The Ghost (Highland Guard 12) (48 page)

Suddenly a hooded figure appeared by the door. Joan recognized her instantly. “Margaret!”

She rushed toward her and the two cousins embraced.

“I don’t understand,” Joan said. “How did you—”

“Alex will explain everything,” her cousin said. “But you have to hurry. The guards will be back soon.”

She held a big iron key ring (how had she gotten that?) and carefully unlocked the iron yett. Knowing her cousin was somehow responsible for all of this, she gave her another hug. “Thank you,” she said.

Margaret nodded, tears in her eyes. “I hope we will meet again . . . soon.”

Joan knew she was thinking also of John Ross. If there was any justice in this world, Margaret would find her happiness. “As do I.”

An eventless few minutes later, Joan was lifted up onto a horse, sharing the saddle with Alex, and they rode away from the giant shadow of the formidable castle.

After eight years, Joan was finally going home.

Most of Joan’s questions would have to wait, but what Alex had managed to convey while they rode away was enough to keep her mind reeling.

She couldn’t believe it. Not only had Bruce won his great battlefield victory, but Alex had been a part of it. He’d gone back. Her faith in him had been rewarded, after all.

But apparently, despite his timely changing of sides, not all was well between Alex and his former brethren, as she discovered when they stopped not long after leaving the lights of the burgh behind them.

First it was an argument between Alex and Tor MacLeod, upon which she’d been called to intercede, when Alex—after learning that it was Despenser’s man who’d beaten her—announced that he intended to stay and wait for him while the others took Joan to safety. In this case, he had the support of her stepfather, who said he would join him.

When Tor objected to their plan, Alex told him in stinging and not very pleasant terms that he no longer answered to him, and that he—Tor—could take his opinion and do something with it that was physically impossible.

Only Robbie Boyd’s intervention with Tor, and Joan’s plea with Alex that she needed him with her, prevented a physical confrontation between the two men.

When Alex stormed away with her stepfather, she turned to Robbie. “What is the matter with him? I’ve never seen him like this.” Alex wasn’t foolhardy, but taking on the greatest swordsman in Christendom certainly qualified.

Robbie just shook his head. “He’s lost his bloody mind. He’s been out of control like this since he found out you were taken. Never thought I’d see the day.”

From the way he smiled, he actually seemed
pleased
by the whole thing.

It was from Robbie that she learned some of the details that Alex had left out, most important how his turning had come at a key moment in the battle when the king had been about to retreat. It was Alex’s timely intelligence and persuasiveness that had convinced Bruce to stay and fight.

She would have told Alex how proud she was of him, but he was locked in another confrontation. This time with her stepfather.

Good gracious, that didn’t take long! Alex and Lachlan’s temporary alliance hadn’t lasted all of about five minutes. She had just sat down to eat some of the beef and cheese that Alex had left her, when she noticed the two men arguing.

From the way they occasionally glanced in her direction, she didn’t need to guess what they were arguing about. She could tell from Lachlan’s expression that he was making threats, but Alex seemed completely unmoved. He waited until Lachlan was done, and then said something while pointing to his side. It was chillingly effective. Lachlan’s face went white with anger—and maybe worry?—and a few minutes later he stormed off.

She stood as Alex approached. “What was that about?” she asked.

She wasn’t sure he was going to answer her. He put his hands on her waist to lift her back up onto the horse. After making sure she was comfortable, he said, “Your stepfather didn’t approve of my change of plans.”

She turned around to look at him as he settled in behind her. The warmth and strength of his body felt so good she almost forgot what she’d been about to ask. “And what change of plans is that?”

“To stop at my castle in Winton on the way to Edinburgh.”

She frowned. Winton was on the old North road that ran mostly parallel to the coast. It was the road the first Edward had taken into Scotland, but not the road taken by Edward II nine days ago. “Does he not think the road is safe?”

“That isn’t the reason for his objection.” He distracted her by putting his hand on her face with such tenderness it made her heart catch. “I’m going to kill the man who did this to you, but first I will see you cared for.”

“I’m fine, Alex, truly. Especially now.” She didn’t want him going anywhere—and certainly not to take on Sir Hugh Despenser and whatever remained of King Edward’s army. From what she’d been able to gather, Lachlan and a few other Guardsmen had caught up with Alex after failing to track down King Edward before he’d reached the safety of Dunbar Castle, where he’d found temporary refuge with one of the few remaining loyal Scotsmen, Patrick, Earl of Dunbar. King Edward and the men who’d seen him to safety—including Despenser and the Earl of Pembroke—had reportedly left Dunbar for Berwick by sea and were probably not far behind them. None of which would explain why Lachlan was so angry. “What objection does he have, then?”

With a snap of the reins, the palfrey moved forward. “To the wedding.”

Joan froze, but her heart was beating fast.
Very
fast. “What wedding?”

“Ours.”

That fast heartbeat went still. “And when is this wedding to take place?”

“Before the sun sets on another day, because the next time I go to bed you will be beside me.”

In case she hadn’t gotten his meaning—which she had—the arm wrapped around her waist just under her breasts pulled her in a little tighter, and he slid her bottom back in the saddle. Aye, there was no mistaking that meaning—she could feel every inch of his meaning riding hard and solid against her.

