“De Beauchamp!” Robert bellowed. He had been broken, but by Christ, he’d not let them break his wife.
He came to her door, blind with fury, and kicked it open, stopping short at the scene before him. De Beauchamp lay face up, clothed, on the bed snoring, and Elizabeth was crouched on her haunches, her gown torn and her golden hair in wild disarray.
Robert swallowed and swallowed again, his tongue not working when he tried to speak. She stared at him blankly, as if she could not comprehend that he was there. What in Christ’s name had happened to her? Blood smeared the front of her gown, and she clutched her dagger in her hand, its blade red with blood. Robert scanned her, searching for the source of the blood and saw her hand had been cut.
“Elizabeth?” he forced out, willing his mind and heart to slow.
She frowned at him but did not answer. Instead, she pressed one hand to her bent knee and the other, still clutching the dagger, pointed between de Beauchamp’s legs.
“Did he—Did he ravage ye, lass?”
Her blue gaze snapped back to him and seemed to clear. Then her eyes widened, as if she only just realized who he was. She did not move from her crouched position, however. “No,” she said, her voice steady. “He planned to, though. He made it seem as if I came up here willingly with him, too.” Her voice broke mid-sentence. “Your people hate me more than they already did.” She glanced back at de Beauchamp and ran her blade lightly down his thigh, not even hard enough to make a cut.
“What are ye doing, lass?” Robert took a step toward her, but she did not appear to notice.
“I thought to cut off his wee willy,” she said, motioning between his legs with her dagger. “But I don’t think I can do it. Yet, if I don’t, I fear he will ravage me when he has me alone again. And then there is the king…”
“The king?” Robert asked, stepping close enough now that the side of the bed brushed his leg.
She glanced at him, frowning. “Well yes, the king. His coffers are low, and he needs de Beauchamp’s coin. The king may take me away from you forever if I cut off de Beauchamp’s willy.” She drew her eyes to him, and the tears that filled them almost brought him to his knees.
“Mo ghraidh,” he choked out between his grief and rage. He moved toward her on the bed, but she skittered away before he could grasp her. Tears slid down her face, but she did not wipe them away.
“Don’t touch me,” she whispered.
He moved closer but held his hands up. “Why?”
“Because then I will know I’ve conjured you in my most desperate moment. If you keep your distance, you will stay here before me, and maybe, maybe I will find the strength to go on.”
“Ah, Christ, Elizabeth.” He pulled her to him gently, and when she tried to squirm away, he pressed his mouth to her neck and brushed a kiss along her smooth skin, which smelled faintly of heather and soap. “I’m here now. I’m nae a ghost.”
“Robert?” she asked on a sob, her lips coming to his chest, his throat, his jaw, and then his mouth. She pulled back and ran her fingers over the stubble on his jaw, her touch soothing the open wounds on his heart. “Oh, Robert! I want to cry!”
“Ye are crying, lass.” He brushed her tears away with his thumb.
“I am?” She swiped a hand across her face, a look of astonishment coming over her. “I swore to myself I would not shed another tear until you returned to me, and then they would be tears of joy.”
“Well,” he replied, finally taking the dagger out of her hand, and then kissing her palm, which had been cut, “I’m verra relieved to hear that ye would feel joy upon my return. I feared ye would nae.”
“No?” She gave him a bewildered look. “Why?”
He traced the length of the cut on her hand and then stole a look at the still-snoring de Beauchamp. There was much to discuss, but first they had to deal with de Beauchamp. Elizabeth was right that the king likely would not have taken her side, but Robert knew the perfect way to repay de Beauchamp for what the devil would have done to his wife.
He cupped Elizabeth’s chin. “I failed ye, that is why. But I vow de Beauchamp will suffer. Ye had a good thought, actually, but I do nae think we need to take it quite that far. Why does he sleep?” Robert asked, hoping she had given him something that would last for a while.
“Catarine gave me a draught to slip to him.”
“Excellent. Likely it will last, then. Ye wait here.”
