Chapter One

December, 1316

Lochmaben, Scottish Lowlands

Icy rain pelted Kirk MacLeod as he swung down from his horse. A guard waved to him through the gloom before quickly hunching back into his cloak.

Kirk did the same, rounding his shoulders against the driving, frigid downpour as he trudged toward the guard.

They must have been expecting him, for the guard didn’t speak. Instead, he turned and silently guided Kirk through the maze of canvas tents that sagged beneath the winter storm’s assault.

The guard halted at the heart of the camp in front of the largest of the tents. He drew back the tent’s flap and tilted his dripping hood, indicating for Kirk to enter.

Kirk ducked under the flap, then straightened, throwing back his sodden hood.

He ought to have taken a knee, for he knew he was to meet Robert the Bruce, King of Scotland. Warm pride at such an honor should have been racing through his veins. Instead he felt naught but cold— inside and out.

His gaze fell on the Bruce, who rose slowly from behind an enormous wooden desk. He’d met the King before—in fact, he’d been hand-selected to serve directly under the Bruce’s younger brother, Edward Bruce, on their campaign to claim Ireland. Even if he hadn’t met the man, the Bruce bore an unmistakable air of power. He was a true warrior King.

“Kirk MacLeod,” the Bruce said, a smile widening his mouth behind his russet beard. “I’m glad to see ye made it through the storm.”

Kirk’s fists tightened at his sides as he forced himself to bend at the waist. The movement was slight—too slight for his King, yet Kirk would not drop to his knees before the man who was responsible for the empty chill where his heart had once been.

As Kirk straightened, he became aware of a second man in the King’s tent.

“Colin MacKay,” Kirk said with a slight nod at the man.

Colin, too, granted him a wide smile, though the man’s watchful blue eyes sharpened on Kirk even as he stepped forward and offered a forearm.

Kirk slowly took Colin’s arm, giving him a cool look as they shook.

“Come, sit, man,” the King said, gesturing toward an upholstered chair in front of the large desk. “Ye must be weary from yer journey. Was the crossing from Ireland smooth? ”

“I’d rather stand, sire.”

The smile slipped from the Bruce’s lips at Kirk’s blunt words. The tent filled with an uncomfortable silence for a heartbeat.

“Verra well,” the King replied, motioning for Colin to sit off to the right as he settled himself behind the desk once more. “Do ye ken why I summoned ye here, Kirk?”

Kirk clasped one hand with the other behind his back and straightened, looking blankly over the King’s head.

The stance was familiar. He was used to taking orders. He’d given his life to the cause of Scottish independence for more than thirteen years. And as Edward Bruce’s right-hand man for nigh on two years, he knew how to obey powerful men. Shame and anger rose up the back of his throat. No more .

“I have a suspicion, aye.”

“Oh?” the Bruce murmured. “What is it?”

Kirk gripped his hands tighter behind his back. “I have been…difficult, sire. I have questioned yer brother’s orders in front of other men. I have demonstrated poor morale to those in my command. I have…” He swallowed the tightness in his throat. “I have lost faith in the cause.”

Silence once again hung heavy in the tent. Out of the corner of his eye, Kirk saw the King and Colin exchange a long look.

“Aye, my brother made me aware of those…concerns,” the King said, “but that is no’ why I called ye here.”

Astonishment flickered through Kirk’s chest. He’d assumed when he’d gotten the King’s summons a sennight ago that he was to face punishment for his insurrection. In fact, he’d believed there was a good chance his head might not be attached to his neck for very much longer.

“Ye have heard of the Bodyguard Corps?” the Bruce asked before Kirk could organize his thoughts.

Once again, surprise fluttered like a bird’s wing across Kirk’s ribs. “Aye,” he replied, his eyes flicking to Colin before meeting the Bruce’s gaze. “It is yer inner circle of trusted warriors. They carry out missions to protect those most vulnerable to English threats.”

