Outlaw King

by Julie Johnstone

  “Do you?” she asked, her voice a throaty whisper. It was all she could manage with her pulse throbbing so quickly. “Is that all you love about me?” she teased as he drew circles over the dips he had mentioned.

  “Nay, Wife.” He nuzzled her neck as he turned her toward the windowed alcove. He set the edge of her bottom on the ledge that protruded, and the cool night breeze washed over her back as his hands came to her breasts. “I love how silky yer skin is,” he growled, tracing her right breast. “Even my calloused fingers glide over it, and I can nae help but think of melons.”

  “Melons?” She gasped as his fingers did wicked things to her breasts.

  “Aye,” he said, his lips coming to one breast and then the other, a well-planned strategy of seduction. Within moments, she was groaning, her body humming, and her need escalating. She dug her nails into his back, feeling as if she was spinning out of control. “I love yer scent,” he continued. “Here—” he traced his tongue across her neck “—ye smell of heather. But here—” he grasped her wrists and pressed a kiss to them “—there is a scent I do nae know, but it’s spicy.”

  “Oil,” she panted. “From one of my father’s travels.”

  His gaze flicked to her, and he smiled devilishly. “I will have to get some of this oil to rub all over yer body.”

  “That might make me rather slippery,” she managed to get out.

  “Now ye have the idea,” he said, running a single finger from her wrist, down her arm, to her hip, over her belly, and between her thighs. His other hand came to her right thigh and suddenly both of his hands were there, spreading her legs. “Here,” he said, his tone husky, “ye smell of woman, and I can nae think of a better scent in the world than that which is uniquely yers.”

  The tension within her, the contracting of her core muscles made her mad with need for him. She twined her legs around him once more and grabbed his hips to tug him closer. “I want you, Robert.”

  “Oh, aye?” he asked, teasing in his voice. “Then ye shall have me.”

  And with that promise, he gripped her bottom, heaved her up off the ledge, and slid his body into hers. They were two halves of a whole, flawed and jagged along their edges, yet somehow they fit together perfectly. His body was hot, slick, and smelled of the forest they had traveled through to get here. Under her fingers, the muscles of his back strained as his arms held her tightly, kept her safe and protected from enemies, protected from a fall. Heat engulfed her thighs where they rubbed with his body, and the flame spread to her belly, her breasts, her neck, and her face. His movement within her created a delicious friction that stoked the blaze within her, but she wanted to prolong the moment, the tiny fear that it may be their last in her head.

  His hands clamped her to him, and he moved with delicious strokes that offered no quarter but demanded release of her fear and submission to the moment. She cried out as he ground deeper into her, and his own buttocks flexed before a guttural cry was ripped from deep within him. Hearing and feeling his surrender to her, she joined him, and together, they blazed like a star across the sky.

  Later, as they lay there, she had a thought. “Robert, I will go with you tomorrow,” she said resolutely.

  “Elizabeth—”

  “No! You listen to me for once,” she said on a rush, determined to have her way in this. She glanced up at him and met his wary stare. “In my dream, we are never together and I see you stabbed, but I also see myself separately, learning that you have been injured. Don’t you see? If I am with you, then the dream cannot possibly come true.”

  She tensed, prepared to argue with him, but he surprised her by kissing her for a long moment. Then his hands slid down her body, and he stroked her. “We will talk of it in the morning,” he said. “Tonight is for loving ye.”

  She could not protest as his fingers expertly rekindled the flame that had been put out not long ago.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Robert entered Greyfriars Church with Angus, Fraser, and Nigel by his side and his loyal vassals waiting outside the door, mounted and prepared to fight to the death. Elizabeth’s dream of Comyn stabbing him was at the forefront of his mind, and then her face was there, peaceful in sleep as he had last seen her. She would be livid when she awoke, but it had to be this way. He would not risk her.

  Comyn turned to him, his eyes widening, the three men with Comyn drawing closer. “I was surprised when yer man said he were coming to Scotland,” he said, his voice uneasy. “I did nae expect to see ye here.”

