Chapter Five
Elizabeth was achingly aware of Robert’s hand on her back and his fingers laced with hers. The heat of his hand pressing against the curve of her spine burned through the layers of her clothes and into her skin, sparking a warmth in her belly and chest. She tried to steady her too-rapid breath while also attempting to discreetly take his measure. Was he honorable or not? Was he here to regain his wealth or play his part in this game for the throne of Scotland? She could not say for certain, and even if she could, she was painfully, shamefully aware that the truth did not change what she had to do to save Lillianna. The thought of her cousin put a lump in her throat. If her father was pleased with her performance tonight, perhaps he would allow her to visit Lillianna in the dungeon.
As Robert twirled her around the dance floor, she allowed her gaze to travel up the broad expanse of his chest, across his solid shoulders, to his strong chin dusted with dark whiskers, over the slant of his prominent cheekbones, and finally to his dark, gold-flecked eyes, which she realized with a start were observing her in return. His probing gaze made her heartbeat increase and her belly tighten. The way he stared at her, as if there were no one but the two of them in the great hall, made her overly hot. He did not smile or talk, just continued to move her among the other dancers. He stared at her unwaveringly, determinedly. She wanted him to speak first, to set the tone of their conversation, but after several minutes, she understood that he would not say anything until she did.
Robert twirled her around again, but this time they ended up at the outer edge of the dance floor where no other dancers were close enough to hear their conversation. “I did not think you weak, Robert,” she said, deciding that staying as close to the truth as she could would aid her in not tripping over her own necessary lies. Her stomach coiled into knots of self-loathing.
He quirked his eyebrows and his mouth turned up at the corners as if her question amused him. “And now ye do?”
She moved her feet in time with his as he twirled her once more. “It seems you are a turncoat, and if that is the case, then yes, I would say you are a weak man.”
“Perhaps I’m a wise man and simply know when the battle has been lost,” he replied.
“The man I saw at the Moray holding and spoke with in Ireland seemed willing to fight to the death to free his people.”
His expression immediately darkened with unreadable emotion, and just as quickly, his face became blank, as though all his feeling had been wiped away by an invisible hand, or perhaps his will. “That man,” he growled, “watched many of his vassals die for a cause that seems near hopeless. I saw my lands burned and those who counted on me with no place to lay their heads, no food to put in their stomachs. I came to court to do what I must. Do ye intend to stand here in judgment of me?” he demanded. “Can ye say ye would do differently if ye were me?”
“No,” she whispered, struck to the core by his words. He circled her again as the other dancers moved. The dais came into view, and she watched the king lead the queen off the dais and onto the dance floor. It was rare for the king to dance, and her palms began to sweat, knowing he would most likely be heading for them. “I—” She swallowed hard, furious at her father, the king, and herself that she was forced to do such a dire deed as tricking and seducing a man she actually admired. For even in his defeat, she could see the courage it took to come here, the pride he had to let go of to make peace with the king. He came for his people.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I judged you unfairly. I find it admirable that you think of your people and how best to help them.”
“You do nae need to apologize,” he said, a brooding expression passing briefly over his face. “If we are speaking truths, I must admit, I am judging ye, as well.”
She frowned. “You are judging me?”
His mouth twisted wryly. “Aye,” he drawled. “Ye seem surprised.”
“I am,” she admitted. “What is it you are trying to discern about me?”
He pulled her a bit closer, as if someone might overhear what he said, but no one was near enough. His heat reached across the small space between them and curled deliciously around her. “I wonder,” he said, his voice silken, “whether ye are dancing with me of yer own accord or if ye are a puppet whose strings are being pulled by yer father and the king.”
Her breath caught at his question, and the intensity of his dark gaze upon her. She licked her lips, knowing the exact right thing to say and realizing with a deep, gut-wrenching awareness that the truth might well be the thing that made him less wary of her and not more. “I’m a woman, therefore I’m but a puppet,” she replied, hearing the disgust in her own tone. His eyes narrowed, and she rushed to say the rest of what was in her heart. “But I swear to you, though they think they command my every move, I wanted very much to dance with you.” And that was the bitter truth. She found him fascinating, compelling, alluring. It would not be a horrible hardship to spend time with him, but it would be horrible to deceive him, to goad him into revealing things and then passing on his secrets.
From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of the king and queen approaching. “So,” she said on a deep breath, unable to perceive how her words had affected him. His expression was carefully neutral. “Have I disappointed you?”
