She was careful to keep her tone even and not too interested, though she was. She had never forgotten the day that had opened her eyes to the cruelty of her father and the king, and to the plight of the Scottish people.
“King Edward is invading Scotland again!” Aveline exclaimed like a child who had received a bauble. “And Father will aid him, of course.”
“Of course,” Elizabeth murmured, hoping she did not sound as disgusted as she felt.
“This makes the sixth time,” Aveline continued, as if Elizabeth did not know. “When do you suppose those people will simply relinquish the fight?”
“When they’re dead,” Elizabeth replied dryly. It irked Elizabeth to no end that Aveline—their entire family, really—considered themselves somehow better than an entire nation of people. Simply being Scottish did not somehow make the Scots lesser than the English and the Irish.
Aveline chuckled. “Elizabeth, sometimes you are so funny.”
Elizbeth forced a smile as she and Lillianna locked eyes in mutual understanding. It was better that Aveline had not realized that there had been no intention of humor, only truth. Sometimes it was hard to disguise how she truly felt.
Aveline fanned herself as she cocked her head to the side. “They have no hope against King Edward and Father.”
“How can you be so joyous, Aveline?” Lillianna burst out. “You do understand that people die in these battles—and not just Scottish people! English knights die, as well.”
Aveline scowled at Lillianna. “Of course I understand that. Death is the price of war. Though, I do hate that good English knights die because those Scots refuse to accept King Edward as their liege.”
When Lilliana flushed with anger, Elizabeth quickly said, “Must we talk of politics? It’s terribly boring,” she lied.
“I do normally agree,” Aveline admitted, “but my interest was piqued when I heard Lord Belfine speak of Bruce. You recall him, don’t you, Elizabeth?” Aveline asked with a smirk. Her sister knew well that Elizabeth’s freedoms had been stripped from her because of the day she had aided Robert the Bruce. An image of the man, dark hair brushing his shoulders and eyes just as dark with glinting gold peppered in them, flashed in her mind. If her recollections were correct, he was tall, commanding, and built for battle. Her belly tightened a bit with the memory. “Elizabeth?” Aveline snapped. “Do you recall him?”
“You know I recall who he is,” Elizabeth murmured. Truthfully, whenever she had heard his name mentioned over the years, she had stilled and listened, feeling oddly connected to a man she barely knew. She did know, however, that King Edward had stripped his English estates away. And she had learned that Bruce had been appointed, along with John Comyn, to a post called Guardian of Scotland, but that he had resigned it later. Her brother Walter had said the post meant they made the final decisions for the welfare of Scotland while Balliol was forced to remain in France. She did not know why Bruce had resigned his post, but she was certain it was not lack of bravery. He’d proven his courage that day five years before, yet she was not so foolish as to ignore the idea that he might simply have been serving his own interest. He was a powerful lord, just as her father was, and her father had fooled her for years into believing he was truly good before she discovered he was self-serving. Plus, Walter had made a comment that the Bruces and the Comyns would never lead Scotland anywhere except to a great divide. The two powerful families had been fighting among themselves for power over the land they claimed to love.
“Well—” Aveline started, then swallowed her words as the carriage lurched. It tilted sharply to the left, and she grabbed the side of the seat. Elizabeth glanced out the window but saw nothing more than Walter riding in the front with one of his men. Likely, the horse had simply misstepped into a hole in the road. “Robert the Bruce is said to be building up his forces in his lands to march against the king once more,” Aveline went on. “How many times must King Edward defeat the man?”
“He has not defeated him,” Elizabeth snapped, her control over her tongue slipping.
Her sister’s eyes narrowed. “King Edward has killed many rebellious lords and stripped others of their lands and titles and gained their homage. That is defeat.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “That is not Bruce’s defeat. The man does not bow to Edward as king.”
“He pretended to before he rebelled,” Aveline muttered. “The treacherous Scot…” Her sister studied her for a long moment. “Sometimes, Elizabeth, you seem almost sympathetic to the Scots’ cause. Perhaps I should tell Mother,” she threatened.
