Outlaw King

by Julie Johnstone

  “Robert the Bruce,” she said simply. His name flowed from her tongue with such musical cadence it stirred something deep within him.

  Angus surged forward as if to stop an attack. Robert gripped his friend by the arm and stilled his motion. Elizabeth shuffled backward, her face pale. “I know this lass,” he told Angus.

  “Aye?” Angus grumbled. “That dunnae mean she did nae wish to kill ye. In my experience, the better lasses ken me the more they wish me ill.”

  “I do nae know her in that sense, Angus,” Robert snapped, a protective instinct for the girl—no, woman—flaring.

  Her blue eyes widened with what appeared to be fright, and her full lips parted. He quickly sheathed his sword and held his palms up. “I do nae mean ye harm.”

  She cocked an eyebrow, almost haughtily, then pointed to Angus. “It’s not you I’m concerned with. It’s that one there—with the dagger.”

  Robert flicked his gaze at Angus and frowned. His friend, ever suspicious of beautiful lasses due to his own history of being horribly betrayed by one, had drawn his dagger. “Put yer weapon away, man.”

  With a reluctant look between his blade and Elizabeth, Angus took his time complying.

  “There,” Robert said to her. “Ye do nae have anything to fear now. May I approach?”

  Wariness danced across her lovely face, and he had a feeling she would be far more comfortable if Angus and Niall were not standing there. “Ye two make yer way back to the castle and prepare the men for the journey home.”

  “I’ll stay,” Angus scoffed, a stubborn glint in his eyes.

  “I do nae need yer protection from one wee lass,” Robert said.

  Angus scowled. “It is because ye see her as such that she could well be the most dangerous of all enemies.”

  Robert caught Elizabeth’s interested gaze on them. A smile quivered at her lips. “He’s right. Mayhap I’m deadly with my hands.”

  Niall chuckled but Angus narrowed his eyes. Elizabeth’s forehead wrinkled, and an image of her hands on Robert’s body danced before his eyes, sending a hot wave of desire over him.

  “See there,” Angus said. “The lass kens how to use her hands.”

  “Leave me,” Robert ordered, giving Angus, and then Niall—who looked as if he was about to protest as well—a warning look. As Niall and Angus quickly mounted their horses and rode past her, Robert closed the distance between the two of them. When he was near enough to see the golden flecks in her eyes, the curl of her dark lashes, the proud tilt of her chin, he lost his ability to speak. Elizabeth de Burgh was no common woman; she was exceptional.

  He bowed slightly, and when he came up, she was grinning. “This must be a first for an enemy to bow to another.”

  “Are we enemies?”

  “My father is in England to aid my godfather in crushing you.”

  “As long as ye are nae trying to destroy me, ye are nae my enemy.”

  She glanced behind her toward the woods, then back to him. Her voice dropped low. “My brother Walter and three of his men are beyond those woods.”

  His pulsed ticked up, not at the proximity of men who would gladly see him killed but at the fact that she had warned him. “I thank ye.”

  “I’d not wish to see your blood shed this day.”

  “Another day is preferable?” he teased, surprising himself. He’d never jested so lightheartedly with a woman. In truth, he’d had little time for women, jesting, or soft emotions. He had been sent away to train at a young age, and then strife had plagued his family—for many long years now—so his mind habitually turned to battle, the physical and mental toll extracting most of his energy.

  Elizabeth blushed. “No, but surely you can see that I should be loyal to my family and not have warned you that they are near and would kill you for being on our property.”

  Misguided family loyalty had compelled him to do many things. He understood her predicament and felt a pang of regret for her. She would likely come to learn that family loyalty often coiled like a snake waiting to strike at the most vulnerable moments. Robert cleared his throat, not wishing to be the one to color her view of her family, which had obviously not been too tarnished by her father’s deeds. “Ye are on my property, so yer brother and his men would nae have just cause here to try and kill me.”

  “Oh!” A look of equal surprise and embarrassment swept across her face. “I had not realized we were on your lands.”

  He nodded. “Are ye lost then?”

