, Lorn, Scotland

“I hear congratulations are in order,” the king said, looking up from the stack of parchments waiting for his signature before him.

One week after Kenneth had finished his training on the frozen peak of the Black Cuillins by successfully avoiding capture from the other ten members of the Highland Guard for nearly two days (one day longer than the other recruit), he stood in the laird’s private solar of Dunstaffnage Castle before Robert the Bruce and most of his new Highland Guard brethren. Only Boyd and Seton were absent, having been sent south to join Edward Bruce in the borders as soon as they’d finished training on Skye.

Kenneth indeed had been the last man standing, and the satisfaction of his victory had not waned one bit. He’d done it. He’d earned his place in Bruce’s secret army, even if not in the outright way he’d planned.

“Thank you, Sire,” he said.

“You are to be commended,” Bruce added. “From what I hear of Chief’s Perdition, surviving at all is an accomplishment, but he said you distinguished yourself.” Bruce shot a glance toward MacKay, who was standing in the back corner of the solar. “Even managed to quiet Saint’s objections, I see.”

Not completely, Kenneth thought. Enough for MacKay to not stand in the way of Kenneth joining the team perhaps, but not enough to take him as a partner. MacKay had made it clear their partnership on the mountain had been temporary. Kenneth shouldn’t give a shite what his onetime enemy thought, but surprisingly, he did. His brother-by-marriage still didn’t completely trust him, and it bothered him. But as much as it pricked, Kenneth could not completely blame him. His temper had gotten the better of him more than once with MacKay around to witness it—including a time last year when he’d gone after MacKay and very nearly taken his sister Helen’s head off instead. But he vowed to earn that trust. They were brothers now. In more ways than one.

Though MacKay would never say it, Kenneth knew there was something else he was thinking about—that they were all probably thinking about. He might have earned his way onto the team, but he had yet to establish his place among the best warriors in Christendom. Men whose skills were obvious. Men who’d been fighting together for years and had formed a tight bond. He was the new man. The recruit. Unproven, and despite his accomplishments at the Games and in training, he knew they still had questions about him. He would answer them in time, but until then, he knew they would be watching him. Seeing what he could do. Evaluating and deciding where he could best be used.

His strength—his skill—lay in his versatility. Bruce and MacLeod would see that they could use him anywhere. Whether paired with MacSorley and MacRuairi on the seas, with MacKay, Campbell, and MacGregor in the Highlands, or with Seton, Boyd, MacLean, and Lamont in the Borders, he could be inserted in any mission wherever they had need of him.

Right now, he was also the best replacement they had for Gordon. But it remained to be seen whether his abilities with black powder would prove reliable enough to depend on. If only he had those old notes of Gordon’s grandfather. The old warrior fancied himself something of an alchemist and had written copious notes about his experiments with the Saracen thunder and flying fire while on crusade with Kenneth’s grandfather. It was in Outremer where the bond between the two clans had been formed. But unfortunately, the journal had burned in one of Kenneth and Gordon’s less successful experiments while they’d both been fostered with the Earl of Ross.