The Ghost (Highland Guard 12) (49 page)

“That’s shite. The only thing that would have changed was that we would not have won the war. If you’d come back any earlier, you wouldn’t have had the intelligence that you did to convince Bruce to fight. Joan still would have been arrested.”

Alex didn’t want to hear Boyd’s blasted reason right now. “I could have protected her.”

Boyd—the arse—laughed. “How? Did you intend to take on the entire English army yourself? They were coming for her whether you were there or not. All you would have done is get yourself killed or tossed down there with her.”

“I should have sent her here to my mother or at least made sure she got away safely.”

“It was too late for that. Margaret told you she was being watched even before you left. There wasn’t time to get her away.”

Alex shot him a look of fury. “You have all the bloody answers, don’t you?”

“Took you long enough to see the light.”

Alex told him to bugger off, but Boyd just laughed. “If you are done with the self-flagellation, you might want to work on the foul temper before the wedding or the lass might reconsider.”

Christ, Alex thought, dragging his fingers through his hair. The bastard was probably right. “I’ve been a little out of sorts.”

Boyd laughed again. “That’s an understatement. You’ve made Viper seem pleasant the past two days, not to mention challenging Chief like that. What the hell were you thinking?”

Alex winced. “I wasn’t. I should probably apologize.”

“Aye, but if I were you I’d wait until after the wedding when the drink has been flowing for a while.”

Alex quirked a brow, surprised. “You are all staying? I assumed Bruce would be anxious for you to get back.”

Boyd shook his head, looking at him as if he were an idiot again. “He is, but he’ll understand. You think we’d miss this?”

Of course, how could Alex have forgotten. Joan was one of them. He shook his head. “I guess not.”

Boyd frowned, suddenly solemn. “Besides, I won’t be going back right away. I have to see Rosalin and tell her in person.”

Alex nodded in understanding, not envying Boyd’s task. It turned out that Rosalin’s urgency to visit her brother had been prescient. Lord Robert Clifford, Boyd’s former enemy turned brother-in-law, had fallen along with Sir Giles d’Argentan in a noble, but ultimately failed, attempt to rally the troops after seeing the king safely away.

“She will be devastated.”

Boyd nodded. “Tom”—Boyd and Rosalin’s firstborn son who would be two in November—“and the new babe when it comes will help. But you know how close she and Clifford were. I’m just glad she had a chance to say goodbye.”

Alex’s brows shot up. “I thought you’d be furious when you heard.”

Boyd gave him a sidelong look. “I was. At first.”

Alex looked at him questioningly.

Boyd shrugged. “She told me you were there. Between you and Clifford I figured she was as safe as she could have been.”

The show of faith took Alex aback. “I appreciate the confidence, but I’m not sure it is deserved after what happened to Joan. God knows, I never would have been able to save her without you and the others. I know you didn’t do it for me, but I still feel I owe you a debt I can never repay.”

“You’re wrong on both counts, Dragon.”

At first Alex assumed the use of his war name was a slip of the tongue, but when he realized that it wasn’t—and what Boyd meant—he was both shocked and humbled. They’d done it for him as well. He might not have been completely forgiven—and they sure as hell wouldn’t be throwing him any welcome-back feasts—but the door had opened, and the long process of reconciliation had begun.

Alex hadn’t been the only one who’d made a mistake, and he knew this was Boyd’s way of acknowledging it and making his own amends.

“We might have won the war,” Boyd said. “But Edward has suffered a severe blow and a humiliation that he will not soon forget. There is still much work to be done.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Boyd arched a brow at that.

“Within reason,” Alex qualified.

Boyd laughed. “You had me worried there for a minute. Where the hell would we be without Sir Galahad to remind us of right and wrong and point out that line in the sand?”

Alex shook his head. “Go to hell, Raider.”

He didn’t add that his line in the sand wasn’t as rigid as it used to be. He’d learned that when Joan was taken. There was nothing he wouldn’t have done to get her back safely. Nothing. He was a man, not an ideal.

Alex had been looking for honor and nobility in the wrong place. It wasn’t in codes or rules of chivalry—those were ideals that didn’t exist—it had been right before him all the time. These men—and women, he added, thinking of Joan, Bella, Helen MacKay, and Janet Lamont, who’d all done more than their part for Bruce—were the most honorable he knew. They might push that line every now and then, but it was always there.

“Come on,” Boyd said, standing. Alex was pleased to see that his legs wobbled a little, too. Maybe he wasn’t as out of shape as he thought. “You have a wedding to get ready for, and that river out there is calling your name. I know you’ve already anticipated the wedding night, but if you have any questions—”

“Sod off, Raider.”

Boyd laughed and slapped him on the back. “Now that sounds like old times.”

They were married in the Seton family chapel at Winton Castle shortly after midday on Wednesday the twenty-sixth day of June. Less than forty-eight hours after Bruce had his great victory along the Bannock Burn, Joan was seated at the dais enjoying her own moment of happiness and triumph.

She’d done it. She’d not only done her part to help win this war by uncovering key information, she’d helped to bring Alex back into the fold right in time, and found something she’d never thought to have: a future with the man she loved.

It felt like a dream. She was happy. Truly happy for the first time in as long as she could remember.

Since arriving this morning and being swept under the very comforting and capable wing of Alex’s mother, Lady Agnes, Joan had been bathed, fed, rested (forced to take a nap, for goodness’ sake!), had her cuts tended and ribs wrapped, dressed in a beautiful gown of blue silk, and given a beautiful jeweled circlet to wear in her hair.

She hadn’t lifted a finger for any of this—which was probably a good thing, given how exhausted and weak she was. But if she ever wondered where Alex got his solid efficiency and at times overprotectiveness, she need look no further than her new mother-in-law.

