Chapter Twelve
He was in Hell. Yesterday, he had been in Heaven, but today was misery. And the last few weeks had been the same way. One day, he was granted time with Elizabeth, and the moments were the best of his life. He had gone on picnics with her, ridden with her, played Catch the Fish with her, and lain in the tall grass surrounded by fragrant flowers, simply holding her. But after each pleasurable day, the king or her father always ordered her to spend time with de Beauchamp.
Robert was forced to watch them from a distance, ready to spring to her aid should de Beauchamp misstep. Robert clutched his goblet as he stared across the great hall toward the dais. He was seated at his appointed table, situated, he was certain, so that he had a perfect view of the dais where Elizabeth sat beside de Beauchamp. The man had moved so close to Elizabeth that if she scooted again to put distance between herself and de Beauchamp, she would fall off the bench edge. Robert could feel her tension as if he were sitting next to her and their bodies were touching.
It was intolerable. Yet, he had no choice but to endure it until Gloucester’s messenger returned from delivering the missive to Robert’s brothers, Niall, and Lamberton that though Robert would seem to submit to Edward, all was not as it appeared. It had been a long way to travel to deliver the missive, but the man should have made his way back to the rendezvous point by now and confirmed that Robert’s message had landed in safe hands. Angus had not returned, either, nor Fraser and the king’s knights, who had gone to find Robert’s men in the forest. Robert had no notion what was occurring in Scotland, and between that and being forced to sit idly by and watch another man touch Elizabeth, dance with her, and eat beside her, he was ready to explode.
As the trenchers were cleared away, Robert stood and moved to the opposite side of the room, well away from other guests. The servants quickly prepared the great hall for dancing, and soon, music floated in the air. Robert watched, transfixed by yearning and rage, as Elizabeth was led to the dance floor by de Beauchamp under the amused gaze of the king. A hand lightly touched Robert’s arm, and he turned to find Gloucester there, his eyebrows arched and a sardonic expression on his face.
“Come with me,” Gloucester said.
Robert nodded and followed him to a shadowy alcove. They both moved into the cramped space and faced each other. “You were glowering, Bruce,” Gloucester noted in a hushed tone. “Hardly the look of a man who said he wished to marry only for political gain. The king well knows that Lady Elizabeth has spun her web around you.”
“She’s nae spun a web,” Robert growled.
The torch outside the alcove lit Gloucester’s expression, which bordered on mockery. “She has. Exactly as the king planned. Or so I’ve heard whispered…”
“I’m certain the king has many plans that do nae ever come to fruition.” He refused to doubt Elizabeth’s loyalty to him.
“You know that’s not true,” Gloucester said, matter-of-fact. “The king is cunning. I hope you are, as well,” Gloucester murmured, giving him a long, measured look. “You’re certain you are prepared to do as you said?”
“I’m prepared to do what I must,” Robert replied. Though he didn’t want to bend the knee, he would for Elizabeth. “As soon as ye hear word.”
“Very well,” Gloucester said with a sigh. “My bird chirped in my ear only moments ago. It seems the flight was successful. I hope your knees don’t bruise when you fall before the king.”
“A bruise will nae kill me.” With that, he exited the alcove without a backward glance, and his heart strummed as he scanned the dance floor for Elizabeth but did not see her. He strode through the candlelit room, the smell of wax burning thick in the air, worry for Elizabeth’s safety growing within him. His steps quickened, as he thought of how she tasted and smelled, the mewling sounds she made when he kissed her. Elizabeth was his, and it was time to publicly claim her.
He looked to the dais, but it was empty, and then he felt a touch on his arm. His gut clenched with hope, but when he turned and found Gwendolyn there, he had to stop himself from cursing. Her lips pressed together as if she knew the greatness of his disappointment.
“Have ye seen Elizabeth?” he asked.
Gwendolyn smiled. “Yes. She left the great hall on de Beauchamp’s arm.”
“Excuse me,” Robert rushed out, hurrying toward the corridor leading to the courtyard—and hopefully Elizabeth.
“Release me!” Elizabeth hissed, shoving at de Beauchamp’s chest.
He simply pressed her more tightly to him. “Why do you fight me, Elizabeth? I simply want a kiss. The king has given his blessing! He wants us to wed.”
“The king gave his blessing for you to court me, not wed me! You know as well as I do that the king’s mind changes as quick as lightning flashing across the sky.” She pressed a hand to de Beauchamp’s chest, but he was immovable. Worry clawed at her. She had been ordered by the king to come out here with de Beauchamp, and she was sure the king meant to push Robert to his very limits. She did not want him to submit to the king unless he had confirmation that his message had been received.
“Come now,” he said, “do not force me to play the gentle suitor any longer.”
“All right,” she said sweetly as anger burst within her. She yanked her arm out of his grip and brought her knee up fast and hard into his groin. His bellow of pain was extremely satisfying. He doubled over, and she moved to step around him, but his hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist.
He came upright with a twisted look on his red face. “You bitch!”
She slapped him hard, her palm stinging from the hit, and he shoved her back. “I’m going to teach you how to behave like a lady, Elizabeth,” he spat.
Robert appeared from the shadows, looking like a dark angel bent on destruction. She gasped in relief—and a bit of fear. He wore an expression of such lethal rage that she worried he would kill de Beauchamp. “Robert!” she called to him.
Without so much as flicking his gaze in her direction, he passed her, and his fist shot out to strike de Beauchamp in the nose. Bone crunched with the hit, and blood spurted out of his nostrils.
“Robert!” she tried again and tugged at his arm.
