Chapter Ten
The first scream that echoed through the forest made Robert wild with fear. Elizabeth had lied to him. Angus had lied to him. And now she was in trouble, exactly as he had predicted. Withdrawing one of his daggers, he raced in the direction from which the sound had come. He didn’t pause to push away the brush and branches that blocked his progress. Instead, he barreled through them, the scrapes and cuts insignificant compared to finding Elizabeth and rescuing her.
Knowing the sort of men that wandered this forest, his imagination conjured terrible scenarios of her being ravaged, so when she let out another bloodcurdling scream not long later, he felt as if the hand of death gripped his heart. His feet hit the ground again and again in a rapid, jarring motion as he ran. He should have been hot from the effort, yet coldness cloaked him.
She cried out again—this time more of a whimper—and he let out a guttural cry as he followed the noise along the stream to an area thick with trees and flowers. As he ran, he nearly tripped, and when he looked down, he was frozen for one breath in grim fascination. A man lay on his back with a dagger sticking out of his chest. His green eyes were open wide.
Robert hurtled over the body and around a large tree, and Elizabeth appeared before his eyes.
She was being held off the ground at the waist. She was kicking, screaming, and flailing her arms, as a tall, bald man carried her bodily to the other side of the stream. Murderous rage filled him. He raced into the water, splashing as he went. The man twirled toward him, and as his eyes widened in shock and then his face set in anger, he flung Elizabeth to the streambed. A haze of red descended over Robert’s vision, his blood gushing in his ears.
“Robert!” Elizabeth gasped out, but he did not look to her. Not yet.
He came face-to-face with the man, and when the devil raised his sword, Robert stabbed him in the arm, closed the distance between them, and caught him on the chin. He reached around him and the man punched him in the gut, but Robert did not even flinch. He gripped tighter and snapped the man’s neck, then stepped back as the stranger crumpled face-first into the water.
Dread hit him at the core as he stared at the dead man. Killing someone was never anything but horrific, no matter the circumstances. For a moment, he could not move, but then Elizabeth rose, her dress soaked and clinging to her body, her hair damp against her face, her eyes shining with fear, and her lips trembling.
“Robert,” she said, her voice a shaky whisper. “My god, Robert, I’m sorry. I—”
He yanked her to him, desperate to feel her and ensure she was all right. He ran his hands over her head, face, shoulders, arms, and stomach. He slid them over her hips, down her legs, and then he stood once more and stared at her. Her teeth chattered, and fear for what could have happened made his breath come in short gasps.
My God, had it?
“Elizabeth, did they—Are ye—” He felt almost that he could not form the question. To know she had been defiled would kill him. “Are ye untouched?”
Tears sprang into her eyes. “Yes. Beyond being yanked around, I’m fine. I—”
He covered her mouth with his with an all-consuming need to taste her, feel her, make her his. Her need seemed to match his as they raced their hands over each other while urgently exploring the recesses of each other’s mouths. Yet, anger at her and Angus danced on the edge of the bliss in her arms, and the fresh horror of killing a man caused him to pull away.
He stepped back and glared at her. “Damn it to Hell, woman, why did ye lie to me?”
She flinched, but in true Elizabeth fashion, her chin went up, she shoved her wet hair back, and she leveled him with a dark look. “So you would not be in harm’s way!”
“Christ’s blood! Do nae seek to keep me from harm by endangering yerself ever again. I am meant to protect ye, nae the other way around!” he thundered.
“I will never be the sort of woman to sit by and let you be the only one to put yourself in harm’s way for a greater good,” she flung back at him. “If that is the sort of woman you seek, we need not spend one more minute in each other’s company.”
As she shoved past him, he grasped her by the wrist and swung her into his embrace. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, feeling her tremble, whether from anger or shock he did not know. “I was nae seeking a woman at all; yet here ye are, the perfect woman for me. What is a man to do in the face of destiny but capitulate with grace?”
This time it was she who pressed her mouth to his. Her tongue tentatively touched his lips, and he knew instinctually she had never been so bold in her life. Her complete abandonment was the greatest gift. He offered his first touch down a new path that would carve their future. It was to her collarbone, ever so lightly, as if she were glass. He did not want to shatter their fragile bond with a wrong move.
