Outlaw King

by Julie Johnstone

  Elizabeth’s skin crawled as hatred for her godfather choked her. De Beauchamp could not be trusted, and Edward knew it. By the smug look on his face, he also knew Robert was likely aware of it. She would be lucky to escape with her virtue intact if de Beauchamp got her alone. Edward was attempting to use her to force Robert to bend the knee in that very moment.

  Robert’s face was a mask, but his knuckles were white as he gripped his goblet. Did he fear for her or want her for himself, or was he simply enraged that he was being pushed toward her?

  “I will keep this in mind,” Robert said, his voice smooth, not revealing even a hint of anger. “I’d like to request a dance and walk with Elizabeth tonight.”

  The king shook his head. “I’m afraid de Beauchamp has already done so. In fact…” Edward waved his hand toward the table closest to the dais, where de Beauchamp sat with his men and their wives. There was an empty space by the man, and her heart sank as fear filled her lungs. “Elizabeth, you will sit with de Beauchamp tonight, dance with him, and walk with him in the garden afterward. Once she had done these things, she may have a single dance with you, Bruce, unless you are prepared to persuade me to do otherwise…”

  Damn Edward to Hell!

  Robert stole a glance at Elizabeth. Her ashen face gutted him. He would willingly bend the knee to save her from de Beauchamp—to have her for himself, he realized—yet, he had to get word to Wallace, Niall, his men, and his brothers, of what was occurring before he did so. Their plan had been for him to make it seem as if he would pay homage, not for him to actually do so. Anger nearly choked him. Edward thought to force his hand, and in a sense he had, though Robert felt he would have come to the decision to marry Elizabeth on his own. He prayed she believed him and understood that he could not bend the knee this night, or for possibly many still to come.

  “I am entranced by Elizabeth, of course,” he said, hoping his voice did not betray his true emotion, “but I do feel we need time to become better acquainted.”

  Elizabeth flinched where she stood, and his nerves throbbed with the effort to control himself. If it were simply about the two of them, he would not wait to claim her, to rescue her, to have her as his own. So many people depended on him, however, and he had to do all he could for them, even as he protected her from de Beauchamp. But how to do that?

  “Understandable,” the king said, though he did not sound at all understanding. “Let us hope you discover if you want her for your own before she is claimed by another.”

  Robert’s anger became a scalding fury that threatened to explode. Before it could, Elizabeth spoke. “If you will find me after my walk in the garden with de Beauchamp, I would be most pleased to dance with you,” she said, her eyes pleading.

  He nodded, feeling himself regain control and knowing full well by her slow exhalation as she turned away that she had seen the storm brewing within him and had intervened to save him from himself. She was the perfect match for him. He watched her walk to de Beauchamp with her head held high and her shoulders thrust back, and then she sat beside him, a distant look upon her face as he spoke to her.

  “I noticed your man Angus is not at supper,” the king commented.

  Robert forced himself to drag his attention from Elizabeth. “He was nae feeling well. I do believe he imbibed too much wine last night.”

  The queen chuckled. “I do believe he has caught the eye of my lady Gwendolyn. I have warned her to take a care.”

  “I will speak with him about it,” Robert lied.

  “No.” The queen waved a hand at Robert. “You do not need to. Gwendolyn assures me that her heart belongs to another. That girl has a liking for another man with a title and my dear Edward’s favor. She is a good sort like her cousin, Fraser.”

  The king exchanged a glance with Elizabeth’s father, but Robert had no notion what it meant. “Lady Gwendolyn is a most treasured part of this court,” the king said jovially. “I’d not lose her to your man, Robert, but if the queen says there is no need to speak with him, then there is not.”

  Robert nodded, his mind grasping onto an idea. When they realized Angus was missing, Robert could use Gwendolyn as the reason. He could say Angus fled because he had wanted Gwendolyn for himself and she refused him. “As ye wish, Yer Majesty,” he said.

  The conversation turned to France and what the king there was doing. Edward fired questions at Robert, giving him no opportunity to disengage or even glance to Elizabeth. Finally, Edward took a breath when the trenchers were set before them, and the king commanded everyone to eat.

