What if their future was one where they were destined to be husband and wife? Incredibly, she could imagine it, and that frightened her given the little time they had spent together. Oddly, she felt she knew him completely, and when he was near, she felt protected. Yet, how would a future look for them? Would there be a shadow of doubt constantly between them? Would he fear that she was reporting back to the king and her father? Would she have any peace from either man?
She ran the palm of her hand over the prickly blades of grass before sinking it deep into the cool lushness. Blooming lilacs fragranced the air, and the birds were in full force in the forest and chirping a lovely song. A sense of freedom filled her yet she knew it to be false. When she returned to the keep, her father and the king would be there with watchful eyes to observe her every interaction with Robert.
All of these thoughts swirled noisily in her head as she sat there, and when a stick cracked behind her—so very near that a piece of bark hit her hand—she knew her distraction might well prove her downfall. With the dagger in her hand, she went to scramble to her feet, but she was jerked up and around to face two men.
“Looks like we’ve found ourselves a prize,” said the taller of the two men.
When he released her arm in an attempt to cup her face, she swung her dagger toward his forearm. The blade tore through his shirt, met skin, and caused him to bellow in rage. His dark eyes bulged, and he bared yellowed teeth while gripping her arm that held the dagger and squeezing so hard pain shot from the point where he gripped down to her fingers, which went numb. She cried out as the dagger dropped near her feet, and her voice seemed to echo around her.
The birds went flying from the trees, and the shorter man stepped beside her, kicked her dagger toward a bush, and took hold of a handful of her hair. “Ye look like a lady, but what sort of a lady carries a dagger and kens how to use it?”
“A wise one,” she panted, trying and failing to place the man’s accent. He was Scottish, but from where, she could not be certain. The other man had sounded English.
The shorter man tugged her hair back so sharply that her scalp stung, and his face came so close to hers that she could see his eyes were the green of a grass snake, and though his teeth were not rotted, when he said, “I recognize ye,” his hot foul breath made her want to lose her accounts. “Gilfred,” the shorter man crowed, glancing momentarily at his friend who still gripped her arm. “This is de Burgh’s daughter.”
“You don’t say,” the taller man replied with a nefarious smile. “Well, my pretty,” he continued, as he released her arm and ran a hand over her cheek before sliding it to her neck and curling his fingers around her throat. “Your father sent us on a most dangerous assignment and then refused to pay us. We were on our way home, empty-handed,” he growled. “But now, now I think we can collect our debt, Damien.”
A chill swept through her. She scanned the forest, trying to think what to do. Had Angus had enough time to get away if she screamed and drew attention? She thought he had, but she could not be sure. Still, she could not stand here and fall victim to these men. Taking a deep breath, she said, “What have you in mind to get your coin?”
“First, a little entertainment with ye, love, before we tell yer father we have ye. What say ye to that?” demanded Damien.
She forced a smile to her face and prayed her lips did not tremble. “I’d say I will be much more entertaining if you release your hold on me. You are hurting me, and I have no intention of running.”
“Ye don’t?” Damien asked, frowning.
“No, I don’t. I’ve been looking for a way to get out of a marriage of convenience, and this is perfect. My father cannot force de Beauchamp to wed me if I am soiled.”
The men grinned at each other, which made Elizabeth’s skin crawl. Then Damien said, “I like the way yer mind works.” He released her and motioned for his companion to do the same.
Gilfred was apparently not as trusting, for he hesitated. “You will not be able to outrun us,” he threatened.
“Of course not,” she said sweetly. She had already come to that conclusion. What she needed to do was get hold of her dagger.
The man released her, and her pulse raced ahead. She tugged at the ties that bound the front of her bodice until they loosened and she was sure she had the attention of both men. Disgust turned within her, but she said, “What is it that would please you both?”
“Take off yer gown,” Damien said.
