Her mouth quirked with laughter at the silly thought. Alas, she would not be able to find out. Avoiding him was going to be her primary goal. She hoped he didn’t make it difficult on her.

She need not have worried. As soon as she entered the Great Hall a few minutes later, she realized the gossipmongers at the castle had taken care of Sir Alex for her.

One look at his face when he saw her was enough to tell her that he’d heard the rumors. The judgment in his hard, crystal-clear blue eyes, the disdain in the tilt of that sidelong glance, the mild distaste that turned his mouth as he took in her appearance—and the cut of her gown—shouldn’t bother her.

Usually, she didn’t mind that people thought her a “harlot” like her mother, because Joan had been “linked” to a number of men. Actually, as it helped her cause, she had never done anything to dispel the rumors. Her wanton reputation put her even more firmly beneath their regard and suspicion. In addition to making them underestimate her, it also gave her access to men she would not otherwise have had a cause to speak with privately.

But she couldn’t ignore the blush that heated her cheeks when Sir Alex’s gaze dropped to the low-cut bodice of her gown or deny the pinch of disappointment—and maybe even hurt—in her chest when he turned sharply away.

So much for the fantasy of gallant knights. He couldn’t have made his disregard or disapproval more clear.

Fine. She straightened her back and proudly thrust out the chest that seemed to cause so much attention. She had a job to do. And if men thinking her a wanton made that job easier, she would wear gowns that put the Whore of Babylon to shame. She didn’t care what any of them thought. She knew the truth and that was all that mattered.

She was a ghost—they couldn’t touch her, and she didn’t feel anything.

When Sir Alex left Carlisle Castle not long after Sir Richard the following morning, Joan was glad. Two problems had been solved, leaving her able to concentrate on the only task that mattered: finding out whatever information she could for Bruce—and not getting caught doing it.

Chapter 5

5

Berwick Castle, Berwick-upon-Tweed, English Marches, May 16, 1314

JOAN FELT ALL eyes on her as she approached the dais. The gown she’d chosen for the midday meal was even more bold and daring than usual. Red had always been her favorite color, but she’d avoided it of late so as not to draw too much attention to herself.