Free The Recruit by Monica Mccarty Page B

had no shame in admitting it to herself.
    “I was worried you’d miss all the fun. It’s been an exciting Games so far. One of
     my knights is creating quite a stir. He’s won nearly every competition he’s entered
     and is on his way to being named champion. He’s the Earl of Sutherland’s brother and
     heir, Sir Kenneth. Do you know of him?”
    She shook her head, wondering why this felt like morethan polite conversation. “It’s been many years since I’ve been to court, my lord.”
    Robert’s face shadowed. “Aye, lass, I know. I would that it had been different. You’ve
     been missed. I hope you will return soon.” He paused and gave her an innocent smile.
     “Perhaps next time you will bring your son?”
    Mary’s mouth quirked with amusement. Robert Bruce had never been subtle about what
     he wanted. It had taken a bold man to attempt to wrest a crown from Edward Plantagenet’s
     iron fist. Robert had made no secret of his wish to have her son under his banner.
     But secreting her son out from under the English king’s nose would be a risky proposition,
     and for what? What was there for her in Scotland but politics, intrigue, and men who
     would control her future? Things from which she’d been blissfully free in England.
     Besides, she remembered what had happened the last time she’d tried to leave.
    “I should like that, Sire,” she said noncommittally.
    “I would like you to meet him.” At her confusion, he added, “Our soon-to-be champion.
     Perhaps you will sit with us at the feast tonight?”
    Something about the way he said it set off alarm bells clanging in her head. If the
     king wished her to meet a man, it wasn’t hard to guess why. But she was just as eager
     for a Scottish husband as she was an English one. “It would be an honor, Sire. I do
     hope I shall feel up to it.”
    But alas, she suspected her illness was going to return in full force.
    The king moved off to have some words with the MacKenzie chief, and Mary settled back
     in her seat to watch the contestants who had just begun to gather in the field.
    She could feel the excitement growing around her; it was impossible not to get caught
     up in it. Even in self-imposed exile in her room she hadn’t been immune. She’d watched
     from the tower window, too far to be a part of it, but not far enough away not to
     want to be.
    She hadn’t been able to stay away. She told herself it was because people were starting
     to worry about her health—not just her former sister-in-law, Lady Christina and Margaret,
     but also the lady of the castle, Lady Anna Campbell. But she didn’t think she could
     listen to one more evening of the ladies she shared a chamber with reliving every
     minute of the day’s events without seeing it for herself. The only time she’d been
     to the Games, she’d been so enthralled with her husband that she didn’t remember much
     else.
    All of a sudden she heard a large roar go up in the crowd. She turned to Margaret.
     “What is that for?”
    Margaret grinned, pointing to a man who’d just entered the field. “Him.”
    Mary followed the direction she’d indicated and froze. Oh God, it was
him
! Though he wore a steel helm that masked his face, something about that arrogant
     set of his shoulders made every muscle, every nerve ending, every inch of her body
     tense with instant recognition. Or perhaps it was that the very breadth of those shoulders,
     the bulk of his arms, and every muscle of that imposing chest had been emblazoned
     on her consciousness.
    Her gaze dipped before she could stop herself. It wasn’t until she’d returned to her
     room that she realized she still had her glasses on—she’d tied them around her head
     with a ribbon so they wouldn’t keep falling off while she was sewing. That must be
     why he’d looked so … 
large
.
    So much for the hope to never see him again, to bury what had happened in the deepest,
     darkest corner of her memory and pretend it had