As he drank in her honeyed taste and inhaled her flowery scent, now overlain by crisp fresh water, and the smell of yearning, the longing in him became a consuming hunger. He wanted her now, but to take her would mean more than just this moment and that was something to which he could not yet commit. He pulled back from her, his pulse racing, his body strumming. Her blue eyes held a glint of wonder and shining need, and he knew in this moment, she could not possibly be thinking clearly.
He cupped her face, and his chest squeezed with the simple touch. “We need to return to the castle.”
She nodded. “I’m afraid.”
“Do nae be. I will guard ye with my life.”
Her eyes delved into him, the heat of her stare scorching his soul. “Yes,” she whispered, shivering. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. I fear I am unwittingly leading you to your doom.”
“My eyes are wide open, lass. If I go to my doom, it is of my own doing.” He took her hand then to lead her from the water, but instead, he stood there, loath to return to the castle, yet knowing they had to. The heat of her fingers locked with his, her hand so small, her soul so vulnerable, made him shake with the weight of what he was on the verge of feeling for her. He should stop it now, but he did not have the strength to turn from her. God help him. So he stood in the cool stream as trickling water filled the silence, and he cast his mind to what needed to be done to protect her. He had never intended to actually bend the knee to Edward, but he had to consider that he might have to in order to keep Elizabeth from harm. It would cast him instantly as a turncoat in many Scots’ eyes, however. He swallowed the knowledge and then buried it so that she would not guess what he would do for her. He knew her now; she would stop such an action if she could, which was why he was willing to do it in the first place. He looked to the dead man in the water and saw Elizabeth turn her gaze to the scum, as well.
Robert squeezed her hand. “Should we—”
“No,” she interrupted, her voice cold, unlike anything he had ever heard from her. “He would have defiled me willingly to strike at my father. This man does not deserve a burial.”
“And the other?” Robert asked, shoving back his own anger as it tried to rise. She did not need his rage; she needed his tenderness.
“The same,” she deadpanned. “Leave them for the vultures and the animals of the forest.”
He nodded, and they made their way to the bank. They faced each other once more. The wind whispered around them, and her hair fluttered against her cheek. On instinct, he tucked the silken strands behind her ear, and then he took her hand. “I will tell the guards that Angus is ill and staying in his room. Hopefully, that will give Angus until at least morning before they start a search for him. Do ye think ye can do the same with the guards for Lillianna?”
Elizabeth nodded.
Robert rubbed his thumb over her silky skin as he led her to her horse. “Tonight, I will make a show of being very taken with ye, though it will nae require any effort.”
She cast a sideways glance at him, a contemplative look upon her face. “I’ll make certain to look the part of the seducer to hopefully cast any lingering doubts about my allegiance from my father’s and the king’s minds. I will also whisper the lie in my father’s ear that you have admitted to me that you are ready to bend the knee to Edward.”
He nodded, tension beating within him. They would play a deadly game this night, and the stakes were high. After he parted ways with Elizabeth at the keep, he started toward his bedchamber, nearly colliding with Grace, one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting. She grasped his hand as if to catch herself, and she pressed a paper into his palm.
“Gwendolyn says to give ye this,” Grace rushed out before fleeing.
He frowned, made his way to his bedchamber, and unfolded the paper. The words were smeared from what looked to be red wine, and he could not make them out. He crumpled up the paper. He would seek Gwendolyn out later and ask her about the note.
At supper, when he entered the great hall, de Burgh was, unfortunately, one of the first people Robert saw. Elizabeth’s father frowned at him. “Did you not get the message I sent with the Lady Gwendolyn?”
Robert nodded, surprised. “I did, but the writing was smeared.”
“Ah, likely my fault. I did spill a bit of wine as I jotted the note. No matter now,” de Burgh said easily. “I thought to practice my archery today and had heard you were most skilled. Another time?”
“Aye,” Robert agreed, suspicious of why the man would try to be friendly now, but try as he might, he could not think of a particular reason, and the failure to do so set a new worry in his mind.
Elizabeth’s heart immediately started racing when she entered the great hall for supper. It had not been difficult to convince Lillianna’s guard, Stephen, that Lillianna was too ill to leave her bedchamber, but facing her father to convince him that she was loyal to him left Elizabeth feeling as if there were not enough air in the room. The roar of people engaged in conversation at their tables hammered her ears.
