So where was he? And why, even after nearly a week, did his leaving without saying a word still hurt so badly? He’d been so upset after. Did he despise her? Blame her? Or was he just avoiding her?

Joan didn’t think so. Alex might have betrayed Bruce and the Guard—she knew him well enough to know that he must have had a reason—but he was not a coward.

With Alice still blissfully asleep, Joan crept out of her room and made her way to the Hall to break her fast. Margaret was already seated at one of the trestle tables, and Joan joined her. They spoke of nothing of import—and certainly nothing about their “treasonous” activities—but simply knowing that someone knew the truth was not only relaxing but oddly comforting. Joan wasn’t alone, and for the first time, she realized how much she’d missed having a friend. A real friend—one whom she didn’t need to deceive.

They were walking back to the tower to check on Alice (“Must we?” Margaret had groaned) when they heard the guards on the rampart call out excitedly that the king’s banner had been sighted.

The two women shared a look of dread. They knew well what the king’s arrival meant. The war that had largely taken a position in the back during the seven troubled years of Edward II’s reign had finally moved to the forefront. The English king was determined to defeat Bruce, and the definitive battle that the Scots had sought to avoid for years was drawing closer.

Joan and Margaret, joined by what seemed to be most of the castle occupants, raced up to the southern rampart (as the king was traveling from Newminster) to catch a glimpse of what was sure to be a magnificent procession.

They were not disappointed.

“Good God in heaven.” Margaret had uttered the blasphemy under her breath. “Have you ever seen so many carts and banners? It must go on for miles.”

It was not an exaggeration. The train of knights, men-at-arms, and their attendants, along with the carts of provisions, stretched like a long, colorful snake for as far as the eye could see.

“I’ll give him credit,” Joan said in a voice that only her cousin could hear. “Edward might not be half the commander that his father was, but he certainly knows how to look like a great general. Hail, Caesar!”

Margaret laughed. After a moment, her cousin added, “But it is something to see, is it not? All those banners flying in the wind, the colors of the surcoats as brilliant as jewels, and the silver of the mail shimmering in the sunlight . . . it’s like a giant treasure chest.”

It was true. The vast display of wealth, strength, and power was awe-inspiring.