Outlaw King

by Julie Johnstone

  “Ha!” Robert said, the word dripping derisiveness.

  It was a plot, but Robert was so convincing that her heart ached and worry clawed at her.

  The king sighed. “Relinquish this hopeless battle,” he said and waved the guards off. The king walked to Robert and flung an arm over his shoulders. “My boy, I knew you would not submit easily, but I forgive you, Robert, I do.”

  Elizabeth wanted to weep for Robert. The king belittled him every time he called Robert my boy, and her husband had no choice but to endure it, to endure all of this. She prayed they could soon flee the king and her father.

  “You must put thoughts of rebellion behind you. Your man Angus is captured, and he and your men are at my mercy now. Mercy that I will only be inclined to show if you do as you said you would and truly join me in bringing the north to their knees. Of course, you can continue to try to plot and defy me, but I will be compelled to kill all your men I now hold prisoner.”

  My God! Shock flew through Elizabeth. Robert was well trapped now. And if Angus was captured what had happened to Lillianna?

  The walls around Robert pressed in on him. His heart thudded in his ears, the harsh sound broken only when he inhaled. “I had to try,” he said, pleased with the matter-of-fact tone of his voice. “I could nae simply submit. That was nae worthy of the Bruce name.”

  “Of course not!” the king agreed with gusto. “I would have been disappointed had you done anything else, truth be told.” He clasped Robert on the shoulder, and it took all his restraint not to throw Edward’s hand off him. “I have always had great esteem for you. You, more than any of the others who bear your name and your claim to the throne, remind me of myself. I would raise you high in the kingdoms I reign over if you will but aid me.”

  A long path to freedom stretched out before Robert. He could see the gnarled roots that crossed it and would make him stumble, the snakes slithering that would try to strike, the hidden holes where he would fall and have to pick himself up. His gaze was drawn to Elizabeth, and he blinked in surprise. He had not realized her father had drawn her to his side, but he had, and his hand rested upon her elbow. Was she plotting with her father and the king? Or was she loyal to Robert? He still did not know.

  “What say you, Robert? I will have an answer this day and then deeds to show me proof that your words are true.”

  Being false was like swallowing poison, yet he had to gulp it down and pray he lived, pray it did not deform him so greatly that he and others he knew and trusted, those who counted on him, would no longer recognize him. “How high will ye raise me?” he heard himself ask.

  Elizabeth’s hiss of breath penetrated his concentration, but he did not look at her. He could not allow her to distract him any longer, whether it had been intentional or not.

  “How does the Governor of Scotland sound?” Edward asked in a jovial tone.

  The words grated in Robert’s ears. They sounded like subjugation. Still, he smiled. “Are ye nae ahead of yerself?”

  “For now,” Edward said with a chuckle. “But together we will get there, yes?”

  Robert counted to twenty in his head and determined that was just long enough to make it appear he had contemplated everything. He allowed his shoulders to drop and his head to fall forward a bit. He had defeated enough men to know the look of one humbled. “Aye,” he mumbled.

  “Excellent! Let us walk alone, Robert. I need fresh air, and I would discuss strategy for defeating the north.”

  Robert nodded and started to turn away when Elizabeth’s hand came to his arm. Her touch burned him to his soul. There was a wall between them now, and he could not afford to scale it, not until he was certain of the truth, maybe not even then. “Robert—”

  He peeled her fingers from his forearm, aching with the touch of his skin to hers. “I will have yer things removed from my chambers to yer own,” he said, his chest twisting with her stricken look. He wanted to take back the words, but he knew his own weakness. He needed space; he needed answers that he had no notion how to get.

  His hands fisted at his side. “A wife’s purpose is to have faith in her husband always,” he said, forcing the words out between clenched teeth. He studied her, saw her flinch, but still, still he did not know, could not discern her honesty. It so enraged him that he could do no more than turn on his heel and stride from the room. But the look of utter devastation on her face went with him. It dug into his mind and burrowed there. Was it possible to feign such desolation? He had to think only of his ploy to trick the king into believing his own submission was real. It was possible, and the knowledge was like a boulder in his gut, dragging him under a murky surface where he felt he would surely drown.