  Robert’s heartbeat increased as the guilt on the man’s face became all too clear. “Where next did ye expect to see me? Tied by hand and foot as Wallace was? Perhaps ye expected to see me with a noose around my neck or my bowels hanging out? Ye have betrayed me,” he ground out. “Ye do nae have any honor.”

  Comyn’s hand dropped to the hilt of his dagger as his face mottled red. “Ye dare to accuse me of nae having honor? Ye who is Edward’s own ‘favored son’?”

  Robert clenched his teeth until his jaw ached. “Ye know well ye spout lies. I have worked tirelessly toward freeing our people, and ye would have seen me killed and my wife given to another man or sentenced to prison, perhaps.”

  Comyn spat at Robert’s feet. “I care naught about yer Irish whore, goddaughter to the king or nae. I may use her myself when ye are gone.”

  Robert sprang toward the man, intending to hit him with a fist, but then he saw a flash of steel in the sunlight as Comyn drew his dagger and slashed it toward Robert’s heart.

  Robert brought up his own dagger as the man barreled into him, and the blade plunged deep into Comyn’s chest. The man fell to the ground. At once, Comyn’s men and Nigel, Angus, and Fraser were fighting and the sound of clashing swords ran out. To Robert’s left, Nigel plunged a dagger into his opponent’s gut, and the man grabbed at his stomach as he fell forward. Robert threw a spare dagger to his brother, in case more enemies should pour into the room, and then he looked to his right toward Angus. Angus scuttled backward to avoid the man attacking him, but the man’s blade slashed across Angus’s chest, slicing his plaid, but not cutting Angus. With a roar, Angus lunged forward and drove his sword into his opponent’s heart. The man’s mouth parted in a gurgle of death at the same moment Fraser’s sword was knocked out of his hands and clattered to the ground. As the warrior before Fraser swung his sword for a killing blow, Robert struck the man’s sword with his own, relieving his enemy of his weapon, and then Angus knocked the man on the side of the head with the hilt of his dagger. The enemy crumbled before them, and his eyes fluttered shut. Silence once more swallowed the room.

  “Christ,” Robert said, looking down at the dead men, his gaze drawn finally to Comyn. “Christ,” he said again, numb with shock that Comyn had tried to kill him exactly as Elizabeth had predicted.

  His mind reeled with the implications of killing Comyn, though it was self-defense. He shuddered with worry for his country. He had wanted to unify the people to free themselves, but would this divide them even further? Comyn had enough supporters that if they joined forces and turned against Robert, Scotland would be leaderless still. And what of Lamberton? What would his friend say about the deaths this day on sacred ground? The church would align against Robert unless Lamberton could come to his aid, and the church was a most powerful enemy.

  “Robert?” Fraser’s voice broke through Robert’s frenzied thoughts. “What shall we do?”

  There was only one thing they could do. “Give word to the trumpeters to sound the horns of battle. Then we ride to Dumfries Castle.”

  The castle, which was held by the English, was just up the hill. He and his men had to attack, had to take Dumfries here and now for Scotland, and he had to name himself king. He just prayed the people would support him.

  He couldn’t worry on it long, however, as within moments, the horns were blasting and he was riding to war.

  Elizabeth awoke with a scream upon her lips. She had dreamed of death, smoke, and battle. Trembling,
she dressed quickly and raced into the nearly deserted courtyard, save Niall and Catarine, who were there practicing archery.

  “Elizabeth!” Catarine called, lowering her bow and racing across the courtyard after her.

  “How long has he been gone?” Elizabeth asked, her heart hammering.

  “Since before the sun was even in the sky,” Catarine said, her tone sympathetic. “He said to tell ye he was sorry, that he could nae, would nae, put ye in such danger.”

  Her anger toward him bubbled over, and yet she loved him for how he wanted to protect her. She only wanted to do the same for him. “I wish to go to Greyfriars Church. The meeting has to be well over. If Robert is wounded, if he needs me, I must be there for him now.”