“No!” she cried out and scrambled toward him. “I’ll not be separated from you when you only just returned. What are you planning?”
“One of the guards I traveled with has a reputation for being talented in causing pain.”
“Will the guard not be fearful the king will punish him?”
“Nay. He’s a Highlander. He does nae fear the king. He is a mercenary the king hired to keep guard over me.”
Horror stole across her features. “Did you learn of his reputation firsthand?”
“Nay.” He kissed the crease between her brows to ease her worry, though his own memories of the months gone by strangled him suddenly. “He demonstrated on some of my countrymen who were captured. One man in particular, I’ll nae forget. Dougall took one of the man’s bollocks. Sliced it clean off.”
She cringed. “And why would he help you now?”
“Coin, of course. But I also suspect, he may be turned to the Scottish cause. We shall see.”
As he rose from the bed, she came with him. “What if de Beauchamp awakens before we return?”
Robert glanced around the room for something he could use to tie up the man. All that would be helpful were the blankets de Beauchamp was lying on. He explained his plan to Elizabeth, and together, they rolled de Beauchamp over, removed the covers, tied the man to the bed, and gagged him so he could not call for aid. Once they were done, they took the stairs and then the back passages to the quarters where the guards slept.
Robert gently pushed Elizabeth partially behind him, as he knocked and waited for Dougall to answer the door.
The man threw the door open, his blue eyes flicking immediately past Robert to Elizabeth. “Is she a gift?” the man asked, a smile curving his lips.
“Nay,” Robert said, scowling at the man. “She’s my wife.”
“Wives can still be gifts,” Dougall said with a wink at Elizabeth.
Robert whipped out his dagger and set the point to Dougall’s throat. “Nae my wife.”
Dougall shrugged. “Understood. Why do ye seek me out, then? I’d have thought ye would be sick of my company.”
“I am,” Robert admitted. “But I have a particular problem I’d like to pay ye to take care of.” He quickly told the man what de Beauchamp had tried to do and how Robert wanted to give him a warning by taking one of his bollocks. When he finished, he said, “Well? Are ye willing to aid me?”
“Aye,” Dougall replied, his voice hard and menacing. “But ye dunnae need to give me coin, Bruce. I have a special dislike for a man who would take a woman unwilling.”
“I do, as well,” Elizabeth murmured at Robert’s shoulder, her head popping around from behind him. He brought her forward to his side and slid his arm around her waist.
“Dunnae fash yerself, lass. When it is over, the man will ken that if he so much as looks at ye again, he will lose more than just one of his bollocks. I’ve but one question.” Dougall’s gaze swung to Robert.
“Aye?” Robert asked.
“Why do ye nae do this yerself? She’s yer woman.”
“Ye misunderstand me,” Robert said, picturing de Beauchamp trying to ravage his wife. “I am going to do it. I want ye there so that I do nae kill him. I can nae be certain that I’ll control my anger, and Elizabeth is nae strong enough to hold me back.”
“Ah,” said Dougall. “Spoken like a true Scot. I’m yer man, Bruce.”
Robert made no noise when he entered the darkness of their bedchamber. She immediately felt his presence in the room, an intensity, a spark in the air that surrounded her. He an
d Dougall had departed the castle earlier to carry a half-conscious and very fearful de Beauchamp from her bedchamber to relieve the man of his bollock. She had opted not to watch.
“Are ye awake, Elizabeth?” The concern and love in his voice warmed her.
“Yes. Just lying here waiting.”
The air whispered as he moved across the room, and something dropped softly to the floor. Then the bed creaked, and he curled the full length of his body around her, flesh to flesh, pulling her to him, molding them as one. He must have rid himself of his clothing as he had moved toward her. She had done the same when she had lain down, in the hopes that if she did somehow miraculously fall asleep, he would take her nakedness as a sign to wake her.
Her belly clenched as he splayed his fingers across the sensitive skin there while kissing her shoulder. His scratchy whiskers caused gooseflesh to sweep her body.
“I called up yer smell when the stench of blood became too great in battle,” he said, burying his nose in her neck, his chest rising against her as he inhaled.
