The Ghost Read online

  JOAN FELT ALL eyes on her as she approached the dais. The gown she’d chosen for the midday meal was even more bold and daring than usual. Red had always been her favorite color, but she’d avoided it of late so as not to draw too much attention to herself.

  But today she wanted attention, and the deep crimson velvet of the cotehardie seemed to be doing its job. Of course, it wasn’t just the dramatic color. The gown was snug fitting in the arms and bodice and cut almost indecently low across the chest. If she could manage a deep breath—which she didn’t think she could—she would be in danger of revealing the edge of her nipples.

  The undergown was a rich contrast of gold damask, trimmed with fine beaded and embroidered ribbon. Her hair was loose and held back from her face by a simple gold circlet. The gossamer gold veil that covered the back of her head was so thin and transparent that she might as well have been bareheaded.

  She only had a few pieces of jewelry remaining. Most of what her father had given her had been claimed by her cousins (mainly Alice) as part of their inheritance. The simple gold necklace, cameo, and small ruby earrings that Joan wore tonight had been beneath her cousins’ regard. The bracelet that MacRuairi had given her was hidden, tucked under the sleeve of her gown. She didn’t want Alice to see it and ask questions.

  Joan had taken unusual care with her appearance, and if the level of appreciation in the male gazes staring at her was any indication, her efforts had been worth it. But there was only one gaze she sought. One gaze that she knew required boldness and flashiness to draw. Sir Hugh Despenser, King Edward’s new favorite, only liked the best. Even as a young man, he had always surrounded himself with the finest, prettiest, and most rare.

  Joan had known Sir Hugh for six years. His father—also Sir Hugh—had been her first guardian after the death of her father. She’d liked the older knight, and although the younger Sir Hugh had been gone most of the time, he’d always treated her kindly.

  As a girl, she’d been somewhat in awe of the brash young nobleman whose striking but refined dark-haired, dark-eyed handsomeness verged on prettiness. He dressed richly and colorfully in clothes fit for a king. Though arrogant, conceited, and with an undeniably high opinion of himself, his bold, boisterous charisma and unrepentant, lavish extravagance had always amused her. There was charm in someone who made no pretense about who he was and what he wanted.

  He had an unexpectedly strong streak of honor in him though. As she’d grown into a young woman, she’d been aware that his gaze had lingered on her longer and with a different kind of interest. But he’d respected her position in his father’s household and never attempted to cross that particular boundary—even when others had.

  She hoped he would reconsider now when the boundaries no longer existed. She wanted to look in his direction to see whether his gaze was one that was turned toward her, but forced her eyes straight ahead instead. She didn’t want her intentions to be too obvious or show too much interest in him—men liked to be the pursuers, not the pursued.

  Joan knew she was taking a risk—a big risk—in setting her sights on Sir Hugh. He was both older and savvier than the young knights she usually targeted. But if the rumors that he held the king’s confidence were true, it would be worth it.

  King Edward had been mourning the death of his previous favorite, Piers Gaveston, Earl of Cornwall, for nearly a year. The reverberations from the execution of the much-hated Gaveston by some of Edward’s barons were still rippling throughout the kingdom.

  The exact nature of the king’s relationship with Gaveston and others he picked out for his favor was speculated upon, but as the men were often married and involved with women—without the king’s displeasure—Joan thought it likely something more than sexual in nature. The sodomy of which some accused him was almost too simple an explanation. What Edward felt for these men was beyond that—it was love, brotherhood, and friendship so deep and consuming that it bordered on obsession. It made him lose sight of everything else and not care that he was alienating his barons, his queen, and his kingdom with the largess he heaped upon his favorites.

  The men already seated at the high table stood as she approached. De Beaumont held out his hand to help her take her seat beside Alice’s younger sister, her cousin Margaret, who had arrived at Carlisle Castle just before they’d left for Berwick. When the royal party arrived, Joan would take her normal place on one of the lower tables, but with the few women at the castle at present, she was being honored with a seat on the dais.

  “You look exceptionally beautiful today, cousin,” Sir Henry said with a long look over her hand.

