Chapter Eighteen
The wine she had drunk was not helping her nerves now. She clutched her knees as she stared at the bedchamber door and waited for Robert. Where was he? Neither he nor the king had appeared for supper, so she had no notion if they were even together. Her palms grew damp, recalling the betrayal and anger she had seen in his eyes. It had seemed all too real.
As footsteps fell outside the door, she inhaled a sharp breath, her stomach knotting. The door opened with a soft swish, and Robert walked over the threshold, then froze, his dark gaze landing on her. Raw pain glittered in his eyes for one breath before they became hooded, as if he had turned off his emotions.
Dear God, she did not think he was playing any part at all. “Robert—”
“I should have known ye would still be here,” he said flatly. “I meant what I said earlier.”
Her skin prickled with unease. “You wish me to remove my things from your bedchamber?”
“Aye,” he said, turning from her. But his cold voice left little doubt that he was truly angry with her.
“I don’t understand,” she said, coming to him and placing her hands on the backs of his shoulders.
He turned slowly toward her, wariness twisting his features. “I do nae know if I can trust ye.”
“What?” She frowned. She could not have heard him correctly. “What?” she asked again, her mind refusing to work properly, to form a more intelligent question.
He laughed then, but it was a bitter sound. “I look at ye now, but I can nae say if this hurt on yer face is the truth or a mask ye wear to deceive me.”
His distrust sliced her open like a knife. Something had happened, yes, and whatever it was, it had not taken much for him to doubt her. Tears filled her eyes, and she had to swallow several times before she could speak. “What is it you think you know, Robert?”
“That it was yer idea to tell me the king knew my men were in Ettrick Forest, so I would act upon what you relayed.”
“Do you hear yourself?” she asked, desolation sweeping over her. “Someone has fed you lies about me and you believe them so easily. Who told you this? Gloucester?” she guessed. The man had been alone with Robert before the king had arrived.
Robert narrowed his eyes, and she realized with a wrenching sadness that he was now questioning everything she had ever said. Quite possibly, all her words would make her look guilty to him. Hot tears rolled down her face.
“Aye,” he said, the word raw. “Gwendolyn got word to Fraser before he departed to go after my men, and Gloucester learned of the news when he met up with Fraser recently.”
“Gwendolyn likely wants you for herself!” Elizabeth said, desperation to make him see clawing at her.
“That’s a verra convenient theory,” he said, his voice steady as the sky before a great storm. She knew her husband had his emotions in an iron vise. She had seen him at Edward’s court when the king called him my boy and made humbling remarks to him, but Robert had never shown the slightest sign that it affected him. If she was going to get him to listen to her at all, she had to break through the wall he had erected.
“It’s not a theory! My father just told me that he joins with Gwendolyn and that she likely overheard him speaking with the king about knowing where your men were.” Doubt flickered across Robert’s face, so she pushed on. “You said loyalty and truth must be the only thing between us.” Her heart thudded in her ears as she searched for a sign that he believed her, but all she saw was distrust. Her heart squeezed with his lack of faith, yet she could not give up on him. She had to make him see. She took a deep breath. “I have given you my heart and my trust freely. Do not destroy what we have with doubt, sharp words, and accusations.”
Torment swept his face, but then he set his jaw. “I must be certain of ye, and I’m nae. I’m sorry.” His shoulders sagged, and her heart fell. “Even if I could one day be certain again, I see now how distracted ye have made me. I can nae allow that. I do nae have that freedom.”
Freedom. She wished for it, but she now hated the word. “Where is your faith?” she whispered, crushed by the lack of it. “What of the promises you made that you could not be made to doubt me?”
His hands had fisted at his sides, and she saw the emotional war that waged within him by the rage, sorrow, and regret that flitted across his features. He drew in a long, shuddering breath. “I need time away from ye. Will ye leave this bedchamber, or shall I?”
If she let him go, she feared she would never get him back. She was not prepared to relent, however hurt she may be. “I will not leave our bedchamber, and if you do so, you will incur the suspicion of the king.” Robert flinched ever so slightly, and she feared she was now making things worse, but it was the only way she knew to stop him. “If you are now honestly submitting to the king, how would it appear if you went against his desire for us to be a true husband and wife? If you leave, he will know your anger is great, and he will suspect that you may still plot.”