  Guilt flashed across her face. “No,” she said, her voice uneasy. “It’s too complicated to explain, but I beg you, if you see my brother, please, please do not tell him you saw me.”

  Robert frowned. “I doubt we would pause to have a conversation. Yer brother would nae have just cause to kill me on my land, but I do nae doubt he would try to do so, if nae capture me. And that would make conversation unlikely.”

  “Of course.” She tugged a hand through her hair. “I’m normally more astute, but you see, I—” She bit her lip. “I’m fleeing my family,” she blurted. “My cousin Lillianna and I, we, well—” She waved a hand. “It hardly matters. I really must make haste. But before I depart, do you know a Mr. Connor Daniel? He was to meet us not far from here at the hills.”

  Robert’s nostrils flared at the mention of the swindler who’d stolen from several of Robert’s vassals. “Daniel is a charlatan.” Her shoulders drooped considerably. Robert wanted to curse at her obvious distress. “Did ye already give the man coin?”

  “Yes,” she said, barely above a whisper. “He was to meet us here today and then take us on a ship to France.”

  “France? Why do ye wish to go there?”

  She looked over her shoulder. “I really must depart, my lord,” she said, meeting his gaze again and refusing to answer his question. “I must speak to my cousin. If Mr. Daniel is not going to aid us, then we have to return to my brother before we are missed.”

  “Please,” he said, “call me Robert.”

  She glanced behind her again, and when she turned back to him, he saw the stark fear in her eyes. “I would hear their steps upon the leaves if they were coming,” he assured her.

  She nodded. “Yes, but Robert—” she gave him a shy smile “—my cousin is waiting. And if we’re nowhere to be found, Walter or my sister will tell my mother, who will tell my father all.” She shuddered, and anger coursed through him for what she had left unsaid. The truth of it showed clearly on her face.

  “Ye would be punished.”

  “Yes.” Her cheeks pinkened. “Severely. But I care more about the punishment that would befall Lillianna. I persuaded her to do this.”

  “Why do ye wish to flee?”

  Her shoulders drooped, and her gaze darted from him. “I fear I’m to be married.” She looked at him once more, her face a portrait of defiance. “I would choose my husband myself rather than have one forced on me.”

  Her sentiments matched his so exactly that he found himself gaping.

  Her lips pressed together, and she crossed her arms defensively. “I suppose you think I have no right to choose my husband because I am a mere woman.”

  “Nay, I—”

  “God’s teeth!” she exclaimed. “I cannot think why I even told you, a stranger, such intimate things.”

  The downward tug of her mouth ignited something within him, some emotion he could not name. “Ye do nae have to fear what ye reveal to me. Shortly, we will part ways. Therefore, ye sense ye do nae have to fear judgment.”

  “Would there be any?” She looked at him questioningly. “I mean, if you and I were ever to cross paths again?”

  “Nay, Elizabeth.” Why did it seem he knew her when he didn’t? “I married by my family’s orders,” he revealed, though as with everything that concerned her, he was unsure why. “I’d nae wish that fate on another.”

  She frowned. “You’re wed?”

  Guilt surfaced for his late wife. Isabella had been thrust upon him, and he had seen little choice b
ut to accept his fate. He had been twenty-two summers when they’d wed, and theirs had been a short, loveless marriage but one that still grieved him a full year since she had died.

  Their year together before her death had not been one in which they had grown close, but he took the blame for that. He could not allow himself to feel the way a woman needed a man to feel for her, as if she were everything to him. Scotland was everything to him, so Scotland had to come first.

  “Robert?” Elizabeth prodded, bringing his attention back to her. “You did not answer my question. Are you wed?”

  “Ye sound sad,” he teased, grasping at a moment to feel carefree, though there was no place for the emotion in his hazardous life.

  A haughty look transformed her face. “You flatter yourself.” The words would have rubbed him harshly if laughter had not been in her voice.

