When Reid’s gaze landed on Corinne, he knew instantly that she’d heard everything.

Her face was flushed red with humiliation, and her eyes shone with tears. Yet somehow she managed to carry her head high and her back straight as she stepped into the tent.

The storm raging inside him went still for a moment as he wondered where in the world the wee lass found such fortitude.

She looked even smaller than he remembered, or mayhap it was because he could see her slender frame without her cloak or a plaid bundling her up. Though she was taller than most women, she was slimly built. Her petite breasts swelled erratically against the tight-fitted bodice of her gown as she fought to breathe. Her gloved fingers twisted in the blue wool of her skirts. That act of rage must pain her still-healing hands, but she didn’t seem to notice.

Corinne’s burning blue-green eyes landed on the Bruce.

“Sire,” she said, giving him the faintest possible curtsy. She turned her gaze to Reid. “Laird Mackenzie.”

“Lady Corinne,” the Bruce said smoothly, appearing unruffled by Corinne’s obvious embarrassment and fury.

The Bruce cleared his throat, clasping his hands behind his back. “It seems safe to assume ye overheard my decision that ye and Reid should wed.”

“Aye,” Corinne said through gritted teeth. “But I must object, Sire.”

Something twisted in Reid’s gut. She wanted this as little as he did. Why should that give him both relief and pricking displeasure at the same time?

“Oh?” the Bruce murmured mildly. “It seems ye and Reid both object.”

Her gaze flicked to Reid for an instant, her cheeks growing redder, before she returned her attention to the Bruce.

“In the first place, I am English, as Reid has so…loudly pointed out,” she began. “Which means you are not my King, and I am not your subject, Sire. You cannot simply order me to marry anyone.”

“Yet here ye are on my soil, Lady Corinne,” the Bruce countered. “And what’s more, yer King willnae stand against me in this matter, for even if he cared—no offense meant, milady, but ye are one lass from a small corner of Edward’s vast and unruly kingdom—he kens all too well he cannae best me.” He lifted his brows. “Any other objections, or may we move forward?”

Corinne’s mouth fell open. Taking advantage of her stunned silence, Reid jumped in.

“Ye havenae addressed my opposition, Robert,” he said, his voice heated. “Ye ken verra well that I need to marry a Scotswoman—a Laird’s daughter—to protect the Mackenzie Lairdship from challengers. The Mackenzies are one of the largest, most powerful clans in the Highlands, but that could be destroyed if another clan sees fit to question my line of succession.”

“Ye said yerself that yer people accept ye as Laird,” the Bruce said.

“Aye, but—”

“But the MacVales will cause trouble, aye.” The Bruce waved his hand in dismissal. “The MacVales are a quarrelsome, lawless lot. They’ll make trouble for ye no matter who ye wed.”

“My allies will see it as a slight,” Reid shot back. “They’ll demand to ken why I passed over a chance to unite my clan with theirs in favor of wedding an Englishwoman.”

He glanced at Corinne and immediately regretted the way he’d nearly spat the last word. It wasn’t her fault he was in such a bind. But legitimacy meant everything to him and his people. His bastardry cast a long shadow of doubt over the clan’s future. He couldn’t burden them with even more trouble than he already had.

“Ye would have had to choose one lass to wed eventually,” the Bruce countered. “That means at least one of yer allies would’ve been left slighted. And when that happened, ye would have used all yer skills as a Laird to smooth things over, to find a solution that ensured yer alliances continued.” The Bruce shrugged. “That is what ye will have to do now.”

Reid opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Corinne, who’d apparently recovered herself, launched another attack.

“I am meant to go to a nunnery,” she blurted.

The King blinked. “Yer father wasnae sending ye to marry Lord de Perroy?”

Corinne’s bluster faltered. “Nay, that is, he was, or he would have.”

“Then how were ye meant go to a nunnery?”

She lifted her chin. “I was in the process of taking myself there when Reid and his men attacked.”

“Ah,” the Bruce said. “That explains the…” He motioned vaguely toward her sheared red locks.

“I’ll find my way to a convent,” she threatened. “You cannot simply force me to marry.”

“Milady,” the Bruce said gently, “I can, and I am.”

From the sizzling fury in her eyes, Corinne would not accept that. She would no doubt fight tooth and nail, just as she had before, to gain her freedom.

Reid’s stomach sank at the thought. If the Bruce had his way—and knowing him, he almost certainly would—Reid would be bound for life to a woman who would prefer a nunnery to him.

She had fire burning in her veins, of that he was certain, yet she’d made it abundantly clear that she longed to become a nun. That would mean a cold, lonely, unhappy future for both of them, all to appease the Bruce’s whim.

Bloody hell, what was the Bruce getting him into?

“Why are ye doing this, Robert?” Reid demanded through clenched teeth. “Ye said that this was good for Scotland, and for me—why?”

The Bruce turned to him. “It is an elegant solution to two problems. Ye need a wife. I need the lass married off.” He lifted his palms as if there was naught more to say.

“I need a Scottish wife,” Reid ground out.

“I’ve already addressed that,” the Bruce replied. “It doesnae matter whom ye marry. Regardless, ye will miff some of yer allies, and yer enemies will give ye trouble. Besides, yer marriage to a MacRae or a MacDonnell lass does little to aid the larger cause.”

Reid clenched his fists until his knuckles popped. “Ye said there was to be a truce. How does wedding an English lord’s daughter to one of yer loyal Lairds help the cause?”

