The Recruit (Highland Guard #6)(87)

Kenneth would have gone in after him, but Percy intercepted him. “Ah, Sutherland. ’Tis good to see you in armor again. I’d begun to fear your arm would never heal. Or perhaps you just have a hard time tearing yourself away from your pretty new wife?” He laughed heartily and slapped him on the back. Kenneth tried not to frown, realizing there was more truth in his words than he wanted to admit. He needed to focus on his entire mission, not just turning his wife and her son. “We need you, lad,” Percy added, still smiling, “if we’re ever to get this campaign moving.”

Kenneth showed no reaction, but his senses pricked. “Has a date been set, then?”

Percy hedged. Kenneth knew his former compatriot was beginning to trust him—but only beginning. “More than one. The king was supposed to arrive after Easter, but now there is word he may be delayed.” His mouth hardened. “Cornwall is eager to show off his military prowess and has written to Edward asking to let him proceed without him. I have urged the opposite. We need a king to rally the men, not a pretentious peacock.”

It appeared that the chasm between Cornwall and the other barons was deepening. Percy could barely hide his disdain for the king’s favorite. Kenneth filed the information away for the next time he could manage to get a message to Bruce and the Guard. Division in the ranks was good for the Scots. As long as the English were fighting each other, they would not be able to unite their strength against them. Perhaps they could even find a way to take advantage of it?

“I assume Clifford agrees with you? I haven’t seen him around as much of late.”

Percy gave him a look that was hard to characterize. It wasn’t suspicious, but he’d taken more note of the question than Kenneth would have liked. “There has been trouble with the rebels in Douglasdale again. But he agrees with me, of course.”

It was a logical explanation. There was always trouble in Douglasdale. But was that all? “Has the king given an indication of how long he will be delayed?”

“Not long, I hope.” Percy slapped him on the back again. “Time enough to get your strength back. I know Felton is looking forward to meeting you on the lists again. I’m afraid my champion has not forgotten the last time you nearly bested him.”

Kenneth was anxious to ask him more about Edward’s plans, but it was clear Percy was finished with the subject. Was he purposefully avoiding discussing it with him? He didn’t know. But the fact that Percy was keeping the battle plans so secret alone suggested that they were up to something. The English didn’t typically rely on stealth, but on strength in numbers and weaponry. Perhaps they were taking lessons from Bruce.

“I look forward to the challenge,” he lied. Though he would like nothing more than to silence Felton, he knew he couldn’t, and the idea of having to lose to the bastard rankled. But he couldn’t put it off much longer. Felton had already accused him of delaying his recovery. “But it may take a few weeks yet to get back my strength. The ligament was nearly severed.”

“Aye; Welford is surprised by how well the injury has healed.”

Not surprising, since it hadn’t been the physician’s skills that had healed it. “I feel fortunate indeed.”

“I will see you on the practice yard?”

Kenneth nodded. “If I can track down my squire. I sent him to sharpen my sword some time ago. I fear it has grown dull with disuse.”

Much like his battle skills. Kenneth had been in the peak of physical condition and battle readiness when he’d arrived. He intended to be ready when the time came both for war and for another chance at MacKay. But how the hell was he going to do that if he was sluggish from holding back?

Stepping away from Percy, Kenneth started back toward the armory.

Upon entering, he found his squire speaking to a very irate young Earl of Atholl. David’s voice was raised, and it was obvious he was complaining about Felton to a sympathetic ear. Despite the circumstances, Kenneth was actually relieved to see some emotion on the lad’s face. For his age, David had an unnaturally blank expression most of the time, making it difficult to guess his thoughts.

Kenneth’s status as hero and rescuer had taken a blow since the wedding. It was clear young Atholl didn’t know what to make of the sudden marriage, and his behavior had been watchful and wary.

The two squires fell immediately silent upon seeing him.

Willy jumped up guiltily. “My lord, I was just coming to find you. I’ve finished your sword.”

Kenneth gave him a look that told him he knew better. But he’d deal with his squire later. He took the sword from him—one of the shorter arming swords—and after giving it a brief inspection, fastened it in a scabbard around his waist. “Wait for me outside. I should like to speak to David for a moment.”

Willy jumped to do his bidding, shooting a glance of apology to David on the way. But it wasn’t necessary. Kenneth had no intention of adding to the lad’s woes.

When they were alone, Kenneth sat on the bench beside David that had been recently vacated by his squire. The wariness had returned to the boy’s face as he resumed sharpening the blade of Felton’s sword.

“May I see that?” Kenneth asked.

David frowned, but after a moment handed it to him. Kenneth held it up to the light streaming through the wooden slats of the building, inspecting the edge, and then ran his gauntleted finger over the blade. “ ’Tis fine work. Though I take it Sir John does not agree?”