Outlaw King

by Julie Johnstone

  “He did,” she whispered, “but I have a mind of my own and tend to do as I please.”

  “Aye, that ye do. I like that verra much about ye, but now I will have to show ye that I can, indeed, warm ye.”

  Before she knew what he was doing, he had them out of the water and lying in the soft grass. His lips captured hers in a kiss that heated her from her toes to her scalp, and then set her aflame as his tongue explored her mouth and his hands gently roamed over her shoulders, her arms, her hips, and then her backside. When he pulled away, she was panting.

  “Well?” he asked, arching his eyebrows. “Are ye heated?”

  “Scorched,” she admitted with a giggle.

  He drew her into the cradle of his arm, and they lay there, legs intertwined as they stared up at the bright-blue sky. For a long while they said nothing, and Elizabeth simply listened to the birds and enjoyed the gentle breeze cooling them.

  “I wish it could be like this forever,” Robert said. “This moment with ye is the most peace I’ve had in years.”

  “For me, as well. Come,” she said, determined to enjoy the entire day. “Teach me that game.”

  He helped her up, and they waded once more into the stream. “It’s simple really. The person who catches the most wee fish wins.”

  “Are they not hard to catch?”

  “Aye,” Robert chuckled. “Nearly impossible. I have four younger brothers, and the most any of us have ever caught was three.”

  “Well, then,” she said, tying her skirts into knots, “I must break that record so I am seen as your equal.”

  “I see ye as my equal already, Elizabeth,” he said, his tone and face serious.

  “Yes,” she replied, her feelings for this man so strong her throat ached. “I thought you did. But I wish to prove to you that you are correct.”

  And by the end of the day she had. Robert carried her four fish back in his leather satchel, and that night, at supper, sitting on the dais, the two of them ate the fish she had caught, smiling and exchanging secret looks, and everything seemed perfect, though when she caught the king and her father exchanging smug, triumphant glances, she knew things were not perfect. It was but an illusion, and the sense that she had missed something, something important orchestrated by her father and the king, gripped her and would not let go.

  Chapter Twelve

  He was in Hell. Yesterday, he had been in Heaven, but today was misery. And the last few weeks had been the same way. One day, he was granted time with Elizabeth, and the moments were the best of his life. He had gone on picnics with her, ridden with her, played Catch the Fish with her, and lain in the tall grass surrounded by fragrant flowers, simply holding her. But after each pleasurable day, the king or her father always ordered her to spend time with de Beauchamp.

  Robert was forced to watch them from a distance, ready to spring to her aid should de Beauchamp misstep. Robert clutched his goblet as he stared across the great hall toward the dais. He was seated at his appointed table, situated, he was certain, so that he had a perfect view of the dais where Elizabeth sat beside de Beauchamp. The man had moved so close to Elizabeth that if she scooted again to put distance between herself and de Beauchamp, she would fall off the bench edge. Robert could feel her tension as if he were sitting next to her and their bodies were touching.

  It was intolerable. Yet, he had no choice but to endure it until Gloucester’s messenger returned from delivering the missive to Robert’s brothers, Niall, and Lamberton that though Robert would seem to submit to Edward, all was not as it appeared. It had been a long way to travel to deliver the missive, but the man should have made his way back to the rendezvous point by now and confirmed that Robert’s message had landed in safe hands. Angus had not returned, either, nor Fraser and the king’s knights, who had gone to find Robert’s men in the forest. Robert had no notion what was occurring in Scotland, and between that and being forced to sit idly by and watch another man touch Elizabeth, dance with her, and eat beside her, he was ready to explode.

  As the trenchers were cleared away, Robert stood and moved to the opposite side of the room, well away from other guests. The servants quickly prepared the great hall for dancing, and soon, music floated in the air. Robert watched, transfixed by yearning and rage, as Elizabeth was led to the dance floor by de Beauchamp under the amused gaze of the king. A hand lightly touched Robert’s arm, and he turned to find Gloucester there, his eyebrows arched and a sardonic expression on his face.

  “Come with me,” Gloucester said.