  He captured her gaze as the heat of desire coursed through his veins. He reached out and grasped her hand. Her lips parted with a soft gasp, but she did not pull away. He could not recall the last time he had flirted. Slowly, he brought her long, slender fingers to his lips and pressed a kiss upon the soft tips. The contact of her silken skin to his mouth jolted his heart much the same way the start of a battle always did.

  “I do,” he agreed. Her eyes widened a fraction. “But let me do so, aye? For tomorrow I depart for home to battle yer king and yer father, and yer lovely face—and the memory of a beautiful woman intrigued with me, the man—may well be the dream that goes with me to my grave.”

  “Do not say such things, even in jest,” she chided but still did not attempt to move her fingers from his grasp. “You must have faith in yourself if you are to prevail.” Her voice had become vehement. Her eyes burned a brilliant shade of blue, as if passion smoldered from within her. She tugged her hand away suddenly. “I’m certain your wife will tell you the same.”

  “She’s deceased,” he blurted.

  “Oh!” she said, frowning as her hand fluttered to the graceful column of her neck. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Aye, so am I. My father forced me to wed her, and I was nae man enough at the time to refuse. If I had, she might well still be alive… Never again.”

  “Never again?” she asked, glancing behind her. She was clearly anxious to return to her cousin.

  He never spoke of these matters, but he found himself saying, “Aye. I will nae be forced to marry again.”

  “I but wish I had that luxury,” she muttered. “I had hoped…”

  He grabbed her hands in his again. She startled, but he did not release her. He was moved by the realization that she struggled for freedom, exactly as he did. “Do nae ever relinquish hope.”

  A smiled touched her lips and brightened her eyes. She squeezed his hands. “You must not either.” With those words, she slipped her hands from his. “I must make haste.”

  He nodded. “I’ll accompany ye.”

  “No! I’ll not be the reason you’re captured this day.” The sudden set line of her lips hinted that she would continue to argue, so he nodded. He’d follow from a safe distance and ensure her safety. “Be safe, Robert,” she said, before nimbly dashing back the way she had come.

  Her golden hair flew behind her as she ran with abandon. As he kept pace behind her, he found himself hoping for her sake that Connor had arrived, but when they turned the corner toward the hills, a lone woman paced in the distance, making it obvious that Connor had swindled Elizabeth and her cousin, just as he’d suspected. His chest squeezed for her. He crouched in the thick woods and watched her approach her cousin. A breath later, Walter, whom he recognized from Edward’s court, appeared. That was it, then. Her plan for freedom had been destroyed for now.

  Her brother reached for her arm, anger distorting his face. Robert’s hand slipped over the hilt of his sword. He started to rise, but Elizabeth deftly turned away from her brother and marched past him with her head high. Robert crouched once more, his heart pounding, ready to give away his presence to come to her aid. The knowledge seeped into his mind. That would have been careless when so many counted upon him, yet he could not have allowed her to come to harm either. Luckily, he’d not had to make such a choice this day.

  Chapter Three

  Robert lay on the ground in the predawn hours, unmoving. Soon he would have to rise to fight another day against King Edward, but as men snored around him still in slumber, he looked up at the stars, contemplating the plan of attack for the day. Since leaving the relative peacefulness of Ireland and returning to Scotland, Robert had seen one hard-fought battle after another to keep King Edward and his son, the Prince of Wales, from gaining control. Today would be no different.

  A stick snapped to his right and behind him. He whipped out his dagger and gained his feet in a breath.

  “Bruce,” Simon Fraser said, his familiar voice barely audible. “I’ve traveled long and hard to bring someone who wishes to speak with ye.”

  “Fraser?” Robert lowered his dagger, sheathed it, and clasped the forearm of his friend.

  Niall, who had been on guard duty and must have brought Fraser to Robert, came to stand beside Fraser and said, “Dunnae Fraser look old? I hardly recognized him for the lines creasing his face when he approached.”

  Fraser elbowed Niall good-naturedly. “Ye ken I’m still more handsome than ye.”

  “As I recall,” Niall teased, “ye tried to capture the attention of my wife, but I’m the one married to her, aye.”