“What if I told ye that I wanted ye to join the Corps,” the Bruce said slowly, “and that I already have a mission in mind for ye—a mission of great import to no’ only me, but to the entire cause.”

Stunned, Kirk’s hands fell to his sides. He opened his mouth to respond, but then hesitated. He could not become dazzled by the Bruce’s offer, for though it was an honor, it didn’t change what had happened in Ireland, nor what this war had become.

“And if I refuse?” he asked slowly.

The Bruce’s copper brows dropped, his gaze sharpening on Kirk.

“Why would ye?” Colin interjected casually, though Kirk didn’t miss the subtle edge to the man’s question.

He’d met Colin last summer, before…before everything had changed for Kirk. Colin had been embroiled in a dangerous mission for the Bruce that had taken him to Ireland. At the time, Kirk had thought of Colin as a compatriot, a man working at the highest levels for the cause of Scottish freedom—like him.

Now Kirk saw the cause in a far darker light. He shifted his gaze between the Bruce and Colin, weighing his response.

The Bruce cleared his throat. “Let us speak plainly, man. It is obvious that something has changed in ye since last we met. Dinnae think of me as yer King for the moment. Simply speak yer heart.”

Was this some sort of trap? If Kirk spoke what was truly in his heart, he could be hanged for treason. Then again, what did he have to lose? He’d been prepared to face a traitor’s death anyway.

“I am no’ the man ye sent to Ireland nigh on two years past,” he murmured, dropping his gaze to the straw-strewn ground. “As I said, I have lost faith in the cause. I…I considered deserting.”

The words brought hot shame into the back of his throat, but they were true. He’d contemplated fleeing like a coward, or simply disappearing on the journey between Ireland and Scotland. Yet his pride hadn’t let him abandon honor so completely.

Kirk sensed Colin stiffen in his chair at his words, and the Bruce leaned forward over the desk .

“Why?” the King bit out.

“Carrickfergus.”

The one word unleashed a wave of self-hatred in the pit of Kirk’s stomach. What he’d witnessed, what he’d done , slammed back into him. He’d forfeited his humanity—his very soul—under the orders of Edward Bruce, and in the name of Robert the Bruce’s cause.

The cold stone that resided where Kirk’s heart had once been was proof enough that he had lost himself in the war. Aye, he still had his life and all his limbs, which was more than many a man could say, but what was the point in being alive if a man had no honor, no integrity?

The air hissed from the Bruce’s teeth. For several long moments, the only sound in the tent was the hammering of the icy rain against the canvas overhead.

“My brother apprised me of what happened in the siege on Carrickfergus Castle,” the Bruce said quietly. “It shouldnae have gone that way. He shouldnae have left ye in charge of the siege, then abandoned ye for so long. Nor should he have—”

The Bruce cut off sharply, shaking his head. “That is in the past now,” he murmured. “I cannae change it. But I can assure ye that Carrickfergus…it will never happen again, man. I willnae let it.”

“Ye cannae promise that,” Kirk shot back without thinking. He was speaking to his King, but he could not find the will to temper his tone. “War is a bloody, messy business. Ye cannae make any promises when it comes to war.”

“I’ll grant that I havenae given the campaign in Ireland the attention it is due,” the Bruce countered, seemingly unruffled by Kirk’s sharp words. “Matters here in Scotland have required my energies, but after Edward informed me of what occurred at Carrickfergus, I plan to take a more active role in the campaign. Things will be different from here on out.”

“Do I still have yer permission to speak candidly, sire?” Kirk asked.

“Aye,” the Bruce replied, watching Kirk with dark, unreadable eyes.

“Verra well. Then I would like to ken why in the bloody hell we are fighting in Ireland at all.”

At the stunned silence filling the tent, Kirk plowed onward. He’d already made his bed. He might as well lie all the way down in it.

