Joan shook her head, the gratitude making her uncomfortable. She just wanted to forget it had ever happened.

But how could she when it had been so perfect.

Right. Perfect until she’d drugged him—unintentionally doing exactly what she’d originally planned to do!

“Just promise me you’ll be careful, Margaret. No more sealing missives with special rings.”

Margaret gave a sharp laugh. “You have my word on that.” After a moment, she frowned. “I suspect my days passing messages are at an end for a while anyway. Even before the monk’s capture, I felt . . .” She shrugged. “I don’t know, conspicuous maybe?”

Joan leaned forward. “Do you think someone was watching you?”

Margaret shook her head. “No, nothing like that. I suspect it’s because there are so many people around.”

Joan nodded. She’d felt the same. Since she’d arrived at Berwick Castle—which brought back so many bad memories anyway—doing her job had felt more dangerous. For good reason; it was more dangerous. As her cousin had said, there were many more people around. There was also Pembroke and Sir Henry increasing the efforts to find the spy.

And then of course there was Alex.

Joan startled as the door crashed open. Her foolish heart lurched, only to drop when Alice came bursting through in an excited flurry of pink satin.

Surprisingly, Sir Henry came following closely behind. Her cousin’s husband rarely made an appearance in their donjon rooms during the day.

She was even more surprised to learn that she was the reason for that appearance.

“What do you know about Seton’s sudden departure this morning?”

Joan couldn’t have masked her shock if she wanted to. The color slid from her face. “He’s gone?”

“Aye, he rode out of here this morning on some mission that no one seems to know anything about. He left a message for Pembroke that it was personal, but the earl is furious. He thinks he’s turned traitor again.”

Dear God, was it possible?

Despite a racing pulse, she managed to say evenly, “Has he given any indication that he might do such a thing?”

Sir Henry’s eyes narrowed. “I was hoping you might answer that for me.”

Joan was truly taken aback. “Me?”

“Alice says you’ve been spending time with him. That there is something between you.”

Joan’s gaze slid to her cousin’s before turning back to Sir Henry. “Alice is mistaken, my lord. I have spoken with Sir Alex only a handful of times—and merely in passing. I know nothing of his intentions.” It was painfully true. “Has he given any reason for you to suspect that he might turn traitor again?”

Could she dare hope?

Sir Henry waved the question off. “He’s a Scot,” he said as if that were all the explanation necessary, apparently forgetting that his wife, her sister, and her cousin were as well.