Chapter 2

SELKIRK, SCOTLAND

“Ye’ll not best me this time, old man.”

Will scowled at his young protégé and pushed back his sleeves, revealing his thick, hairy forearms. “Will ye ne’er learn to respect your elders?” He raised his dagger and shook his head, muttering, “Old man indeed.”

The two had sparred together so often that they’d memorized each other’s strengths and weaknesses, ploys and habits. But this week, Will’s favorite student had learned a new trick from Angus. Today the master would taste defeat at the hands of his apprentice. The stakes were high, the prize priceless.

Will’s first advance came, as always, across and down from the right in a diagonal slash. ’Twas predictable and easy to dodge.

His second strike was always a return from the left. It might come in low or high. Today the arc was at shin-height, low enough to jump over.

The advance had to be quick then. There was only a second or two to reply.

One immediate forward thrust sent the old man scuttling back, followed rapidly by a downward slash, which forced Will to dodge to the side.

Once a man was on the defensive, Angus had said, he’d reply with hasty desperation, and his blows might be incautious. ’Twas then the risky move would have to be made.

When the old man’s awkward, defensive slash whistled from left to right, his opponent needed precise, lightning-quick calculation and sheer nerve to step sideways into the blade’s path. Thankfully, the measurement proved accurate. Will’s dagger sliced superficially through cloth and flesh, not enough to cause too much damage, just enough to sting like bloody hell.

As predicted, Will dropped his weapon in shock at what he’d done. “Jossy!” he cried.

Just as Angus had suggested she do, Josselin played up the injury. She gave a feminine gasp, winced, and staggered, letting Will get a good look at her wounded left arm, but never letting go of the blade in her right.

With horror in his eyes, Will stepped forward. “Jossy, lass, are ye—”

“Aha!” Before he could finish, she swung the tip of her dagger up to rest it at his stubbled throat. “I win.”

“What?” His bewildered gaze almost made her regret her trickery. Almost.

“I win.” She gave him a grin of triumph.

His confusion turned rapidly to anger. “Win, my arse,” he spat. “Ye cheated, brat.”

“I didn’t cheat,” she said with an injured sniff. “Ye can see the blood.”

“I can’t believe ye’d do that on purpose,” he scolded. “I could have cut ye badly, ye fool wench.” He shook his head. “Who taught ye such deceit?”

“’Tisn’t deceit,” she said, avoiding the question. After all, ’twould make Will jealous if he knew he wasn’t her only teacher. “’Tis cleverness.”

He batted her dagger away. “Cleverness, my ballocks,” he grumbled. “Ye’ll get yourself killed with such cleverness.”

“But I win, right?” she said. “I get to go to Edinburgh to see the new queen.”

He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like an expletive.

“Ye promised,” she warned.

“Aye, that I did. Never let it be said I’m not a man o’ my word. But,” he said, wagging his finger at her nose, “ye’re goin’ to promise me somethin’ in return.”

Josselin’s heart was beating so fast with the thrill of winning the wager that she didn’t care what his promise was. “Aye?”

“Ye’ll go as a lad.”

“What?”

“Ye heard me.”

“What do ye mean?”

“Ye’ll get yourself some trews, a baggy shirt, and boots,” he told her. “And a hat big enough, Mistress Goldilocks, to hide your hair and those connivin’ green eyes.”

Josselin furrowed her brows. “Why?”

“For protection.”

She brought her blade up swiftly. “I’ve got this for protection.”

“Don’t argue with me, lass, or ye’ll not go at all.”

“But ye swore. Ye said if I bested ye, I could go to Edinburgh.”

“So I did, and I’ll be true to my word…even if ye did cheat.”

“I did not—”

He held up a hand to silence her. “But if ye don’t agree to my terms, I can’t promise I won’t have a slip o’ the tongue in front o’ Kate about the mischief ye’ve been up to these past few years.”

She whisked her dagger back down and looked at him in hurt disbelief. “Ye wouldn’t.”

He folded his arms over his stocky chest. “Only if ye force me to it.”

She huffed out a vexed puff of air. “Oh, fine. I’ll go as a bloody lad.”