  Joan didn’t like the speculative glint in his eye—and apparently neither did his wife.

  Alice’s gaze narrowed. “That’s a pretty dress, Joan. I don’t recall seeing it before.”

  Joan swore silently. The last thing she needed was to have Sir Henry cast his lecherous gaze in her direction and draw her cousin’s ire. At times, Alice’s jealousy worked in Joan’s favor. Indeed, they might not have left Carlisle Castle to travel with Sir Henry and his men to answer the king’s muster at Berwick Castle were it not for her cousin wanting to keep a close eye on her husband. Alice suspected her husband had engaged in a liaison with one of Queen Isabella’s ladies-in-waiting the last time he’d traveled to London (which he had), so when she heard the queen was marching north with the king, Alice had insisted they would go to Berwick as well.

  Unlike the previous queen who had traveled with the first King Edward into battle all the way to Stirling Castle, Queen Isabella and the rest of the ladies would remain in relative safety at Berwick Castle when the king and his army marched on.

  Despite the bad memories evoked by the castle that had been the place of her mother’s imprisonment, Joan knew it was a great opportunity to be in the center of all the activity where she might discover information, and she’d been grateful for her cousin’s possessiveness of her husband. But at other times—like now—it could be dashed inconvenient. The last thing Joan needed was to have a jealous Alice watching her.

  “Thank you, cousin,” Joan said, pretending obliviousness to Alice’s concern. “Lady Isabella had it made for me before I left. It needed a few adjustments, but I was pleased that it still fit.”

  Her cousin’s gaze dropped to the low cut of her bodice and her mouth pursed as if she might disagree about the fit.

  But someone else spoke before she could. “I must thank my mother the next time I see her,” a voice on the other side of Sir Henry said. Recognizing it, Joan felt a wave of satisfaction that only deepened when she turned and met Sir Hugh’s appreciative gaze. “Her taste is as exquisite as the beauty of the woman wearing it.”

  Joan blushed prettily and gave him a nod to acknowledge the compliment. She could still feel the heat of his eyes on her as she turned away and started a quiet conversation with Margaret—who was nothing like her sister—about their activities for tomorrow.

  Joan didn’t need to attract any more attention. The first spark had been lit. The question was whether it would catch fire.

  It was a conflagration.

  Joan remembered Sir Hugh as bold, and he did not disappoint her. Barely had the first course been served when he made his way down the bench where she was seated and squeezed in between her and Margaret. For the rest of the meal, he entertained them with stories of some of the ridiculous things he’d witnessed at court. His witty observations had them both laughing until tears ran down their cheeks. She’d forgotten how amusing he could be, and for a while Joan could almost forget her purpose. But near the end of the meal, when Margaret was temporarily drawn into conversation with her sister, it was brought back to her in full force.

  Sir Hugh inched closer on the bench, leaning his body toward hers until they were almost touching. “You have grown into quite a lovely young woman, Lady Joan. I must admit you surprised me.”

  “How is that, my lord?”

  She could feel the heat of his gaze moving over the bare skin of h
er neck and chest. He made no attempt to hide his meaning—or his intentions. He wanted her, and he was letting her see that. She almost admired him for it. She preferred straightforward and matter-of-fact to lies and false promises.

  “I didn’t expect the quiet, reserved young girl who used to watch me when she thought I wasn’t looking to become so bold and adventuresome.” The hard muscle of his thigh pressed against hers. He was a big and powerfully built man, and it was not without effect. “You are adventuresome, aren’t you, my lady?”

  She did not mistake his meaning. “Under the right circumstances, my lord,” she answered, and then added, “and with the right companion, of course.”

  The eyes that held hers were dark with understanding—and anticipation. Joan had to force herself not to shift and look away. Something about him made her uneasy. Sir Hugh Despenser was different from the other knights from whom she’d sought information. He was a man, for one. The others had been merely boys, and she was feeling the difference now. It was the difference between playing with a puppy and a wolf. She suspected that if Sir Hugh sank his teeth into her, he would not be easily shaken off.