“Nay,” he said, releasing her hand and brushing a finger over the slope of her cheekbone. “Ye have beguiled me, bean bhàsail.”
“I’m no temptress,” she whispered, her heart beating with the intensity of how his light touch made her feel.
His hard expression gentled. “I think ye know ye are, which is why they set ye in front of me.”
His words sent a tingle up her spine. “What will you do?” she asked, hope and dread colliding.
He stared at her, unspeaking for a moment, and she could feel him considering, weighing, judging. His face became calm, serious. “I will dance with fate,” he said, and then the king was there, clasping him on the shoulder and exclaiming at them both what a handsome pair they made, how charmingly they danced, how captivated they both looked.
She heard it all but she didn’t. Her heart was thundering. Her palms were damp. Her mind was racing. Then all contact with Robert was broken as he stepped away from her, and she wrapped her arms around her midriff, wanting to hold onto the memory of how he had truly made her feel. If her emotions were so real and intense, perhaps she was not seducing him at all; perhaps he was seducing her… The thought did not lessen the sharp bite of guilt as she looked at him.
The king was speaking to Robert about hunting, and the queen had turned away to talk to someone. A desperate need to escape it all and see Lillianna slammed into Elizabeth. Her father rose from the dais as if to leave, and she feared her chance to see her cousin would disappear if she did not go to him now. “I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, my queen, my lord. I must speak with my father.”
“By all means, Elizabeth,” the king said pleasantly, even drawing her hand up for a kiss. “You have pleased me this night.”
She cringed at his words but nodded, and when her gaze flicked to Robert, the air between them seemed to shiver with the cold look upon his face. He knew the king was pulling her strings and it disgusted him. She did not blame him, yet she could not change it.
“Lord Bruce, perhaps tomorrow we could ride?” She held her breath, fearing he would refuse her, but he smiled slowly, his eyes gleaming like a child with a secret.
“It would be my pleasure,” he said before the king engaged him again in talk of a hunt.
She trembled as she made her way through the thick throng to her father, who was already off the dais. “Father!” she called, and he turned to her.
“You did well,” he said, smiling. “I knew you would.”
How she would have once loved to hear such praise, but now it only sickened her. “Thank you,” she forced out. “May I please visit with Lillianna?”
“Yes,” he agreed and motioned to the knight who had escorted Lillianna to the dungeon earlier. “Stephen, take Elizabeth to see her cousin, but guard her until you return her to her bedchamber.”
Cold permeated the air—and her heart—as Elizabeth and Stephen came to the bottom of the slick stairs in the damp dungeon.
“Leave me,” she ordered him.
“You heard your father,” Stephen replied in a hard tone. “I was told to stay with you until I return you to your bedchamber.”
“Then you may guard me at the top of the stairs,” she insisted, pulling herself to her full height.
Stephen’s lips pulled back from his teeth in a semblance of a smile. “I do believe, Lady Elizabeth, your father’s concern is that you will try to free your cousin, not for your safety.”
Elizabeth wanted to laugh hysterically. Of course that was his concern! “You have the key to the cell, yes?” She knew he would, and she could see the iron cage in the distance. There would be no breaching those bars without the key. Her chest squeezed painfully with the knowledge.
“I do,” he returned.
“Then you know as well as I do that I cannot free my cousin, no matter how much I wish it. The only way to free her would be to overcome you.” The words flew out of her mouth, and the prospect took hold.
The guard laughed and then nodded. “I’ll be at the top of the stairs—watching,” he warned.
As he headed back up the stairs, she thought about what she had said about overcoming Stephen. If only she had someone she could trust to aid her. Robert came to mind, but she dismissed the idea immediately. He was there to make peace to save his people. He would not be willing to risk that for her and Lillianna. Or would he? If he knew the truth of what the king was demanding of her, would he risk it all to help her and Lillianna escape? Was it even possible?
She had only to consider all the guards that stood just at the top of the stairs and were stationed through the castle to know it was not possible. No, telling Robert the truth was not the answer. Lillianna’s only hope was Elizabeth seducing Robert and learning secrets that would satisfy her father enough that he would free Lillianna.
With all of this in mind, Elizabeth moved quickly to the cell, her heart stuttering when she realized Lillianna was curled on her side, lying on the floor. “Lillianna!” she whisper-shouted, trying to keep her voice low so Stephen would not hear them. When her cousin did not move, she called her name again, louder this time. “Lillianna!” Elizabeth said, her voice echoing around her. The moment seemed to stretch without Lillianna stirring. “Cousin!” Elizabeth boomed, and Lilliana twitched where she lay. Tears burned Elizabeth’s eyes. “Lillianna, it’s Elizabeth. Please, please sit up.”