Elizabeth wanted to snap, Please do! Yet, even now, she had to guard her words. She caught Lillianna shooting her a warning look and took a long, deep breath. “I assure you my sympathies lie only with myself,” she said with a wink.
Aveline burst out laughing, and Elizabeth felt herself relax. Of course her sister could relate to being self-interested!
Once Aveline quit laughing, she waved a hand toward the brancard. “Lord Belfine says that out there somewhere, Robert the Bruce is here to gather his vassals in Ireland to join him in the fight against Edward.”
Elizabeth’s attention was immediately drawn to the landscape. It was silly, but she swept her gaze across the green hills and then to the dense woods searching for a horse and a man. The Bruce lands were vast and, at one point, adjacent to those of her family. Were they on his lands now? She wished she could somehow warn the man.
“Oh!” Aveline exclaimed. “What if he burns his land here as he does in Scotland?”
“He burns his land in Scotland so that King Edward may not use it for food, weapons, or shelter for his troops,” Lillianna said, enunciating each word as if talking to a child.
Aveline’s forehead did wrinkle momentarily, and then she said, “Oh! Well, that does make sense.”
Elizabeth could not help it: she burst out laughing and Lillianna joined her. A dark look settled on Aveline’s face, but they were spared her temper as the carriage suddenly halted. Elizabeth glanced out the window, shocked to see they were on the edge of Avondale Forest. It was time. Elizabeth’s palms dampened nervously as Walter opened the door a moment later. He offered her his hand, and she quickly wiped her palm on her gown before taking it and allowing him to help her out of the carriage.
Once they all alighted from the carriage, Walter motioned to the grass. “This is the perfect place to stop, as I said before we left. The river runs beside this road just through the woods. You can find privacy there. Simply stay within shouting distance. We’ll call you when the food is ready.”
“I’m not hungry,” she answered, just as she and Lillianna had planned.
“And my stomach ails me,” Lillianna added, patting her midsection.
“I’m going to find a shady spot by the water,” Elizabeth continued, praying her voice wouldn’t shake as her body did. “Call me when you are ready to depart.”
“I’ll join you,” Lillianna said.
Walter nodded. “Stay together,” he warned.
Sadness suddenly swept over Elizabeth. None of her siblings had ever been particularly kind to her, but they were still her siblings, and the realization that she’d likely never see them again struck her hard in the chest, making it tighten. “We will,” she said, glancing toward Aveline, who was already settling herself onto a rock under a tree. Blinking her suddenly stinging eyes, she and Lillianna walked away. Once they had gone a safe distance, Elizabeth took deep breaths of the fresh air.
“I feel surprisingly sad,” she admitted.
Lillianna slipped an arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders and squeezed. “I think it’s normal, though I felt no sadness when I left my father’s home.” Elizabeth nodded, understanding, considering Uncle Brice had been responsible for Aunt Kara’s death.
Elizabeth thought of the legend surrounding Aunt Kara and the women of her family that when they truly fell in love the gift of sight would come to them. “Lillianna, do you ever wonder if you will get the gift of
sight when you fall in love?”
Lillianna shook her head. “I pray I can never see the future. It’s a curse!”
Elizabeth was not sure she agreed, yet she could understand why Lillianna would feel that way, so she pressed her lips together on saying more. As they neared the forest, they hiked up their skirts, hurried toward the river, and then followed the bank as it wound toward the twin hills in the east where they were to meet Mr. Daniel.
Elizabeth panted, trying to keep moving at a fast clip. Neither her gown nor her slippers were suitable for walking. Her gown weighed upon her, and each rock gouged her tender feet, but the attire had been appropriate for the party they had attended. Beside her, Lilliana breathed heavily, as well, and she knew her cousin was in the same predicament.
“Just think,” Elizabeth said, “we can dip our feet in the river without anyone chiding us.”
“And we can ride horses as men do,” Lillianna said.
“Practice shooting bows and arrows and participate in hunts,” Elizabeth said.
Lillianna laughed. “We will need to sell your emerald for a good amount of money.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Did not Mr. Daniel say he could?”
