Late July, 1320

Two months later

Scone, Scotland

 

“Kieran MacAdams approaches, sire!”

Jerome’s head snapped up at the guard’s announcement. His gaze met Elaine’s across the King’s table on the raised dais. All thoughts of the trade agreement with France they’d been discussing with the Bruce over the morning meal fled.

Elaine’s bright, excited eyes reflected his thoughts. Kieran brought William de Soules with him—which meant the last conspirator against the Bruce would finally face justice.

And they would finally be wed.

A few days after de Brechin’s thwarted assassination attempt, Finn returned to Trellham Keep to allow his arm to heal and to be with Rosamond when she delivered their bairn—another healthy boy to join Rand. But the Bruce had requested that Elaine and Jerome remain at Scone to assist him in the process of hunting down and questioning those who’d been involved in the plot.

The three guests Jerome had seen that night at the feast, along with Orrin and the other two men who’d served de Brechin, had all been taken into the King’s custody. The nobles were Sir John Logie, Sir Gilbert Malherbe, and Countess Agnes of Strathearn. The Countess had immediately come undone under the threat of being drawn and quartered. In exchange for a life of imprisonment rather than death, she’d turned over Sir Richard Broun and Roger Mowbray, as well as a few lesser nobles.

All the co-conspirators were land owners who’d once supported Balliol and English control over Scotland instead of the Bruce. When the Bruce had come into power, they’d all reluctantly pledged their fealty to him, and he’d willingly forgiven their past opposition. Yet despite several of the traitors’ public support of the Bruce—some had even attached their seals of approval to the Declaration of Arbroath—they’d secretly turned against him, imagining they’d been passed over for more lands and titles. Greed was a powerful poison.

Roger Mowbray, who had already been ailing, died in the King’s custody. The others remained locked in Scone’s dungeon, awaiting the Bruce’s final judgement.

But with the matter unresolved until de Soules, the conspiracy’s architect, could be brought to Scone, the Bruce had requested that Elaine and Jerome hold off on their nuptials so that they could remain focused on fully unraveling the plot against him. Elaine had also wished to delay their wedding until Rosamond was recovered enough to travel with the whole family to Scone for the event.

The waiting had been torture. Now that Elaine held Jerome’s heart, and he hers, he wanted naught more than to bind them together before the eyes of God, the King, and Elaine’s family. Luckily, the Bruce and all those in the palace had turned a blind eye to the fact that Elaine had stolen off to Jerome’s chamber every night for the last two months.

Yet Kieran’s arrival with de Soules in tow would put an end to all their clandestine meetings. Jerome would finally be able to say that he had the bravest, boldest, bonniest wife in all of Scotland.

But first de Soules had to be dealt with.

The Bruce ordered the great hall emptied except for Elaine, Jerome, and a handful of guards. Their meal was cleared away, as were the other tables and benches below the dais.

Just as the last of the servants slipped out, the double doors opened and in strode Kieran, pulling a bound William de Soules by the arm after him.

Never one for formalities, Kieran sketched a faint bow to the King, then unceremoniously shoved de Soules to his knees before the dais.

“As requested, sire,” Kieran said. “The traitor.”

Gone were de Soules’s obsequious, overwrought manners and in their place was a defiant sneer. His once-fine clothes were tattered and stained, yet even on his knees, and even after his spectacular failure, his brown eyes burned with hatred as he stared up at the Bruce.

“Do ye have aught to say for yerself, man?” the Bruce asked evenly.

De Soules spat on the ground. “Ye may have won this battle, but the war is far from over. There are others like me, others who are tired of kissing the hem of a pretender-King, and when they rise again—”

“Oh, aye,” the Bruce cut in. “Havenae ye heard? Nay, I suppose ye wouldnae have. We’ve already apprehended all yer co-conspirators.”

As the Bruce began rattling off the names of the others they’d captured, de Soules’s eyes grew wider and wider in disbelief. 

“And the lass here killed yer friend David de Brechin with her bare hands,” the Bruce added blithely, gesturing toward Elaine. She stared at de Soules with the closest thing to hate Jerome had ever seen in her vibrant eyes.

“Nay,” de Soules hissed. He shot Elaine a detestable look. It took all of Jerome’s self-restraint to keep from vaulting over the table and pummeling de Soules into oblivion just for laying eyes on her.

“Aye,” the Bruce countered calmly. “In a matter of days, I am set to pass final judgement on them all.”

“Some are already calling it the Black Parliament,” Jerome commented, fixing a hard stare on de Soules. “For death promises to be the outcome for those who would seek to assassinate their King.”