Slowly, Lillianna moved her arm to press her palm against the dirt floor, and she raised herself up with a groan. “Lizbeth?” Lillianna said, using the moniker that she had not used since they were children.
“Yes, yes! It’s me. Here. Behind you.” Elizabeth smacked at the iron bars of the cage, and Lillianna slowly turned toward her.
Elizabeth gasped. Her cousin had a black eye and a split lip. “By God!” she exclaimed. “Did my father beat you?”
“No.” Lillianna crawled first to her knees and then to her feet, where she swayed for a moment before staggering toward the bars Elizabeth stood in front of. “The guard, Stephen, did it when I fought him as he brought me in here.”
“Dear God, Lillianna, did he—”
“No.” Lillianna shuddered. “Though he vows he will. Elizabeth, did your father find out we tried to flee?”
“What? No!” Elizabeth reached through the bars to grasp Lillianna’s scraped hands. Tears slid down her face, just as they did her cousin’s. Elizabeth gave Lillianna a gentle squeeze and quickly told her of what her father had demanded. As she spoke, Lillianna’s grip on Elizabeth increased until her hands ached from her cousin’s strong grasp.
“Don’t do it, Elizabeth,” Lillianna said, her voice harsh.
“What?” She gawked at her cousin. “That’s mad,” she finally managed to say. “I’ll not leave you to…to this!” She pulled one hand away from her cousin and swept it around the small, dingy, dark space. “Father will let you die here if I don’t do as he says.”
“Listen to me,” Lillianna hissed, jerking Elizabeth closer with the one hand she was still holding. “You cannot topple a nation for me! That’s what you’re doing, don’t you see? I’m not worth Scotland not gaining its freedom.”
“You are!” Elizabeth snapped. Lillianna was the only person in her life who truly understood who she was and loved her for it. “Besides,” she said, hearing the slight note of hysteria in her voice, “I’m not toppling a nation. Robert—”
“Since when do you call Robert the Bruce, Robert?” Lillianna asked, a bit of her humor showing, despite her dire circumstances.
Elizabeth had told Lillianna of her encounter with Robert in the woods in Ireland, but she had never revealed all the intimate details of their conversation because it had seemed, well, just that—intimate. “The queen instructed me to,” she said, which was not entirely a lie. “Robert is here to pay homage to Edward. He wants no more war for his people. He told me so personally.”
“Then he lied!” Lillianna said in a low, furious tone. “Robert the Bruce would never pay homage to Edward willingly. He must have another plan.”
Elizabeth frowned at her cousin. “You speak as if you know him personally.”
“I do! In a way,” she said. “My mother being Scottish, spoke quite vehemently about Robert the Bruce’s honor. It seems the MacLeod clan, my mother’s clan, was in favor of the Bruce claim to the throne, and Robert personally held much respect from them. He came to the aid of one of the MacLeod laird’s sister when a rival clan member kidnapped her. He rescued her and returned her to the MacLeod laird.”
The revelation moved Elizabeth. “Yes,” she said, “He is honorable. He takes shame upon himself by coming here to bend the knee in an effort to save his people from further death and hunger.”
Lillianna shook her head. “You are not Scottish; therefore, you cannot understand how a Scot thinks. Nothing would be worse than to bend the knee to Edward. If Bruce is truly here to pay homage and he has no other plan, then it’s for greed.” She spat on the ground, then offered a shaky smile. “My mother once told me that MacLeod men do that when they speak of a man without honor.”
Elizabeth was not prepared to believe Robert had no honor and was here for purely selfish reasons. “It matters little why he is here, except to my father and the king. But I must seduce him and learn what I can, or my father will have you killed.”
Lillianna eyed Elizabeth. “And if you discover he has a plot that involves continuing the rebellion? What will you do? You cannot put me, one person, above a whole nation.”
“I cannot think about that tonight,” Elizabeth said, trying to block out the worry already gnawing at her.
“You have to!” Lillianna insisted. “I would gladly die to aid in freeing the Scottish people from English rule, but I’d rather not die for Bruce to regain wealth and titles.”
Elizabeth grasped at Lillianna and squeezed her arm. “I prefer you stay alive in either scenario, and the only way to ensure that is to do as my father and the king bid.” But an idea was forming in her mind. When Lillianna opened her mouth to argue, Elizabeth rushed to explain. “If I discover that Robert has a plan for the rebellion that involves him being here, I will approach him, tell him everything, and beg him to help us.”