  “Of course.” His hand moved a few inches closer, brushing her fingers with his own. “I hope we will have many adventures together while you are here.” Not wanting to appear too eager, she didn’t respond. After a moment he continued. “I don’t like being indebted to de Beaumont, but in this case I think I must be.”

  “My lord?” She tilted her head in question.

  “For bringing you here,” he said with a smile. “I expected weeks of boredom and tedium in preparation for war, but now I am quite looking forward to my time at Berwick. I suspect it will prove extremely . . . entertaining.”

  Joan took advantage of the opening. “I’m sure there will be lots of entertainment when the king and queen arrive.”

  He seemed amused by her purposeful misunderstanding, but indulged the shift of conversation. “Aye, I’m sure the queen and her ladies will not wish to be deprived,” he answered. “Even in the midst of war. She loves games and tournaments almost as much as the king.”

  He really was quite handsome, she thought, if a bit too pretty for her taste. When an image of a dark golden-haired knight sprang to her mind, Joan pushed it away. Alex Seton might be her type of handsome, but the past month hadn’t changed her mind about needing to avoid him. Knowing that she would see him here had been her one hesitation about coming to Berwick.

  There was a lot about Alex Seton that made her hesitate. But she told herself there was no reason to overreact. He’d probably forgotten all about her, and it would be easy enough to avoid him. Most likely he would be at Wark Castle, where most of the army was mustering, and not at Berwick with Edward’s commanders. The fifteen miles that separated the two castles would be a good buffer.

  Joan turned her attention back to Sir Hugh—where it should not have left. “You sound as if you know the queen well, my lord.”

  His mouth quirked. “I am more friend to the king than the queen, but aye, I have spent much time in royal palaces the past year.”

  Joan acted suitably impressed. “You did not wish to travel with the royal party on the journey north?”

  “ ‘Travel’ isn’t what I’d call the plodding pace of the royal baggage train,” he said with a laugh. “I journeyed with them as far as Newminster, and then was sent ahead with a message for Pembroke.” His expression changed to dark and annoyed. “I was glad to leave. The squabbling between Hereford and Gloucester would drive a saint to perdition.”

  With that one offhand comment, Sir Hugh had already proven himself useful. Bruce would be interested in knowing that not only were the two powerful earls answering the muster and bringing their impressive retinues to battle, but there was also discord in the ranks. But it was the content of the message that truly interested her.

  “The message must have been important,” she said, dying to ask more but knowing not to press.

  Fortunately, she didn’t need to. “It was.” He seemed to be barely able to contain his glee. “It is no secret now. The siege at Stirling has lifted.”

  Her surprise wasn’t feigned. “It has?”

  He nodded. “Sir Phillip Moubray was granted safe passage and traveled to England himself to bring the king the news.” Joan knew that Moubray was the former Scot patriot now holding the important Scottish stronghold for King Edward. “Moubray convinced Edward Bruce to agree to a truce. They agreed that if the English army doesn’t relieve the garrison by midsummer, Moubray will surrender the castle to Bruce.”

  Joan’s eyes widened.

  Sir Hugh chuckled at her reaction. “Aye, it was a rash move on Edward Bruce’s part, no doubt resulting from the boredom of laying siege rather than a tactical decision to benefit his brother’s army. From what I hear, King Hood was furious.”

  Joan would imagine so. Laying down the gauntlet like that would force King Edward to respond by bringing troops into Scotland. Something to this point that King Robert had sought to avoid. The king must have also been furious that his brother had given up the chance to take one of Scotland’s most important castles before the English came. With Bruce’s recent success in taking back Scotland’s castles from Edward’s garrisons, it was a big prize to concede. It also gave the English a target and date.

  She stopped. Was that the point? From what she knew of King Robert’s only remaining brother, Edward was sometimes rash and overaggressive, but he wasn’t a fool. Perhaps there was more than there seemed to this surrender. Could Bruce have wanted this? Had he done this so he would know when and where the English host would be headed when it marched into Scotland?