  Catarine nodded and called to Niall. The man walked over, and Elizabeth said, “I wish to tend Robert if he is wounded.”

  Niall scowled. “Ye will need to tend me if I take ye to him, for he will surely try to kill me.”

  “Then I will tend you, as well, for I am riding to him. I vow I will stay well away if there is a battle,” she said, recalling her promise to Robert to do so.

  When Niall looked as if he would deny Elizabeth’s request, she said, “I will simply ride out alone if you will not take me.”

  Catarine hugged Elizabeth. “Nay. I will go with ye.”

  Niall groaned. “Ye will nae ride into the battle if one is occurring?”

  “I swear I will not,” she said, meaning it. She had given Robert her word, and she would not risk his thoughts being on her and not the battle.

  Finally, Niall acquiesced with a sigh.

  It did not take long to mount their horses, but the ride to Dumfries took hours. Elizabeth fretted all the way, and by the time they neared the castle, and saw thick smoke rising from the air, she felt as if a sort of madness was descending upon her. It took all of her restraint not to ride straight to the castle to find Robert.

  Elizabeth’s heart stuttered in her chest. “War,” she whispered hoarsely, knowing it to be true deep in her bones. “Robert is at war.”

  Niall nodded. “Come,” he said, “we can view it from the cliff that overlooks the castle.”

  The thought of seeing her husband fight for his life set ice in her heart, but the thought of not knowing was worse. She urged her horse into a gallop and soon was on the cliff that overlooked Dumfries Castle. What she saw below took her breath and shook her courage and resolve yet again not to ride into the battle to aid Robert. A sea of men fought all across the land, and fires raged along the countryside, their thick smoke filling the air. The sound of swords clanking pierced the air with one sharp hum after another. She frantically swept her gaze over the melee, looking for Robert.

  And then she saw him on his horse, swinging his sword. He cut down a man to his right, and then an enemy on his left knocked him from his destrier. She screamed as he fell, but when he came up, swung his sword, and plunged it into the gut of the man who had tried to kill him, she wept with relief. Men seemed to swarm him, and she lost him in the crowd once more. It wasn’t until many torturous moments later that she saw him again. He fought side by side with his men, battling the enemy back, until she realized with shock that the enemy had been beaten.

  The English knights who remained were now on their knees, and suddenly, Robert was holding up a banner. It was the treasured Lion Rampant, red on gold, the banner of the king of Scotland. Her breath hitched in her chest as the flag fluttered in the wind. She stood there unable to move as her husband swayed, and she feared he would fall from a wound. Then two thoughts clicked in her mind: he needed her, and the battle was over.

  She clucked her tongue and urged her horse around. She gave the horse a small kick and off they went, racing down the cliff toward her husband. As Elizabeth drew near, she could hear chanting in the air, but it was not until she was nearly upon him that she could make it out.

  Ahead of her, a trumpet sounded and a loud cry went up from all the gathered people. “God save King Robert!”

  She dismounted her horse, shoving through the mass of warriors to get to Robert, and as she wedged herself between two more men, she felt Robert’s gaze on her as if the sun had parted the darkness.

  Something intense flared in his eyes that made the pit of her stomach tingle. Then he was suddenly looking at her with eagerness and tenderness.

  “Are you vexed with me?” she asked as she walked toward him.

  He moved to come to her, too, but he staggered a bit. She hurried toward him, slipping her arm about his waist while he waved Angus off. Blood soaked Robert’s shirt, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

  “You’ve been stabbed,” she said, pressing her hand to the spot with tender care.

  “A flesh wound,” he assured her as he put his arm around her and looked down at her. They supported each other as they stood there. “Comyn is dead,” he continued, his wariness and disbelief obvious. “He tried to kill me, so I had to strike.”

  “My dream,” she said, shocking herself.

  “Aye. I believe ye were correct. Ye had a premonition about the future, I think. I was ready because of ye.”

  “You were ready, because you are Robert the Bruce,” she assured him.

