Despenser had been only too pleased to follow up on Alice’s suspicions. It was he who’d had Joan followed. It was he who’d had the church and every churchman inside thoroughly searched until they’d found the bracelet in the offertory.

They didn’t know what it meant at first. But after the failed trap, Despenser had taken the bracelet out to show Sir Henry when Sir Adam Gordon happened to walk by. Without realizing the import, he’d caught sight of the lion emblem with the spiderweb and mentioned his nephew had one just like it on his arm, but without the roses.

Joan’s fate had been sealed.

Despenser and Sir Henry accused her of being not only the spy, but one of Bruce’s Phantoms, and had tried to beat the names of her fellow “traitors” out of her. Despenser had even threatened to have another cage built for her—just like her traitorous mother. She hadn’t been able to completely hide her fear. But, fortunately, though her cuts and bruises had mostly healed—although her ribs still hurt—neither the promised torturer nor cage had appeared.

Indeed, since the second day—after which she assumed the army had left for Scotland—no one had appeared except for the solitary guard.

Did anyone else even know she was here? Would the men Lachlan had watching her realize something had happened?

The questions—and fears they produced—plagued her, even more so than the hunger. She wanted to get out. She wanted to find Alex and beg him to forgive her. She wanted to see her mother again, meet her siblings, and see the verdant hillsides and valleys of the land where she’d been born. She wanted to go home to Scotland.

She wanted a future.

Joan had always known what she risked, but it wasn’t until she lay in that dark, wretched pit that she realized how much she didn’t want to be a ghost. She wanted to live.

She had to do something. She had to think of a plan.

When the trapdoor opened above her a few hours later, Joan was ready. Silently, she thanked Lachlan for giving her the idea.

She didn’t wait for her eyes to adjust from the darkness; as soon as the head appeared above her, she threw the rock with everything she had. She’d always had a strong throwing arm, and her aim was true.

It was only when she heard the ding of metal and the deep Scottish voice say “ouch” that she stopped and focused.

Gradually the nasal helm came into view. The feeling of relief that crashed over her was indescribable. They’d come for her. They’d found her.

Though she’d seen the face beneath the helm only a few times, she recognized the fierce warrior well enough. “I’m sorry about that, Chief.”