He glanced at her, and when he did, de Beauchamp sprang toward him, and the two of them flew to the ground. Elizabeth gasped as they rolled, fists flying. Robert came out on top, shoved his knee into de Beauchamp’s throat, and delivered one, two, three hits, each harder than the last.
“Robert!” Elizabeth screamed. “You’ll kill him!”
To her relief, Robert paused mid-swing and looked in her direction again. De Beauchamp lay under him moaning. “Are ye unharmed?” Robert asked.
She could hear the rage in his voice, but before she could reassure him, a voice spoke from behind her. “She appears quite well to me, Bruce.”
Elizabeth whirled around to face the king, who looked triumphant, and her father, who stood beside the king looking pleased.
“I assume you have come to a decision,” the king said.
“Aye,” Robert replied as he rose from the floor where de Beauchamp still groaned. “I will bend the knee.”
Elizabeth felt her mouth part on a sharp inhalation. She prayed to God he had received word.
“Excellent,” said the king. “You can do it now.”
“Now?” Elizabeth gasped, glancing at Robert, who looked just as surprised as she was.
“Yes, now,” replied Edward. “I tire of waiting. Bend the knee tonight, or I will marry Elizabeth to de Beauchamp tomorrow.”
Robert gave a nod, and before Elizabeth could utter a single word, he was whisked away with the king. Her father took her by the arm. “Excellent work, Daughter,” he whispered into her ear. “I knew you would not fail me. You are as willful as you ever were.”
She frowned at the second part of his comment. Why would her willfulness please her father? She could not ponder the thought further, though, because her attention was stolen when she entered the great hall and found all the dancing had stopped and the guests had been arranged in two long lines. Robert and the king were already walking down the newly created aisle. At the end of the line stood William Lamberton, the bishop of St. Andrews.
Elizabeth faltered in her steps when she saw him. The man was a powerful influence in Scotland despite his small stature. “What is the bishop doing here?” she asked her father.
“He has come to pay homage to the king,” he replied. “Good timing, eh? Bishop Lamberton will be the one to see Robert pay his homage, as well.”
She watched in mute horror as Robert kneeled before the bishop. She had known this would happen. She knew Robert had a plan, but the fear that his people would not forgive the perceived treachery nearly choked her. The bishop murmured the words that Robert was required to say to pay his homage to Edward, and then Robert’s deep, strong voice filled the room, her ears, her heart. He had submitted for her. She knew it was not a submission of his heart, yet he would pay dearly for it. She prayed he did not come to regret it.
Robert rose from speaking the words of his homage and sought out Elizabeth. Her face was ashen, and she looked devastated for him. The fact that she cared for him nearly sent him to his knees. He turned to go to her, but Lamberton set a hand on his shoulder. “I will hear yer sins and give ye penance so ye may go to the king cleansed in body and soul, as I myself have.”
Robert stared at his friend. Lamberton was playing a part in duping Edward and rallying the Scottish forces as they all were, yet they had never discussed the man coming here. Something had to be amiss. Though Robert wanted more than anything to go to Elizabeth, he first had to speak with Lamberton, so he dipped his head in agreement as his heart thudded.
“An excellent idea!” the king boomed. “You may use my private chapel.”
Robert followed Lamberton past Elizabeth, catching her gaze and holding it as long as he could before he left her behind. He would go to her as soon as he was done speaking with Lamberton. They walked in silence, both aware, he was certain, that anything they had to say was best conveyed in private.
Once they reached the king’s private chapel and the door was shut, they sat on a bench and Robert spoke in low tones. “Have ye heard any word of Angus and my men in Ettrick Forest?”
“No. I’m sorry. I’ve been in the Highlands trying to gather support from the lairds for ye. I’ve nae heard word of yer men or Angus.”
Robert jerked a hand through his hair. “I sent Angus to warn my men that the king had discovered their location. I hoped he would reach them before the king’s knights discovered my men, but Angus has nae returned and I have nae received word of what has occurred. And Fraser has nae returned either.”
“Well, Ettrick is far from here,” Lamberton said, his voice tense. “It could be that Angus and yer men are giving the king’s knights a merry chase with Fraser leading them as astray as he can.”
“Aye, it could be, but I’ve a bad feeling. Angus was to take a lass to the MacLeod clan. Did ye go there? Was there mention of any new lass?”
“I did travel to Skye, and the laird will support ye if and when the day comes that ye are king, but there was nae any mention of a lass newly arrived. I’m sorry.”
Robert let out a frustrated sigh. “How long will ye stay?”
“I leave tonight. I only came to give homage because the king has grown too suspicious of me. I wanted to see how ye fared, too.” Lamberton eyed him. “Why did ye bend the knee? Ye were to simply gain time.”
Robert told him quickly of Elizabeth, and as he spoke, Lamberton’s frown deepened. “Ye feigned homage to protect the daughter of yer enemy? Does lust have ye that firmly in its hold?”
“Nay. It is nae that simple. I will marry her. I can nae leave her to her father and the king’s plans or to de Beauchamp.”
“Robbie, ye are honorable, but ye kinnae wed the king’s goddaughter to simply protect her. Ye have paid this false homage; the king will surely control his anger if ye dunnae bind yerself to de Burgh’s daughter.”
Robert clenched his teeth. “I can nae let her become the wife of another.”
“Ah,” Lamberton said, his voice softening. “I see now. She has found a place in yer heart.”
Hearing it stated so plainly, and by Lamberton, was like a light being cast into his head. He loved Elizabeth. The knowledge sucked the air from his lungs and set fear in him. He loved her, and now she would be his greatest weakness in a time he could afford none.