Outlaw King Page 7

  “I understand,” she said, though her lips were numb and forming words was difficult. She thought for a moment of the man she had encountered in Ireland and also so many years before at Moray Castle. She had believed him to be fierce, brave, and honorable. No man who was these things would abandon his people when the fight became difficult. Could she have been wrong about Robert? She had but to look at her father to realize she could have, indeed, horribly misjudged Robert, just as she had misjudged her father. If Robert truly was honorable, then she might well play a key role in destroying him and toppling Scotland’s rebellion for good. And if he was prepared to become a turncoat simply to regain the lands, title, and wealth he had lost, then she could be forced to join her body with a man she found despicable to save Lillianna. There was no good path for her. She feared she would not be able to seduce Robert, and she also feared she would.

  Chapter Four

  Robert rode into the castle grounds with Angus and English knights surrounding them on every side. He had tried to convince Angus not to travel here with him, as Angus had his own clan and younger brothers and sisters to protect, but the man was as loyal as they came and refused to listen. Angus said the greatest protection he could give his clan and family was to keep Edward from gaining the throne of Scotland. As for Niall, he had remained with Robert’s vassals as temporary leader in Robert’s absence. Robert and Angus took a grave risk drawing so near to Edward to play this dangerous game of deception. Discovery could mean death, yet the gamble was necessary to aid the rebellion and protect his vassals.

  Robert gazed toward the bridge that led to the castle. Knights in full armor were mounted on either side of it, and as Robert and Angus approached, a line of trumpeters began to play as if Robert himself were king.

  “I see Edward begins his game of pretending he really wishes for peace,” Angus grumbled under his breath.

  Robert nodded. The court was present, as it should be for honored guests. At the end of the bridge, Edward sat upon an enormous warhorse with a luxurious ruby robe fastened about his neck that fluttered in the wind. To Edward’s left was de Burgh, who had gained a streak of white in his otherwise red hair since Robert had last seen him. The man’s snappy eyes settled on him. Immediately, Robert found himself looking away from de Burgh and searching for Elizabeth, half hoping to see her and half hoping she had found a way to flee her father.

  Finally, his gaze fell on her and the pure white destrier stationed on the other side of the king, and his chest tightened. She was dressed in pale-blue silk, and her hair was unbound, spiraling down over her shoulders. A crown of flowers sat atop her head, and when his eyes met hers, she smiled. A surge of happiness filled him and stunned him. She inclined her head, ever so slightly in acknowledgment, and he started to smile, but then he was struck suddenly by the memory of her saying that she feared she was being called to court to be wed. He swept his gaze around the men close to her, stopping on Guy de Beauchamp, who was behind her and to her right. Robert frowned, having little care for the wealthy lord. Robert had a long history of besting de Beauchamp in every competition they had participated in as knights before there was ever a problem between Scotland and England.

  De Beauchamp glared at Robert, showing the animosity had not lessened through the years, though Robert had not suspected it would, even without his role in the rebellion. A dark suspicion stirred as de Beauchamp moved his horse closer to Elizabeth’s. God’s teeth, she’d not been forced to wed the man, had she? A shocking protective instinct flared in him, which he had no right or leisure to feel, let alone act upon.

  Many times over the past two months, when night and weariness had descended on him, he’d thought of her and the conversation they’d had in Ireland, and he had smiled. It was—no, she was—the only thing that had brought him a moment of pure happiness in too many years to count. But happiness was not for men striving to bring a nation to freedom. His future held chaos, mistrust, betrayal, battle, death, and if he was very clever and careful, victory for Scotland.

  “Devil have yer tongue?” Angus asked, making Robert realize he’d never answered his friend.

  “Nay. I am considering what is before us,” he replied, pulling his gaze from Elizabeth’s beautiful face and turning his attention to the people assembled behind the king, Elizabeth, and her father. Queen Margaret, heavy with child, and her attendants were there, and behind them was what looked to be most of Edward’s court.

  “Everyone before us or just one particular someone?” Angus asked under his breath as he reined in his horse to slow his progress toward the king.

