“Exactly,” Alice replied. She turned to Joan, adding with more astuteness than either Joan or Margaret gave her credit for, “It is your future I am concerned about. Your close connection to an infamous rebel makes your position here difficult enough, and now to marry a man who fought with the Scots two years ago and who is already under suspicion? Your loyalty will be in question even more.”

“I have no connection to the woman who abandoned me,” Joan said flatly. “Nor has my loyalty ever been in question.” She tried not to sound as curious as she was. “And what do you mean by suspicion?”

“Didn’t you know? Sir Alex offered to find the rebel in our midst to prove himself innocent.”

It took her a moment to process what she meant, the idea was so ludicrous. “Alex a spy?” Joan was so surprised she laughed—and not just at the irony. “That is ridiculous. Anyone who has spent five minutes with him would know that is impossible. He hates subterfuge of any kind. He is straightforward and direct—deception is not his way.”

It was hers. Though for the first time since she’d agreed to help Bruce, she wished it were otherwise. She hated lying to Alex; deceiving him felt wrong in a way that it never had before.

“For what it matters, I agree with you,” Alice said. “He is the shiny knight type—the kind who actually thinks the code of chivalry is not just for children’s tales.” She laughed as if the idea were ludicrous. Joan shouldn’t be surprised by Alice’s insight into Alex’s character; when it came to men, her cousin could be surprisingly clever. She, too, knew how to pick a target. “But I am merely passing on what was being said, and why you should be concerned.” She paused. “Henry and Pembroke are determined to uncover this spy before they march to Stirling; I do not wish you to be caught up in their net.”

It sounded almost like a warning, and for a moment Joan wondered if her cousin suspected something. But even if she did, what could Joan do? She’d tried to refuse Alex, but there was no excuse she could give him without rousing his suspicions. No matter how angry she was—and she was furious at the high-handedness in arranging the marriage without her consent that smacked too much of her father’s controlling behavior and the kiss that had turned her mind to mush—she’d realized that it was best to go along with it. For now.

“I won’t,” she said with more assurance than she felt. “I thank you for your concern, cousin, but do not worry. The next few weeks . . .” Her voice dropped off. “Anything could happen.”

Somehow she would find a way to break the betrothal—even if she feared that by then she might not want to.