  Joan feigned disappointment, trying to see what else Sir Hugh might volunteer. “By midsummer’s day? But that means you will be leaving soon.”

  It would take time to march an army that far into Scotland to reach Stirling by the twenty-fourth of June. How much time, and what size the army, she hoped to discover.

  He gave her a long, knowing look. “We still have a few weeks yet. It will take at least that long for the Welsh infantry to arrive.”

  She wrinkled her brow, hoping she appeared confused and not curious. “But the Welsh are already at Wark.”

  “The king sent out new calls to muster after Moubray arrived. This is going to be the biggest English host to march on Scotland since Falkirk sixteen years ago. King Hood will not escape this time.”

  “I imagine not, my lord. I’ve never seen so many knights and men-at-arms in my life here at Berwick.”

  “You should see Wark,” Sir Hugh said. “There are thousands more there.”

  Joan leaned closer and gave him a look that was unmistakable in its invitation. “I should like that very much. Perhaps we might ride out together one day, and you can show me. It is so constricting at Berwick, don’t you think?”

  She knew the English commanders who had gathered at Berwick so far: Pembroke, Lord Robert Clifford, and Lord Henry de Percy, as well as some of the Scots in Edward’s allegiance—Robert de Umfraville, Earl of Angus, Ingrim de Umfraville, Alexander Abernathy, and Adam Gordon—but she wanted to see the others who had answered King Edward’s call, as well as the numbers of men they had brought with them. A visit to the other camp would be perfect. Although she suspected Sir Hugh wasn’t going to be as easy to put off as Sir Richard.

  When his hand slid under the table to rest on her knee, she knew she was right. With a playful, chastising gaze she removed it.

  Fortunately, Margaret asked him a question and gave Joan a moment to recover. She thought that it was Sir Hugh’s touch that had made her skin prickle and the hair at the back of her neck stand up, but when she glanced to the back of the Hall she saw a group of men standing there, and one of them was staring at her with an intensity that seemed to burn right through her.

  She sucked in her breath, startled by both the ferocity of the look and the connection. Alex Seton, it seemed, had not forgotten her.

  “Is somethin
g wrong, Seton?”

  Alex drew his gaze from the dais to the distinguished knight at his side. Sir Adam Gordon had been a great Scot patriot in the early years of the war, but his fealty had always belonged to the deposed Scottish King John Balliol. Honor would not permit him to fight for Bruce, even though Alex suspected he hated having to ally with the English against his countrymen. With Balliol living in exile in France with little chance of ever regaining his throne—even as an English puppet—Alex wondered whether Sir Adam had been tempted to switch allegiance.

  Alex admired Sir Adam greatly. The older knight was one of the bright spots since Alex had gone over to the English. Like Alex’s lands, Sir Adam’s holdings were in the lawless Borders where their people had taken the brunt of the war from both sides. Sir Adam, too, wanted to see the war and the suffering of their people ended.

  Not only did they share the same goal, but Sir Adam was also the uncle of one of Alex’s fallen comrades. William “Templar” Gordon had died over three years ago in an explosion while on a mission for the Highland Guard. Gordon was one of the best men Alex had ever known, and although Sir Adam could not know of the connection, Alex felt it.

  He shook his head, ignoring the couple on the dais and forcing his body to relax—all his muscles were tight. “Nay, nothing is wrong.”

  Sir Adam looked at him with amusement. “So there is no reason why you are staring at Despenser like you want to sink a dagger between his pretty ribs?” His gaze slid to the woman beside King Edward’s new favorite. “Who is the woman?”

  Alex must have given away more than he realized. The lass must have gotten under his skin for him to betray his thoughts so easily. Why the hell should he care whom she bedded? “Joan Comyn.”

  Sir Adam’s brow shot up. “Buchan’s daughter?”

  Alex nodded. “Aye, although some might argue that point.”

  The older knight’s frown showed his distaste. “The way they have treated the lass is shameful. She has the stamp of Buchan all over her.” His mouth quirked with a half-smile. “Although she is much more beautiful.”