Tears dripped from her chin into her lap. Talking would not mend what had been done to them. Time would not mend it, either, she feared. He had been made to doubt her, and it cut her to the bone.
He kneeled in front of her, his palms coming to either side of her thighs but not touching her. His face was close enough that she could see the vein pulsing at his right temple. His heat encircled her, his strength beckoned her, but she did not move to touch him. She was confused. She loved him, yet he had hurt her with his lack of faith.
“I feel,” he said, the two words low and throbbing, “for Scotland. For the people who need me and who I have failed. I feel as if my weakness for ye has cost good men their lives.”
She sobbed for him and for herself, because she could see the very real torment he was in and it matched her own. She had not deceived him as he believed, but his words were true. If they had not become involved, if she had been cleverer and discovered a way to appease her father and the king without becoming entwined with Robert, the men who had been killed and captured in Ettrick Forest would be alive and free. And what of Angus and Lillianna? She prayed they still lived still.
“I’m sorry,” she said simply, unable to think what more she could possibly say now.
“As am I, lass,” he replied. He rose and left the bedchamber without glancing back.
She sat for hours unmoving, wondering if he would return, but as the light of day swept away the darkness, she got her answer. Robert would not return to her this night, perhaps ever, and if he did, the torturous memory of his distrust, of his lost faith in her, might not ever leave her.
The king ordered Robert and Elizabeth to return to court with him. Robert knew well it was to keep an eye on him, but it was actually a forced move that aided him in getting information to and from Scotland. Gloucester now frequented the court, and Robert trusted the man as much as he trusted anyone beyond those of his inner circle. It was Gloucester who discovered that though Angus had been captured, he had escaped and managed, before he’d been taken, to send Lillianna with his youngest brother Allisdair to head for the safety of her mother’s clan, the MacLeods. Robert was also receiving word from Fraser. Fraser brought word that he had been ordered to hunt Angus to the death.
Fraser also relayed the message from Wallace and Lamberton: they thought the best plan was for Robert to continue to play the reluctant traitor while Wallace gathered men in Scotland and prepared to rise in rebellion.
Hope flared brighter than ever for Scotland to rise, and it was that lone hope that sustained Robert through the long days and even longer nights. He lay in his bedchamber at night, achingly aware of Elizabeth so near that he could smell her scent of heather, hear her steady breathing when she slept, or know when she was restless by the creaks of the bed as she floundered about alone. The floor was hard, and as fall turned to winter, it became cold. He welcomed the cold and the uncomfortable hardness, though. He burned for her, despite his uncertainty about her, despite the deep divide between them that grew wider each day. Every single time he caught a glimpse of her across the courtyard, the longing he felt was painful.
The doubt that plagued him continued to go unanswered. The queen and the ladies-in-waiting were not at the king’s court when Robert and Elizabeth had returned, so Gwendolyn had not been there for Robert to question. Fraser assured him that his cousin would once again come to court as soon as the queen gave birth, but whether that would increase Robert’s doubt or lessen it, he did not know. He knew one thing for certain: he had gravely hurt Elizabeth with his doubt, and he did not know if the rift could be mended—or if it should be. She had distracted him, and whether it was purposeful or not, the effect had been the same.
And still she distracted him, even as he was unsure of her. He tried to keep his distance, not to seek her out, but he was like a moth to flame with her. Whether she was simply talking to another lady-in-waiting, carrying her falcon, Onair, on her wrist, or staring across the distance at him with pain-filled eyes, the air he needed to breathe felt impossible to find. His throat would constrict, and his vision would grow to a dagger point that included nothing but her. All he could see were her wary blue eyes, her long flowing white-gold hair, her full red mouth, and her lush curves. He wanted to get away from her while keeping her close at the same time. It was driving him mad.
It did not help matters that she seemed to grow more beautiful every day. Simply looking on her struck him with desire. As winter finally gave way to a new year, it seemed she had finally given up hope for them. She withdrew from him, no longer trying to talk to him, and he felt her loss acutely. They dined side by side, as was required by the king, and Robert played the doting husband on these occasions and all times when others would be watching, and she accepted his attentions in public, never uttering a word that might reveal that their marriage was not a true one. He suspected she feared what would befall her if the king or her father should think she had failed to sway him back to her bed and into her trust.
As the end of the temporary peace between Scotland and England drew near, he found himself privy to conversations between the king and his advisors that offered insight into their impending plans for Scotland. Robert played the turncoat all during the day, sickened almost physically by what he had to do. Often, he did not return to their bedchamber until near dawn, and Elizabeth was always sleeping—or feigning sleep. So when he opened the bedchamber door on this day, and Elizabeth was sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands folded in her lap in a serene gesture but with a storm brewing in her blue eyes, he was caught momentarily off guard. It was his habit to conjure up the faces of all the Scots he knew who had died in the rebellion thus far, to remind himself of all who relied on him, and that he could not give in to his yearnings, nor could he trust without some proof. But this day, when he saw her, he had not had time to do so, and desire hit him like a wave.