“He did,” Lillianna assured her, as she had been the one to communicate with him.
“Race you there?” Elizabeth asked, wanting to put as much distance between herself and her family as possible.
Lillianna nodded, and they set off at a run. By the time they reached the rendezvous point, her feet ached horribly, so when it was obvious that Mr. Daniel was not there yet, she was delighted to find a clear, low spot in the river that flowed up onto a grassy bank.
“Let’s cool off,” she suggested.
Lillianna nodded, and they both nudged their slippers off, peeled back their stockings, and dipped their feet into water. Elizabeth got onto her knees to wet her face, accidentally dipping her hair. It soaked the front of her gown as she stood. She tilted her face to the sun, closed her eyes, and wondered if it was as Aveline had said: that somewhere in Ireland, Robert the Bruce was hiding and gathering his vassals.
“I’m going to search for Mr. Daniel,” Elizabeth said, forcing herself to open her eyes, sit, and put on her stockings and slippers. “We cannot afford to linger, and he must be lost.”
“I’ll go with you,” Lillianna offered.
“No. What if he comes here and then we miss him? I won’t venture far, and I’ll stick to the river. I just wish I had my dagger.” It was but one of the many privileges her father had stripped from her.
“As do I. These woods make me nervous.”
Elizabeth nodded, then did the only thing she could: she turned and walked away.
Chapter Two
Robert rode parallel to the river that traversed his land, Niall at his side. Tomorrow they would start the journey back to Scotland to prepare for Edward’s next invasion. Luckily, they would be returning with fifty more fighting men than they’d had when they’d departed for Ireland. He held up a hand for them to stop, and when Niall acknowledged him with a dip of his head, Robert slowed his horse and directed the great beast toward the river’s edge. When he slackened his reins, the horse immediately dipped his head to drink. He pulled out his wine skin and drank liberally before passing the vessel to Niall, who turned it up to quench his own thirst.
Robert glanced across the grassy knolls of his grounds, so green and thriving, and thought angrily of the charred land of Scotland that had been so devastated by the four years of brutal war with Edward. His mind turned briefly to his four younger brothers, for whom he felt wholly responsible given their father had all but deserted them for the luxury of England. He had left the eldest two, Nigel and Edward, in charge of the younger two, Alexander and Thomas, and settled them at Belmont Castle, deep in Scotland, well away from the fighting. But he knew it was only a matter of time before the war swept them into its clutches. His stomach tightened with the thought. Already, Nigel and Edward needled him constantly to be allowed to fight, and soon, he would have to allow it, though he despised the idea. As for Alexander and Thomas, they were far too young to fight, but the perfect age for the savage Edward to try to use the innocent boys to force Robert to his will.
“Why are ye scowling? Today was good, aye? Most of yer vassals decided to come with ye to Scotland and fight.”
Robert swiped a hand across his face. “I’m thinking of my brothers and looking at my estate here, and it makes me think of the land we’ve had to destroy to keep Edward from profiting. It sickens me.”
Niall nodded. “Aye, but it would sicken ye more if Edward gained those holdings and became so powerful that we had no hope of defeating him. As for yer brothers, they’re safe.”
Robert met his friend’s keen gaze. “For now. I lie awake at night and try to imagine how we will defeat Edward as we are going now. My people are scattered, sick, and barely surviving, and still, I need them to continue the fight,” he said, bitterness burning in his belly. “And soon the day may come that I must allow Nigel and Edward into the thick of the battle as they wish.” It was not often he spoke so freely, but he knew Niall shared his concerns.
“Robbie,” Niall began.
“Hear me,” Robert interrupted, needing to relay his greatest concern before Niall spoke. “How can we, the men who are at the head of the rebellion, lead the people to freedom when we quarrel so much amongst ourselves that we’re too divided to lead effectively?”
“We will find a way. You’ll lead them.” Niall appeared to look past Robert, but he knew his friend was deep in thought. He recognized the contemplative look. “The Comyns pretend to fight with us, yet they conveniently only rise to battle when it endangers their lands. And they plot still to bring Balliol back to Scotland. If the man did nae have the necessary mettle to defeat Edward before, he certainly will nae have it now. I suspect they mean to make him their puppet king, pulling his strings and demanding much for themselves.”