  Elizabeth’s father led her into the solar by the elbow and shut the door. She knew this instinctually, but she did not see it. She did not see her surroundings at all; in fact the only thing she saw was Robert’s face. He looked at her as if she had betrayed him, but why? Why would he now think such a thing? Why would he be doubting her? She clutched at her stomach, kneading her fingers into the knots of pain, but they would not loosen. They seemed to grow inside her, taking on a life of their own as she stood there. Robert’s men were captured, was Lillianna? She pressed her lips together on asking her father. She’d first see what Robert had learned.

  “Here,” he said gruffly, bringing her focus to him. He held a full glass of wine out to her. “You look as if you may faint.”

  She felt as if she might. She grasped the goblet with a shaking hand but managed to hold on to it and bring it to her lips. She drank several gulps of wine until it was gone. The warm liquid slid down her throat and through her belly, and seemed to settle the roiling waves there. She tilted the goblet again, drank the rest, and held it out to her father to pour her more.

  Chuckling, he took the goblet. “Normally, I’d say to steady yourself, but I think a little fortification will do you good tonight. It is vexing that Bruce believes you betrayed him to me, but you can overcome this.” Her father squeezed her shoulder. “I have faith in you. You have gained my forgiveness for your long-ago deed and you have my trust once more.”

  She could do no more than stare at her father, so absorbed in his quest for power that he failed to see the truth of what lay between them—nothing. How she would have once rejoiced to hear such words from him, but now his words merely enraged her.

  She forced a smile, in hopes that she would appear genuine. “I’m pleased I have your forgiveness and trust. I have longed for both of these things.”

  He nodded, a look of supreme satisfaction on his face. “I must tell you, I was unsure at first if I could truly count upon you. And when I learned I could, I had to still use you, my dear.”

  Elizabeth felt sick. She swallowed and asked, “What made you decide you could trust me?”

  Her father cocked his head. “Grace intercepted a note that Gwendolyn was trying to get to Bruce, warning him of your continued loyalty to me and the king.”

  Elizabeth’s breath froze in her lungs. “What note? When was this? And why would Grace give you anything?”

  “Tsk, Elizabeth. So many questions,” he said with a small smile. “You have been so curious and keen. I’d think you would have realized by now that I trust no one fully.”

  “Grace is your spy?” Elizabeth guessed, shock spiraling through her.

  “Yes,” he laughed. “And Gwendolyn, too, but she’s half-Scot so I knew well not to trust her totally, and she proved me correct when she tried to warn Bruce that you were conspiring against him with Edward and me.” He scowled. “I should have known not to trust that wench at all. She was always so eager in bed, but then I’d always find her at my door if ever the king came to speak to me. She must have overheard me.” Elizabeth’s heart thudded heavily, and her mind felt numb with all the deception that surrounded her and Robert. Her father was despicable. He chuckled, clearly pleased with himself. “Luckily, I had set Grace to spy on Gwendolyn, and I keep Gwendolyn because she has prove
n useful to lead me to others whom I cannot trust. Though, I did consider killing her when she wrote the note trying to reveal you as a conspirator. I think the lass may be besotted with Bruce.”

  Elizabeth’s mind reeled with the revelations. She had to tell Robert of Gwendolyn; she had to warn him. Her father patted her shoulder before dropping his hand away. “Elizabeth, if we can control Bruce, if you can persuade him to be true to the king, he will rise far with your aid and you will become a very powerful woman. You would like that, would you not?”

  But Elizabeth cared nothing for power. She simply wanted freedom and Robert’s love. Yet, she knew Robert needed power to liberate his people. She nodded, playing her part and hoping it would not be long before Robert returned to her and she could feel his arms around her and be reassured that he had simply been playing his role in this game of deception.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The wine she had drunk was not helping her nerves now. She clutched her knees as she stared at the bedchamber door and waited for Robert. Where was he? Neither he nor the king had appeared for supper, so she had no notion if they were even together. Her palms grew damp, recalling the betrayal and anger she had seen in his eyes. It had seemed all too real.

