Outlaw King

by Julie Johnstone

  “No,” she admitted. “Robert sang it to me, and it was the only time I heard it.”

  “What? Well, I’ll be,” Gaston said, laughter in his voice. “I did nae even ken Bruce could sing. I kinnae wait to tell the—”

  “You’ll tell no one. He would be very cross with me.”

  “Ye love him, aye, lass?”

  “Yes,” she agreed, and then she started to hum the tune she recalled Robert singing as she swam them to the island.

  Once there, Gaston surprised her by handing her his sword. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “It’ll be dark when ye return. I’ll nae have ye unarmed.”

  “You’d give up your sword for me?”

  “Aye,” he said. “One day, ye will be my queen.”

  “How can you be certain? Robert’s father lives still. Mayhap he will sit on Scotland’s throne.”

  “Nay. He is a weak man, whereas yer husband is strong, and he is made even stronger now with ye by his side.”

  “I thank you for the compliment,” she said, pressing his sword back to him. “I have a dagger.” Not to mention the weight of the sword would be too heavy, but she refused to admit that.

  “All right, then, but dunnae forget ye are meant to be with Bruce. Nae all Scots will welcome ye into our fold when Bruce brings ye home with him.”

  “I’ll remember it,” she said and rose on her tiptoes to press a kiss to Gaston’s cheek. “For luck.”

  “May it shadow both of us,” he replied.

  The swim back to the shore was shorter in distance, but as darkness swallowed the sky, it set fear in her heart. She tugged on her gown, not even bothering to lace it all the way up, so that by the time she was through the passageway and lifting the trap door to her bedchamber, her gown had slipped all the way down her right shoulder. She climbed through the opening, her gown wet and clinging, and froze. Sitting on her bed was the guard.

  His gaze swept over her body, stopping on her breasts. “I’m de Beauchamp’s man,” he said by way of explanation. “He will be most interested to learn there’s a secret passage in your room that you led your husband through. Unless, of course, you wish to pay for my silence with your favors.”

  Her skin crawled at the very thought, but as the door to her bedchamber cracked open silently, she nodded, seeing Robert’s narrowed eyes. “Very well,” she said, doing her best to sound resigned, her heart beating like a drum, unsure what Robert intended to do.

  The guard stood, his back to Robert, and walked to her. “I cannot wait to plant myself in you. Goddaughter to the king. Daughter of the mighty de Burgh. Lusted after by de Beauchamp and married to a filthy Scot. I’m going to make you scream for me, but I suppose I’ll have to cover your mouth to muffle it.”

  “I do nae suppose ye will,” Robert snarled and yanked the man off his feet into a choke hold. The guard immediately started to sputter and claw at Robert, but he twisted the fiend around and drove his knee swiftly up into the man’s groin. “Did that hurt? Ye wish to plant yerself in my wife, did ye say?” Robert whipped out a dagger and pressed it between the man’s legs. “I should cut off yer bollocks.”

  Stark fear twisted the guard’s face, and Elizabeth held her breath, not entirely certain that Robert would not do as he had threatened.

  “Please, Bruce—”

  “Lord Bruce,” Robert growled, moving his dagger just slightly, though the man hissed in pain.

  “Please, Lord Bruce, do not harm me.”

  Robert flashed a feral smile. “Oh, I’m going to harm ye—of that ye can be certain. I’m going to make ye scream as ye claimed ye would do to my wife. Ye’ll nae be making threats to anyone ever again.” With that, Robert jerked the man toward him, looked to Elizabeth, and said, “Turn away and dunnae turn back until I tell ye.”

  Elizabeth swallowed. The man was despicable and he deserved to die, but she did not want his blood on her or Robert’s hands. “Robert, please do not kill him.”

  He acknowledged her with a dip of his head. “See the goodness of my wife? She has a pure heart, and ye would have defiled her. Thank my wife.” He shoved the guard to his knees and yanked back his head.

  “Thank you, my lady,” the man choked out.

  “Turn around, Elizabeth,” Robert said gently. “I’ll nae kill him, but I vow ye do nae want to watch. Please trust me. Though, God knows I do nae deserve to ask it of ye.”

