The Recruit (Highland Guard #6)(96)

“When?” she said dully.

“After the Easter celebration. It won’t be for long, and you will be only a few miles away. Sir Adam has given us the use of Huntlywood Castle while he is in France. You can bring your attendants. It has all been arranged.”

But no matter what he said, they both knew he was sending her away.

“How considerate of you both. Did you even contemplate taking my wishes into consideration?”

Why should he? She was his to do with as he pleased.

He didn’t answer, but moved to the door. “I know you don’t understand right now, but it will be for the best.”

The best? Mary no longer knew what that was. But that didn’t mean she didn’t want a chance to decide for herself. “How thoughtful of you to decide that for me.”

If he heard her sarcasm, she didn’t know. She wasn’t looking at him. She thought he hesitated as he passed her on the way to the door, but whatever he felt, it wasn’t enough to stop him.

Not long after he left, Mary donned her cloak and headed for the stables. Her heart might be breaking, lying in pieces and stomped on, but she wasn’t going to allow the first possible lead on her sister slip by.

She’d planned to arrange for a few of Percy’s men to accompany her, but Sir John happened to see her as she was leaving and insisted on escorting her into town himself. Perhaps because she knew how much it would anger her husband, she didn’t try to dissuade him.

She quickly regretted the moment of pique. By his manner, Sir John made it clear that he did not see her marriage as an impediment to his courtship. He implied a number of times—too many for her to be mistaken—that if something were to happen to Kenneth or if things “did not proceed as she expected,” he would be there for her. And her son. Needless to say, her pregnancy had little to do with the uncomfortable ride.

Then, when they arrived at the church and she learned that neither the monk nor the nun could be found—indeed, the abbess told her they’d had no visitors the past few days other than the Bishop of St. Andrews and that the monk must have been mistaken—her disappointment had been such that she would have welcomed the quiet and peace of her own thoughts.

Darkness had fallen while she was in the church, and as they rode down the hill into town Mary started to pay more attention to their surroundings. She’d never been in town this late at night, and there was an unsavory element that seemed to have replaced the merchants and tradesmen of the day.

Sir John must have sensed her unease. “You have nothing to fear. You are safe with me. No one would dare attack the king’s men.”

Mary wasn’t so sure. Many of the rough-looking men they passed looked as if they would dare quite a lot. But she was somewhat relieved to see a number of women in the crowd as well.

The crowds were getting thicker on the high street. It was almost as if something big were about to happen. A performance, perhaps? Some kind of festivity?

Her suspicions were confirmed when she heard a large cry go up, the roar of a crowd exploding in applause. “What is that?” she asked.

Sir John’s eyes narrowed as he held his hand up for his men to stop. He scanned the row of tall buildings and narrow wynds. It wasn’t hard to see where the noise was coming from. There was a large pool of light shining from down one of the wynds. “I don’t know, but we are going to find out.” He held his hand out. When she hesitated, he added, “This won’t take long.”

Somewhat curious and bolstered by the presence of Felton’s half-dozen armed and mailed men-at-arms, Mary allowed herself to be helped down, careful to protect her stomach to keep anyone from learning her secret. As with her first child, Mary had put on a relatively small amount of weight. In her heavy gowns, she looked more plump than pregnant. Although with the child due in less than two month’s time, she was much more uncomfortable of late and easily tired.

Another cry went up as they entered the wynd. It was dark between the two buildings, but there was enough light coming from ahead of them to enable them to see.

As they drew near, she could see Sir John’s mouth harden.

“What is it? Is something wrong?”

He shook his head. “It’s as I expected.”

It didn’t take her long to figure out what he meant. By the time they reached the source of the light, everything was perfectly clear. The narrow wynd opened up before them into the space of a small square courtyard. A building had once stood there, she realized, and in the bowels of that building two men were fighting.

Like a circle of fire, torches had been hung on the structures around the makeshift pit, casting the entire area in blazing light. The crowd was dispersed around the pit on a haphazard mix of old walls, stones, and planks of wood set out like stands. People were also watching from the tops and windows of the adjoining buildings.

“A clandestine tourney?” she asked.

Sir John nodded. “The king will be very pleased to hear what we’ve discovered. He’s been trying to put an end to all the unsanctioned combat tourneys in the Borders—if you can call the crude brawling of common ruffians a tourney.”

She’d heard of the illegal brawls before but had never seen one. They were essentially a melee of two. A no-holds-barred, no-rules fight that was supposed to end when one person uttered “craven,” but often ended in death.

The crowd was chanting something. It sounded like “ice.” Curious, she edged forward a few feet, trying to get a better look at the contestants.