“Do you want to talk of it?” She slid her hand over his strong thigh, rounded his hip, and then found his backside. The muscles there were tensed—wanting, waiting.
“Later, aye? Elizabeth, I’ve a storm within me.”
She could hear the fear in his voice. Pushing her bottom into his groin with a moan, she said, “I’m not afraid of storms, Robert.”
“Ye’re certain?” he asked, his voice hesitant, but his hand was already between her thighs, searching, finding, parting.
She arched into him on a hiss of pleasure, and it was the answer he must have needed. He moved with swiftness, rolling her onto her back and looming over her. Desire and love lit his eyes as he clutched her by the hips, lifted her, and filled her. He groaned as he slid slowly in and out of her, the friction created nearly unbearable in its bliss. She grasped him by his upper arms, a desperate attempt to maintain a hold on some control, but as he moved faster, and the pressure and need inside of her built, her control slipped. Her thoughts centered on him, the way his body rocked within her, the bed creaking as they moved, how they were learning each other once more and filling the gashes on their souls with pleasure so great that the release made her scream with abandon.
Much later, after the storm within him had calmed and he held Elizabeth in his arms, he got out of bed to light a fire. The room had a chill to it, but the fire was as much to warm them as to see her expression when he spoke to her. When he got back in bed, they lay down on their sides, facing, fingers entwined between them. She had changed, both physically and emotionally, in the long span of time they had been separated. Her face had thinned, accentuating her cheekbones, and her eyes held a fathomless weariness. It was the latter that made him want to cry shamefully like a bairn.
“Tell me,” she demanded, her tone fierce. This also showed how she had changed. There was a steel within her that was no longer hinted at as before; now it was a prominent part of her. She had become hard, almost like a warrior. He could not be saddened by that, only by the truth that she would likely need it to survive.
He squeezed her hand gently. “What have ye become embroiled in because of marrying me?” The question was more to himself than her, but she laughed and pressed a soft palm to his cheek.
“As if I had a choice.”
“Do ye mean because of yer father and Edward?”
“No, foolish man. I mean because of you. I married you out of love. You did not embroil me in anything; I did so myself. Now tell me what has happened to you. You seem like the shore after a storm—still there but worn down and changed.”
“Ye seem the same,” he said rather than burden her with all the horrors he’d endured and all that were left.
Her narrowing eyes warned that she would not have it. “You cannot hold back from me, Robert. I must know what we face.”
“I want to protect ye.”
She nodded. “And when I need it, I will ask. But presently, I wish you to remove the wall you are putting between us.”
She had a particular ability to strike at his heart. It squeezed within him, though he had vowed after the day he’d let his emotions flood him in the forest at Edinburgh, when he’d seen the child, that he’d never allow emotion to overcome his control again. “I need a buffer, or I can nae do what I must.”
“Robert.” His name was a sigh on her lips. “I’m your buffer. Don’t you see by now?”
He did, and that was the problem. He could not use her so, but he knew she would not relent. Perhaps if he told her pieces of his pain, she would be satisfied.
“My own people think me a traitor. Edward made it seem so. He crowed in every village he conquered how I had aided him every step of the way. He has my brothers Thomas and Alexander, and he threatened to send ye from me forever unless I offered better aid to his cause.”
“Oh, Robert!” She reached for him, and he drew back, hating himself for hurting her, but the problem was he truly did hate himself now. He had tried to save his country, and he had failed.
“I’m in Hell,” he said, his words rougher than he had intended. But he found the more he revealed to her, the harder it became to hide all that hounded him. “I have all but failed, and Edward has all but won. Wallace is in hiding with his men. Comyn is defeated. One will nae ever surrender, and the other has surrendered to save his lands.” He laughed bitterly. “I do nae even find joy in my most bitter enemy being taken down, for with his fall goes Scotland’s. I intended to lift it with my hands, but I can nae, by Christ—” He slammed his fist between them. “I can nae find purchase to free my country from Edward’s chains. Would that I would ever be king, what a sorry king I would be.”