  Robert looked to Elizabeth and found that de Beauchamp had moved very close to her. She looked uncomfortable and strained, and Robert searched his mind for a way to rescue her. But as he thought and dinner progressed, and then the trenchers were taken away and the tables moved for dancing, he had come up with nothing short of simply stopping the man against the king’s wishes. He was prepared to do so and to make a scene when the guard Stephen approached the dais.

  He bowed to the king and then de Burgh waved him forward. The guard whispered furiously to Elizabeth’s father, and de Burgh excused himself, a furious expression on his face. Robert watched him stride through the crowd to Elizabeth, who was now dancing with de Beauchamp. He took her by the arm, said something to de Beauchamp, and fairly dragged her from the room.

  “I’ve not seen de Burgh that vexed since the day his daughter defied him years ago. I believe you recall that day?” the king asked.

  Robert turned and found Edward’s gaze narrowed on him. “Aye,” he said, getting the sense that he was somehow missing something stirring.

  “I wonder what Elizabeth has done now,” the king mused, an almost conspiratorial smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

  Unease gripped Robert. “If ye will excuse me?”

  “By all means, young Bruce,” the king replied as if he had been expecting Robert to say exactly that. As Robert strode through the dancers toward the door de Burgh had dragged Elizabeth out of, he was struck by the feeling suddenly that he was like a chess piece that had just been moved.

  Chapter Eleven

  The second slap was even harder than the first and sent Elizabeth staggering. She placed her hand on the cold stone wall in the courtyard and blinked. The pain of her father’s hit had brought tears to her eyes. When she raised her head, she spat out the blood that was accumulating in her mouth from her lip that had just been busted.

  The first face she saw was Stephen’s, and he smirked at her. She curled her hands into fists, vowing to get retribution for herself and Lillianna the moment she could, but it was not now.

  “Where is she?” her father demanded.

  Elizabeth’s body tensed, preparing for the next hit. “I told you, I do not know,” she ground out, meeting her father’s livid stare. “Mayhap she simply left the chamber without your guard realizing. Mayhap he left his post!” she offered, raising her voice. She would say more except she did not want to draw a path between Stephen and Gwendolyn, to protect Gwendolyn, who had simply done what she could to aid Lillianna.

  “Damn you, Elizabeth! You are lying! I’ll beat it out of you!” her father roared.

  He reared his hand back to hit her again, but Robert’s voice cut through the night.

  “If ye strike her, I will kill ye.”

  Elizabeth gasped then hissed at the pain it caused her throbbing lip. Robert came into view under the torch, and by the horror that settled on his face, she knew the moment he could see her clearly. Then such fury contorted his features that she found herself backing away from her father.

  “Christ’s blood!” Robert swore, pushing himself between her and her father as a shield. Gratitude and fear for Robert filled her. “God damn ye, de Burgh. Ye are nae a true man of honor. Ye are a coward to strike yer daughter.”

  “A coward?” her father snarled. “I’m her father. It is my right. She needs to learn obedience.”

  Robert snatched her father to him with a suddenness that mad
e her yelp. When Stephen moved to aid her father, Robert released him, shoving him at Stephen, who caught him. They both stumbled backward, her father swearing and shoving Stephen away.

  “Make yourself useful!” he yelled. “Go find Lillianna. Scour the woods. I have little doubt that she has fled.”

  Stephen nodded and rushed away, and her father faced her and Robert, heaving great breaths. “I lost my temper,” he said, his mood seeming to change before her very eyes. “I am sorry.” He looked at Elizabeth before cutting his gaze to Robert. “It pleases me to see you care for my daughter’s welfare, but if you put your hands on me again, we will come to swords.”

  “It would be my pleasure,” Robert growled.

  She caught her breath, fearing that his words would set her father into an even worse temper, but he nodded. “Elizabeth, you may speak to Bruce for a moment. I will wait just inside to escort you to your room.”