De Soules’s eyes darted from Jerome to the Bruce. “Ye can kill me, but it will only serve to make me a martyr in the eyes of those who sympathize with me.”

The Bruce waved as if de Soules’s threat was naught more than the buzzing of a midge.

“Oh, the others will receive a traitor’s death—except for Agnes of Strathearn, who turned so quickly on the others. But I’m inclined no’ to grant ye the same fate.”

De Soules lifted his chin defiantly, but Jerome didn’t miss the fact that he swallowed hard.

“Aye,” the Bruce continued evenly. “I’m inclined to make an example of ye instead. But no’ by displaying yer entrails in a public execution or mounting yer head on a pike outside Scone.”

He leaned forward, his tone sharpening. “Nay, I think I’ll let ye live. That way, every day ye sit in my dungeon will serve as a reminder of yer failure to best me. Every breath ye draw will be a token of my perseverance. Ye’ll become an example to others who think to cross me—and yer punishment will be to remember yer ruin for the rest of yer long life.”

“Nay,” de Soules breathed again. He stared in disbelief at the King, who motioned to two of the guards to remove de Soules. As the guards began dragging him from the hall, he screamed at the Bruce, alternating between curses and pleas, until the doors closed behind him and the hall fell silent.

The Bruce let a long breath go. “That was more satisfying than I’d imagined,” he said. He gave himself a little shake and fixed his attention on Kieran, growing sober once more. “What news from France?”

Kieran clasped his hands behind his back. “We successfully delivered the Declaration of Arbroath to the Pope,” he began. “Thanks to Bishop Kininmund, who spoke on yer behalf, sire, the Pope seemed receptive to reversing course and acknowledging Scotland as sovereign from England.”

The Bruce slapped the arm of his chair, a wide grin breaking out behind his beard. “Excellent!”

“In fact, the Pope asked Bishop Kininmund to remain in Avignon to discuss the role of the Scottish Church in yer efforts for freedom. And he indicated that he would be writing to King Edward to urge him to cease his war against Scotland once and for all.”

“That is better than I’d let myself hope for,” the Bruce said, shaking his head in amazement.

“I would have remained longer, too, but when yer missive about the attack against ye reached me, I made haste for Paris,” Kieran said. “Apparently word of the assassination attempt traveled just as swiftly as yer missive, for when I reached the French court, King Philip had already secured de Soules in his dungeon. If it makes ye feel better for allowing the man to live, Vivienne, the lady-in-waiting who aided us, kept de Soules drugged and miserable for nearly a fortnight before the King finally learned of his role in the attempted coup and locked him away.”

“Aye, that is a pleasant thought,” the Bruce mused.

Kieran’s mouth quirked into a wry smile before he returned to his serious demeanor. “By the time I passed through Picardy with de Soules, Balliol had already fled to England.”

The Bruce nodded. “Aye, he is said to be at Westminster hiding behind King Edward’s robes.”

“King Philip was none too pleased to learn that the pretender had sheltered in France and that treasonous plotting against his ally had taken place on his soil. He has seized all of Balliol’s land, as well as de Soules’s, and is even considering rescinding King Edward’s French titles and lands for harboring Balliol.” Kieran shrugged. “Philip is eager to show ye that he counts ye as a friend, sire, and that yer alliance remains strong.”

“I never doubted Philip,” the Bruce replied. “I’ll write to him immediately to let him hear it from me.”

“There is…one final matter I wish to discuss with ye, sire.” Suddenly Kieran’s normally confident air was replaced with hesitancy.

The Bruce frowned. “What is it?”

“Given the fact that de Soules fomented his plot no’ only in Scotland but also on French soil, King Philip is determined to ensure that if any of the man’s sympathizers remain in France, he’ll weed them out. Still, Lady Vivienne’s role in incapacitating de Soules is now public knowledge in court. If any of de Soules’s co-conspirators still lurk in France, she could become a target for helping ye.”

“What are ye suggesting?” the Bruce asked.

Kieran made his features expressionless. “I’d like permission to return to France, collect Lady Vivienne, and stow her someplace safe until we can be sure the threat has passed.”

Jerome’s gaze shot to Elaine. Her brows rose in surprise, but then she met his eyes with a knowing look on her face.

The Bruce, however, who hadn’t witnessed the taut bickering between Kieran and Vivienne—and wasn’t privy to Jerome’s suspicion that something other than animosity sparked between the two—merely nodded slowly.

