The Recruit (Highland Guard #6)(58)

France was to be her pretext. It was somewhere she could retire beyond the eyes of Edward’s court. The child would be a foundling she’d brought back to England with her.

Some might suspect the truth, but Lady Mary of Mar, the widowed Countess of Atholl, in the far, war-torn north—far away from London—was hardly likely to provoke much gossip. She’d been ostracized before when it had been no fault of her own, so she could withstand anything for her child.

There was an added benefit to her plan. As a foundling, the child would be beneath the scrutiny of any king, English or Scot. The babe would be hers. No one could take it away.

Except for one person.

The chill that hadn’t left her bones since the moment she’d seen him standing in the Hall made her shiver. If Sir Kenneth discovered the truth, he could threaten everything. Perhaps he wouldn’t care—God knows he might have fathered hundreds of bastards, given his reputation—but something warned her differently. There was more to her “perfect man for sin” than she’d initially thought.

She’d never considered telling him. With him in Scotland loyal to Bruce, what was the point? But now that he was here …

Nay. She shook off the thought. It was too late. The child didn’t change anything. “What does that have to do with us?” She couldn’t go through that again. Sir Kenneth was still too much like her husband, and—she thought of the silly pang that had tightened in her chest when she’d seen him—she was still too much the girl who would let him break her heart.

But it was going to be hard to leave Davey. She’d also hoped to have a chance to extend the search for her sister to Berwick-upon-Tweed. She consoled herself that it would not be for long. Davey would be too busy with his duties to Lord Percy to miss her, and Janet …

Her sister could be anywhere. Even in France.

Mary was walking back to her chamber after breaking her fast when she learned that Percy and the others had returned. But when she asked one of the other squires where she could find Davey, the lad said that he’d gone to Sir Adam’s chamber with the doctor. In a burst of panic, Mary raced across the courtyard to the Constable’s Tower, which housed many of the higher-ranking noblemen.

Although a royal castle, Berwick was primarily used as an administration center and garrison. But with the call to arms, the important border castle that had already seen more than its share of war could hold only a small portion of the three thousand knights, men-at-arms, and servants who were expected to heed the king’s call to muster. It was, she suspected, an indication of Sir Adam’s favor that she had been given a room in the massive donjon tower with her attendants and a few of the other ladies.

By the time she’d climbed the three levels of stairs to Sir Adam’s chamber, she was gasping for breath. Not bothering to knock, she opened the door. “Davey, are you all—”

She froze. Three faces turned toward her. Davey, an older man who she assumed was the doctor, and the very last man she wanted to see: Sir Kenneth Sutherland.

—right? she finished the thought. But it was clear Davey was fine. He was standing to the side as the doctor finished wrapping a piece of cloth around Sir Kenneth’s forearm. He was the one who was injured, not her son.

Realizing they were all still staring at her, heat rose to her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I heard a physician had been sent for, and I thought it was for Davey.”

“I’m fine, Mother,” her son said, embarrassed.

She smiled at him tenderly. “I can see that.”

Her gaze turned to Sir Kenneth, although she was careful not to let it linger as he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Memories of that tanned, muscular chest haunted her, and she feared her face would show every one of her sinful dreams. Good God, he was even more powerfully muscled than before! What had he been doing, lifting rocks the whole time?

She quickly shifted her gaze, her mouth dry. “I hope it is not serious?”

“As I was assuring your son, I’m fine. Isn’t that right, Welford?”

The older man frowned, two darts of blue narrowing under bushy white brows. “As long as it does not fester. The barber seems to have been adept with his iron.” The disdain in his voice gave the impression that this was not always the case. “It has stopped the bleeding at least for now. But it was a wide, deep gash, and I may need to seal it again.”

Mary shuddered, thinking of the pain of a hot iron seared across an open wound.

Kenneth waved him off and shrugged a linen shirt over his head, enabling Mary to breathe again. “It will be fine.”

The physician had obviously dealt with stubborn, too-tough warriors before. He gathered his belongings and started toward the door. “If it hurts, there is a medicine I can—” He stopped, shaking his head. “I know, I know, it will not hurt.” He muttered something under his breath as he left, shutting the door behind him.

Mary was tempted to go after him, but not without her son. What was he doing in here, anyway? And how had Sir Kenneth been injured? “Davey, perhaps we should leave Sir Kenneth to see to his injury. I’m anxious to hear about your journey to Roxburgh.”

He gave her an odd look. “We didn’t go to Roxburgh. We went to the Ettrick Forest to catch Bruce’s phantoms.”

For the second time that morning, the color drained from Mary’s face. “You what?”