Robert’s gaze narrowed like a deadly blade upon her. She took a deep breath, expecting him to unleash his anger. Instead, his gaze softened and he smiled, yet it was void of any warmth. She felt as if she’d been ripped in two. She had miscalculated. She had wanted to keep him near, but she had pushed him further away.
His nostrils flared. “I am fully Edward’s man now. Ye may report that back.” He swept a hand toward the bed. “Sleep here if ye wish it. I will as well.”
With that, he brushed past her, stripped off his plaid, rolled it up, and laid it on the floor, putting the plaid behind his head. He closed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. Damn him! He had no intention of lying beside her. How could she get through to him? She knew very well he was not Edward’s man. Robert simply did not trust her now. She walked toward him and stood above him for a moment, then she kneeled. He did not open his eyes.
“Robert, you must have faith in us,” she said.
Robert’s only response was the steady rise and fall of his chest. She ground her teeth, then forced herself to continue. “Perhaps it is I who should hate you for your lack of faith. Maybe I won’t forgive you.”
Still there was no response, just the continued motion of his breathing. Biting her lip, she placed a hand on his forearm. He made no show that he even knew she had touched him. “Robert, please believe me. Talk to me.”
Without a word, he peeled her hand away from him and turned on his side, offering her his back. Anger exploded within her. “Damn you! You are a coward!”
Slowly, he turned back to her, eyes open and burning. She sucked in a breath at the rage she saw there and started to scuttle backward, but his hand whipped out in a blur to clasp her wrist. “I am many things, but a coward is nae one of them.”
His tone, a rumble of thunder, made her breath quicken for what she might unleash that he held within him. But if she let things go on as they were between them, she knew that he would be lost to her. “You are a coward,” she said, her tone soft but firm. “You are afraid to feel.”
“Afraid to feel,” he repeated, sitting up without releasing his hold on her.
She nodded, her heart racing.
“I am nae afraid to feel.” His words lashed out, and his grip tightened almost painfully. She let out a hiss, tugging at her hand, and shock contorted his features instantly. He released her and came to his feet in one swift motion, staring at her in horror. Whether it was at himself or her, she was not sure.
“Damn ye, Elizabeth,” he growled low, swiping his hands over his face. “Ye steal my control. I would nae ever hurt ye purposely.” He turned from her and then swung back around. “Do nae push me, though.”
She had to do just that. She came to her knees, wiping her damp palms on her skirt. “Do not be a coward, then. Let yourself feel. Let yourself trust me.”
“I feel!” he exploded, his gaze going wild, his fingers clenching and unclenching in fists. “Ye do nae want to know what I feel!”
“I do,” she said, breathless with fear. For if he could still feel and not block his emotions for her, he would surely see the truth.
“Ye do, do ye?” he snarled and stalked to the chair in the corner of the room. Without another word, he kicked it, the power of his rage causing the wood to crack. “This is how I feel,” he bit out and kicked the chair again, and again, until the wood splintered and a chunk went flying. She wanted to cry at the torment her father and the king had caused, at the breach that they put between her and Robert.
“Do ye like what ye see?” he demanded, his eyes nearly black with his wrath.
“No,” she whispered.
“Nay?” he ground out. “But this is what ye asked for, my beloved.” He let out a dark chuckle. “I allowed myself to feel. For ye.” His gaze struck her in the heart like a perfectly released, lethal arrow. “I was a weak fool,” he flung at her. He stalked around the room once more, circling, passing her, and coming back to her. When he stood before her, he twined his hands behind his head as if to restrain himself from what he really wanted to do. The muscles of his biceps twitched visibly, and his jaw was tense. He looked down at her, a tower of just-barely controlled anger. “I do nae have the luxury to be weak or foolish. I do nae have the luxury to freely give trust. I took a chance. I was selfish. But now I do nae know,” he growled. “I can nae see what is real and what is a lie, and I must see it. And I feel,” he roared. “I am but a man; of course I feel. In this moment, I feel betrayed. Is that the right way to feel?” he asked but continued before she could respond. “I do nae know for certain. I feel yer wee palms gripping my heart, and if I am nae careful, ye will rip it right out of my chest.”
