She gave a short nod and would have turned away had he not caught her. The feel of his hand on her arm made every nerve ending jump with awareness. She could feel his heat, smell the now-familiar scent of sandalwood soap, and the sensations raced through her blood in a hot rush, weakening her knees—and her resolve.

“I thought I saw you earlier,” he said.

She gave no indication that the words had made her heart start to bang. “You did?”

“Aye, by the Constable Tower. Were you looking for me?”

“I may have been on my way to the chapel at the time.”

He studied her face. Looking for some kind of sign of deception, perhaps? “I ran into an old friend.”

“You did?”

Maybe she wasn’t as good at hiding her feelings as she thought, because he nodded as if he knew she was lying and was trying to apologize. “A woman who is like a sister to me.”

“You need not explain.”

“I just didn’t want there to be any misunderstanding.”

“There isn’t.”

“It’s just that it’s . . . complicated.”

He said it with a smile, but the easy humor of before seemed forced. Lies, deceptions, and half-truths had a way of doing that—she should know.

She could have let it go at that. But something provoked her to push—to test. Did he trust her enough to tell her the truth? “Who is she? Perhaps I will cross paths with her when you are gone.”

Had she not been looking for the hesitation, she would have missed it. But if he considered telling her the truth, he decided against it. “No one you would know. But I’m afraid she was only here briefly and has already gone.”

Joan looked him right in the eye and saw no signs of deception. For someone who despised lying, he did it well. “How disappointing.”

It was. Now she wasn’t the only liar between them.

Chapter 17

17

WITH ALEX GONE, Joan turned to her duties with renewed determination and focus. The date set by Edward Bruce and the commander at Stirling Castle for the English to relieve the garrison was less than two weeks away. King Edward would have to leave in the next week if he was going to make it in time. It would take at least a week of marching—maybe more—for the army to reach Stirling from Berwick.

So instead of wondering what Alex was doing, prevaricating over every word of their conversation, and thinking about what else he would do for Rosalin Boyd if he cared about her enough to lie for her, Joan concentrated on her cousin. Or more accurately, on her cousin and her husband. But Alice and Sir Henry proved surprisingly unhelpful and unusually closemouthed.