“The cause was supposed to be about Scottish freedom from England. They took our lands. They slaughtered our people. Longshanks even tried to crush our entire way of life under his boot heel. But now that Longshanks’s son is on the run and the Borderlands are ours once more—or close enough— we have become the invaders. What are we doing in Ireland other than taking land and killing, just as the English did to us? We have become no better than them.”

Suddenly Colin was on his feet, the distance between them erased in one long stride.

“Careful, man,” Colin said softly, positioning himself between Kirk and the King. “Those are the words of a traitor.”

“Aye,” Kirk replied, his voice a low rasp. “They are. I already admitted to nearly defecting. I came here expecting a traitor’s death for what I’ve done in the months since Carrickfergus. If I am to face the executioner, at least now I’ve said my piece.”

Behind Colin, the Bruce slowly raised a hand as if in surrender.

“Colin,” he said quietly to call the man off.

Colin gave Kirk a hard stare before obeying his King and returning to his seat.

Kirk expected anger from the Bruce. He’d worked closely enough with Edward Bruce to know that although both men were made of steel, that steel had been forged in the fires of their own passion for the cause. Such passion could flare hot when challenged.

To his surprise, though, the Bruce looked surprisingly calm—and fatigued. Deep lines etched around his eyes, and his mouth now sagged with weariness. The King’s dark gaze was suddenly sad.

“I’ve heard what ye’ve had to say, Kirk MacLeod,” he murmured. “I asked ye to speak what was in yer heart, and ye did. I cannae find fault with that. And I hope ye hear me when I say that I will make things right in Ireland.” He let out a slow breath. “But even if ye dinnae, here we are. I still want ye for this mission.”

“Robert,” Colin said sharply, his voice a mixture of disbelief and warning .

The Bruce held his hand up once again to silence Colin’s objections. “Ye are a skilled warrior and a good man, Kirk. Ye have served me loyally since ye were old enough to join the cause. I dinnae wish to dwell on Carrickfergus, but the fact that ye are so affected by it proves that ye are a man of honor.”

Kirk stood silent in the face of the Bruce’s praise. Before Carrickfergus, those words would have made him swell with pride. Now they rang hollow in his ears.

“I need to call upon ye one more time,” the Bruce went on. “This is no ordinary mission. Aye, it would mean protecting those vulnerable to English attacks, but ye would be protecting dozens, mayhap hundreds of lives, no’ just one individual.”

Despite his best efforts to repress it, Kirk felt a flicker of curiosity stir within him. “What do ye mean? Would I no’ be a member of the Bodyguard Corps, set to watch over someone the English has targeted?”

“Well…no’ exactly.” The Bruce propped his elbows on the top of the desk and steepled his fingers over his mouth. “The Corps has already completed several missions, protecting key targets that the English would have liked to take out. But we have been hampered along the way—more than once—by a league of bounty hunters.”

“The men in this league sell their skills to the highest bidder,” Colin added. “Those in England with enough power and money to continue the war against Scotland have hired bounty hunters to hit targets valuable to the Scottish cause—including women and children.”

Kirk stiffened. Aye, he had seen and done terrible things at Carrickfergus, but the one drop of balm on his blackened soul was that no women or children had been trapped inside the castle while he and Edward Bruce’s army had sieged it. There were certain lines that even a soldier following orders would not cross.

“This bounty hunter league must be stopped, else they’ll continue to wreak havoc on our missions and endanger the innocent,” the Bruce said, his lips thinning and determination returning to his eyes. “But we dinnae ken enough about them to take them out yet. That is where ye come in, Kirk.”

Comprehension slowly dawned on him. He glanced between the Bruce and Colin. While Colin still stared with hard blue eyes at him, the King leaned forward, hope written on his weathered features.

“Ye wish for me to infiltrate this bounty hunter league, is that it?” Kirk asked carefully.

“Aye,” the Bruce said. “We believe the bounty hunters are controlled by some sort of employer, a man collecting coin from Scotland’s most powerful enemies and sending mercenaries out to kill—or kidnap—valuable targets.”