“Aye, indeed. All those who have aided us must be ensured safety and protection.” The King straightened in his seat abruptly. “Have ye heard of my Bodyguard Corps, man?”

Kieran jerked in surprise. “Aye, of course.” His gaze flicked to Jerome. “They are the band of yer most trusted warriors, pledged to protect the innocent and serve yer cause in every way they can.”

“If ye are to watch over this Lady Vivienne in my name, it seems only fitting that ye should enter the ranks of the Corps.” The Bruce rose, dropping the last vestiges of formality as he stepped from the dais. He extended his forearm to Kieran. “What do ye say, man? Will ye join?”

A rare smile flashed over Kieran’s normally hard features as he clasped the Bruce’s arm. “Aye, it would be my honor, sire.”

“Robert,” the Bruce corrected. “Ye are part of my inner circle now. I ken ye’re eager to be off, but before ye return to France, I’ll arrange for ye to meet with Ansel Sutherland and a few of the others in the Corps. For the time being, Jerome here can fill ye in on what it means to become a member of the team.”

Jerome rose and stepped from the dais, giving Kieran a firm forearm shake. “Welcome to the family,” he said. “I cannae think of another man I’d trust more.”

Elaine joined them as well. “Give my best to Lady Vivienne when you reach her,” she said warmly. “And keep her safe.”

Kieran sobered. “I will.”

The Bruce turned to Elaine and Jerome. “And as for ye two, I ken Scone must seem humble compared with King Philip’s court, but I’m keen to keep ye here.”

Elaine blinked in surprise. “You…you wish for us to stay?”

Though she and Jerome had spoken about their future, much had been unknown these past two months—other than the fact that whatever came, they would face it together.

Elaine loved her family, but she didn’t wish to spend the rest of her days at sleepy Trellham Keep. Jerome would always have a place in his clan thanks to his devotion to Laird Munro, but he didn’t hold land of his own in the Highlands. And though Elaine had been dazzled by France, she’d said she couldn’t imagine living anywhere but Scotland now, much to Jerome’s gratification.

But with so much uncertainty until de Soules’s conspiracy could be resolved once and for all, they hadn’t let themselves hope for any one outcome.

Yet judging from the way Elaine’s eyes shone with eager anticipation, remaining at the Bruce’s court was her deepest desire.

“Of course I want ye to stay!” the Bruce replied. “We still have this trade agreement with the French to nail down, and then there is the matter of redistributing the lands of de Soules and his allies.”

“And after that?” Elaine asked hesitantly. “Jerome has the skills of a warrior to offer you, sire, but I have no special talents or abilities.”

The Bruce folded her hand in both of his. “What was it Munro here said about ye the first time we met, lass? That ye were my fiercest supporter and most loyal subject?”

Jerome swelled with pride, for the words were more apt than ever. For her part, Elaine’s cheeks turned rosy with a modest blush.

The Bruce fixed her with a serious look. “Ye may no’ come with any fancy skills, but ye do possess the most valuable thing of all—loyalty.” He shifted to encompass Jerome with his gaze as well. “I couldnae ask for more after all ye’ve done. Stay, and honor me with yer presence.”

Jerome had to clear his suddenly tight throat before he could answer. He looked to Elaine, whose eyes brimmed with happy tears. At her nod, he spoke. “The honor is ours, Robert.”

The Bruce squeezed Elaine’s hand before releasing it, a pleased smile on his face.

With the matter settled, Jerome drew a deep breath. “If ye dinnae need us for the moment, Robert, Elaine and I have some business to discuss.”

“We do?” she asked, giving him a quizzical look.

“Aye. We have a wedding to plan.”

The Bruce threw his head back and laughed. “Off with ye then. I have an inkling just what this ‘planning’ will involve.”

Kieran snorted and Elaine sucked in a scandalized breath, her cheeks burning red once more, but Jerome didn’t rise to the Bruce’s bait. Instead, he took Elaine’s hand and rushed them from the hall down one of the many branching corridors toward his chamber.

“You can’t truly mean to—” Elaine huffed as he pulled her into his chamber and closed the door.

“Why no’? We are finally free to wed. What better way to celebrate than this?” He dropped a searing kiss on her lips. To his satisfaction, he felt her instantly melt in surrender. He, too, yielded to the desire rising like a storm within him.

“I love ye, Elaine,” he breathed, drawing her close. “I cannae wait to spend the rest of my life showing ye.”

And he did just that.

 

The End

 

Want another historical romance story for FREE? and have “Aegir’s Daughter” (A Viking Lore Short Story) sent directly to you. Happy reading!