At times Alex wondered. The ineptitude was getting to him. Christendom might see the English as the “civilized” side, but clearly civilized didn’t mean sensible or rational.

He was supposed to be doing some good, damn it. Somehow when he’d torn his guts out and betrayed his friends to try to put an end to this bloody war, he hadn’t imagined himself overseeing the loading of the cargo. It was drudge work, plain and simple. It was like having one of your best leaders in charge of digging latrines—a waste. How was any of this going to prevent villages from burning and innocents from being caught in the flames?

“It was the king who suggested you for the job. Despenser said as much when he passed on the king’s instructions.”

Alex cursed angrily. He should have guessed. Lady Joan wasn’t the only one who’d made an enemy of Despenser. Apparently Despenser was throwing some of the blame for his failed affair in Alex’s direction. He’d wager the king hadn’t said a word about who would oversee the loading of the cargo. But whatever Despenser had done last week, it obviously involved a meeting with the king.

“I’m surprised that the king thought it important enough to name someone for the task,” Alex said, not hiding his skepticism.

Whatever else he might be, Pembroke wasn’t a fool. He, too, probably questioned Despenser’s message, but apparently had no intention of challenging the king’s new favorite. “Aye, well, if I were you, I’d settle whatever score you have with Despenser, or I suspect you’ll be attracting a lot of notice with the king.”

Alex didn’t know who angered him more: Despenser, for his underhanded attempt to settle personal grievances using his position with the king, or Pembroke, for going along with it even when it was clearly not the best thing to do to prepare for the battle, that if they were to relieve the garrison at Stirling Castle by midsummer’s day, could only be weeks away.

Over the next few days Alex had a lot of time to think about it—and vent his frustration with the carrying of heavy crates and barrels. He had frustration aplenty. Not only toward the woman who practically ran the other direction when she saw him or Despenser for his juvenile vindictiveness and Pembroke for not taking advantage of his knowledge, but also for his continued exclusion from meetings of Edward’s top commanders—meetings that he should be a part of, and had been a part of, until someone suggested he was the damned spy.

He was no closer to exonerating himself on that count either. He’d confronted Sir Adam about his suspicions yesterday, after the older knight returned from the scouting trip near Dunbar that Alex should have been on.