As she walked slowly toward the dais, where she assumed she would be sitting, she slid a hand over her gown, feeling eyes upon her and hearing several gasps as she passed. She knew why. She had chosen to wear the red-and-gold silk gown her mother had made to mimic the latest fashions of the French court. Her breasts were pushed high by the tight bodice, nearly spilling out the top of her gown, and she had washed and dried her hair. She even brushed it until it shone and spilled in waves to her waist. She needed to look every bit the part of a woman bent on seduction.
Her insides coiled at the thought. She was not seducing Robert, and he was not seducing her, but what were they doing? They were putting on a play of sorts tonight for her father and the king, but how much of what they were pretending was real? For her part, she cared for Robert already, and her feelings were intensely frightening. He was a man of great honor, a warrior committed to freeing his people. And she had no doubt that such a commitment would lead him to war. What she did doubt was if she had a place in his future. He would likely wish to take a Scottish wife who his people would cherish, who would make him a more accepted leader. Elizabeth, however, was the goddaughter and daughter of two of his greatest enemies. She was not a likely candidate.
Did she even want to be?
She bit her lip as she drew closer to the dais and saw him sitting there, so ruggedly handsome, so proud, such a pillar of strength. His gaze locked on her, unwavering and scorching, and his eyes widened slightly, the light of appreciation shining in them. A slow dimpled smile tugged his lips upward, and it was nothing short of an invitation to sin that she very much wanted to accept.
The noise in the room died away. The people slipped from her view. There was no one there—no one but the two of them—and she knew as surely as she knew she would draw her next breath that she would choose him as a husband if she were given the choice. No, she had not spent very long with him, but she recognized in him a soul exactly like her own.
She stopped in front of the dais and curtsied to the king. When she rose, he smiled at her. “You look stunning, Goddaughter!” He turned to Robert before Elizabeth could even reply and asked, “Does she not steal your senses?”
Robert nodded. “Aye. She is ravishing, to be certain.”
Her father frowned at her, as if he was displeased by something, but the queen smiled. “You will make a lovely bride!” she exclaimed.
Elizabeth stilled. “Bride?” Her gaze flew from her father to the king and then to Robert, in hopes that perhaps something had occurred and he had been led to make them believe things were headed that way. But Robert’s shocked face stole her hope. He had no notion of what was occurring.
The king picked up his wine goblet, took a long drink, then set it down. “Guy de Beauchamp is very adamant that you be his, my dear Elizabeth. I have promised him an answer in no less than one month, and in the meantime, he has my permission to be alone with you as he is courting you. I trust him implicitly. He, after all, has pledged his fealty, unlike young Bruce here.” The king looked to Robert and offered a sharp smile, like a blade that would rip its victim open with an ugly, tattered gash. “I must give those loyal to me first rights to Elizabeth’s hand. So, Bruce, if you find her to your taste, you will have to bend the knee or de Beauchamp will claim her as his.”
Elizabeth’s skin crawled as hatred for her godfather choked her. De Beauchamp could not be trusted, and Edward knew it. By the smug look on his face, he also knew Robert was likely aware of it. She would be lucky to escape with her virtue intact if de Beauchamp got her alone. Edward was attempting to use her to force Robert to bend the knee in that very moment.
Robert’s face was a mask, but his knuckles were white as he gripped his goblet. Did he fear for her or want her for himself, or was he simply enraged that he was being pushed toward her?
“I will keep this in mind,” Robert said, his voice smooth, not revealing even a hint of anger. “I’d like to request a dance and walk with Elizabeth tonight.”
The king shook his head. “I’m afraid de Beauchamp has already done so. In fact…” Edward waved his hand toward the table closest to the dais, where de Beauchamp sat with his men and their wives. There was an empty space by the man, and her heart sank as fear filled her lungs. “Elizabeth, you will sit with de Beauchamp tonight, dance with him, and walk with him in the garden afterward. Once she had done these things, she may have a single dance with you, Bruce, unless you are prepared to persuade me to do otherwise…”
Damn Edward to Hell!
