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.
“Perhaps there is another choice,” Robert ground out, thinking of his hope that Wallace would return and help him raise men to defend the north and then see reason about Balliol.
“Thinking of yourself on the throne, are you?” the king asked with a chuckle.
Robert blinked in surprise for the crown had not been anywhere near his thoughts.
“Your father is aging, true enough, and you will inherit his titles and the rights he claims to be his, but you will have to be satisfied for now with gaining your wealth, titles, and lands back and turn your thoughts from the crown you wish to wear.”
Edward was a fool, who did not know Robert’s mind at all. “Only the King of Scots can grant me lands that were wrongly taken from me and given to Comyn,” Robert replied, unable to resist throwing that fact in Edward’s face.
Edward slammed his hands against the table, causing the wine goblets to rattle. “I will conquer Scotland and give you back your lands there, but if you do not accept my offer, I will destroy your land entirely. I will leave it so devastated, so blackened, that you will not recognize it.” He leaned in close to Robert, their faces a hairsbreadth apart. “Think on this: if I return those lands to you, you will hold the power to stop Comyn from taking the throne.” He smiled, looking much like a wolf. “Mayhap I will decide to step aside and allow your father, or even you if he is gone, to take the throne without a fight.”
The lie came out so easily that Robert wanted to laugh, yet he thought of his father, who had been told a similar thing years ago, and Robert felt such rage he trembled with it. He was not as foolish as his father, a man who had actually believed that if he submitted to Edward’s peace and helped drive Balliol from the throne, then Edward would step aside and allow him to claim it and support him. The king had two faces and a golden tongue. Edward sought to divide Scotland. Robert saw it so clearly. He feared both Comyn and Bruce as the sole leader of the rebellion, for if the two great Scots’ houses that now stood divided were truly fighting together, there would then be one man for Scotland to rally behind. The bickering would fade and Scotland would be stronger, defeating Edward, in the end.
Robert’s thoughts turned at an almost sickening pace. As much as he distrusted Comyn, if Wallace returned now from France, Robert and Comyn would have to find a way to work together if they were to save Scotland. But for now, Robert had no notion how he could work with Comyn, nor was he in a place to be able to sway Comyn to see reason. For now, he would continue with his plan.
“Who knows what the future holds for you, Bruce, if you choose wisely,” Edward said. His silky tone held a challenge as well as a threat.
The king thought to dangle power, but Edward did not truly know him, nor the man he had become. What he wanted above all was freedom. He nodded, as the trenchers were set before them.
“You will think upon my words?” Edward inquired with a narrow-eyed look.
“Aye,” Robert replied, picking up a chunk of bread and dipping it in the sauce on his platter. “I will consider all ye have said.” With that, he turned his attention purposely to his platter, hoping to avoid further conversation.
A tense silence fell at the dais for a short time as everyone followed suit, but then the queen began to chatter about various guests. Her comments were directed to Elizabeth, and as Robert ate, he got the distinct impression that Elizabeth was not familiar with most people at court. He knew she had once been, and he could not help but wonder if she had been banned until recently, perhaps for her actions of years before? And if she had been banned, why call her back now when he was set to be here? Suspicion niggled at him again.
As they finished their meal, the servants cleared the floor before them, moving tables and chairs to make a place for the dancing. Music began to fill the room, and the king said, “Bruce, let Elizabeth show you how hospitable my court can be.”
Robert looked to Elizabeth, who sat rigid, her face flushed. If she was a part of the intrigue Edward appeared to be weaving around him, she did not seem a willing participant. Yet it hardly mattered if the outcome was the same.
He could refuse. He likely should. Angus’s warning rang in his mind, and he was not such a fool to ignore that his attraction to her was the strongest he had ever felt for a woman. Still, he needed the king to believe he was going to submit, and perhaps Elizabeth was exactly the person to convey this to Edward.
“Would ye care to dance with me?” he asked, going through the formality. He felt certain she was in no position to decline with King Edward and her father looking on.
“But of course,” she said. Her gaze darted to Edward and her father as she rose, but when Robert held out his hand, she slipped her dainty one into his. He curled his fingers around her delicate bones, and a tremor went through her, which to his shock felt as if it had gone through him, as well.
And in that moment, he was certain that whatever plots coiled around them, Elizabeth was as affected by him as he was by her. Dangerous satisfaction surged through him. He had to tread carefully, lest he find himself a spider trapped in a web of the king’s making. He felt the king’s eyes and those of de Burgh on him. Elizabeth looked to him, a trembling smile coming to her lips. She was the picture of exquisite vulnerability, and his protective instincts awakened.
His heart beat too hard for his liking, and his head warned him to keep his distance. Yet he had to play the game. He led her down from the dais, into the throng of the dancers, and swung her into his embrace. His heart slowed as she settled in the circle of his protection. She was all softness and silk, and swirling scents of heather. He’d imbibed only one swig of wine tonight, but he suddenly felt drunk from her presence.
He meant to simply play his part, yet his own eagerness rebelled, an impossible thing to resist. He pulled her as close as decorum allowed, one hand finding and settling on the delicate curve of her back, while the other intertwined with her fingers. Her mouth parted on a sharp intake of breath, and a thought struck him that would not dislodge: did she make that same sound in the height of her passion?
His body strummed with a yearning to find out, and so he did the only thing he could. He began the moves of the dance and of the dangerous game they were now being forced to play. If he was ever inclined to go to battle for the affection of Elizabeth de Burgh, the struggle could well prove as difficult as any he had endured in his life, possibly even be deadly if he lost his focus. He had no doubt that she could easily make a man lose his wits.