Joan did not warm to people very easily—her guard had been raised for too long—but it seemed Alex and his mother were the exceptions. She had a feeling that she and Lady Agnes were going to get along very well together, although a glance down at the end of the table made her wonder whether they would be living under the same roof for long. The two fair—slightly graying—heads were bent quite closely together, and with the way Lady Agnes was smiling, she looked more like a girl than a woman of six and forty.

Alex, seated at her side, leaned over to whisper in her ear. “I would like to take credit for that smile, but it seems to be directed at my mother.”

“Who is that man she is seated with?”

Alex frowned. “Sir Alan Murray. He was one of my father’s most trusted captains and has served as the keeper of the castle for years.”

“Hmm.”

“What does ‘hmm’ mean?”

She shook her head. Men could be so blind sometimes. “Your mother is an attractive woman. I didn’t expect her to be so young.”

“She and my father were married as children. She had Chris when she was thirteen.”

Much like her own mother, Joan thought sadly. But from what Alex said, his parents had had a good marriage.

“Why?” Alex asked. “You don’t think . . . ?” He glanced down at the couple with mild horror on his face.

She laughed. “It took me a while to realize my mother had her own life to live, too. But I’m glad she’s happy.”

He considered her words for a moment. “I suppose Murray is a hell of a lot better than MacRuairi.”

“Alex!” She swatted at him and scowled. “He’ll hear you, and you promised to try.”

“I will. But what about him? He stood up in the wedding ceremony—right when the priest called for objections, damn it! Bloody bastard!”

Joan bit her lip, trying not to laugh. “He didn’t end up saying anything.”

“Only because you shot him a look of death.”

She feigned affront. “I did no such thing, and I don’t have a look of death.”

He shivered, ignoring her protests. “I just hope you never look at me like that.”

“Try to get along with Lachlan, and you won’t give me a reason.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

She grinned. “Don’t whinge, my love, it isn’t knightly. And besides, my mother will help. She has always liked you.”

“I would say she had impeccable taste if it wasn’t for . . .” He looked down the table at MacRuairi, who was still shooting daggers at him.

“Alex!”

“All right, all right. I made a vow—albeit under duress.”

She blinked up at him innocently. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Tears and pitiful looks won’t work all the time, sweetheart.”

She tried not to smile. But they had
this
time. She knew she had to do something drastic or the two men might have come to blows during her wedding ceremony. Alex had backed off, but only after she’d pleaded—tearfully—with him to not let it ruin their day.

“The ceremony was beautiful,” she said. Even with Lachlan’s not-so-timely interruption.

He reached over to sweep a tendril of hair behind her ear, but she knew it was only an excuse to let his fingers brush her cheek. “You are beautiful. The most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

She blushed at the compliment—and the obvious sincerity with which it had been given. “Well, I suppose I look a good sight better than I did this morning. Thanks to your mother.”

His face darkened. “God, Joan, I am so sorry. If I hadn’t been so damned stubborn—”

“It wouldn’t have changed what happened to me. You told me yourself what Margaret said.”

They’d been watching Joan for a while. In a fit of pique after Alex’s threat to claim her inheritance, Alice had voiced her “suspicions” (which ironically weren’t real suspicions—she had no idea Joan was
really
the spy) to her husband, who had in turn confided in Despenser. But the moment Sir Adam had accidentally confirmed her identity, Joan’s chance to leave was gone. Nothing Alex could have done could have changed that. Ashamed of her part in Joan’s capture, Alice had told Margaret that Joan had left. Fortunately, Margaret hadn’t believed it. Eventually Margaret had worn Alice down, learned that Joan was in the pit prison, and sent a note to John Ross. But Alice had redeemed herself somewhat. It was she who’d put the note in her brooch, and she who’d kept the soldiers busy under false pretenses and given the keys to Margaret to let Joan’s rescuers in and out.

“My fate was sealed before you left,” Joan told him. “The only thing that would have changed was that we would still be fighting this war.”

He shook his head. “Christ, you sound like Raider.”

She didn’t miss the unconscious use of Boyd’s war name. “He is obviously a very smart man.” Her teasing smile softened. “But none of what happened was your fault, Alex. We both made mistakes. I was stubborn, too. I thought I was too good to get caught.” She smiled. “I also thought one man couldn’t make a difference and change the war. But I was wrong. Very wrong.” She was so incredibly proud of him. “Please, don’t let what happened cast a pall over this day.”

He nodded, but she knew better than to think it was over. She almost pitied the man who’d done this to her, knowing that Alex would not let it go unanswered.

She looked down the table of her fellow Guardsmen and suspected he wouldn’t be alone. “I’m glad they stayed,” she said.

“They did it for you.”

“I think maybe not just for me?” She’d seen him talking to the others after the ceremony, and it was clear something had changed.

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

A swell of happiness rose inside her. She knew what that shrug meant. If Alex wasn’t back with the Highland Guard now, he would be soon. She had faith in him.

She didn’t think it was possible to be any happier.

She was wrong. An embarrassingly few hours later—Alex had utterly ignored their duties as hosts and left the feast well before it was over—she was lying in her husband’s arms more content (and sated) than surely any person had a right to be.

Although maybe she’d earned it. Maybe all the difficulties, hardships, and disappointments in her life had brought her to this point. Maybe she wouldn’t be experiencing this kind of joy if she hadn’t experienced the alternative.

Alex caressed the naked skin of her shoulder while pressing his mouth to her hair. “What are you thinking about?”

She propped up her chin on the back of the hand she had planted on his chest to look up at him. Her golden knight. The man who’d renewed her faith in honorable men. It was a heavy mantle of expectation to wear, but she knew he was up to the task. “You. Me. The future. That I’ve never been so happy in all my life.”