Tears dripped from her chin into her lap. Talking would not mend what had been done to them. Time would not mend it, either, she feared. He had been made to doubt her, and it cut her to the bone.
He kneeled in front of her, his palms coming to either side of her thighs but not touching her. His face was close enough that she could see the vein pulsing at his right temple. His heat encircled her, his strength beckoned her, but she did not move to touch him. She was confused. She loved him, yet he had hurt her with his lack of faith.
“I feel,” he said, the two words low and throbbing, “for Scotland. For the people who need me and who I have failed. I feel as if my weakness for ye has cost good men their lives.”
She sobbed for him and for herself, because she could see the very real torment he was in and it matched her own. She had not deceived him as he believed, but his words were true. If they had not become involved, if she had been cleverer and discovered a way to appease her father and the king without becoming entwined with Robert, the men who had been killed and captured in Ettrick Forest would be alive and free. And what of Angus and Lillianna? She prayed they still lived still.
“I’m sorry,” she said simply, unable to think what more she could possibly say now.
“As am I, lass,” he replied. He rose and left the bedchamber without glancing back.
She sat for hours unmoving, wondering if he would return, but as the light of day swept away the darkness, she got her answer. Robert would not return to her this night, perhaps ever, and if he did, the torturous memory of his distrust, of his lost faith in her, might not ever leave her.
The king ordered Robert and Elizabeth to return to court with him. Robert knew well it was to keep an eye on him, but it was actually a forced move that aided him in getting information to and from Scotland. Gloucester now frequented the court, and Robert trusted the man as much as he trusted anyone beyond those of his inner circle. It was Gloucester who discovered that though Angus had been captured, he had escaped and managed, before he’d been taken, to send Lillianna with his youngest brother Allisdair to head for the safety of her mother’s clan, the MacLeods. Robert was also receiving word from Fraser. Fraser brought word that he had been ordered to hunt Angus to the death.
Fraser also relayed the message from Wallace and Lamberton: they thought the best plan was for Robert to continue to play the reluctant traitor while Wallace gathered men in Scotland and prepared to rise in rebellion.
Hope flared brighter than ever for Scotland to rise, and it was that lone hope that sustained Robert through the long days and even longer nights. He lay in his bedchamber at night, achingly aware of Elizabeth so near that he could smell her scent of heather, hear her steady breathing when she slept, or know when she was restless by the creaks of the bed as she floundered about alone. The floor was hard, and as fall turned to winter, it became cold. He welcomed the cold and the uncomfortable hardness, though. He burned for her, despite his uncertainty about her, despite the deep divide between them that grew wider each day. Every single time he caught a glimpse of her across the courtyard, the longing he felt was painful.
The doubt that plagued him continued to go unanswered. The queen and the ladies-in-waiting were not at the king’s court when Robert and Elizabeth had returned, so Gwendolyn had not been there for Robert to question. Fraser assured him that his cousin would once again come to court as soon as the queen gave birth, but whether that would increase Robert’s doubt or lessen it, he did not know. He knew one thing for certain: he had gravely hurt Elizabeth with his doubt, and he did not know if the rift could be mended—or if it should be. She had distracted him, and whether it was purposeful or not, the effect had been the same.
And still she distracted him, even as he was unsure of her. He tried to keep his distance, not to seek her out, but he was like a moth to flame with her. Whether she was simply talking to another lady-in-waiting, carrying her falcon, Onair, on her wrist, or staring across the distance at him with pain-filled eyes, the air he needed to breathe felt impossible to find. His throat would constrict, and his vision would grow to a dagger point that included nothing but her. All he could see were her wary blue eyes, her long flowing white-gold hair, her full red mouth, and her lush curves. He wanted to get away from her while keeping her close at the same time. It was driving him mad.