  She frowned, not understanding why he was allowing it but glad for the moment. She and Robert stood in silence as her father departed, and when he disappeared within the castle, Robert’s hands were suddenly on her, touching her hips, her hair, and then her face, which drew another hiss from her.

  “Christ,” he moaned. “I did nae realize truly how he treated ye. Elizabeth, I’m sorry. I will bend the knee for ye, but I must have time to warn my men.”

  Elizabeth shivered. The night was not cold—far from it—but Robert’s words put a chill in her heart. The words she needed to say, needed to make him hear, flowed through her mind.

  He pulled her into his embrace. It was warm, solid, and comforting. Her body relaxed at once, though she fought against it and pushed him back. She could see his face just enough that she could make out the frown he now wore. “You must listen to me.” She could hear the desperate urgency of her own voice. “You are doing exactly as they wish. They are pulling your strings—our strings,” she added, unable to shake the feeling that she was somehow unwittingly aiding her father and the king. By the wary look that crossed Robert’s face, she thought he must have sensed it, too. “I cannot say how, but I feel it here.” She set her hand to her stomach. “Besides that, I would never allow you to marry for less than love, nor myself for that matter.” She rushed on, not wanting him to think he had to make a declaration. “You cannot submit to the king to protect me.”

  “Elizabeth—”

  “No,” she interrupted. “Let me say what I must.” His fingers tightened their grip on her shoulders, but he nodded. “If you submit to the king, you risk men who would one day support you turning from you. You cannot let that happen! I have heard my father and the king speak of Comyn and Balliol. I have listened, so I know you are the only hope for Scotland.” Tears blurred her vision, and she tried to blink them away, but they slid hot down her cheeks.

  Robert leaned in and kissed her tears very gently, wiping them away with care with his lips. “I believe ye have seduced me, Elizabeth, for I can nae imagine letting ye become de Beauchamp’s wife and leaving ye to the mercy of yer father.”

  She stood there, silent. She was at war with herself and with him. She wanted to let herself fall in love with him and him with her, but what if it cost his country its freedom? He would hate her, and she would hate herself. “You must fight for Scotland’s freedom first, above all,” she murmured low.

  “Do nae fash yerself,” he whispered in return, brushing his hand over the back of her hair to settle a warm palm against her neck. “I have nae given up the fight for Scotland’s freedom, but that does nae mean that I can nae also fight for ye.”

  “Elizabeth!” her father bellowed.

  “I have to go,” she said, seeing her father coming toward them.

  “Aye,” Robert agreed and glanced in the direction Stephen had gone. “I have to depart, as well. I have a debt to settle.”

  “Don’t do anything foolish,” she whispered desperately before moving to meet her father.

  Stephen was easy to track. He was noisy in the woods, leading Robert straight to him, yet as Robert approached through the thick brush, withdrawing his dagger, he heard one growl and then another. Eyes glowed in the darkness from across the clearing. I took Robert a moment to realize the animal with the glowing eyes was on a ledge above where Stephen had slowed his horse to a walk. Suddenly, the wolves sprang down at the guard, knocking him from his horse to the ground. Robert hesitated for one breath, his mind flashing to Lillianna’s bruised face and then to Stephen not aiding Elizabeth when her father hit. Yet, Stephen’s screams sent Robert into action. He released his first dagger at one wolf and then sent his second dagger, which he pulled out of its sheath, into the other wolf. The growling stopped, and the only noises that remained in the woods were Robert’s breathing and the gurgling sounds that came from Stephen.

  Robert approached him, and when he crouched low, he saw that the man’s throat had been ripped open. He was dead before Robert even got his plaid off, which he had intended to press to the man’s neck in an effort to save his sorry life. Instead, he closed his eyes and said a brief prayer, then rose, collected his daggers, cleaned them, and made his way quickly to the castle and his bedchamber.

  The guard that was there gave him a long look. “You did not slip me,” the guard said defensively. “De Burgh instructed me to await you here. He said you would return when you finished speaking to his daughter.”

