Chapter 18

Josselin watched the Highlander walk away, surprised into silence by his words, which were hauntingly familiar to her ears.

’Twas exactly what she’d always said of her mother and the battle at Ancrum—that Lilliard hadn’t been naïve, as everyone claimed, that she’d known very well what she risked.

But Josselin couldn’t afford to dwell on the past now. The Highlander was already on his way to the tee, about to best the queen at golf. She couldn’t let that happen. Mary needed allies now, not challengers. God knew she already had enough enemies in Scotland.

Josselin’s beer wagon driver had gone off to watch the game, and she knew she shouldn’t abandon her cart. ’Twas full of beer, after all, and there was nothing more tempting to a Scot than the prospect of a free pint. But something had to be done. The honor of the queen was at stake.

Fortunately, nobody was interested in drinking at the moment. The crowd had rushed back to the green to watch and wager on the new contest.

So Josselin stowed away her earnings, took off her apron, and left the beer wagon, hurrying across the field to catch Drew before he could make a terrible mistake.

At least Drew had had the courtesy to allow Mary to make the first drive. When Josselin arrived at the tee, the queen was settling into a comfortable stance, surrounded by shouting spectators. Josselin tugged surreptitiously at the Highlander’s sleeve.

He frowned, surprised at the interruption.

She pulled him close to whisper into his ear. “Ye can’t win.”

He shrugged, murmuring back, “If that’s what ye believe, then bet against me.”

“Nae. I mean ye mustn’t win.”

A smile touched the corner of his lip. “And ye mustn’t tell me what to do, darlin’.”

She only had a limited time to make him understand. “Damn it, Highlander,” she bit out, “I’m serious.”

“And so am I, lass,” he whispered back. “I’ve never thrown a game in my life. I’ll not start now.”

Anger and urgency made her reckless. She hissed, “Even if ye’re playin’ against…against the Queen o’ Scotland?”

He sighed and lifted a brow. “Ye don’t think I know that?”

She gave a tiny gasp.

“MacAdam!” the Queen interjected. “Are ye goin’ to tee up, or do ye intend to dally with the beer wagon wench all day?”

Josselin’s face flushed with heat as laughter circled around her. But when she tried to protest, Drew intervened to make matters worse.

He gave the queen a wide grin. “Ye must admit she’s a toothsome lass and a sore temptation.”

As if that weren’t bad enough, he crooked his elbow around Josselin’s neck, drew her close, and planted a brazen kiss on her mouth.

Despite her outrage and against her will, Josselin’s heart leaped into her throat. Drew’s lips were hot and commanding, calling to some primitive yearning within her. She felt his damp chest through the thin layer of his shirt and breathed his male scent, instantly intoxicated by his earthy essence. And God help her, her head grew dizzy and her knees weak.

When he released her, ’twas all she could do to stand upright.

But the hooting crowd soon sobered her, and rage flared in her like dry tinder put to flame. She heaved an angry breath, ready to rake the Highlander over the coals for his insolence.

Then she caught a glimpse of Mary, who was watching her with a knowing smile, and Josselin realized she must carry out this pretense, no matter how distasteful. A royal spy dared not create a spectacle.

So she summoned up a sugary smile and fluttered her lashes at Drew.

“Go on then, love,” she managed to purr between clenched teeth. “Play your match. I’ll be waitin’ at the beer wagon when ye’re done.”

She didn’t wait for his reaction. She didn’t dare. She’d already drawn enough attention to herself.

Picking up her skirts, she skipped back across the green, thanking the Saints that Philipe hadn’t seen the Highlander kissing her.

But as she came within sight of the beer wagon, her breath caught, and she stumbled to a halt. Standing beside the cart, a scowl of condemnation creasing his brow, was the queen’s secretary.

He cursed her in French, upbraided her for deserting her post, and threatened to relieve her of her position, all of which she listened to with silent forbearance. At least he hadn’t witnessed that kiss. But when he accused her of endangering Mary, she took offense.

“I would never do anything to endanger the queen,” she proclaimed, straightening proudly. “In fact,” she said pointedly, crafting an outright lie that she’d have to seek absolution for later, “I only left to take a pint to the tall, dark, handsome lad in the black doublet and the feathered cap. He looked terribly thirsty.”

Josselin prayed that Philipe would be satisfied, both that Josselin had seen through Mary’s disguise and that she’d catered to the queen’s needs without prompting. Hopefully, he wouldn’t bother to confirm her story. As she’d discovered with Kate Campbell, sometimes ’twas easier to lie than try to explain an uncomfortable truth.

Philipe seemed to believe her and was suitably impressed. After a spate of requisite grousing and muttering, he finally agreed to entrust her with the information he’d learned earlier from the nobleman.

Apparently, at the first news of Mary’s return to her throne, Queen Elizabeth’s man, Lord Walsingham, had sent spies to Scotland. An uneasy truce existed between the two queens, since no one was quite certain who would rightly inherit the English throne should Elizabeth die without issue. Walsingham posed an enormous threat to Mary. As master of Elizabeth’s spy network, he’d devised cunning tactics that were difficult to discern, as well as brilliant encryptions that were nearly impossible to decipher.

Worse, there were those in Scotland, among them John Knox and his followers, who would be glad to ally with the English to overthrow Mary.

Philipe had therefore increased the ranks of Mary’s agents over the last several days in order to root out enemy spies. Josselin’s services would be even more vital now. Since messages would come to her in greater numbers, she was to report to the links at Musselburgh on a daily basis.

Most thrilling was Philipe’s warning that Josselin might be called upon to do more than just deliver messages. She would also be charged with keeping her eyes and ears open for suspicious persons who could be counterspies. They might come in the form of trusted individuals—priests or midwives or sweet-faced maids. But she was to trust no one who didn’t bring her a triple-notched tankard.

Josselin gave Philipe her solemn promise to uphold his orders. She even managed to wait until he was gone before allowing a glimmer of excitement to enter her eyes. This was what she’d trained for—to serve the Scots queen, to fight against the English, and to get revenge on the brutes who’d murdered her mother.

Leaning dreamily back against a cask of beer, she imagined rooting out a counterspy and engaging him in mortal combat. He’d underestimate her abilities, and she’d surprise him with a few painful slashes of her sword. He’d thrust. She’d parry. He’d advance. She’d retreat. They’d battle back and forth for several moments. She’d let him think he was winning. Then, just as he was about to deal the killing blow…

“MacAdam! MacAdam!” came a rhythmic chant from across the field. “MacAdam! MacAdam!”

Ballocks!

She pushed away from the cask with a frown.

The insufferable cad had done it. He’d knowingly bested the queen.

’Twas bad enough that John Knox had verbally attacked Mary only a few weeks after her arrival, challenging her faith and, rumor had it, reducing her to tears. Now the Highlander had made a fool of her on the golf course in front of everyone.

But when the mob came trooping across the green, Josselin was astonished to see Mary marching at the fore beside Drew, a huge grin wreathing her face. And when she came up to the beer wagon for refreshment, the queen saluted the Highlander with her tankard.

“Well done, sir, well done,” she said. “Thank ye for your indulgence. ’Tis a long time since I wooed such a fine Scots course. I can see I’m goin’ to have to learn to court the lady properly.”

“Patience and persistence,” Drew advised. “A lady too easily won is not worth the winnin’,” he said, giving Josselin a knowing wink.

Josselin clenched her teeth. It took every ounce of her restraint not to pour his beer over his head.