Blinking back tears, Janet nodded. She knew when she was overmatched.
And in truth, later that evening, she was grateful for Alice Hende’s insistence. For the first time in days—weeks?—Janet laughed, and for the first time in years, she danced.
The high street was ablaze in good cheer and firelight. A stage had been set out for the mummers to perform, large trestle tables were laden with food and drink, and musicians had been organized to provide dancing.
Alice had insisted that Janet wear the fine surcote Mary had given her, and the older woman had arranged her hair in a small embroidered cap that left a cascade of golden curls tumbling down her back.
Janet did not lack for partners, and spinning around in the firelight, her cheeks hot and lungs gasping for air, she felt like a girl again. Pretty and alive and, for a moment, carefree.
She didn’t realize how much notice she was attracting.
She had snuck away for a moment into the alehouse to use the privy—which was no more than a hole in the wall with a wooden seat over the cesspit—when a cloaked figure stepped into her path as she exited the building.
Her heart stopped. But it took her only a few seconds to recognize the slender, cloaked figure in the torchlight. Good heavens, it was her informant!
Janet immediately glanced about, looking for a place to escape the crowd, and darted into the narrow wynd that ran alongside the alehouse. It was darker there, and there would be less chance of anyone seeing them.
Her heart was pounding, knowing that it must be something important to bring her informant here like this.
“I feared that I would not be able to find you,” the lady said. “But then I saw you dancing.” The torchlight didn’t quite extend into the wynd, and her face was hidden in the dark shadow of the hooded cloak, but Janet could tell from her voice that she was smiling. “I confess I did not recognize you at first. The pretty, smiling merchant’s daughter is a far cry from an Italian nun.”
Janet was glad the other woman couldn’t see her blush. “You have taken a great risk in coming here.”
“I had to. This cannot wait.” She handed a folded piece of parchment to Janet, which she quickly slid into the purse at her waist. “You must take it to him with all speed. Already it might be too late. The talks are set for the day after next. You must find him before he reaches Selkirk tomorrow.”
Janet was just a courier. She was not usually privy to information, so she knew it must be serious for the woman to be telling her this. “Selkirk?”
“Aye, for the peace negotiations.” The woman took Janet’s arm and drew her closer. Janet could see the panic shimmering in her big eyes. “It’s a trap. The English mean to take Bruce.”
She wasn’t here. Damn, he’d been so sure she would be.
“I have to be back by St. Drostan’s Day,”she’d said.
So where the hell was she? Not at the priory. Nor at the hospital for that matter. Ewen had left Sutherland to watch the priory and followed the group of nuns who’d walked to the hospital after the morning prayers. Orders or nay, his role as an observer had ended last night, the moment he realized the priest was having her watched. Posing as a traveler on the road, he examined every person in that hospital: leper, nun, traveler, the ill or infirm—even the group of ladies from the castle who’d arrived to give alms on the saint’s day.
But she wasn’t there.
He was running out of rope. Running out of ideas. He’d never felt so damned helpless, never been so lost. The one time he really needed to find someone, his skills had failed him.
Worse, he couldn’t escape the feeling that he somehow should have known. How could he not have realized someone was watching her? He should have realized the soldiers from Douglas could not have tracked them that fast. He’d blamed her for carelessness when he’d missed the signs himself.
It was after dark when he left the hospital to rejoin Sutherland at the priory. MacLean and MacKay had left late the night before, after attending to some business in the forest, and not without some argument.
“The king isn’t going to like it,” MacLean had said. “He ordered all of us back tomorrow. You don’t even know that she is here. You can be back by tomorrow night if you ride hard.”
Ewen’s mouth clenched. He wished to hell she wasn’t here, that she was someplace safe and far away. But he knew Janet. If she thought it was important, nothing would keep her away. “She’s here,” he said flatly. “I don’t give a shite about orders.” His partner lifted his brow at that, but Ewen ignored him. “You three go and return when you can. I’m not leaving her.”
MacKay looked skeptical. “You sure you know what you’re doing? If you’re wrong, the king won’t be happy.”
The king wasn’t happy now. And Ewen wasn’t wrong. “Would you leave your wife?”
MacKay didn’t say anything.
“In a heartbeat,” MacLean said flatly.
Ewen threw him a disgusted look. “Well, I’m not leaving her.”
None of the men stated the obvious: she wasn’t his wife, nor was she ever likely to be.