  Robert didn’t bother to respond. He brushed past the man, into his room, and shut the door. De Burgh was confident Robert would not flee, and damn the man, he was right. Robert paced his bedchamber, turning over in his mind how to proceed. He had to get word to at least Niall and Wallace that it would seem he had relented to the king when in fact he had not. With Angus and Fraser gone, he had no notion how he could get a message out of the castle.

  A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. When he opened it, he was surprised to see Gilbert de Clare, Eighth Earl of Gloucester. They were friends—of a sort. Their families had been friends for generations, though the bonds had been stretched with the war between Scotland and England. Robert was unsure what remained of their friendship.

  “Gloucester, when did ye come to court?” he asked.

  “The king summoned me,” Gloucester said, raising a thick, red eyebrow.

  Robert glanced at the guard stationed at his door and waved Gloucester into his bedchamber. He firmly shut the door, then turned to the man. They were matched in height, but that was where the resemblances stopped. While Robert had dark hair and eyes, Gloucester had red hair and light eyes. “Why did the king summon ye?”

  “I don’t know specifically. He only summons me when there is a battle to be won. Know you anything of an impending battle?”

  Robert frowned as uneasiness danced along his spine. “Nay.”

  Gloucester eyed Robert. “You know you can trust me, Robert.”

  “I used to know that. Ye’re English.”

  “And you are a Scot,” Gloucester retorted. “I don’t hold that against you.”

  Robert eyed the man. “Ye fight for Edward to control Scotland,” Robert said simply.

  “No, I fight because I love to. It happens my lands are in England, so that is the side I fight for. I am loyal to you personally, Robert. I just arrived, and I came here to you. Before the king.”

  That did say a great deal, if Robert could trust it. That was the problem. Could he? Did he even have a choice? “How far does yer loyalty extend?”

  Gloucester shrugged, though his face was serious. “As far as I can help you without giving my life.”

  Robert snorted. “Ye always have been painfully honest.”

  “To you, yes. To those I count true as friends…”

  Robert exhaled, feeling some of the tension leave him, but not all, never all. He could not remember a time he had felt completely at ease except—He could! With Elizabeth, when they had spoken in Ireland, when they had danced, and even in the woods, he had felt utterly at ease. She put him at ease. She knew how to soothe hi
m and focus him. He inhaled a long breath, letting the realization seep into his mind. “Does the king number among yer friends?” he asked, still probing.

  “No,” Gloucester answered quickly, his tone even like one who spoke the truth. “But he is my king so I will do as he bids—mostly.”

  Robert was in a precariously dangerous position. He needed someone to trust, and Gloucester was in a position to be able to get a message out for him. Robert would rather risk his life than allow Elizabeth to remain in danger from her father and de Beauchamp. “I need ye to get a message to Niall.”

  Gloucester nodded. “I can send someone directly after I leave yer chamber.”

  Robert blinked in surprise. “Someone ye trust with yer life?”

  “Yes,” Gloucester answered with staid calmness. “And yours.”

  “Who is it?” Robert demanded.

  “I can’t tell you that, Robert, but I vow you can trust her.”

  “Her?” he echoed, startled.

  “Yes.” A slight smile tugged at Gloucester’s lips. “Her. Women are surprisingly good allies.”

  Robert thought immediately of Elizabeth. “I have discovered something similar recently. I need ye to get word to Niall, Lamberton, Wallace, and my brothers that it will seem I have bent the knee to Edward, but not to take everything as it seems.”

  Gloucester smirked. “Are your knees weak, then?”

  “Nay,” Robert replied. Talking without revealing the actual truth was a game he was long used to, and Gloucester was clearly as adept as ever. “I’m of a mind to wed Elizabeth de Burgh, but the king will not consider it unless I pay him homage and accept him as my liege lord.”

  Gloucester frowned. “It seems a strange choice for a man fighting for Scotland’s independence to marry the goddaughter of the king who intends to rule Scotland.”

  Robert shrugged. “Elizabeth is well titled and landed,” he said, careful to keep his tone neutral. “There is no strangeness in wanting to increase my wealth. Much has been taken from me.”