  Robert nodded and followed him to a shadowy alcove. They both moved into the cramped space and faced each other. “You were glowering, Bruce,” Gloucester noted in a hushed tone. “Hardly the look of a man who said he wished to marry only for political gain. The king well knows that Lady Elizabeth has spun her web around you.”

  “She’s nae spun a web,” Robert growled.

  The torch outside the alcove lit Gloucester’s expression, which bordered on mockery. “She has. Exactly as the king planned. Or so I’ve heard whispered…”

  “I’m certain the king has many plans that do nae ever come to fruition.” He refused to doubt Elizabeth’s loyalty to him.

  “You know that’s not true,” Gloucester said, matter-of-fact. “The king is cunning. I hope you are, as well,” Gloucester murmured, giving him a long, measured look. “You’re certain you are prepared to do as you said?”

  “I’m prepared to do what I must,” Robert replied. Though he didn’t want to bend the knee, he would for Elizabeth. “As soon as ye hear word.”

  “Very well,” Gloucester said with a sigh. “My bird chirped in my ear only moments ago. It seems the flight was successful. I hope your knees don’t bruise when you fall before the king.”

  “A bruise will nae kill me.” With that, he exited the alcove without a backward glance, and his heart strummed as he scanned the dance floor for Elizabeth but did not see her. He strode through the candlelit room, the smell of wax burning thick in the air, worry for Elizabeth’s safety growing within him. His steps quickened, as he thought of how she tasted and smelled, the mewling sounds she made when he kissed her. Elizabeth was his, and it was time to publicly claim her.

  He looked to the dais, but it was empty, and then he felt a touch on his arm. His gut clenched with hope, but when he turned and found Gwendolyn there, he had to stop himself from cursing. Her lips pressed together as if she knew the greatness of his disappointment.

  “Have ye seen Elizabeth?” he asked.

  Gwendolyn smiled. “Yes. She left the great hall on de Beauchamp’s arm.”

  “Excuse me,” Robert rushed out, hurrying toward the corridor leading to the courtyard—and hopefully Elizabeth.

  “Release me!” Elizabeth hissed, shoving at de Beauchamp’s chest.

  He simply pressed her more tightly to him. “Why do you fight me, Elizabeth? I simply want a kiss. The king has given his blessing! He wants us to wed.”

  “The king gave his blessing for you to court me, not wed me! You know as well as I do that the king’s mind changes as quick as lightning flashing across the sky.” She pressed a hand to de Beauchamp’s chest, but he was immovable. Worry clawed at her. She had been ordered by the king to come out here with de Beauchamp, and she was sure the king meant to push Robert to his very limits. She did not want him to submit to the king unless he had confirmation that his message had been received.

  “Come now,” he said, “do not force me to play the gentle suitor any longer.”

  “All right,” she said sweetly as anger burst within her. She yanked her arm out of his grip and brought her knee up fast and hard into his groin. His bellow of pain was extremely satisfying. He doubled over, and she moved to step around him, but his hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist.

  He came upright with a twisted look on his red face. “You bitch!”

  She slapped him hard, her palm stinging from the hit, and he shoved her back. “I’m going to teach you how to behave like a lady,
Elizabeth,” he spat.

  Robert appeared from the shadows, looking like a dark angel bent on destruction. She gasped in relief—and a bit of fear. He wore an expression of such lethal rage that she worried he would kill de Beauchamp. “Robert!” she called to him.

  Without so much as flicking his gaze in her direction, he passed her, and his fist shot out to strike de Beauchamp in the nose. Bone crunched with the hit, and blood spurted out of his nostrils.

  “Robert!” she tried again and tugged at his arm.

  He glanced at her, and when he did, de Beauchamp sprang toward him, and the two of them flew to the ground. Elizabeth gasped as they rolled, fists flying. Robert came out on top, shoved his knee into de Beauchamp’s throat, and delivered one, two, three hits, each harder than the last.

  “Robert!” Elizabeth screamed. “You’ll kill him!”

  To her relief, Robert paused mid-swing and looked in her direction again. De Beauchamp lay under him moaning. “Are ye unharmed?” Robert asked.