Lillianna nodded. “A sound plan.”
“If I discover he is here for greed, well”—her stomach knotted—“I suppose I will not have to feel horrid about seducing him. I’ll only have to feel horrid if I end up married to a man I have no respect for.” She gave a bitter laugh.
“I am so very sorry, Elizabeth.”
“I am too,” Elizabeth said, suddenly so weary it felt like great weights were pulling on her eyelids. “I wish we had escaped that day in the woods.”
Lillianna smiled brightly, though Elizabeth could see the lines of strain in her face, showing it was forced. “He is a handsome man, at least,” Lillianna said.
“Yes, he is that,” Elizabeth answered, a perfect image of him filling her mind. “I heard my father say it’s Robert the king truly fears, not his father. I suppose, if he had a plan and all went accordingly, he could one day be king of Scotland.”
“How would you feel about such a thing? To be queen of a land, wife of a man, your father and your godfather despise?”
“Proud,” Elizabeth said instantly, and to her own shock. “If he was an honorable and good king and gave his people the freedom they deserved. Including,” she said emphatically, “the women.”
Robert escaped the king and queen shortly after watching Elizabeth leave the great hall with one of her father’s men. Luckily, the queen was weary, and the king had excused them both. Robert searched the room for Angus, and when he did not find him, made his way through the court guests and toward the stairs to the bedchambers. Not only did he wish to speak with Angus but exhaustion weighed on him from their travels, as well as from his verbal sparring with the king and Elizabeth. He could not rid his mind of how devastated Elizabeth had looked for him and his people when he had told her he was there to submit to the king’s peace. She was a truly compassionate woman; yet, she had also admitted that she was but a puppet for the king and her father. How much of one he did not know.
He strode through the corridors, the tapping footsteps of the guards tasked with following him echoing behind him. Angus’s bedchamber was on the north side of the castle while Robert’s chambers were to the south. Stopping in front of Angus’s chamber, Robert raised his hand to knock, but the door swung open and the Scot filled the doorway.
He motioned Robert in while glaring fiercely at the two guards who stood behind Robert. When one of them moved as if to come into the chamber, Angus drew a dagger and grinned. “Ye’ll have to go through me to enter my chamber.”
Robert fought a smile. Their swords had been confiscated when they had first entered the castle, but Angus, as well as Robert, had many well-placed daggers upon his body. “I’d nae attempt to fight him,” Robert warned the guards. “He’s nae killed an Englishman in a fortnight, and he gets right twitchy to do so after such a long period.” The guards exchanged a wary glance, which amused Robert further. His lighthearted moments were few and far between.
Angus must have felt the same need for levity for he snarled, bared his teeth, and raised his dagger. “Which one of ye wishes to fight?”
“’Tis lucky for you,” the heavier of the two men said, “that the king commands us to simply guard you, not fight you.”
“If ever ye wish to disobey yer king on that order, it will be my pleasure to kill ye,” Angus growled, stepped back, and kicked the door shut with a loud bang.
“Well now, that was a bit o’ fun.” Angus faced Robert and smiled. “How did ye fare with the king and the lass?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
And with those words, all the levity Robert had felt disappeared. He scrubbed a hand across his face, then met his friend’s level gaze. “The king is easier to read than the lass,” Robert admitted, making sure to keep his own voice soft.
Angus chuckled. “Robbie, that is the way of lasses. Did nae ye ken that with yer first wife?”
Robert scowled. “I did nae care to understand her, to my shame.”
Angus reached into his sporran, pulled out a flagon, and proceeded to take a long drink. He swiped his hand across his mouth when he was done and handed it to Robert, who took it and did the same. Angus put the flagon away and eyed Robert. “Nae even ye, with yer iron will, could make yerself feel what simply is nae there. I saw ye with Isabella, and ye were kind.”
Robert nodded. Kindness did not make a real marriage. There had been no passion, not like what he felt when Elizabeth was near.
“The king is as I thought,” Robert said, making his way to a chair and sitting heavily in it. Weariness burrowed into him. He quickly told Angus everything the king had said to him in the great hall on the dais.
Angus snorted as he sat in the chair beside Robert. “Ye ken the king lies.”
“Aye.” He tugged a hand through his hair as he thought.
“What of the lass?” Angus asked, his sharp, assessing eyes unwavering from Robert.