It did not help matters that she seemed to grow more beautiful every day. Simply looking on her struck him with desire. As winter finally gave way to a new year, it seemed she had finally given up hope for them. She withdrew from him, no longer trying to talk to him, and he felt her loss acutely. They dined side by side, as was required by the king, and Robert played the doting husband on these occasions and all times when others would be watching, and she accepted his attentions in public, never uttering a word that might reveal that their marriage was not a true one. He suspected she feared what would befall her if the king or her father should think she had failed to sway him back to her bed and into her trust.
As the end of the temporary peace between Scotland and England drew near, he found himself privy to conversations between the king and his advisors that offered insight into their impending plans for Scotland. Robert played the turncoat all during the day, sickened almost physically by what he had to do. Often, he did not return to their bedchamber until near dawn, and Elizabeth was always sleeping—or feigning sleep. So when he opened the bedchamber door on this day, and Elizabeth was sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands folded in her lap in a serene gesture but with a storm brewing in her blue eyes, he was caught momentarily off guard. It was his habit to conjure up the faces of all the Scots he knew who had died in the rebellion thus far, to remind himself of all who relied on him, and that he could not give in to his yearnings, nor could he trust without some proof. But this day, when he saw her, he had not had time to do so, and desire hit him like a wave.
The first rays of sun were streaking across the sky, so he knew it was too early for her to have risen and too late for her to have just come to their bedchamber. She stood, the blue silk of her gown falling gracefully to her feet. She inhaled a deep breath, her chest rising, and with it, his need. “Where do you sleep when you don’t return to our bedchamber?” she asked in a quiet voice.
“Nowhere,” he answered. It was the truth. He could not sleep unless she was near, and he knew she was safe. Christ, he loved her still. Her possible treachery had not dimmed the feeling, only forced him to contain it.
Sadness filled her eyes. “I have come to accept that you will never believe me when I say I did not plot against you, and that you do not love me anymore.”
Her words and resigned tone cut into him like a jagged blade. What could he say? He loved her. Christ, he did, yet the doubt was still there, and he could not pretend otherwise.
She crossed her arms over her chest as if she needed protection from him, which killed him to see. He had wanted to protect her always, and he was hurting her, even as he was hurt.
“In truth,” she said, her gaze steady on him, “I cannot say that I want your love any longer.”
He ground his teeth, but the pain came like a sudden torrential rain anyway. It washed over him, soaking him, chilling him, making him shudder with the need for the warmth he had only ever found with her.
“Do you think it would be best for both of us,” she went on, “if I did not want your love?”
“I can nae say for certain,” he said, misery pouring out of him with every breath.
Her lips pressed into a thin, white line. For a long moment, she stared at him, sorrow dancing across her face and then disappearing. His pain, his doubt, became a roar in his ears.
She inhaled a long breath and then spoke. “The king has ordered me to a separate bedchamber, and I did not fight it. I thought you should know.”
Robert stilled. “Why would the king order ye into a separate bedchamber?” His first thought was for her safety. Christ, he had not hardened himself to her in the least. If the king had decided she could not manipulate or sway Robert, how would the king try to use her next? Robert’s chest tightened.
She gave him a brittle smile. “The king has decided that since I have no secrets to share with him, he will put another woman in your bed to see if she has more success. I’m to become the mistress of de Beauchamp.”
Rage like he had never known seized him. “Nay,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm, but the word cut through the tension between them like a well-honed blade. Damn the king to Hell and de Beauchamp, as well. She was his wife! His. It did no matter that he did not touch her. No other man ever would. His blood rushed through his veins, roaring in his ears.
Her forehead furrowed, and a line appeared between her brows. “I don’t understand, Robert. You do not love me. Do not want me. What does it matter to you if another man has me?”
God’s teeth, he wanted to grab her, pull her to him, and show her why it mattered. She had been made his forever the moment they had said their vows, and he would die before letting another man touch her. “Ye are my wife, whether I choose to lie with ye or nae. I will kill any man who dares to put his hands on ye. Ye will be true to me.”
“I cannot disobey the orders of the king. You are the one who brought this to our feet with your lack of faith, so if you do not wish me in de Beauchamp’s bed, you had better speak with the king. I’m to move my things this hour.”
“Do nae step foot from this chamber. I will speak with the king. I will tell him—” Robert was crazed with jealousy. “I will tell him we try for my heir.”