  She could hear the rage in his voice, but before she could reassure him, a voice spoke from behind her. “She appears quite well to me, Bruce.”

  Elizabeth whirled around to face the king, who looked triumphant, and her father, who stood beside the king looking pleased.

  “I assume you have come to a decision,” the king said.

  “Aye,” Robert replied as he rose from the floor where de Beauchamp still groaned. “I will bend the knee.”

  Elizabeth felt her mouth part on a sharp inhalation. She prayed to God he had received word.

  “Excellent,” said the king. “You can do it now.”

  “Now?” Elizabeth gasped, glancing at Robert, who looked just as surprised as she was.

  “Yes, now,” replied Edward. “I tire of waiting. Bend the knee tonight, or I will marry Elizabeth to de Beauchamp tomorrow.”

  Robert gave a nod, and before Elizabeth could utter a single word, he was whisked away with the king. Her father took her by the arm. “Excellent work, Daughter,” he whispered into her ear. “I knew you would not fail me. You are as willful as you ever were.”

  She frowned at the second part of his comment. Why would her willfulness please her father? She could not ponder the thought further, though, because her attention was stolen when she entered the great hall and found all the dancing had stopped and the guests had been arranged in two long lines. Robert and the king were already walking down the newly created aisle. At the end of the line stood William Lamberton, the bishop of St. Andrews.

  Elizabeth faltered in her steps when she saw him. The man was a powerful influence in Scotland despite his small stature. “What is the bishop doing here?” she asked her father.

  “He has come to pay homage to the king,” he replied. “Good timing, eh? Bishop Lamberton will be the one to see Robert pay his homage, as well.”

  She watched in mute horror as Robert kneeled before the bishop. She had known this would happen. She knew Robert had a plan, but the fear that his people would not forgive the perceived treachery nearly choked her. The bishop murmured the words that Robert was required to say to pay his homage to Edward, and then Robert’s deep, strong voice filled the room, her ears, her heart. He had submitted for her. She knew it was not a submission of his heart, yet he would pay dearly for it. She prayed he did not come to regret it.

  Robert rose from speaking the words of his homage and sought out Elizabeth. Her face was ashen, and she looked devastated for him. The fact that she cared for him nearly sent him to his knees. He turned to go to her, but Lamberton set a hand on his shoulder. “I will hear yer sins and give ye penance so ye may go to the king cleansed in body and soul, as I myself have.”

  Robert stared at his friend. Lamberton was playing a part in duping Edward and rallying the Scottish forces as they all were, yet they had never discussed the man coming here. Something had to be amiss. Though Robert wanted more than anything to go to Elizabeth, he first had to speak with Lamberton, so he dipped his head in agreement as his heart thudded.

  “An excellent idea!” the king boomed. “You may use my private chapel.”

  Robert followed Lamberton past Elizabeth, catching her gaze and holding it as long as he could before he left her behind. He would go to her as soon as he was done speaking with Lamberton. They walked in silence, both aware, he was certain, that anything they had to say was best conveyed in private.

  Once they reached the king’s private chapel and the door was shut, they sat on a bench and Robert spoke in low tones. “Have ye heard any word of Angus and my men in Ettrick Forest?”

  “No. I’m sorry. I’ve been in the Highlands trying to gather support from the lairds for ye. I’ve nae heard word of yer men or Angus.”

  Robert jerked a hand through his hair. “I sent Angus to warn my men that the king had discovered their location. I hoped he would reach them before the king’s knights discovered my men, but Angus has nae returned and I have nae received word of what has occurred. And Fraser has nae returned either.”

  “Well, Ettrick is far from here,” Lamberton said, his voice tense. “It could be that Angus and yer men are giving the king’s knights a merry chase with Fraser leading them as astray as he can.”

  “Aye, it could be, but I’ve a bad feeling. Angus was to take a lass to the MacLeod clan. Did ye go there? Was there mention of any new lass?”

  “I did travel to Skye, and the laird will support ye if and when the day comes that ye are king, but there was nae any mention of a lass newly arrived. I’m sorry.”