“We’ve had little luck in discovering who the head of this organization might be,” Colin said, his mouth turning down in frustration. “But we are hopeful that if the league’s head can be removed…”

“The body will fall with it,” Kirk finished. “And how am I expected to make my way into the league?”

He should have bitten his tongue. The question revealed that he was interested in the King’s mission—and considering accepting it.

“We suspect the league hires mercenaries to serve as bounty hunters,” Colin replied. He shrugged. “Ask around—quietly. Hire yerself out to the league once ye find them. A man of yer skill shouldnae have a problem convincing them to hire ye—assuming ye can trick them into trusting ye.”

Kirk didn’t miss the hard edge in Colin’s last words. It was clear from the glint in the man’s gaze that he trusted Kirk about as far as he could throw him.

“So ye want me to find this mysterious league of bounty hunters,” Kirk said, turning back to the Bruce, “become one of them, and get close enough to learn who runs the organization, so that I can—what? Single-handedly bring them down for the cause?”

“Nay, so that ye can report back to us,” the Bruce replied. “Colin, specifically.”

Without thinking, Kirk guffawed. “Colin is to be my point of contact?” The man clearly distrusted and despised Kirk for what he’d said against the cause and the Bruce.

“Aye,” Colin said, giving Kirk a lazy smile. Kirk suddenly felt like a caged bird, and Colin and the Bruce were his cat-jailors .

“And if aught happens to me while I am working undercover,” Kirk said, a darker thought dawning, “or if aught happens to Colin or ye, sire…”

“Then no one within our cause would ken that ye are actually working with us,” Colin finished. “Ye would be abandoned to the league of bounty hunters and assumed to be an enemy.”

“Secrecy is of the utmost importance,” the Bruce said, clearly trying to smooth Colin’s blunt words. “The other members of the Bodyguard Corps ken that I called ye back from Ireland with the purpose of having ye infiltrate this bounty hunter league.”

“But none of them have seen my face,” Kirk inserted.

“Aye,” the Bruce admitted. “Nor will ye ken their faces. If ye are to pass as one of these bounty hunters, I cannae risk the slightest chance that ye would be compromised—even on accident, even by my most trusted men.”

Unease rippled up Kirk’s spine. He shouldn’t even consider taking such a dangerous mission. He could be discovered as an infiltrator and killed by the league—or his own people could turn their backs on him, claiming never to have sent him undercover.

Even without such dangers, why was Kirk contemplating taking the mission at all? He had already given Robert the Bruce thirteen years of service—nearly half his life. And he’d given his soul at Carrickfergus. Why did he feel a stirring to sacrifice himself yet again for the cause?

The Bruce must have sensed Kirk’s ambivalence, for he struck then. “Ye are a man of uncommon skill and honor, Kirk. That is why I picked ye to serve at my brother’s side. Ye have an opportunity to help take down one of the greatest threats to Scottish freedom. The longer this war drags on, the longer the atrocities will continue. But if we can destroy this organization, ye will have saved countless lives.”

Kirk glared at the Bruce, hating just how effective the argument was against his crumbling defenses. Mayhap his heart wasn’t as black as he’d thought, for he couldn’t deny the pull of saving innocent lives. It was why he’d joined the Bruce’s cause in the first place.

“Ye wouldnae even have to take orders from me,” the Bruce continued, lifting his mouth in a weary smile. “In fact, yer loss of faith in the cause might actually help ye infiltrate the league. The truth is as good an explanation as any if they question yer loyalties or yer past.”

Kirk exhaled through gritted teeth and yanked his gaze away from the Bruce.

Damn it all. How much more bloodshed, violence, and shame could one man bear? Would this war ever let him go? It had already claimed his soul. Must he be completely ground to dust as well?

Once again, it was as if the Bruce could read his mind.

“More than aught else, ye want out , dinnae ye?” The King’s voice was soft, almost gentle, as if comforting a wee lad.