  As footsteps fell outside the door, she inhaled a sharp breath, her stomach knotting. The door opened with a soft swish, and Robert walked over the threshold, then froze, his dark gaze landing on her. Raw pain glittered in his eyes for one breath before they became hooded, as if he had turned off his emotions.

  Dear God, she did not think he was playing any part at all. “Robert—”

  “I should have known ye would still be here,” he said flatly. “I meant what I said earlier.”

  Her skin prickled with unease. “You wish me to remove my things from your bedchamber?”

  “Aye,” he said, turning from her. But his cold voice left little doubt that he was truly angry with her.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, coming to him and placing her hands on the backs of his shoulders.

  He turned slowly toward her, wariness twisting his features. “I do nae know if I can trust ye.”

  “What?” She frowned. She could not have heard him correctly. “What?” she asked again, her mind refusing to work properly, to form a more intelligent question.

  He laughed then, but it was a bitter sound. “I look at ye now, but I can nae say if this hurt on yer face is the truth or a mask ye wear to deceive me.”

  His distrust sliced her open like a knife. Something had happened, yes, and whatever it was, it had not taken much for him to doubt her. Tears filled her eyes, and she had to swallow several times before she could speak. “What is it you think you know, Robert?”

  “That it was yer idea to tell me the king knew my men were in Ettrick Forest, so I would act upon what you relayed.”

  “Do you hear yourself?” she asked, desolation sweeping over her. “Someone has fed you lies about me and you believe them so easily. Who told you this? Gloucester?” she guessed. The man had been alone with Robert before the king had arrived.

  Robert narrowed his eyes, and she realized with a wrenching sadness that he was now questioning everything she had ever said. Quite possibly, all her words would make her look guilty to him. Hot tears rolled down her face.

  “Aye,” he said, the word raw. “Gwendolyn got word to Fraser before he departed to go after my men, and Gloucester learned of the news when he met up with Fraser recently.”

  “Gwendolyn likely wants you for herself!” Elizabeth said, desperation to make him see clawing at her.

  “That’s a verra convenient theory,” he said, his voice steady as the sky before a great storm. She knew her husband had his emotions in an iron vise. She had seen him at Edward’s court when the king called him my boy and made humbling remarks to him, but Robert had never shown the slightest sign that it affected him. If she was going to get him to listen to her at all, she had to break through the wall he had erected.

  “It’s not a theory! My father just told me that he joins with Gwendolyn and that she likely overheard him speaking with the king about knowing where your men were.” Doubt flickered across Robert’s face, so she pushed on. “You said loyalty and truth must be the only thing between us.” Her heart thudded in her ears as she searched for a sign that he believed her, but all she saw was distrust. Her heart squeezed with his lack of faith, yet she could not give up on him. She had to make him see. She took a deep breath. “I have given you my heart and my trust freely. Do not destroy what we have with doubt, sharp words, and accusations.”

  Torment swept his face, but then he set his jaw. “I must be certain of ye, and I’m nae. I’m sorry.” His shoulders sagged, and her heart fell. “Even if I could one day be certain again, I see now how distracted ye have made me. I can nae allow that. I do nae have that freedom.”

  Freedom. She wished for it, but she now hated the word. “Where is your faith?” she whispered, crushed by the lack of it. “What of the promises you made that you could not be made to doubt me?”

  His hands had fisted at his sides, and she saw the emotional war that waged within him by the rage, sorrow, and regret that flitted across his features. He drew in a long, shuddering breath. “I need time away from ye. Will ye leave this bedchamber, or shall I?”

  If she let him go, she feared she would never get him back. She was not prepared to relent, however hurt she may be. “I will not leave our bedchamber, and if you do so, you will incur the suspicion of the king.” Robert flinched ever so slightly, and she feared she was now making things worse, but it was the only way she knew to stop him. “If you are now honestly submitting to the king, how would it appear if you went against his desire for us to be a true husband and wife? If you leave, he will know your anger is great, and he will suspect that you may still plot.”