  Robert matched his friend’s pace. “Everyone. The game begins now, Angus. Let us play it well.”

  Angus snorted. “Ye dunnae have to tell me that. Ye need to nae let the de Burgh lass’s bountiful charms make ye forget she is de Burgh’s daughter and the king’s goddaughter.”

  Robert frowned. “Ye do nae need to be suspicious of Elizabeth. She does nae wish us harm.” He had, in fact, gotten the feeling she wished the rebellion to succeed.

  “Och,” Angus grumbled low. “Yer words are exactly why I need to be suspicious. Already ye are blinded by her beauty. Keep up yer guard. She may nae wish ye harm, but her father does and her king does, and they are clever enough to use her against us.”

  Robert opened his mouth to negate what Angus had said, to tell his friend that war and his own past had made him overly suspicious, but now his own wariness stirred. Angus was right. If there was a way to use Elizabeth, likely they would do it, whether she wished it or not. “I do nae intend to lower my guard. Keep yer wits about ye, as well.”

  “If it becomes too torturous for ye to endure the lady, I’ll be happy to aid ye,” Angus said with a wink.

  Robert gripped his reins tighter as jealousy flared. It was foolish to feel jealousy. And though he likely should have kept quiet, he found himself saying, “Ye’ll remember that Elizabeth is a lady. We do nae make war on ladies, and we act with honor always, even amongst our enemies, who may wish to plant a dagger in our backs.”

  “I dunnae need the reminder, Robbie, and it is unlike ye to think I would. Do ye desire her?”

  The blunt question did not surprise Robert. Angus was known for being direct. “Aye,” he said, not seeing a reason to deny it. The time may come that Angus needed to remind him how foolish it would be to act on that desire.

  Angus gave a curt nod. “I kinnae fault ye. She’s lovely, but that dunnae mean she is to be trusted. In fact, ye ken well it I think it means the opposite.”

  Robert looked to her once more. She was not simply lovely; she shone like the sun, nearly blinding in her beauty. Her eyes, so pure in their blueness, stared unabashedly at him for one moment before she bit her lip and cast her gaze down. He watched as she twined her reins around her hands tightly. Something was upsetting her, and he had a strange sense it had something to do with him.

  “Bruce!” the king cried out jovially. The king’s tone set off a warning in Robert’s mind. Edward was not a jovial man. “I’m delighted to have you come to me in want of my peace and forgiveness.”

  Robert bowed stiffly from his horse. Clearly, Edward meant to start pulling his strings immediately and holding him up as an example of a conquered people. For Scotland, he could and would act his part, which luckily was that of a proud Scot who was not happy about being here, but was, nevertheless, here. “I’m desirous of nae being hunted, subjugated, my lands destroyed, my people killed, and that is why I am here.”

  His response had met its mark. Edward’s eyes narrowed, and his lips pressed into an angry line. The king’s face turned a deep shade of angry red, and Robert felt rather than saw Elizabeth draw away from Edward, as if she knew the man in a temper was a dreadful thing. Robert knew well that it was, too. He had visited this English court and others of Edward’s many times as a landowner in England, and with his grandfather and father who had once fought by Edward’s side. That past seemed a thousand lifetimes away.

  “You
need but show you have learned your lesson not to rise against me, and I will be most pleased to return all you have lost and more,” the king said, his tone unbending.

  “Ye can nae return dead men, women, and children to life,” Robert said, having to force himself not to spit at the king. “Even ye are nae that powerful.”

  A collective gasp came from the queen, her ladies-in-waiting, and the assembled court behind them. The only person who did not seem surprised by Robert’s remarks was Elizabeth, who had now turned the full force of her gaze upon him. It bore into him, her eyes seeming almost to implore him to silence. Did she fear for his welfare? He could not contemplate the thought, however, because the king’s eyes bulged as if they might shoot out of his head. He opened and closed his mouth but no words escaped, only angry growls.