  “You have always had my trust, Robert,” she said and did as he had bid her.

  The noise that came from the man next made the blood in her veins curdle, but she did not turn back around. A gurgling sound followed, then a slide of feet, and a grunt.

  “I’d go to the medicine woman if I were ye,” Robert said, “so ye do nae bleed to death. I could have taken more, ye understand, and if ye do nae flee this castle, I will hunt ye down and take the rest of yer tongue. As it is, yer injury will heal in the years to come and ye will speak again. Mayhap then ye will keep yer nastiness within ye. Now go.”

  Heavy footsteps fell, the door swished open and then banged shut, and suddenly Robert was behind her, his hands on his shoulders and his mouth close to her ear. “I’m sorry, mo ghraidh.” He turned her slowly toward him, regret and pain dancing in the flame of his eyes. She sucked in a breath and reached a shaking hand to his. She ran a finger along his fist, which still clutched his bloody dagger. His fingers twitched.

  “Do not be sorry. It does neither of us any good. Just never lose faith in me again.”

  “When did ye become so strong?” he asked, his voice suddenly hoarse. She knew in her gut he was allowing himself to feel all things for her again. She wanted to weep with joy.

  She cupped one palm against his cheek. “The day I fell in love with you.” She took the dagger from him, having to pry his fingers away one by one, and the memory of the story he told her of the first man he ever killed struck her. Robert was not the sort of man to injure another lightly. “How do you feel?” She was not sure if he would answer honestly, but she hoped he would.

  “Repulsed.” His gaze was steady on her. “I wanted to kill him so much I ached with it.”

  “But you didn’t,” she pointed out. “You restrained. You have a gentle soul.”

  “Nay.” His denial was fierce and fast. “Nae when it comes to someone injuring ye. I imagined ripping his heart out with my bare hands. I imagined cutting off his wee filthy parts. I—” He stopped then, but she shuddered with the image he had created. “I’ve horrified ye,” he said softly.

  “No, Robert, no.” She walked to a stand, set the dagger down, and came back to him. “I only just fully realized that you would kill for me, risk your life for me, and in that, you would risk the freedom of Scotland for me.”

  “I can nae help Scotland if I can nae protect my wife,” he replied. He brought his hands between them and rubbed at the blood smeared on his fingers. “I would have killed him gladly, but I knew it might have brought questions that could come back to harm ye. This way, taking part of his tongue, he can nae talk to anyone. But I am nae gentle.” His gaze locked with hers. “Do ye…do ye think ye can lie beside such a man night after night?”

  Was he looking for absolution or reassurance?

  “I know I can,” she said. “I love you. You are gentle, though I know you will not allow it to linger for more than a breath here, a caress there. You cannot. But I know this, too: the world demands your fierceness, your sword arm, your cunning, and your leadership. You give it all, without asking in return. Tonight, I demand one thing of you that will wipe the hurt between us away.”

  “What would that be?” he asked, sliding his fingertips down her cheek.

  “Show me your gentle side, as I have seen it before.”

  Robert took her hand, led her to the bed, undressed them both, and laid her on the pillows with care. The coverlet was soft under her back, and his hands were like silk upon her front. He took his time, whispering kisses over her from head to toe, murmuring his love, and stirri
ng the passion in her that he could so expertly awaken it. She ran her hands over his chest, relearning the way his muscles were formed, memorizing each scar. She traced his heart, pressed her palm there, and felt the solid beat within. She prayed nothing would stop his heart but old age.

  He glided a finger down her inner arm, along the faint blue line of her veins, and whispered his own Gaelic prayer. “Life to wrinkles and gray. Life with grandchildren at yer feet. Life with laugher on yer lips and love in yer heart,” he said, kissing her eyelids, her lips, and then her neck.

  The love she felt for him was nearly unspeakable. It raced through her veins to echo in the very chambers of her heart. “Take me, Robert,” she begged, as he kissed his way down her belly to her inner thighs.

  His answer was to grip her hips and thrust into her with a cry of possession, followed almost immediately with a shudder of a man who had come home after a long journey. When they had joined their bodies and lay drowsily in each other’s arms, smelling of their passion and slick with it, rain pattered on the window, and Robert stroked a hand through her hair.

