Chapter 33

“She just…vanished,” the beer wagon driver said with a shrug, tipping his chair back against the wood-paneled wall of The White Hart Inn.

The three old comrades-in-arms—Will, Angus, and Alasdair—as primed for a fight as they’d been on the Ancrum battlefield years ago—scowled ferociously at the man.

“What do ye mean, she vanished?” Will ground out.

Angus brought his boot down on the rung of the man’s chair, bringing it upright with jarring force.

The man’s eyes went wide, and he glanced nervously at the three men. “She was there all morn,” he said, gulping, “and then suddenly she wasn’t.”

“Poof?” Alasdair narrowed his eyes in threat. “Into thin air?”

“I mean,” the man amended, “I saw her go off…”

“Go off?” Will said. “Where?”

“Toward the woods. After that golfer.”

“Golfer?” Alasdair frowned.

The beer wagon driver smirked. “She was always chasin’ after him.”

Will clenched his teeth. “Go on.”

“Then it got dark. The way I figure it, she must have caught him.” He grinned at his own jest, but one glance at Will’s scowl and his smile faded. He scratched his arm defensively. “I couldn’t stay. Like I said, it was gettin’ dark. I had to come back to the inn.”

Angus growled. “Ye son of a—”

Will stopped Angus with a shake of his head. They were in a crowded inn. Starting a brawl would only delay their progress, and they’d already lost a day.

“Look,” Will said, crouching down to speak to the man in a reasonable voice. “What’s your name?”

“Davey.”

“Look, Davey. We need to find the lass. Ye were the last one to see her. So ye’re goin’ to show us the place she disappeared.”

“’Tis all the way in Musselburgh,” he whined.

Will fought the urge to backhand the puling dolt, instead muttering, “Then we’d best be leavin’ now.”

Deciding ’twas in his best interests to cooperate, considering he was outnumbered, Davey gave a sulking nod and shuffled to his feet. He nodded to the innkeeper. “They want to look for the beer wagon wench.”

The innkeeper scowled. “Everyone’s lookin’ for the beer wagon wench.”

Will scowled back at him, and the innkeeper motioned him toward the counter to confide, “The queen’s secretary was sniffin’ around last night, askin’ after the lass.”

“The queen’s secretary?”

Will hadn’t expected that. When he’d discovered Josselin wasn’t in the royal army, but was working as a beer wagon wench, he’d assumed she’d exaggerated her connection to the queen.

Maybe she hadn’t exaggerated after all.

“Did he say anythin’ else?” Will asked.

“He seemed a bit out o’ sorts, though ’tis hard to tell with the man. He said I was to send word to Holyrood at once if she turned up. Then he muttered somethin’ about her bein’ a dead woman.”

Will’s heart turned to ice. A dead woman? What the devil was Josselin involved in? Had her bold tongue gotten her into trouble with the royals?

“A dead woman?” he repeated. “Are ye sure?”

The innkeeper grimaced. “I think that’s what he said. ’Twas hard to tell with his funny way o’ talkin’, but a dead woman, aye.”

“Nae, nae,” the tavern wench chimed in, “not dead woman. Dead wrong.”

“Dead wrong?” The innkeeper shook his head doubtfully. “Dead wrong about what?”

The tavern wench shrugged. “How would I know?”

“Bedwoman,” said a man at the counter. “The Frenchman said she was his bedwoman.”

“Bedwoman?” the tavern wench said with a laugh. “What the hell is a bedwoman?”

“Probably French for a lady o’ questionable virtue,” the man replied.

“Besides,” the tavern wench said, “she wasn’t his bedwoman. She was swivin’ the Highlander.”

Will felt ill. He never should have let Jossy go to Edinburgh alone. With a shudder of dread, he grabbed Davey by the arm and growled to the others, “Let’s go.”

“If ye find her,” the innkeeper called as the three headed out the door, “she owes me a day’s wages.”

’Twas early afternoon when they arrived at the Musselburgh links. There was a commotion on the course, wagerers complaining because there had been a forfeit of a match. One of the players, a Highlander, hadn’t shown up, and he was nowhere to be found, not even at the inn where he was supposed to be staying.

’Twas too much of a coincidence, Will decided. Could he be Josselin’s golfer? Had they run off together?

Will ground his teeth. ’Twas too distasteful to think about. Jossy was only a child. At least in his mind she was.

Nonetheless, ’twas a distinct possibility that she’d gone willingly with the man, and that troubled the three of them only a wee bit less than thinking she’d been abducted. Still, whether she’d gone willingly or not, they’d go after Josselin and exert their fatherly influence to persuade her to leave the filthy, cradle-thieving bastard and come home.

Thankfully, there was a clear path into the woods at the place where Davey said she’d disappeared.

Will had always been the best tracker of the three men, though he hadn’t used his skills since the time they’d served together in the Scots army, tracking the enemy. He put his rusty talents to work now as they entered the forest.

’Twasn’t long before they discovered signs that there were more than just two travelers. It appeared one of the men had a walking staff. At one point, deep footprints in the mud indicated someone had been running at high speed. And at the spot where the tracks abruptly left the path, there were numerous broken branches, torn leaves, and ruts in the earth, evidence of some sort of scuffle.

This, more than anything, convinced the three that they needed to make haste. Josselin was outnumbered and in danger.

They didn’t eat. They didn’t sleep. They marched through the woods with the same cold-blooded determination they’d had years ago marching to war. They’d already lost one maid of Ancrum. They weren’t going to lose another.

And thanks to Will’s still keen eyes and their relentless pace, on the second night, they managed to catch up with her.