  He smiled lovingly at her. “I have taken back Dumfries and declared myself king. I fear there will be grave repercussions for killing Comyn on sacred ground, though. I suppose I am an outlaw of sorts now, though I am king. Do ye—”

  “What?” she asked, sensing his disquiet.

  “Do ye think ye can love an outlaw king?”

  She laid her head against his shoulder, swaying slightly with him. Cheering men surrounded them. The noise was great, but as close as they were to each other, she knew Robert would hear her. “I love you as a woman with all my heart, whether you are king or beggar, outlaw or beloved citizen. You are the air I need to breathe, the wine to quench my thirst, the food to nourish my soul.”

  He cupped her cheek and brushed a kiss to her lips. “And I love ye like a man loves a woman who holds his heart in the palm of her hands—with complete, utter abandon.”

  The trumpets sounded again, and this time a new chant filled the air, her heart, and her soul. “God save Queen Elizabeth and King Robert!”

  They were free now, and though they would have to fight to stay that way, as long as they had each other, she was sure they would be victorious.

  Thank you so very much for reading Robert and Elizabeth’s story. I hope you enjoyed it. I’m currently working on the second book in RENEGADE SCOTS Series, HIGHLAND GUARD, which is Angus and Lillianna’s story. If you want a notification of when the next story will be available, you can sign up for my newsletter here: http://juliejohnstoneauthor.com/subscribe/.

  If you love Scottish romance, I think you might like my HIGHLANDER VOWS: ENTANGLED HEARTS series. Book 1 in the series is WHEN A LAIRD LOVES A LADY, and you can purchase it by clicking HERE, and start reading it with chapter one below.

  Chapter One

  England, 1357

  Faking her death would be simple. It was escaping her home that would be difficult. Marion de Lacy stared hard into the slowly darkening sky, thinking about the plan she intended to put into action tomorrow—if all went well—but growing uneasiness tightened her belly. From where she stood in the bailey, she counted the guards up in the tower. It was not her imagination: Father had tripled the knights keeping guard at all times, as if he was expecting trouble.

  Taking a deep breath of the damp air, she pulled her mother’s cloak tighter around her to ward off the twilight chill. A lump lodged in her throat as the wool scratched her neck. In the many years since her mother had been gone, Marion had both hated and loved this cloak for the death and life it represented. Her mother’s freesia scent had long since faded from the garment, yet simply calling up a memory of her mother wearing it gave Marion comfort.

  She rubbed her fingers against the rough material. When she fled, she couldn’t chance taking anything with her but the clothe
s on her body and this cloak. Her death had to appear accidental, and the cloak that everyone knew she prized would ensure her freedom. Finding it tangled in the branches at the edge of the sea cliff ought to be just the thing to convince her father and William Froste that she’d drowned. After all, neither man thought she could swim. They didn’t truly care about her anyway. Her marriage to the blackhearted knight was only about what her hand could give the two men. Her father, Baron de Lacy, wanted more power, and Froste wanted her family’s prized land. A match made in Heaven, if only the match didn’t involve her…but it did.

  Father would set the hounds of Hell themselves to track her down if he had the slightest suspicion that she was still alive. She was an inestimable possession to be given to secure Froste’s unwavering allegiance and, therefore, that of the renowned ferocious knights who served him. Whatever small sliver of hope she had that her father would grant her mercy and not marry her to Froste had been destroyed by the lashing she’d received when she’d pleaded for him to do so.

  The moon crested above the watchtower, reminding her why she was out here so close to mealtime: to meet Angus. The Scotsman may have been her father’s stable master, but he was her ally, and when he’d proposed she flee England for Scotland, she’d readily consented.

  Marion looked to the west, the direction from which Angus would return from Newcastle. He should be back any minute now from meeting his cousin and clansman Neil, who was to escort her to Scotland. She prayed all was set and that Angus’s kin was ready to depart. With her wedding to Froste to take place in six days, she wanted to be far away before there was even the slightest chance he’d be making his way here. And since he was set to arrive the night before the wedding, leaving tomorrow promised she’d not encounter him.