“She admitted to being a puppet for her father and the king.”
Angus’s eyebrows arched high. “Did she now? How did ye illicit such a confession?”
Robert shrugged, even as thoughts of their conversation flooded him with confusion. “I simply asked her.”
Angus’s eyebrows dipped together now. “By the brooding look on yer face, I’d say things with the lass are nae so simple.”
Robert sighed. “I believe she has true compassion for the plight of our people.”
Angus answered with a noncommittal snort, which was not unexpected but still frustrated Robert. It was just like his friend to be so skeptical, and normally, it would be like Robert, too, but for some reason, where Elizabeth was concerned, he did not want to be as guarded as he should be. “I told her I was here to make peace for the sake of my starving, homeless people.”
Angus grinned. “Well, now, that’s the truth of it in a twisted sort o’ way.” The smile faded from his face and a serious expression settled there. “Ye must be focused.”
“I know,” Robert replied, understanding Angus was worried that Elizabeth would steal his concentration.
“There kenning and then there’s kenning,” Angus said, his words sharp. “If lust has a hold of ye—”
“Do nae fash yerself,” Robert growled.
“Let me finish,” Angus snapped, to which Robert jerked his head in acquiescence. “Mayhap ye should let the lass seduce ye, if that is their plan, but it is ye who will discover whatever secrets she holds of Edward’s plans for his next invasion.”
“The notion did come to me,” Robert admitted, standing suddenly as an image of Elizabeth filled his mind. The thought of using her in that way, though she may well be intending to do the same to him, did not sit well in his gut. He paced the length of the bedchamber as he attempted to put logic to the differing emotions Elizabeth stirred in him. She had admitted to being a puppet but also to wanting to dance with him. He saw real compassion on her face. “I know her father and the king are foes, truly, but Elizabeth…” He drew his attention back to Angus. “I can nae forget what she did for Moray’s men or how she warned me in the woods of her brother’s presence. Nor how she willingly admitted in the great hall that she was being used by the king and her father. I can nae say in certainty that she is truly my foe.” Which meant he was unsure how to proceed with her.
“And if ye could?”
Robert shrugged. “Then perhaps it would nae be so terrible to get to know the woman.”
Angus nodded. “Perhaps ye will come to ken that anyway. We have some time here at court, aye?”
“Aye,” Robert confirmed. It would take time for Wallace to return from France and for them to gather all their men at the many key places to strike at Edward when the temporary peace was expired.
Angus stood and stretched. “Ye ken Edward will demand ye bend the knee soon.”
Robert nodded. “As I’ve said before, an oath given under duress is nae a true oath. I will do what I must to save Scotland.”
“What would ye have me to do while we are here?” Angus asked.
“Keep yer eyes and ears open to learn as much as ye can.”
“Mayhap I can learn something about the de Burgh lass from Gwendolyn Fraser,” Angus said with a grin. Gwendolyn was a bonny lady-in-waiting to the queen.
Robert laughed. “Would that nae break yer rule to nae ever trust a lovely lass?” Robert asked, referring to one of three rules Angus made well known he lived by.
“Well”—Angus kicked off his boots—“I did nae say I trusted her. Just that I could possibly learn something from her. She is lovely, so I do nae trust her, just as I do nae trust yer lady, who is even lovelier.”
Robert snorted. “Elizabeth is nae my lady, Angus. Ye do nae have to fear that ye will anger me if ye do nae think she is the bonniest lass in Christendom.”
“Och, ye ken I dunnae give a care about offending ye. Lady Elizabeth is so fair it makes my wee eyes hurt to gaze at her and sets an alarm off in my head. Still, I’ll rather enjoy keeping an eye on her to see what I can learn.”
“Mind ye that ye put only yer eyes on her, aye?”
“Protective of a lass that is nae even yers, are ye?” Angus said lightly, yet his face was grave.
Robert simply glared at Angus in response.
Angus moved to the bed, lay back, kicked his legs out in front of him and crossed them, then bent and lifted his arms to cradle his head in his interlaced fingers. He closed one eye but left the other slit open to stare at Robert. “Tread with care, Robbie. The lass may be truly compassionate for our cause, but that dunnae mean she will nae do as the king bids, especially if he and her father are holding something over her to compel her.”
Robert blinked, shocked and a bit concerned that the thought had not occurred to him. Already Elizabeth was distracting him. This game he played with her, the king, and her father was one where lives would be lost and kingdoms won. He could not afford to be unfocused.