She nodded, stepped backward toward the bush where she could see her dagger glinting on the ground, and kicked off one slipper. Then she took another step to kick off the other. When her toe touched her dagger, her heart jolted, and she swooped down to grasp the weapon.
Chapter Ten
The first scream that echoed through the forest made Robert wild with fear. Elizabeth had lied to him. Angus had lied to him. And now she was in trouble, exactly as he had predicted. Withdrawing one of his daggers, he raced in the direction from which the sound had come. He didn’t pause to push away the brush and branches that blocked his progress. Instead, he barreled through them, the scrapes and cuts insignificant compared to finding Elizabeth and rescuing her.
Knowing the sort of men that wandered this forest, his imagination conjured terrible scenarios of her being ravaged, so when she let out another bloodcurdling scream not long later, he felt as if the hand of death gripped his heart. His feet hit the ground again and again in a rapid, jarring motion as he ran. He should have been hot from the effort, yet coldness cloaked him.
She cried out again—this time more of a whimper—and he let out a guttural cry as he followed the noise along the stream to an area thick with trees and flowers. As he ran, he nearly tripped, and when he looked down, he was frozen for one breath in grim fascination. A man lay on his back with a dagger sticking out of his chest. His green eyes were open wide.
Robert hurtled over the body and around a large tree, and Elizabeth appeared before his eyes.
She was being held off the ground at the waist. She was kicking, screaming, and flailing her arms, as a tall, bald man carried her bodily to the other side of the stream. Murderous rage filled him. He raced into the water, splashing as he went. The man twirled toward him, and as his eyes widened in shock and then his face set in anger, he flung Elizabeth to the streambed. A haze of red descended over Robert’s vision, his blood gushing in his ears.
“Robert!” Elizabeth gasped out, but he did not look to her. Not yet.
He came face-to-face with the man, and when the devil raised his sword, Robert stabbed him in the arm, closed the distance between them, and caught him on the chin. He reached around him and the man punched him in the gut, but Robert did not even flinch. He gripped tighter and snapped the man’s neck, then stepped back as the stranger crumpled face-first into the water.
Dread hit him at the core as he stared at the dead man. Killing someone was never anything but horrific, no matter the circumstances. For a moment, he could not move, but then Elizabeth rose, her dress soaked and clinging to her body, her hair damp against her face, her eyes shining with fear, and her lips trembling.
“Robert,” she said, her voice a shaky whisper. “My god, Robert, I’m sorry. I—”
He yanked her to him, desperate to feel her and ensure she was all right. He ran his hands over her head, face, shoulders, arms, and stomach. He slid them over her hips, down her legs, and then he stood once more and stared at her. Her teeth chattered, and fear for what could have happened made his breath come in short gasps.
My God, had it?
“Elizabeth, did they—Are ye—” He felt almost that he could not form the question. To know she had been defiled would kill him. “Are ye untouched?”
Tears sprang into her eyes. “Yes. Beyond being yanked around, I’m fine. I—”
He covered her mouth with his with an all-consuming need to taste her, feel her, make her his. Her need seemed to match his as they raced their hands over each other while urgently explori
ng the recesses of each other’s mouths. Yet, anger at her and Angus danced on the edge of the bliss in her arms, and the fresh horror of killing a man caused him to pull away.
He stepped back and glared at her. “Damn it to Hell, woman, why did ye lie to me?”
She flinched, but in true Elizabeth fashion, her chin went up, she shoved her wet hair back, and she leveled him with a dark look. “So you would not be in harm’s way!”
“Christ’s blood! Do nae seek to keep me from harm by endangering yerself ever again. I am meant to protect ye, nae the other way around!” he thundered.
“I will never be the sort of woman to sit by and let you be the only one to put yourself in harm’s way for a greater good,” she flung back at him. “If that is the sort of woman you seek, we need not spend one more minute in each other’s company.”