“Ye think after all we’ve done to get here, I would cede ground to Edward now?” the Bruce demanded. “I willnae allow Edward’s lords to strengthen themselves with an alliance along the border. Nor will I allow de Reymont and de Perroy to target innocent Borderlanders once their forces are united. Nay,” he said, swiping a hand through his hair. “The Borderlands have been through enough. I cannae allow the English to regain power there.”

“I am already here,” Corinne cut in. “The alliance between my father and de Perroy will be dashed once they realize that I am lost to them both.” She stepped closer to the Bruce, her eyes pleading. “I was only a pawn to be traded between them. Without me, you can consider the alliance all but dead. I could remain in Scotland if you prefer, but what difference does it make whether I marry Reid or enter a convent?”

The Bruce gazed at her with sympathy. “Ye are determined, I’ll give ye that, milady. But ye wouldnae be secure, even in a convent. One of yer father’s men, or de Perroy’s, could have ye taken and forced into the marriage. Nay, the only way to ensure that the alliance can never go through is by marrying ye to someone else.”

He turned to Reid. “Though I ken ye cannae see it now, I am honoring ye, Reid. This is a sign of my trust in ye. I believe ye are the best man to ensure that Lady Corinne is safe—as yer wife. Ye are doing a service to the cause—and yer King.”

“I’m no’ one of yer Bodyguard Corps,” Reid growled. “If ye want the lass protected, have one of them look after her.”

“Ah, but there is the problem,” the Bruce said, a rueful smile lifting his lips behind his beard. “The men in the Corps have a pesky habit of falling in love and getting married. Take yer brother Logan and Lady Helena, for example. Or Colin and Sabine. Or Kirk and Lillian. Or—”

“Ye’ve made yer point,” Reid interjected. He raked a hand through his hair, looking up at the tent’s canvas ceiling.

Numb resignation began to settle over his mind. The Bruce had clearly thought this out to his liking, and once the man took hold of an idea, he was like a dog with a bone, seeing it through to the end.

“Nay,” Corinne said, glancing wide-eyed between the Bruce and Reid. “You cannot—you cannot simply—”

“I am Robert the Bruce, King of Scotland,” the Bruce interrupted. He leveled her with one of his most commanding stares, then turned the look on Reid. “And I am ordering ye to wed.”

Reid’s ears rang with the declaration. It felt as though the tent’s walls were pressing in. Though some part of him still longed to resist, to argue with the Bruce until he ran out of breath, a larger part of him knew he would never triumph. More than that, he’d pledged himself to serve and obey his King. He was bound to submit.

He bent into a stiff, shallow bow. “As ye command, Sire,” he ground out.

When he straightened, his gaze clashed with Corinne’s. Her blue-green eyes were round and brimming with disbelief.

“Now that we have that settled,” the Bruce said lightly, “I can marry ye here and now.”

“Nay,” Reid snapped. He held no illusions that he could find a way out of this cursed union, but marrying Corinne in the Bruce’s half-disassembled camp tent would create problems—more problems, that was—later.

“It may be hard for my people to accept an unknown Englishwoman as the lady of the clan,” Reid went on. “They might be more likely to tolerate her if they see us wed with their own eyes.”

The Bruce considered this for a moment. “Verra well, but dinnae delay. I want ye wed as soon as ye reach Eilean Donan. Can I trust that ye’ll see this done, Reid?”

Teeth locked, Reid gave a curt nod. But then a thought occurred to him. “Do ye truly believe de Reymont and de Perroy are a threat? Will they come after Corinne?”

“This will cause a few ruffled feathers, no doubt, but I dinnae believe they have the will or the resources to wage war against me,” the Bruce replied. “If they cause trouble, I’ll deal with them. And I may even press de Reymont to give Lady Corinne’s dowry to ye, Reid. Ye ken that’s what I’m good at.” A wry grin lifted one half of the King’s mouth. “Creating a stir and then making the most of it.”

Reid worked his jaw for a long moment, but there was naught left to say. He was good and trapped now.

“We’ll leave for the Highlands at dawn tomorrow morning, then,” he said tightly.

The Bruce nodded. “Verra well.” He turned to Corinne, who still stood dumbstruck and wide-eyed, and gave her a little bow. “It was a pleasure to meet ye, Lady Corinne. I hope we meet again under more…agreeable circumstances. And Reid,” he said, straightening, “I meant what I said. I trust ye as much as I trust any of the men in the Corps. In fact, I consider ye an honorary member, of sorts.”

The King gave Reid a lopsided grin, then sobered once more. “I hope someday ye understand that this decision is a mark of my respect for ye, and gratitude for all ye’ve done for me.”

Reid forced himself to bend under the King’s praise. When he rose, the King ushered them toward the tent’s entrance. “No doubt ye are both weary from yer travels. My men will ensure yer comfort for the night. And I’ll make sure to see ye off tomorrow at dawn.”

As Corinne passed woodenly through the tent flap, the Bruce gripped Reid’s arm to halt him.

“The lass has fire in her blood,” the King murmured, his dark eyes dancing. “Who kens, mayhap this will prove to be a love match. I have had luck with such things before.”

The Bruce released Reid’s arm with a soft chuckle. As he exited the tent and followed Corinne’s rod-straight back into the darkened maze of canvas, Reid had to disagree with his King.

This was going to be a disaster.