  Suddenly, Elizabeth moved her destrier close to the king and set a tentative hand on his arm, never taking her attention from Robert. Elizabeth had not lost her bravery, he saw. He was unaccountably pleased.

  “Your Majesty,” she said. Her tone was soft and lyrical, but tension tightened her smile, as if it was forced. “Put Lord Bruce in my company for one hour, and I will have him convinced you are, indeed, powerful enough to do anything you set your mind to.”

  The king, his face twisted, glanced between Elizabeth and Robert, and then burst into laughter. It went on for several grating breaths until the sound died and he said to Elizabeth, “You are a clever lady, my dear. I trust you can do exactly as you say.”

  Elizabeth offered a tight smile. “I assure you I can.” Her words were heavily laden with an odd sadness. Robert frowned at the strange banter between Elizabeth and the king, but before he could think more upon it, Edward clapped his hands and grinned, all suspect happiness once again.

  “Bruce, you will refresh yourself before we dine. I have reserved a special place for you by my side at the feast being prepared in your honor.” The king cut his eyes to Angus. “You will dine with the masses.” And with that, he turned his destrier toward the crowd behind him, de Burgh and Elizabeth following suit.

  The great hall bustled with sounds of laughter and flute music when Robert and Angus entered the room, not long after refreshing themselves in their separate bedchambers. Robert noted that a guard trailed him wherever he went and one followed Angus, as well. It did not surprise him. He had planned for such an eventuality with Fraser. When they needed to meet, Fraser’s cousin, Gwendolyn, would pass messages between them and they would meet at the summer bower on the island that could be rowed to across the water from the castle. Fraser had said there was a skiff there.

  Robert pushed thoughts of Fraser aside, and he and Angus were met at the door of the great hall by two servants, one of whom had been commanded to show Angus to his seat as far away as possible from the dais where the king sat with Queen Margaret of France, de Burgh, Fraser, and Elizabeth.

  “Keep yer wits about ye,” Angus warned as he was led away.

  Robert nodded and followed the servant through the rows of ornamented tables to the dais. As he approached, Elizabeth caught his attention, though surely it should have been on the king, his adversary. She was watching him, though her lashes were lowered and her wine goblet had been raised to disguise what she was doing. Still, he could sense her gaze on him as sure as he could feel the warmth of the sun on a clear day. Her effect on him was disturbing, especially as he recalled Angus’s warning. His friend was correct. Extreme caution was in order. Much rode on his ability to convince the king he was truly there to pay homage and accept peace.

  “Robert!” King Edward boomed. “Come, boy! Sit beside me.”

  Robert started to bristle at the king calling him boy, but he caught himself and got his emotions under control. He inclined his head and made his way to his seat, which was between the king and Elizabeth. As he sat, she turned toward him, and her beauty took his breath. Her high, sculpted cheekbones and large, luminous eyes had haunted his dreams. How could he forget?

  “Lady de Burgh,” he said.

  “So formal!” Queen Margaret crowed from the king’s left. “I give you leave to call each other by your Christian names.”

  “I’d nae be so bold,” Robert replied, attempting to sidestep the invisible binds that the king and queen were already tying around him and securing to Elizabeth. Certainly, she could not be wed to de Beauchamp with the way the queen seemed to be encouraging such friendliness with Robert.

  The king clasped him on the shoulder. “Elizabeth does not mind, do you?” the king asked, leaning forward to look directly at her.

  Robert turned to see her expression, cool at best, which passed over him and settled on the king. “If His Majesty says I do not mind, then it surely must be so.”

  The king chuckled and squeezed Robert’s shoulder. “Look to Elizabeth for example, Robert. Sitting there is a woman who learned well her lesson and is now as dutiful as a woman who serves the king should be.”

  Anger for Elizabeth rose in him. If she was dutifully doing what the king had commanded, he had to think—or perhaps hope—it was by threat of punishment should she dare not to. But whatever the reason, he needed to be cautious of her. Elizabeth’s fingers gripped her wine goblet, nearly turning white. She was not happy, and he could not blame her. “I imagine there are harsh punishments for any who dare defy Yer Majesty’s orders,” Robert said.