  Robert’s gaze narrowed like a deadly blade upon her. She took a deep breath, expecting him to unleash his anger. Instead, his gaze softened and he smiled, yet it was void of any warmth. She felt as if she’d been ripped in two. She had miscalculated. She had wanted to keep him near, but she had pushed him further away.

  His nostrils flared. “I am fully Edward’s man now. Ye may report that back.” He swept a hand toward the bed. “Sleep here if ye wish it. I will as well.”

  With that, he brushed past her, stripped off his plaid, rolled it up, and laid it on the floor, putting the plaid behind his head. He closed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. Damn him! He had no intention of lying beside her. How could she get through to him? She knew very well he was not Edward’s man. Robert simply did not trust her now. She walked toward him and stood above him for a moment, then she kneeled. He did not open his eyes.

  “Robert, you must have faith in us,” she said.

  Robert’s only response was the steady rise and fall of his chest. She ground her teeth, then forced herself to continue. “Perhaps it is I who should hate you for your lack of faith. Maybe I won’t forgive you.”

  Still there was no response, just the continued motion of his breathing. Biting her lip, she placed a hand on his forearm. He made no show that he even knew she had touched him. “Robert, please believe me. Talk to me.”

  Without a word, he peeled her hand away from him and turned on his side, offering her his back. Anger exploded within her. “Damn you! You are a coward!”

  Slowly, he turned back to her, eyes open and burning. She sucked in a breath at the rage she saw there and started to scuttle backward, but his hand whipped out in a blur to clasp her wrist. “I am many things, but a coward is nae one of them.”

  His tone, a rumble of thunder, made her breath quicken for what she might unleash that he held within him. But if she let things go on as they were between them, she knew that he would be lost to her. “You are a coward,” she said, her tone soft but firm. “You are afraid to feel.”

  “Afraid to feel,” he repeated, sitting up without releasing his hold on her.

  She nodded, her heart r
acing.

  “I am nae afraid to feel.” His words lashed out, and his grip tightened almost painfully. She let out a hiss, tugging at her hand, and shock contorted his features instantly. He released her and came to his feet in one swift motion, staring at her in horror. Whether it was at himself or her, she was not sure.

  “Damn ye, Elizabeth,” he growled low, swiping his hands over his face. “Ye steal my control. I would nae ever hurt ye purposely.” He turned from her and then swung back around. “Do nae push me, though.”

  She had to do just that. She came to her knees, wiping her damp palms on her skirt. “Do not be a coward, then. Let yourself feel. Let yourself trust me.”

  “I feel!” he exploded, his gaze going wild, his fingers clenching and unclenching in fists. “Ye do nae want to know what I feel!”

  “I do,” she said, breathless with fear. For if he could still feel and not block his emotions for her, he would surely see the truth.

  “Ye do, do ye?” he snarled and stalked to the chair in the corner of the room. Without another word, he kicked it, the power of his rage causing the wood to crack. “This is how I feel,” he bit out and kicked the chair again, and again, until the wood splintered and a chunk went flying. She wanted to cry at the torment her father and the king had caused, at the breach that they put between her and Robert.

  “Do ye like what ye see?” he demanded, his eyes nearly black with his wrath.

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Nay?” he ground out. “But this is what ye asked for, my beloved.” He let out a dark chuckle. “I allowed myself to feel. For ye.” His gaze struck her in the heart like a perfectly released, lethal arrow. “I was a weak fool,” he flung at her. He stalked around the room once more, circling, passing her, and coming back to her. When he stood before her, he twined his hands behind his head as if to restrain himself from what he really wanted to do. The muscles of his biceps twitched visibly, and his jaw was tense. He looked down at her, a tower of just-barely controlled anger. “I do nae have the luxury to be weak or foolish. I do nae have the luxury to freely give trust. I took a chance. I was selfish. But now I do nae know,” he growled. “I can nae see what is real and what is a lie, and I must see it. And I feel,” he roared. “I am but a man; of course I feel. In this moment, I feel betrayed. Is that the right way to feel?” he asked but continued before she could respond. “I do nae know for certain. I feel yer wee palms gripping my heart, and if I am nae careful, ye will rip it right out of my chest.”