Instead of returning to the tower, she decided to take advantage of the lengthening day—it wouldn’t be dark for at least a few more hours—to leave a message with her contact. Bruce would want to know about the additional Welsh call to muster and the discord between the English leaders as soon as possible.

Fortunately, she’d brought a plain, dark hooded cloak for just this purpose. It covered the gown she wore underneath—which would hardly go unnoticed—and enabled her to blend in with the villagers going back and forth between the burgh and the castle.

Another benefit of her loss of status was the additional freedom of movement it afforded her. No one cared about the comings and goings of a bastard. She could largely move about as she liked without comment or notice, and unlike her cousins, she was not expected to take an escort or guard.

She was, however, careful and prudent about when she ventured into town by herself. Though she could defend herself if necessary, she didn’t want to draw attention to herself by being forced to do so.

A quick trip into town in the late afternoon should be safe enough. The soldiers would be attending to their afternoon duties and the alehouses would not be crowded yet (in other words, she wouldn’t need to dodge overamorous drunks).

Indeed, the high street was still bustling with merchants and shoppers as she made her way down the cobbled path to the mercery, where she would meet her contact for the first time. Though she knew Bruce and the bishop would have chosen the person with the utmost care, Joan admitted a bit of apprehension. The passing of information was when she felt her most vulnerable.

She missed her “Italian nun,” but her former contact, Janet of Mar, had been forced to retire from Bruce’s service a few years back when her identity had been uncovered. Since then Joan had had a series of contacts—mostly clergy—but this time it was the wife of the cloth merchant. Joan didn’t know who she was or why she was trustworthy; all she’d been given was a name.

Joan was standing outside the shop, looking through the window to see if the woman was inside, when she caught the reflection of movement behind her that made her heart race.

It took a moment for her thoughts to catch up with her pulse. She couldn’t believe it. The shock that someone was following her, and more significantly, that she hadn’t noticed, quickly turned to anger. How could she have missed him? Perhaps it was her frazzled nerves after being cornered so easily by Despenser. That was the only explanation she could come up with for how easily he’d escaped her notice.

Sweet Jerusalem! She’d been seconds away from making contact and attempting to pass a message.

But who would be following her and why?