As she shoved past him, he grasped her by the wrist and swung her into his embrace. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, feeling her tremble, whether from anger or shock he did not know. “I was nae seeking a woman at all; yet here ye are, the perfect woman for me. What is a man to do in the face of destiny but capitulate with grace?”
This time it was she who pressed her mouth to his. Her tongue tentatively touched his lips, and he knew instinctually she had never been so bold in her life. Her complete abandonment was the greatest gift. He offered his first touch down a new path that would carve their future. It was to her collarbone, ever so lightly, as if she were glass. He did not want to shatter their fragile bond with a wrong move.
As he drank in her honeyed taste and inhaled her flowery scent, now overlain by crisp fresh water, and the smell of yearning, the longing in him became a consuming hunger. He wanted her now, but to take her would mean more than just this moment and that was something to which he could not yet commit. He pulled back from her, his pulse racing, his body strumming. Her blue eyes held a glint of wonder and shining need, and he knew in this moment, she could not possibly be thinking clearly.
He cupped her face, and his chest squeezed with the simple touch. “We need to return to the castle.”
She nodded. “I’m afraid.”
“Do nae be. I will guard ye with my life.”
Her eyes delved into him, the heat of her stare scorching his soul. “Yes,” she whispered, shivering. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. I fear I am unwittingly leading you to your doom.”
“My eyes are wide open, lass. If I go to my doom, it is of my own doing.” He took her hand then to lead her from the water, but instead, he stood there, loath to return to the castle, yet knowing they had to. The heat of her fingers locked with his, her hand so small, her soul so vulnerable, made him shake with the weight of what he was on the verge of feeling for her. He should stop it now, but he did not have the strength to turn from her. God help him. So he stood in the cool stream as trickling water filled the silence, and he cast his mind to what needed to be done to protect her. He had never intended to actually bend the knee to Edward, but he had to consider that he might have to in order to keep Elizabeth from harm. It would cast him instantly as a turncoat in many Scots’ eyes, however. He swallowed the knowledge and then buried it so that she would not guess what he would do for her. He knew her now; she would stop such an action if she could, which was why he was willing to do it in the first place. He looked to the dead man in the water and saw Elizabeth turn her gaze to the scum, as well.
Robert squeezed her hand. “Should we—”
“No,” she interrupted, her voice cold, unlike anything he had ever heard from her. “He would have defiled me willingly to strike at my father. This man does not deserve a burial.”
“And the other?” Robert asked, shoving back his own anger as it tried to rise. She did not need his rage; she needed his tenderness.
“The same,” she deadpanned. “Leave them for the vultures and the animals of the forest.”
He nodded, and they made their way to the bank. They faced each other once more. The wind whispered around them, and her hair fluttered against her cheek. On instinct, he tucked the silken strands behind her ear, and then he took her hand. “I will tell the guards that Angus is ill and staying in his room. Hopefully, that will give Angus until at least morning before they start a search for him. Do ye think ye can do the same with the guards for Lillianna?”
Elizabeth nodded.
Robert rubbed his thumb over her silky skin as he led her to her horse. “Tonight, I will make a show of being very taken with ye, though it will nae require any effort.”
She cast a sideways glance at him, a contemplative look upon her face. “I’ll make certain to look the part of the seducer to hopefully cast any lingering doubts about my allegiance from my father’s and the king’s minds. I will also whisper the lie in my father’s ear that you have admitted to me that you are ready to bend the knee to Edward.”
He nodded, tension beating within him. They would play a deadly game this night, and the stakes were high. After he parted ways with Elizabeth at the keep, he started toward his bedchamber, nearly colliding with Grace, one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting. She grasped his hand as if to catch herself, and she pressed a paper into his palm.
“Gwendolyn says to give ye this,” Grace rushed out before fleeing.
He frowned, made his way to his bedchamber, and unfolded the paper. The words were smeared from what looked to be red wine, and he could not make them out. He crumpled up the paper. He would seek Gwendolyn out later and ask her about the note.
