Surrender to the Scot

by Emma Prince

  “Finn!” Elaine launched herself at him, uncaring of either his injuries or her own.

  “Lainey!” His eyes widened in shock just before she reached him for a hard hug. “Where the bloody hell have ye been? The Bruce told me ye’ve been gone since I went after de Brechin.”

  She drew back, sobering. “I went to France to warn the envoy about de Soules.”

  His battered features darkened and he opened his mouth to deliver what Elaine was sure would be a blistering lecture, but before he could speak, the Bruce interjected.

  “I want to hear the rest of it. How did ye managed to reach France and find the envoy?”

  Once everyone was seated, with Elaine in her own chair this time instead of Jerome’s lap, she picked up the story. She explained how she’d secured passage on the Bonny Berta, and Captain MacDougal’s kind treatment of her. Jerome told of how she’d arrived in Calais at nearly the same moment as King Philip, and that they’d taken on the act of being lovers for the King’s benefit.

  At that, Finn cast a narrow-eyed glare at Jerome, but Jerome continued on, describing how Elaine had apprised him of what she’d overheard, and their shared suspicions about de Soules. He spoke of their journey to Paris, and how they’d caught de Soules slipping away. When he explained Lady Vivienne’s revelation about de Soules being seen on Edward Balliol’s estate, the Bruce jerked forward in his chair.

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered.

  “Aye,” Jerome replied. “That was when Elaine devised the plan to coerce information out of Balliol about the plot against ye, Robert.” He turned warm eyes on Elaine and she felt her chest swell with pride.

  Elaine explained how Lady Vivienne had helped them detain de Soules in France, and that Kieran had taken charge of the mission to deliver the declaration. When she described their meeting with Balliol, the Bruce muttered a few more choice curses under his breath.

  “Bloody bastard,” he said. “Damn pretender, thinking he deserves my place just because he’s willing to sit on King Edward’s lap.”

  “We believe Balliol is merely a puppet in this scheme, as his father was before him,” Jerome said gravely. “He was chosen as yer replacement because he would have acquiesced to the demands of English-sympathizing nobles like de Brechin and de Soules. They were the true masterminds behind this plot.”

  “But when we learned that they didn’t just mean to dethrone you, but assassinate you, we returned to Scotland as fast as we could,” Elaine went on. She explained their plan to reach Scone, but that de Brechin and his men had attacked them and taken them hostage.

  “De Brechin said he’d been waiting for word from de Soules when he spotted us instead,” Jerome said. “He vowed to kill Elaine unless I carried out the assassination, since he couldnae show his face near the palace anymore. I agreed to do his bidding on the promise that he wouldnae hurt Elaine.”

  Elaine looked down to find Jerome gripping the arms of his chair so hard that his knuckles had turned white. She caught Finn eyeing Jerome once more, but instead of a frown, he wore an assessing look, and his dark eyes shone with guarded respect.

  “His men brought me here and warned me that if I failed, they’d send word to de Brechin and Elaine would be killed. My only hope was to make it seem as though I’d attempted to stab ye, Robert, and cause enough chaos and uncertainty that Elaine would be safe. But then she was here.”

  He turned to Elaine then, searching her with his gaze. “How did ye do it, lass? How did ye escape?”

  She felt both the Bruce and Finn’s eyes lock on her as well. She drew in a steadying breath.

  “De Brechin thought me naught more than a weak girl. He assumed he could handle me on his own. He was wrong.”

  Memories of her fear, of de Brechin’s hands on her, and then his sightless eyes and all the blood everywhere, made her shudder and squeeze her eyes shut for a long moment. But then she willed herself to continue. “I managed to free my hands and stab him in the neck. We struggled, but I bested him. He is…” She had to swallow before going on. “He is dead.”

  Jerome’s warm, gentle hand closed over hers, and she looked up to find his dark eyes full of emotion.

  “Ye are the bravest woman I’ve ever kenned,” he said softly.

  The chamber fell silent for a long moment before Elaine managed to go on. “I found my way to the palace just in time to see your guards take Jerome down, sire.”