  “We must plan for what is to come,” he said, his voice thick with his own need for sleep.

  She forced her eyes open and pushed herself up onto one elbow so that she could see his face. His forehead was wrinkled in concentration so she shoved back the cobwebs of sleep and focused on her husband. “What do you mean?”

  “If Gaston is successful and he reaches Wallace and Comyn, Edward will surely know I have betrayed him. He will suspect when the temporary peace is over, they will strike, but he will not be able to prove anything.”

  She clutched at his arm, suddenly afraid. “He will try you for treason.”

  “Nay. He will try to find a way to break me, something to use to control me, and it can nae be ye. Ye must spend these next weeks ingratiating yerself to the king and yer father. We will give them little tidbits of information that seem useful so that they will be pleased with ye.”

  “What if they separate us? What if you believe the worst of me again?”

  “I’ll nae ever believe that ye are anything but true to me again, Elizabeth. I swear it upon my life. I am stronger with ye. I feel it as sure as I feel my chest rise when I inhale. Ye are my breath, the beat of my heart, the voice of reason in my ear. Ye are my partner.” Tears trickled down her face, and he kissed them away. “Why do ye cry?”

  She laid her head on his chest. “Because it cannot last. War is rising, and with it, a tide will sweep us up. And I fear it will sweep us apart so that it could be months before we look upon each other again.

  “Come with me,” he said, rising suddenly and taking her hand. She followed him off the bed, and he led her to the window, situating her in front of him. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against the solid length of him. His breath was warm upon her neck, and his heart beat steady against her back. He pointed to the starlit sky. “If we are apart, look into the sky and know I will be looking into it and thinking of ye, remembering this moment and how I am but a man who loves a woman with all his heart. And know that I will return to ye always.” She nodded, too emotional to speak. He stroked her arms and said, “I will have to make it seem as though I am aiding Edward if he demands my assistance before I can flee, even while I am hindering him. I must be canny.”

  “Do you mean such things as tinkering with war equipment so that it does not work?”

  “Aye, lass, I do.” He kissed the back of her neck. “Do ye have other ideas?”

  “I do, but let us share them in bed.”

  Once they were situated in bed again, they talked until dawn, coming up with ways for Robert to foil the king. As sunlight filtered into the room, Elizabeth yawned. “When do you think we can flee the king and my father?”

  “As soon as the temporary truce expires,” he said.

  “It cannot come fast enough,” she murmured, her eyes shutting as she drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  After the search for Gaston was unsuccessful, the king ordered the court moved to the Palace of Westminster, but thanks to Elizabeth’s cleverness, the king granted Robert and Elizabeth a reprieve to Writtle to spend some time alone. Upon hearing of the order for the court to leave for Westminster Elizabeth had whispered the lie in the queen’s ear that she had dreamed Robert and she conceived a child at Writtle. Elizabeth knew the queen put great stock in dreams, and she had hoped to sway the queen to ask the king to give Robert and Elizabeth time apart from the court. The queen had fallen for Elizabeth’s scheme and Robert and Elizabeth left that morning for Writtle, yet no sooner had they settled into the manor than a summons arrived in the dead of night, demanding they both return to the Palace.

  Robert’s instincts told him the summons did not bode well for them, and all through the rapid return to Westminster, his tension mounted. He strove to keep it from Elizabeth, not wanting to alarm her, but the minute he led her into the great hall at Westminster, he knew his feeling had been correct. Though evergreen decorated the hall and colored lanterns dotted it in a festive display, clusters of men and women stood around looking anxious. When Elizabeth and Robert fully entered the room, absolute silence fell over the crowd.

  Foreboding blanketed him. He reached out and threaded Elizabeth’s fingers with his. He had the overwhelming need to ensure she was there, which he knew to be ridiculous. Gloucester, whom Robert had not seen in weeks, stood near the king at the front of the great hall. Robert and Gloucester locked eyes, and the man gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

  This was the moment he had been waiting for: the rebellion surely had begun. He could think of no other reason for the doom in the hall. When Elizabeth pressed closer to his side, he knew she felt the danger in the air, as well.