“Aye,” Kirk rasped through a suddenly thick throat.

“If ye defect, I would be forced to hunt ye down and serve ye with a traitor’s death,” the Bruce murmured. “But if ye agree to this mission, I’ll release ye from my service once it is complete.”

Colin shifted in his chair, frowning, but Kirk hardly paid him heed. His gaze shot to the Bruce.

“Ye…ye would do that?”

“Infiltrate the league of bounty hunters,” the Bruce replied. “Earn their trust. Discover who runs the organization. And report what ye learn. Then aye, I’ll release ye—with all the honor due to ye for yer service.”

Kirk raked a hand through his damp hair, pushing back the dripping dark locks from his forehead. He squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment, letting his breath go in a soundless sigh.

“All right,” he said at last. “I’ll do it. When do I start?”

“Now,” Colin said testily, rising from his chair once more as if to shove Kirk out of the tent that very moment.

“What do I have to go on? Do ye ken aught about this organization—aught that would be useful to me?”

“The only thing Sabine has learned through her network of messengers and informants is that the league calls itself the Order of the Shadow,” Colin said with a snort of disgust. “They fancy themselves some sort of knightly organization.”

“There is also at least one Highlander in their ranks,” the Bruce added. “A Mackenzie. We know little of him, but he will likely be an anomaly, given that we assume the league is headquartered somewhere in England. Ye may be able to use the man if ye can form a bond with him.”

Kirk waited for more information to add to the paltry tidbits they’d given him, but apparently there was naught else to offer. The Bruce rose and strode around the desk, extending his forearm to Kirk.

“Thank ye for putting yer faith in the cause—in me—once more, Kirk,” the King said as he clasped arms with Kirk. “I hope ye’ll see by the end of this how much good ye can still do.”

Kirk nodded silently, then turned to Colin, who motioned him to the tent’s flap.

Once they were outside, Colin set a quick pace through the driving rain toward the edge of the camp. When they reached the last of the small canvas tents, Colin whistled. A horse was brought forth through the gloom, led by the same guard who’d guided Kirk to the Bruce’s tent.

Colin took the horse’s reins from the guard and motioned the man off, then turned to Kirk. But when Kirk reached for the reins, Colin withdrew them slightly.

“Ye should ken—I was the one who suggested that the Bruce tap ye for this mission,” Colin said, squinting at Kirk through the hammering rain. “But now I fear it was a mistake to do so. I thought ye were a loyal countryman—a friend, even. I was wrong.”

Anger, sudden and hot, shot through Kirk. “Ye are one to talk, friend . Last time we met, ye lied to me and Edward Bruce. Ye vouched for a woman who turned out to be an English spy.”

Aye, Sabine had ended up providing information that had saved hundreds, mayhap thousands, of Edward Bruce’s men, and she was now apparently helping the Bruce gather information against the English. Yet Kirk would not stand idly by while Colin cast aspersions on him after he’d just agreed to risk his life for the cause yet again.

“Careful,” Colin bit out through clenched teeth. “That woman is now my wife. And I am no’ the one whose loyalty should be questioned. Ye’ve changed, Kirk.”

“Ye are right,” Kirk shot back. “I have changed. Ye ken naught of what I’ve seen and done in the name of this bloody cause. Any man who claims no’ to have his faith shaken by war is a liar. Ye dinnae ken what it was like at Carrickfergus. Ye dinnae ken me at all.”

“Aye, at least there is something we can agree on,” Colin said, at last handing Kirk the reins. “But remember, Kirk—I am the only friend ye have now.”

Kirk met Colin’s cold stare for a long moment before swinging into the saddle. Not a soul besides Robert the Bruce and the man shooting daggers at him with his eyes would know that Kirk was working for Scotland within this Order of the Shadow organization.

He nudged the horse into motion, then guided him south, toward the English border.

Christ. What had he gotten himself into?