The first rays of sun were streaking across the sky, so he knew it was too early for her to have risen and too late for her to have just come to their bedchamber. She stood, the blue silk of her gown falling gracefully to her feet. She inhaled a deep breath, her chest rising, and with it, his need. “Where do you sleep when you don’t return to our bedchamber?” she asked in a quiet voice.
“Nowhere,” he answered. It was the truth. He could not sleep unless she was near, and he knew she was safe. Christ, he loved her still. Her possible treachery had not dimmed the feeling, only forced him to contain it.
Sadness filled her eyes. “I have come to accept that you will never believe me when I say I did not plot against you, and that you do not love me anymore.”
Her words and resigned tone cut into him like a jagged blade. What could he say? He loved her. Christ, he did, yet the doubt was still there, and he could not pretend otherwise.
She crossed her arms over her chest as if she needed protection from him, which killed him to see. He had wanted to protect her always, and he was hurting her, even as he was hurt.
“In truth,” she said, her gaze steady on him, “I cannot say that I want your love any longer.”
He ground his teeth, but the pain came like a sudden torrential rain anyway. It washed over him, soaking him, chilling him, making him shudder with the need for the warmth he had only ever found with her.
“Do you think it would be best for both of us,” she went on, “if I did not want your love?”
“I can nae say for certain,” he said, misery pouring out of him with every breath.
Her lips pressed into a thin, white line. For a long moment, she stared at him, sorrow dancing across her face and then disappearing. His pain, his doubt, became a roar in his ears.
She inhaled a long breath and then spoke. “The king has ordered me to a separate bedchamber, and I did not fight it. I thought you should know.”
Robert stilled. “Why would the king order ye into a separate bedchamber?” His first thought was for her safety. Christ, he had not hardened himself to her in the least. If the king had deci
ded she could not manipulate or sway Robert, how would the king try to use her next? Robert’s chest tightened.
She gave him a brittle smile. “The king has decided that since I have no secrets to share with him, he will put another woman in your bed to see if she has more success. I’m to become the mistress of de Beauchamp.”
Rage like he had never known seized him. “Nay,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm, but the word cut through the tension between them like a well-honed blade. Damn the king to Hell and de Beauchamp, as well. She was his wife! His. It did no matter that he did not touch her. No other man ever would. His blood rushed through his veins, roaring in his ears.
Her forehead furrowed, and a line appeared between her brows. “I don’t understand, Robert. You do not love me. Do not want me. What does it matter to you if another man has me?”
God’s teeth, he wanted to grab her, pull her to him, and show her why it mattered. She had been made his forever the moment they had said their vows, and he would die before letting another man touch her. “Ye are my wife, whether I choose to lie with ye or nae. I will kill any man who dares to put his hands on ye. Ye will be true to me.”
“I cannot disobey the orders of the king. You are the one who brought this to our feet with your lack of faith, so if you do not wish me in de Beauchamp’s bed, you had better speak with the king. I’m to move my things this hour.”
“Do nae step foot from this chamber. I will speak with the king. I will tell him—” Robert was crazed with jealousy. “I will tell him we try for my heir.”
Chapter Nineteen
Elizabeth glanced quickly down to hide her relief. Robert had so concealed his emotions since their return to court that she had honestly thought that perhaps he no longer felt anything for her. Her own emotions were complex and deep. She both loved him desperately and hated him for his lack of faith in her, but after spending night after sleepless night thinking upon what had happened, she had come to see that to her, his faith in her was a matter between just the two of them, but to Robert, it was the hope of a nation he carried on his shoulders. If he gave her his faith completely once more, he would be risking himself as well as all those who relied on him. She could not deny that the thought of such a feeling made her tremble.
She loved him still, and though he had deeply hurt her, now that she understood it better, she could forgive him if he would relent. The alternative of a life without him simply was not acceptable.
Yet she had not been lying to Robert about the king. He had given her the order to move to de Beauchamp’s bedchamber today at court, but she was not indifferent and accepting. She was horrified, angry, and desperate, which was why she had decided a small lie about how she truly felt about it could not be such a horrible sin.
She had hoped that if he did still care for her, his jealousy would drive him to show it, and then she would have proof that he did still feel for her and she would do all in her power to save their love. She cleared her throat, very nervous with the game she was playing. “I’m sure another woman can give you an heir. In fact,” she said, “Gwendolyn returned to court today. Perhaps she will be to your taste.”
He frowned at her. “I will nae share my bed with another woman. Ever,” he growled.
Elizabeth felt weak with relief. She thanked God Robert was in a fit of jealousy and was not watching his words. “Well,” she said, inhaling a deep breath to keep herself calm, “I fear the king will see through me if I lie to him and tell him we have a true marriage.” She shrugged. “I do not wish to incur his wrath. I’m sorry.” She stepped to brush past him, and he caught her around the waist and pulled her to him, crushing their bodies together.