She sheathed her weapon and unbuckled the belt from her hips, handing it to Will. As they walked back toward the tavern, Josselin smoothed her skirts and loosed her braid, letting the waves fall around her shoulders and down her back, then tied on her linen coif. Kate mustn’t know she’d been fighting. ’Twould break the woman’s heart.

Will brought up Kate Campbell any time he wanted to keep Josselin under his thumb. Kate, a prosperous brewster, had taken Josselin in when she was twelve years old, claiming ’twas unseemly for three unwed men to raise an orphaned lass, pointing out that they’d taught her nothing but sparring, spitting, and swearing.

But despite the woman’s kindness, Josselin had burst into tears as she’d been forced to leave behind the three men she called “Da” to move her things into the room over Kate’s tavern.

Will had taken pity on her. He’d whispered to her that if she promised not to tell Kate, he’d continue sparring with her every Monday morn. After all, he’d sworn on her mother’s grave that he’d teach Josselin how to defend herself properly.

What Will didn’t know was that her second da, Angus, had made a similar arrangement. They met to cross swords on Wednesday afternoons, to honor the memory of her brave father, killed in battle.

And neither Angus nor Will knew about her engagements with her third da, Alasdair, who dedicated Fridays to teaching Josselin how to read, do sums, and, if nagged enough, how to wield a dagger with lethal grace.

As far as her foster mother knew, Josselin went off for several hours a week to gather flowers, do embroidery, or visit with friends. That was in addition to her regular work, which was serving beer at the tavern and managing the brewster’s accounts.

“Ye’d better keep your wits about ye in Edinburgh,” Will muttered as they crossed the field toward town. “’Tisn’t Selkirk, after all.”

“I’ll keep my wits and my blade about me, Da.” She called all three of her fathers “Da.” It got confusing sometimes, but none of the three would surrender the title.

“Half o’ Scotland is determined to get a peek at the new queen,” he said with a shudder, making his graying beard quiver. “There’s bound to be an enormous crowd.”

Josselin’s heart raced, imagining the grand procession…hundreds of people waving scarves and cheering…French soldiers on horseback and lairds from all over Scotland marching through the streets…musicians and players and dancers making festive displays. And floating like an unruffled goddess above the din and ceremony would be Queen Mary with her constant companions, the Four Maries.

“Get that glimmer right out o’ your eyes, lass,” Will groused. “’Tis a dangerous place, the city. And not everyone will be so glad to see the queen.”

“How could they not?” Josselin broke off a purple thistle growing beside the path. “She’s been gone for twelve years. ’Twill be a triumphant return.” She smiled, tickling Will’s cheek with the blossom.

He scowled and brushed it away. “She’s a Catholic, and there are those who don’t much care for the old religion.”

Josselin thought that was silly. What did it matter where a person worshipped on Sunday? Scotland was finally going to have her own real queen. And from all reports, Mary was beautiful and powerful, intelligent and charming.

“Mary is strong,” she decided. “She can defend herself.”

“Not accordin’ to Knox.”

“Hmph.” Josselin had heard men in the tavern talking of John Knox, the Protestant zealot. It seemed many were swayed by his charismatic speeches. “I hardly think one nasty old man with a waggin’ tongue can wield much influence.”

“Perhaps not, but he has powerful friends.”

Josselin straightened with pride. “Well, so does the queen.” More than anything, Josselin wanted to live up to her mother’s legacy, to fight the foes of the crown, to triumph where she had fallen. “Who was it taught me,” she added pointedly, “that the best defense is a strong offense?”

Will stopped in his tracks, grabbed her by the shoulders, and spun her to face him. In that one instant, his fierce frown took all the wind from her sails. “Ye’ll not tangle with the likes o’ Knox, do ye hear me?”

Josselin gulped. She wasn’t afraid of Will, but she did respect him.

“He’s a dangerous man,” Will said. “All fanatics are. Ye can go do your merrymakin’, watch the hurly-burly, and steal a peek at young Mary from a distance. But ye steer clear o’ Knox and his ilk.”

She wriggled loose of his hands. “I’ve no interest in the man anyway. Ye fret too much, Da.”

“Ye give a man much to fret about,” he said, shaking his head and sighing unhappily as they continued down the path. “What are ye goin’ to tell Kate about that gash on your arm?”

She shrugged. “I’ll say I fell off the beer cart.”

He arched one grizzled brow. “Again?”