Edward Bruce’s attempt to take the castle had failed. Though she’d been alerted to the attack by the noise with the rest of the castle, Joan had waited not so patiently all morning to hear the details. It wasn’t until she was helping her cousin ready for the midday meal that Alice volunteered what she knew. By that point, Joan had been perilously close to breaking her rule not to ask her cousin direct questions. Though Alice was too spoiled and self-centered to focus her attention long enough on her “unfortunate” cousin to become suspicious, Joan didn’t want to take chances.

“One of the Earl of Pembroke’s men suspected what was happening with raiders in the area and foiled the rebel trickery when they attempted a diversion at the gate,” Alice said proudly. “It was fortunate that the earl arrived when he did.”

“Very fortunate,” Joan agreed, hiding her anger behind a facade of polite interest. It wasn’t just the missed opportunity to take the castle that infuriated her, it was also Pembroke’s arrival. She should have known he was coming. How could she have not heard that one of Edward’s most important commanders in the north, accompanied by at least two hundred men, was headed to Carlisle?

This was exactly the type of information Bruce was counting on her to uncover. That she hadn’t—and Edward Bruce’s men had been surprised—could well have been a disaster. Had Randolph not arrived when he did, the king’s last remaining brother might have been taken or killed, and Joan would have considered herself responsible.

This was the first time she hadn’t learned of something this important beforehand. Were the English keeping Pembroke’s arrival a secret for a specific reason, or were they just being more careful with information?

Neither was a promising development.

Joan knew that the English were determined to uncover the well-placed spy who was feeding information to the Scots, but as women were beneath their scrutiny, she’d never felt the threat of suspicion—which didn’t mean she wasn’t careful. She always took care not to appear too interested in the war or politics, not to ask too many questions, and not to show any loyalty to the land of her birth. She tried to appear just as “English” as her cousin—although Alice’s blood was every bit as Scottish as hers. You would never know it by looking at her or listening to her. Alice had fully embraced her adopted homeland and regarded Scotland as a rough “backward” place filled with “rebels” who must be conquered and civilized.

Alice shivered. “Can you imagine what might have happened if their plan had succeeded? We could be some barbarian’s hostage right now.” She gasped as if something had just occurred to her. “Do you think they would have ravished us?”