Good God, could he . . . like this?

She wasn’t frozen anymore. Her skin was suddenly warm. But she forced all the shivering and quivering aside and straightened her back to give him a sidelong reproachful frown. “Haven’t you forgotten something?”

“We don’t need to say the banns. I secured a dispensation from the Abbot of Inchaffray before I left Stirling.”

She lifted a brow. He was quite certain of himself, wasn’t he? “How thoughtful of you, but I was referring to me. Do I not have a say in all of this?”

“No.”

“Alex!” she exclaimed, turning fully around this time.

He shrugged. “It’s your fault. You wanted a brigand, now you have to deal with it.”

His smile took away most of her outrage. Most. She gave him a long look. “I think I like you better with the shiny mail.”

He laughed and pressed a kiss on the top of her head. “No more bossing around after this, I promise. I’m done switching sides. I’m right where I belong.”

Her heart squeezed, hearing the bigger promise. He was hers forever. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said softly.

He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “You were right.”

She shuddered. And not just from the warmth of his breath against her skin. The hand tucked under her breast had taken the opportunity to roam under her cloak, and his fingers were caressing little circles in sensitive places.
Very
sensitive places.

“I was?” It wasn’t the jarring of the galloping horse or the wind that made her voice so breathless.

“Aye. I was so convinced that what I was doing was right, my pride wouldn’t let me see when it wasn’t anymore. You can say I told you so all you want—
after
the wedding.”

She laughed, shooing his hand away before she started moaning. “How many times?”

“As many as you want. Although I may need a few minutes’ rest between.”

She had the feeling they weren’t talking about “I told you so’s” anymore. “A few minutes?”

“Give or take. I’m still working on my stamina.” She laughed, and he pulled her in tight again. “I’m not letting you go again, sweetheart. I love you.”

“If that is a proposal, I accept.” She turned, meeting his gaze in the moonlight. “And I love you, too.”

He grinned, and she thought he looked more like himself, until he caught Lachlan’s gaze. The look he shot back at him was every bit as venomous as her stepfather’s.

Clearly, it was going to take more than a wedding to make it right between them. But she was determined that one day it would be. Alex didn’t just belong with her and Bruce—he belonged with the Highland Guard.

“What did you say to him to convince him?” she asked.

Alex took a few moments too long to respond. “I told him we would have another celebration with your mother and siblings when you had had a chance to recover. He saw the wisdom of not having Bella see you like this.”

Joan didn’t blame him. Joan could imagine her mother’s reaction to her injuries—and what she would have to say to Bruce, Lachlan, and Alex about them. But she knew that wasn’t all. “Why did you point to your side?”

Alex’s face might have been in the shadows, but she would swear something resembling shame crossed his features. “I might have threatened him with something.”

“What?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Alex . . .”

“I made a vow.”

She knew it wasn’t an accident when he flicked the reins and kicked his heels to urge the horse to a gallop, and the opportunity for conversation was lost.

But she wasn’t worried. She would get the truth out of him tonight. She would have to remind him about his vow to give up vows when it came to her.

T
HEY ARRIVED AT
the castle shortly before dawn. Alex’s mother had taken one look at the half-starved, beaten young woman in his arms—Joan had been asleep and he refused to set her down after she’d woken—and immediately whisked her away. After losing a husband and two sons to the war—her sons in horrific executions—Lady Agnes Seton had endured more than her share of tragedy, but had done it all with a strength that had never faltered.

Alex knew there was no one who could care for Joan more capably than his mother—except maybe her own—but it was still hard to let her go.

As he stood in the Hall and watched the two women disappear into the donjon stairwell, he felt a fist tighten around his chest. The rage that he’d experienced on first seeing Joan emerge from that pit—beaten, starved, and barely resembling the strong, passionate woman he’d left eleven days before—had turned inward. This was his fault. He’d done this to her.

He hadn’t realized his former partner had come up beside him. “Get your sword.”

“Why?”

Boyd didn’t answer.

Despite being exhausted—God knew the last time that he’d had more than a couple of hours of sleep—Alex followed him out to the practice yard.

It didn’t take him long to figure out the answer to his own question. Alex needed to vent his anger, and there was no place better to do it than battling his former partner.

It took only a few minutes for the light sparring to turn to no-holds-barred combat. That’s how it had always been between them. They never gave half-measure. The two men exchanged blow after blow, until Alex felt as if his arms were going to fall off. Until he could barely find the strength to lift his sword or block the powerful blows.

Christ, the bastard had only gotten stronger in the past two years—which was saying something for the strongest man in Scotland. The fact that Alex was out of practice only made it worse. But he didn’t give up. Finally, Boyd took mercy on him and put down his sword.

Dirty, thick with sweat, and exhausted, both men sat—collapsed—on the stacks of hay that the men used as benches.

After they’d caught their breath, Alex said, “Thanks.”

“My pleasure. If you want to beat yourself up, I’m always happy to help.” Before Alex could tell him to go to hell, Boyd turned serious. “There was nothing you could have done.”

The fact that Boyd knew he blamed himself made it worse. Alex was almost too tired to argue—almost. “You’re wrong. If I hadn’t been so stubborn, if I’d admitted that I made a mistake and swallowed my damned pride a little earlier, this wouldn’t have happened.”