  Robert let out a frustrated sigh. “How long will ye stay?”

  “I leave tonight. I only came to give homage because the king has grown too suspicious of me. I wanted to see how ye fared, too.” Lamberton eyed him. “Why did ye bend the knee? Ye were to simply gain time.”

  Robert told him quickly of Elizabeth, and as he spoke, Lamberton’s frown deepened. “Ye feigned homage to protect the daughter of yer enemy? Does lust have ye that firmly in its hold?”

  “Nay. It is nae that simple. I will marry her. I can nae leave her to her father and the king’s plans or to de Beauchamp.”

  “Robbie, ye are honorable, but ye kinnae wed the king’s goddaughter to simply protect her. Ye have paid this false homage; the king will surely control his anger if ye dunnae bind yerself to de Burgh’s daughter.”

  Robert clenched his teeth. “I can nae let her become the wife of another.”

  “Ah,” Lamberton said, his voice softening. “I see now. She has found a place in yer heart.”

  Hearing it stated so plainly, and by Lamberton, was like a light being cast into his head. He loved Elizabeth. The knowledge sucked the air from his lungs and set fear in him. He loved her, and now she would be his greatest weakness in a time he could afford none.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Elizabeth rowed out to the summer cottage on the island that stood separate from the castle because she desperately wanted to be alone. So much pressed on her. Worry for Lillianna, and she could not rid herself of the image of Robert bending the knee, nor could she shake the worry that one day he might grow to resent her for the choice he had made. And in addition to that, they were to be married and no words of love had been exchanged between them. It was the last thing that made her gut twist.

  She loved him deeply. She had suspected it for a while, but when she had seen him on bended knee for her, she had known it, without a doubt. She longed to hear if he felt the same, yet she could not ask. She wanted him to tell her of his own free will.

  She sat in one of the four chairs in the tiny, sparse cottage, and looked out the window at the twinkling stars. She should not be here; it was not proper and likely unsafe. She glanced at the dagger she had brought, which rested on a stand near the door. Luckily, she had come prepared.

  Behind her, the door creaked open, and she scrambled to her feet, ready to lurch for the blade. Her breath hitched when she saw Robert standing there, holding her dagger in one hand and a torch in the other. H
is eyes narrowed upon her as he strode into the room, kicked the door shut, and set the torch in a holder.

  He turned to her, his face like a black cloud. “If ye are going to be so foolish as to take to the water alone at night and to spend time alone in a cottage, at least keep yer dagger by yer side and nae at the damned door to invite whoever wants to ravish ye to use it on ye.”

  She smiled that he cared so much. Surely, he loved her, too. If he would only but say it!

  “Why are ye smiling?” he demanded, his brow knitting.

  “Because you care about my safety,” she said.

  “Of course I care,” he said, looking suddenly uncomfortable. She suspected Robert was not accustomed to speaking of matters of the heart.

  “How did you find me?” she asked.

  “Gloucester, actually. He saw ye go to the water and row away.”

  Elizabeth frowned now. “He should not be spying on me.”

  Robert closed the distance between them and pulled her gently into his embrace. “He was not spying on ye. He happened to be having an…er…dalliance, and he saw ye. He came to find me immediately, knowing I’d wish to keep my own eye on ye.”

  She ran a hand over Robert’s chest, feeling his muscles flex beneath her fingertips. “I can fend for myself.”

  He grunted. “Ye will need many lessons on how to be a proper Scottish wife.”

  “And why is that?” she asked, her lips twitching at his disgruntled expression.

  “Proper Scottish wives allow their husbands to fend for them.”

  She eyed him, certain he was making this up as he spoke. “How many proper Scottish wives do you know?”

  “Hundreds.” His face revealed nothing, but his mouth twitched with a smile.

  “Hmm… I probably could use lessons on many things that proper Scottish wives do.”

  “Such as?” he said, running a finger over her collarbone. She shivered at his touch.

  “Such as how to please you when we join our bodies.” She could hardly believe she had said it, but she desperately wanted to become his in body this night.