  “I dunnae doubt she rues that choice,” Fraser said with a wink.

  Robert felt himself grin. The three of them had not stood together joking like this in a long while. The circle of Renegades, as they’d long called themselves, would be near complete if Angus was standing there, but he was on guard duty still. “How the devil did ye manage to get away from the king without suspicion?” he whispered to Fraser, ever aware of the men who slept near. Though they battled by his side, that did not mean there was not a spy among them. After all, Fraser did spy for Robert in Edward’s camp.

  “Ye ken I’m sly,” Fraser said, in a hushed, teasing tone. “Come.” Fraser motioned to the sleeping men.

  Robert nodded in understanding and followed Fraser into the thick woods where he could see another man waiting. As they drew closer, it became clear that it was William Lamberton, the bishop of St. Andrews and a longtime friend and fellow Renegade. Lamberton had trained with them at Mar’s, but he had chosen to serve the church. Robert knew the calling had come after Lamberton’s young sister had been brutally murdered by an English knight. Lamberton had retaliated and killed the man responsible, but plagued by guilt, he had chosen to obtain peace through words and deeds, not by the sword.

  “Lamberton,” Robert greeted the prelate, not using his title as Lamberton had insisted none in the Renegades should be so formal with him.

  The bishop smiled and grasped forearms with Robert. “I return from meeting with Edward at his camp. Before that, I was in France. I’ve news important to all of us.”

  Robert tensed but not because he did not trust Lamberton. There were few men he trusted more. Lamberton had worked tirelessly, and put himself in peril, to aid the Scottish rebellion without drawing suspicion from King Edward. And he had prevented a complete breach between Robert and John Comyn. After Comyn’s latest failure to send warriors to aid Robert, it was Lamberton who had convinced Robert that to battle with Comyn while already battling Edward would be futile at best, a death sentence at worst.

  “The news must be important, indeed, for ye to meet with Edward and then come to us. If Edward’s men have followed ye, ye put yerself at great risk.”

  “He did nae,” Lamberton said.

  “Ye’re certain?” Niall demanded. “Ye were nae ever good at being stealthy in the woods, if I recall.”

  Lamberton snaked his hand out and smacked Niall in the back of the head. “How’s that for stealthy ye clot-heid?”

  Niall chuckled as he rubbed the back of his head. “I’m impressed with yer impr
ovement.”

  “A compliment I will gladly take,” the bishop said. “Now, before I was interrupted, I was going to say that Edward kens I’m here meeting with ye. It was his suggestion.” The news surprised Robert, but he did not comment, preferring to let Lamberton explain. “He believes—What were his words? Oh, that I might be ‘the voice of reason in that young pup’s unthinking mind.’ He does nae seem to take note that we are of the same age.”

  Robert snorted as did Niall and Fraser.

  “It’s good for us that he does nae see ye as a threat,” Fraser said.

  “And that he believes ye are merely a messenger to convince me of his wishes,” Robert added.

  “Aye.” Lamberton smiled. “It’s an advantage, though I do wonder at times should I be offended he’s nae wary of me as he is of ye.”

  “Dunnae take offense, Lamb,” Niall teased, invoking the much-hated moniker everyone in their Renegade circle but Robert had adopted for Lamberton when he had joined the church.

  Lamberton shot Niall a menacing look. “Mayhap the robes make me seem docile?” he asked, the question seemingly innocent, but then bared his teeth before laughing.

  Robert chuckled. “It simply means ye are verra good at the role ye play.”

  “I thank ye,” Lamberton said with a mock bow.

  “What’s occurred?” Robert asked, knowing something must have.

  “The Pope heard an argument from a Scottish envoy funded by the Comyns.”

  “Who?” Robert asked, curling his fingers around his sword. “This is the first I’ve heard that we”—he stressed the word we as there were twelve appointed Scottish nobles who decided such things as sending envoys, and he sat among those twelve, yet he had not been informed of a meeting to determine someone going to the Pope—“sent an envoy to ask the Pope to release Balliol from being held in France.”