  The king’s eyes narrowed, and Robert sensed he may have pushed back too hard.

  De Burgh coughed suddenly, and Elizabeth seemed to startle, then said, “Lord Bruce is every bit as observant as you have always said, Your Majesty.” She laughed then, the sound still lyrical even if it did seem forced. “It shall be most entertaining to spend time with him. Perhaps he can dance, as well? Or is that too much to hope for?”

  “I dance adequately,” Robert replied, his body heating at the prospect of touching Elizabeth so intimately, being so near her that he could inhale her scent, feel her warmth, divine myriad shades of blue in her eyes. Perhaps even learn what secrets she harbored, for her contradictory behavior indicated she was hiding something.

  “And so the two of you shall, after we sup and the tables are cleared,” the king pronounced.

  Robert had no more taken a drink of wine from his goblet when the king leaned toward him and whispered, “You are wise to accept my truce, but you would be a fool not to make it a permanent thing.”

  “Would I?” Robert managed to say in a fairly civil tone.

  “You would,” Edward replied and waved a hand toward Fraser, who sat to de Burgh’s left and had thus far been ignored by the king. “Look there to Fraser. See how well he appears? He came to me a man in rags, his lands forfeited, his titles, as well, his wealth gone, and I forgave him all when he submitted. See now the richness of his robe? The flush of health on his cheeks? Ask him how glad he is to be done with the foolish rebellion, to be in my peace.”

  Robert knew well Fraser had done what he had to for Scotland, just as Robert was now doing, but it rankled deep within that the king believed Fraser to be a turncoat and would soon believe the same of Robert. He inhaled a long breath and then locked gazes with Fraser. “How does it sit with ye to have abandoned the rebellion?”

  Fraser smiled over his wine goblet, his face revealing nothing of the plot they engaged in against the king. “I dunnae ever think of it as I sit in my castle.”

  Robert nodded. Taut silence fell at the table so that when the king spoke again, it seemed like thunder in Robert’s ears. “I am lord over southern Scotland and will soon be over the north, as well. When this temporary truce is over,” he said, stroking his russet beard, “I will march north and conquer the lands that remain.” He tapped himself on the chest. “I can raise you up in power as you once were or I can leave you powerless as you are.” He picked up his goblet, gulped the wine, and slammed it down with such a racket that Elizabeth gasped and the queen paled.

  “Ye think I am powerless?” Robert demanded through clenched teeth. It was not hard to
play the beaten Scot who was on the verge of surrender. He was battered, to be sure, but he would never surrender. The king’s pompous assurance that he would was almost more than Robert could bear.

  “I know it to be true,” the king said, smug in his conviction. He drummed his fingers on his wine goblet. “Your earldom of Carrick is destroyed. I now occupy it. Annandale, your father’s lordship, is destroyed, and your father little more than a broken man. Galloway is destroyed, most of your men killed or scattered to the wind. I am your only hope.”

  Robert could not prevent the bitter laugher that escaped him. If Edward were his only hope, it would be a black day, indeed.

  Edward rose halfway in his seat, setting his palms on the table. “Dare you to laugh in my face?”

  “It seems I dare to do much,” Robert countered, thinking of his mad plan to convince Edward that he had broken him. He prayed he could go through with it. The anger rushing through him, the desire to shove back his chair, cast the farce aside, and tell Edward he’d see him in hell before he bent the knee to him and helped him conquer Scotland, was so strong that Robert trembled with the effort to hold back the words.

  “Think hard on this, Bruce.” The king’s nostrils flared. “I will go north when the truce expires. You can march by my side and fight with me, and together, we will keep Comyn off the throne, or you can return to Scotland my enemy and serve Comyn, who will claim himself to be king once he gets Balliol to name him thusly.”

  Lamberton and Fraser had played their parts well. The king believed this all to be his idea, yet even knowing it was not did not dull the sharp prick of the king’s words on Robert’s pride.