The hardness of his length, the raw power he exuded, overwhelmed her senses and made her thoughts spin. His hand twined in her hair to tilt her head back, and memories flooded her of the other times he had held her in such a way. Her heart raced, and her body responded to her husband, heat pooling in her belly and tightening her core.
“Well then, lass,” he said, his voice a velvet caress, “let us make certain there is nae a reason for the king to doubt what comes from yer lips.” He captured her mouth, his kiss ravishing, demanding, and hot with yearning.
Every nerve within her fired to life as she responded to the raging need she felt in him in equal measure. As their tongues dueled, she trailed her hands down his chest, her body rejoicing in touching him once again. His muscles rippled under her fingertips while they roamed over the hard planes of his stomach, to his narrowed hips, and then his powerful thighs.
His hands explored her as rapidly as she was exploring him. He teased his fingers over her breasts, then blazed a path to her hips where he hiked up her skirts and brushed between her thighs. A moan escaped her as she arched toward him, the simple touch nearly undoing her. She wanted to release in him the same thing he was making her feel. She wanted them to find that place where they could be free with each other as they had been before. She slid her hands over the fronts of his thighs to delve between them, but he neatly grasped both her wrists.
He broke their kiss. “If ye touch me there, I will nae be able to control myself.”
“I don’t want your control,” she panted. “Release yourself to me, Robert. Show me the warrior that I know you are. Show me the man who dwells behind the polite facade you show the king.”
He swept her legs out from under her, strode two steps, set her upon the bed, and was over her, undressing her, kissing her, and murmuring all at once. “Ye are mine,” he said, kissing her bare belly. “Mine,” he growled, capturing one breast and then the other, offering exquisite torment. She writhed under him, wanting to answer, to confirm that she was still his, but she could not form words.
He tugged off his plaid and other clothes as he drove her nearly mad with need, and then she was pressing kisses to his shoulders, his chest, his abdomen, before he tugged her up, nudged her thighs open, and entered her with a thrust that reclaimed her as his and only his. Their joining was wild and fast, and in the midst of the storm of their bodies, slick and sliding, Robert grasped her under her back and lifted her to him, encircling her in his arms and pressing his lips to her ear as he moved within her. “Ye are in me, nae matter what I do. Ye are there, claiming my thoughts, my desire, my longing.”
“You are as the blood in my veins,” she cried out, sliding her arms around his powerful back and holding on to him as he took her with him to a place where she could think of nothing but the tightening of everything within her, the feeling of him consuming her, and the sweet bliss of release. When her body could take no more, she splintered into a thousand languid pieces.
She was uncertain how much time had passed. They lay pressed together, Robert having collapsed upon her hot and sticky, his heart thudding against her chest, his face buried in her neck. She did not want to move for fear that the moment she did, he would rise up and look at her with the wariness she had become accustomed to getting from him. As sunlight filtered into the room, warming it with the oncoming day, Robert stirred and rolled off her. He lay beside her, not touching her, and her heart squeezed with fear. But then he reached out and stroked a hand down her cheek. “I do nae want to hurt ye. It kills me to see it.”
Tears filled her eyes as she nodded. He brushed them away as they rolled down her cheeks. “I want to believe ye, I do. I remember my words to ye that I would nae ever doubt ye, but Elizabeth—”
She pressed a finger to his lips, hope filling her. “It is not just you and your desires that you must think of, but the needs of your people.”
His eyes widened, and he captured her fingers, removing them from his lips. “Aye, that is exactly it. I have so many who rely upon me. For years before I met ye, I was wary; I did nae allow myself to feel. It is how I survived. It’s how I ensured those who counted on me survived. And then I met ye, and ye were all I could see.”
“And you do not know for certain if what you saw was real,” she said, swallowing. “I have no proof for yo
u. Where does that leave us if my words are not enough?”
He scrubbed a hand across his face. “If it were just me,” he said hoarsely, “they would be enough. I would take the chance with my life.”
“But it is not just you.”
“Nay. It is nae.”
She needed to confront Gwendolyn and get her admission that Gwendolyn had lied about hearing it was Elizabeth’s idea to tell Robert that the king knew where Robert’s men were in Ettrick Forest, but it would not do if Robert did not hear her confront the woman. She was afraid he would say no to her request, but if she left him a note to meet her in the woods and she somehow got Gwendolyn there, he would come. He would come to protect her from any harm that he thought might befall her in the woods.
Robert awoke with a start and jolted upright when he did not sense Elizabeth near him. His hand went automatically to the place she had lain facing him. His fingers grazed smooth foolscap. Frowning, he picked it up and opened it.
Meet me at the stream beyond the king’s statue. I am getting you the admission from that you require to believe in me.
E
Fear, stark and vivid, gripped him. What had he done? What had he driven her to do to go into the dangerous woods? She could die or be ravaged. The thoughts froze in his brain as he scrambled to his feet, dressed quickly, and searched for his daggers. One was missing.
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