Free The Ghost (Highland Guard 12) by Monica Mccarty Page B

rumors. The judgment in his hard, crystal-clear blue eyes, the disdain in the tilt of that sidelong glance, the mild distaste that turned his mouth as he took in her appearance—and the cut of her gown—shouldn’t bother her.
    Usually, she didn’t mind that people thought her a “harlot” like her mother, because Joan had been “linked” to a number of men. Actually, as it helped her cause, she had never done anything to dispel the rumors. Her wanton reputation put her even more firmly beneath their regard and suspicion. In addition to making them underestimate her, it also gave her access to men she would not otherwise have had a cause to speak with privately.
    But she couldn’t ignore the blush that heated her cheeks when Sir Alex’s gaze dropped to the low-cut bodice of her gown or deny the pinch of disappointment—and maybe even hurt—in her chest when he turned sharply away.
    So much for the fantasy of gallant knights. He couldn’t have made his disregard or disapproval more clear.
    Fine . She straightened her back and proudly thrust out the chest that seemed to cause so much attention. She had a job to do. And if men thinking her a wanton made that job easier, she would wear gowns that put the Whore of Babylon to shame. She didn’t care what any of them thought. She knew the truth and that was all that mattered.
    She was a ghost—they couldn’t touch her, and she didn’t feel anything.
    When Sir Alex left Carlisle Castle not long after Sir Richard the following morning, Joan was glad. Two problems had been solved, leaving her able to concentrate on the only task that mattered: finding out whatever information she could for Bruce—and not getting caught doing it.

5

    Berwick Castle, Berwick-upon-Tweed, English Marches, May 16, 1314
    J OAN 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