  Edward turned toward Robert and Elizabeth when they were almost at the dais, and a cold knot formed in Robert’s stomach. Ire purpled the king’s face, and his gaze drove into Robert. “You,” Edward bellowed, his voice filling the silent room. Gloucester coughed, but other than that, the room remained silent.

  Robert met Edward’s stare without blinking. “Aye?”

  Edward lunged toward Robert. Elizabeth gasped, and Robert shoved her out of harm’s way, his body going immediately tense. Edward wrapped his hands around Robert’s neck but did not squeeze. Robert held himself perfectly still. “I should kill you for this betrayal!” Edward roared, let go of Robert’s neck, turned away, and then swung back to jab a finger into Robert’s chest.

  “What betrayal is that, Yer Majesty?” he asked, taking care to keep his tone neutral.

  “Do not pretend you do not know!” Edward screamed. Behind him, Elizabeth trembled, and her hands had come to touch his hips. He knew she was drawing strength from him, as he was from her.

  “You play me for a fool! You mock me! I will break you, Bruce! So help me I will! Guards!” Edward thundered. “Take hold of my goddaughter!”

  The order was an arrow into Robert’s heart. He had prepared for himself to be taken, not Elizabeth. He turned toward her, grabbing her hand. Her calm face and head held high made pride swell within him.

  “Release her, Bruce,” Edward raged, “or I’ll have my guards cut off the hand that binds her to you.” It was Elizabeth who released him swiftly. She stepped away from him before he could grab her, and the guards seized her. “Hold her there,” Edward commanded, flicking his hand toward the window to the left of the dais.

  Robert kept his gaze steady on his wife until she looked toward him. She smiled, and it eased some of the fear that was numbing him. “Yer Majesty, if ye would tell me what it is ye believe I have done?”

  “Rebellion!” he accused in a rage-filled tone. “Widespread attack during a temporary peace! Do not tell me you are ignorant? These are your men! They look to you!”

  “I do nae know of rebellion, Sire.” At least nae an attack that had come before their truce expired. His plans had been to attack the day it expired.

  The king let ou
t a bark of laughter. “You think I believe you? You have orchestrated the slaughter of my men, my servants. You and Wallace!”

  Robert spread his hands out, palms up. “How could I do such a thing when I have been here with ye as yer servant and husband to yer goddaughter?”

  The king paced in front of Robert now, his cape billowing behind him. “Your Scots slayed my men in the forest where they slept! Those who did not meet with the knife were taken prisoner,” the king spat, spittle flying from his mouth. He stormed toward Robert again until he was so near that the king’s warm breath hit Robert’s face. “They did not release the captives! They did not ask for terms! Your men slew them all! Beasts! Wallace led this treachery at your orders!”

  “I do nae command Wallace, Sire. There is nae a man who commands Wallace but Wallace.” And that was the God’s truth. He would never have given orders to slay captives, but Wallace had little mercy for the English left in his heart. Robert would not judge the man for it, however. If Englishmen had ravaged and killed Elizabeth, as they had Wallace’s wife, Robert likely would not have much mercy, either, his soul be damned.

  His mind spun with what to say, how to proceed. He had to introduce doubt into the king’s mind to save himself and Elizabeth. “Who saw this attack? Any here? How do ye know this is the truth of what happened?” He had certainly not commanded the rebellion to begin this way.

  “Gloucester!” the king snarled. “Tell him what your man saw.”

  Robert flinched. Gloucester had said he was loyal to Robert, and if there was ever a moment to prove it, it would be now. Gloucester stepped forward and looked warily at the king and then sorrowfully at Robert. The man had goodness in him. Robert knew Gloucester would not wish to cause harm to Robert or Elizabeth, but he was obviously in his own precarious position.

  “Wallace did not give the order,” Gloucester said.

  “Lies!” The king narrowed his gaze upon Gloucester. “Have you, too, fallen in with the Scots? I’ll have your head this day! Wallace is a foul beast; he ordered women and children from the camp cut down, as well.”