“I do not care about the details,” Pembroke said. “I simply wish for you to do whatever is necessary to put the trouble to rest and bring any traitors to justice. I do not need to tell you how important the garrisons are as we make our way north.”

Hailes was on the main road to Edinburgh.

“And if I find that it is the garrison commander that is the problem?” Alex asked.

“I am sure you will find a solution,” Pembroke said.

In other words, justice didn’t matter. The plight of the people in the Borders didn’t matter. Just appease the damned captain.

By now Alex’s teeth felt as if they’d been ground flat. He managed to nod, acknowledging the order.

“Good,” Pembroke said. “You will leave at dawn. Take as many men as you need. I don’t expect it should take you more than a few days.”

Dismissed, Alex left the tower to find his men. He was so frustrated and seething with anger that he didn’t look up until he heard a sharp gasp.

“Alex?” The soft, feminine voice was instantly familiar.

He didn’t need to see the face hidden in the hood of the cloak to recognize the woman who came hurling into his arms a moment later.

Joan worried that she’d pushed Alex too hard and made him suspicious. But she’d been carried away by the prospect of a future beyond heartbreak, and the possibility that she could somehow convince him to return to his former compatriots.

He had clearly struggled with the decision to leave and didn’t seem reconciled to it even now. At the time . . .

With what he’d said—and what she knew of him—she had a deeper understanding of what had motivated him to switch sides. It didn’t seem as much of a betrayal now.

He’d been worn down, frustrated, and pushed to the breaking point by the brutality of war. Part Scot, part English, part knight, part brigand, Alex was torn between two worlds—two ideals—and unable to reconcile the fight for justice and chivalry. Eventually he’d snapped.

But whether it was the little girl, the trouble with Boyd, the style of warfare, his personal code, because he couldn’t see an end, or a combination of all those things that caused him to leave, he’d done so with a noble purpose. He’d betrayed his friends and king because he thought he could do more good working for an end to the war from a different angle.

It was an admirable idea, but she guessed that it hadn’t worked out the way he’d hoped. He’d counted on reasonable, honorable men like him—which were in short command. Moreover, the distrust and suspicion that Boyd had heaped on him for being “English” had followed him to England, where he was considered “Scottish.”