At supper, when he entered the great hall, de Burgh was, unfortunately, one of the first people Robert saw. Elizabeth’s father frowned at him. “Did you not get the message I sent with the Lady Gwendolyn?”
Robert nodded, surprised. “I did, but the writing was smeared.”
“Ah, likely my fault. I did spill a bit of wine as I jotted the note. No matter now,” de Burgh said easily. “I thought to practice my archery today and had heard you were most skilled. Another time?”
“Aye,” Robert agreed, suspicious of why the man would try to be friendly now, but try as he might, he could not think of a particular reason, and the failure to do so set a new worry in his mind.
Elizabeth’s heart immediately started racing when she entered the great hall for supper. It had not been difficult to convince Lillianna’s guard, Stephen, that Lillianna was too ill to leave her bedchamber, but facing her father to convince him that she was loyal to him left Elizabeth feeling as if there were not enough air in the room. The roar of people engaged in conversation at their tables hammered her ears.
As she walked slowly toward the dais, where she assumed she would be sitting, she slid a hand over her gown, feeling eyes upon her and hearing several gasps as she passed. She knew why. She had chosen to wear the red-and-gold silk gown her mother had made to mimic the latest fashions of the French court. Her breasts were pushed high by the tight bodice, nearly spilling out the top of her gown, and she had washed and dried her hair. She even brushed it until it shone and spilled in waves to her waist. She needed to look every bit the part of a woman bent on seduction.
Her insides coiled at the thought. She was not seducing Robert, and he was not seducing her, but what were they doing? They were putting on a play of sorts tonight for her father and the king, but how much of what they were pretending was real? For her part, she cared for Robert already, and her feelings were intensely frightening. He was a man of great honor, a warrior committed to freeing his people. And she had no doubt that such a commitment would lead him to war. What she did doubt was if she had a place in his future. He would likely wish to take a Scottish wife who his people would cherish, who would make him a more accepted leader. Elizabeth, however, was the goddaughter and daughter of two of his greatest enemies. She was not a likely candidate.
Did she even want to be?
She bit her lip as she drew closer to the dais and saw him sitting there, so ruggedly handsome, so proud, such a pillar of strength. His gaze locked on her, unwavering and
scorching, and his eyes widened slightly, the light of appreciation shining in them. A slow dimpled smile tugged his lips upward, and it was nothing short of an invitation to sin that she very much wanted to accept.
The noise in the room died away. The people slipped from her view. There was no one there—no one but the two of them—and she knew as surely as she knew she would draw her next breath that she would choose him as a husband if she were given the choice. No, she had not spent very long with him, but she recognized in him a soul exactly like her own.
She stopped in front of the dais and curtsied to the king. When she rose, he smiled at her. “You look stunning, Goddaughter!” He turned to Robert before Elizabeth could even reply and asked, “Does she not steal your senses?”
Robert nodded. “Aye. She is ravishing, to be certain.”
Her father frowned at her, as if he was displeased by something, but the queen smiled. “You will make a lovely bride!” she exclaimed.
Elizabeth stilled. “Bride?” Her gaze flew from her father to the king and then to Robert, in hopes that perhaps something had occurred and he had been led to make them believe things were headed that way. But Robert’s shocked face stole her hope. He had no notion of what was occurring.
The king picked up his wine goblet, took a long drink, then set it down. “Guy de Beauchamp is very adamant that you be his, my dear Elizabeth. I have promised him an answer in no less than one month, and in the meantime, he has my permission to be alone with you as he is courting you. I trust him implicitly. He, after all, has pledged his fealty, unlike young Bruce here.” The king looked to Robert and offered a sharp smile, like a blade that would rip its victim open with an ugly, tattered gash. “I must give those loyal to me first rights to Elizabeth’s hand. So, Bruce, if you find her to your taste, you will have to bend the knee or de Beauchamp will claim her as his.”
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