Robert scrubbed a hand across his face. “Aye, but how we convince those loyal to Balliol of this truth escapes me.” To struggle with the English king for the freedom of the Scottish people was one thing, but to struggle with the Comyns, fellow Scots, was another. He longed for peace, but the Comyns would never allow it. They desired the throne, and Robert would consider stepping aside, except he knew well they would destroy him and all who had ever fought beside him in the process.
“Angus is coming,” Niall suddenly said.
Robert turned from the water and frowned. He’d left Angus MacLorh at his estate this morning while he and Niall had ridden out to gather more vassals for the cause. He trusted his longtime friend implicitly. He, Angus, and Niall had all trained together at the Earl of Mar’s castle years before. If Angus had left his post guarding Robert’s castle this day, there must be a very good reason.
He rode up fast, pulling the reins sharply and dismounting in one fluid motion. The tall Scot’s gray gaze settled on Robert. “A messenger arrived with a letter from Fraser. The man said it was urgent and needed to be delivered to ye directly.” Angus reached in his satchel and held out the note to Robert.
Robert tensed. Simon Fraser was a spy, a master manipulator, but most importantly, dedicated to defeating Edward. He had also trained with Robert, Niall, and Angus at Mar’s home. Robert noted Fraser’s seal and tore open the letter.
The puppet dances to a Scottish tune played on a golden French harp.
“God’s teeth!” Robert swore.
“What does it say?” Angus and Niall both demanded.
Robert held the note up for them. Both men read it and then looked questioningly at Robert.
Angus snatched the message and frowned down at it. “Leave it to Fraser to make the code impossible to understand,” he growled, thumping the parchment. “What in God’s name does this mean?”
“It means that the king of France is considering giving Balliol forces to return to Scotland so he can reclaim his throne if the Pope will release Balliol from banishment.
”
Angus pressed his lips together momentarily. “Ye got all that from that one line, did ye?”
A memory struck him of them all teasing Angus during training. He had always been the last to break codes, but the man made up for the slowness in deciphering by being the toughest to defeat in combat. Angus was renowned for his skill with a sword. And he was plenty smart, just impatient. “Nay. Fraser and I spoke of the code months ago.”
Angus nodded. “The Comyns surely have had a hand in this.”
“Aye,” Robert agreed. “It would take much power and money to get the king of France to consider such a thing. If Balliol returns to reclaim the throne, Scotland may gain freedom from the tyranny of King Edward but it will be traded for the tyranny of the Comyns. I can nae allow this to happen.”
“We kinnae,” Angus said, to which Niall nodded.
Robert clenched his fists, consumed by fiery anger. “We must fight Edward, even as we battle Comyn’s plots.” He yanked his hand through his hair. “I can nae watch my back for his knife and watch my front for the Englishmen who are charging at me.”
Angus dismounted and clasped Robert on the shoulder. “I will watch yer back.”
Niall dismounted, as well, and seized Robert’s forearm. “And I will be by yer side.”
Before Robert could respond, a female voice called from the distance. “Mr. Daniel?”
Steel hissed and swished through the air as Robert, Niall, and Angus all withdrew their swords. Robert turned toward at the sound, prepared to fight, reminding himself that a woman was the perfect distraction for an ambush.
Primed for battle, shock slammed him in the chest and stole his breath as the woman came into view. A memory of Elizabeth de Burgh—young, foolish, and brave as she defied her father to aid the Moray men—filled him. The years had stolen Elizabeth’s girlhood and replaced it with a swanlike beauty. A tall, slender woman stood before him with lively blue eyes and a proud tilt to her head. Her hair was the color of golden wheat and tumbled invitingly over her shoulders. She wore a traveling gown of fine emerald silk, and the bodice clung to the ample curves of her chest—a thing she must have sensed for she crossed her arms.
Outlaw King Page 4