“That’s not true,” she said, her own tone harsh. “You would be a king for all kings. But you are also a man, Robert. You could not turn a blind eye to your brothers being killed or my being swept away to only God knows where, and you did as a man would—your best!”
She did not see, or she could not. He cupped her face, the storm within him roiling. “I can nae ever be king if I allow myself to think like a man, feel like a man.” He had realized it after the horror in Edinburgh, and the knowledge had grown every moment he stayed locked under Edward’s control. He had not meant to share this with her, but he could not hold it back now. “I have made decisions with my heart for the welfare of ye and my brothers, for the love of ye all, and for this, for allowing myself to feel, thousands upon thousands who have looked to me and my family to free Scotland have suffered. I can nae allow myself to be soft, or I will nae be as ruthless as I need to be to lead Scotland to victory. Do ye see now?”
“No.” The absolute conviction in her voice made him flinch. “No,” she said again, pressing her palm to his heart. “If you fail to feel with this, then you will be no better than Edward.”
He covered her hand with his own. “Edward’s lands are free,” he said, tortured. “His people are free.”
“He considers you and me his, Robert. Are we free?”
He did not answer, because she was right. Yet so was he…
He could not see the way. To be a leader meant to risk those he loved the most, but how could he do that?
Chapter Twenty-Four
They were held at Kildrummy as guarded guests. Though the Scottish nobility had surrendered, and Scotland was considered virtually conquered by Edward, the king was still wary of Robert and ordered him guarded and Elizabeth as well. Robert was now with her, but at the same time, he was not. It was as if he was slowly drifting away. She saw it every day, but she had no notion how to stop it or if he was even aware of it. Time passed, their nights filled with passion, but he stewed during the waking hours. Relentlessly, day after day, he trained with his sword with Dougall, luckily one of the guards assigned to watch them.
While watching Robert as he trained one day, Elizabeth found herself wishing she were Dougall. Robert seemed more at ease with the man he battled than he did with her lately.
That night in bed, she tried once more to talk to him. “Robert?” She laid her palm against his warm, bare chest. “What will you do? Will you continue the rebellion?”
Robert’s answer was to kiss her, but she gently pushed him back, knowing he was avoiding her question. “Robert?”
“What do ye wish me to say?” he asked, agitated. “Shall I say I will continue the rebellion, rouse the people who are still loyal to me, and allow the king to kill Thomas and Alexander and take ye from me? Could I even get away if I wanted to?” She sucked in a sharp breath at the torment she heard in his tone. “Or should I say I will whittle my days away under the king’s thumb, no longer a man but an obedient dog.”
Her heart ached for him. There was no easy path, only ones that led to danger and more death. She was not even entirely certain what she thought he should do. “I’m sorry.”
“Aye.” He sighed. “I know it, lass. I do nae talk of it because I do nae see what to do. Neither choice I have is a good one. Only in yer arms at night, when I lose myself in ye, do I find a moment of peace.”
“Then come,” she whispered. “I will give you refuge for as long as you need it.”
The days passed like this until a summons came from Edward. They were to appear in court to witness the most important members of Scottish nobility pay homage to the king. After receiving the news, Robert rode out to a cliff with Dougall, and they were gone all day. When they returned, tension seemed to vibrate from her husband, and she could feel that a turning point was coming. But neither of his options were ideal. If he stood by and did nothing, he would still protect her and his brothers, yet he would likely grow to resent them and hate himself. Or he could lead the people of Scotland in revolution once more. She thought it likely only he could. Comyn was not well-liked, especially since the terms he had agreed to for Wallace had been made known.
If Robert chose to throw off the cloak of homage and face Edward once more in battle, would her husband change? Would he harden his heart to her completely, and would the Robert she had fallen in love with be lost to her forever? She could not sleep or eat for worry that he would not see the path where he could be king and still allow himself to love. Yes, it would mean he would risk those he loved, but she would rather that than his submission to Edward.
Outlaw King Page 30