Robert stole a glance at Elizabeth. Her ashen face gutted him. He would willingly bend the knee to save her from de Beauchamp—to have her for himself, he realized—yet, he had to get word to Wallace, Niall, his men, and his brothers, of what was occurring before he did so. Their plan had been for him to make it seem as if he would pay homage, not for him to actually do so. Anger nearly choked him. Edward thought to force his hand, and in a sense he had, though Robert felt he would have come to the decision to marry Elizabeth on his own. He prayed she believed him and understood that he could not bend the knee this night, or for possibly many still to come.
“I am entranced by Elizabeth, of course,” he said, hoping his voice did not betray his true emotion, “but I do feel we need time to become better acquainted.”
Elizabeth flinched where she stood, and his nerves throbbed with the effort to control himself. If it were simply about the two of them, he would not wait to claim her, to rescue her, to have her as his own. So many people depended on him, however, and he had to do all he could for them, even as he protected her from de Beauchamp. But how to do that?
“Understandable,” the king said, though he did not sound at all understanding. “Let us hope you discover if you want her for your own before she is claimed by another.”
Robert’s anger became a scalding fury that threatened to explode. Before it could, Elizabeth spoke. “If you will find me after my walk in the garden with de Beauchamp, I would be most pleased to dance with you,” she said, her eyes pleading.
He nodded, feeling himself regain control and knowing full well by her slow exhalation as she turned away that she had seen the storm brewing within him and had intervened to save him from himself. She was the perfect match for him. He watched her walk to de Beauchamp with her head held high and her shoulders thrust back, and then she sat beside him, a distant look upon her face as he spoke to her.
“I noticed your man Angus is not at supper,” the king commented.
Robert forced himself to drag his attention from Elizabeth. “He was nae feeling well. I do believe he imbibed too much wine last night.”
The queen chuckled. “I do believe he has caught the eye of my lady Gwendolyn. I have warned her to take a care.”
“I will speak with him about it,” Robert lied.
“No.” The queen waved a hand at Robert. “You do not need to. Gwendolyn assures me that her heart belongs to another. That girl has a liking for another man with a title and my dear Edward’s favor. She is a good sort like her cousin, Fraser.”
The king exchanged a glance with Elizabeth’s father, but Robert had no notion what it meant. “Lady Gwendolyn is a most treasured part of this court,” the king said jovially. “I’d not lose her to your man, Robert, but if the queen says there is no need to speak with him, then there is not.”
Robert nodded, his mind grasping onto an idea. When they realized Angus was missing, Robert could use Gwendolyn as the reason. He could say Angus fled because he had wanted Gwendolyn for himself and she refused him. “As ye wish, Yer Majesty,” he said.
The conversation turned to France and what the king there was doing. Edward fired questions at Robert, giving him no opportunity to disengage or even glance to Elizabeth. Finally, Edward took a breath when the trenchers were set before them, and the king commanded everyone to eat.
Robert looked to Elizabeth and found that de Beauchamp had moved very close to her. She looked uncomfortable and strained, and Robert searched his mind for a way to rescue her. But as he thought and dinner progressed, and then the trenchers were taken away and the tables moved for dancing, he had come up with nothing short of simply stopping the man against the king’s wishes. He was prepared to do so and to make a scene when the guard Stephen approached the dais.
He bowed to the king and then de Burgh waved him forward. The guard whispered furiously to Elizabeth’s father, and de Burgh excused himself, a furious expression on his face. Robert watched him stride through the crowd to Elizabeth, who was now dancing with de Beauchamp. He took her by the arm, said something to de Beauchamp, and fairly dragged her from the room.
“I’ve not seen de Burgh that vexed since the day his daughter defied him years ago. I believe you recall that day?” the king asked.
Robert turned and found Edward’s gaze narrowed on him. “Aye,” he said, getting the sense that he was somehow missing something stirring.
“I wonder what Elizabeth has done now,” the king mused, an almost conspiratorial smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
Unease gripped Robert. “If ye will excuse me?”
“By all means, young Bruce,” the king replied as if he had been expecting Robert to say exactly that. As Robert strode through the dancers toward the door de Burgh had dragged Elizabeth out of, he was struck by the feeling suddenly that he was like a chess piece that had just been moved.