  Jerome frowned, turning back to the Bruce. “Ye said ye’d surmised that there would be an assassination attempt, Robert. How?”

  “When my men found Finn in the woods, he insisted that de Brechin was close, which made both of us suspect that some sort of attack was imminent.”

  “I might have been able to stop him before all this if ye hadnae insisted on dragging me back here,” Finn growled.

  The Bruce cocked a russet eyebrow at him. “Ye were closer to dead than alive when my men came upon ye,” he replied. “A simple thank ye for saving yer life, setting that arm of yers, and giving ye food, water, and shelter would suffice.”

  Finn muttered something under his breath that the Bruce pretended not to hear. He returned his gaze to Jerome and Elaine.

  “Regardless, de Brechin’s presence in the area had us prepared for a strike—hence all my guards at the ready just outside the hall. But what were ye shouting about a lion, man?” he asked.

  Jerome quickly explained what Balliol had said about de Soules’s saying, the jeweled dagger, and the lion symbols he’d seen on three of the nobles in the hall.

  The Bruce’s face grew darker with each word. When Jerome finished, the King pounded his fist against the arm of his chair.

  “Even though they’ve failed, their very existence—and right in my midst, no less—is an assault against my reign. I’ll weed out every last one of the bastards, I vow it. This madness cannae go unpunished.”

  “What will ye do?” Finn asked quietly, all seriousness now.

  “As we speak, my guards are gathering those who were in the hall tonight,” the Bruce replied. “With yer help, Jerome, we’ll identify the three ye saw earlier and determine if there were more present this eve.” He stroked his russet and gray beard in thought for a moment. “With the threat of a public drawing and quartering over their heads, I imagine a few will turn on their compatriots and give up any other names.”

  “What of de Soules?” Jerome murmured.

  “I’ll send word to Avignon instructing Kieran to fetch de Soules from Paris on his return from delivering the declaration. Kieran will bring him to Scone—as a prisoner of the Scottish crown under charges of treason. We’ll see what he has to say for himself when he arrives.”

  “And Balliol?” Elaine ventured. “What will you do about him?”

  The Bruce clucked his tongue in annoyance. “If the man is aught like his father, the moment he realizes the plot has fallen through, he’ll seek refuge with King Edward. Unless I want to march all the way to London for his head, I’m afraid we’ll have to ignore him for the time being.”

  “If that is all, Robert, I would have the healer see to Lainey and let the lass rest,” Finn said, eyeing her.

  Elaine glanced down at herself to find her gray wool gown covered in dirt and blood. Her wrists were chafed from the rope and her arms ached dully where de Brechin had stabbed her. She imagined that her face was tear-stained and drawn with exhaustion as well.

  “Aye, of course,” the Bruce replied, giving Elaine a somber nod. “Yer King and country owe a great debt to ye, lass—to both of ye. I willnae soon forget all ye’ve done for me.”

  Pushing himself from his chair, the Bruce fixed Jerome with a measuring look. “If ye are up to it, I’d have ye begin assessing my guests right away. The thought of traitors in my midst is making me twitchy.”

  “There is one more thing, Robert,” Jerome said. He took Elaine’s hand in his and drew in a breath. “I’d like yer permission to marry this woman.”

  Elaine felt her eyes go round. Aye, she’d ag
reed to marry Jerome if they made it through this alive, but she hadn’t expected him to take the first possible opportunity to pursue the matter. Her heart did a little flip in her chest.

  The Bruce, too, blinked in surprise. He opened his mouth, but to Elaine’s shock, Finn spoke before the King could.

  “I give ye my blessing,” he said evenly. “In truth, it is yer father’s place to do so, Lainey, but I dinnae mind speaking in his stead to say that Jerome Munro is a good man worthy of ye—that is, if ye’ll have him.”

  Her vision blurring with happy tears, she turned to Jerome. “Aye,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I will.”

  Epilogue

  Late July, 1320

  Two months later

  Scone, Scotland

  “Kieran MacAdams approaches, sire!”

  Jerome’s head snapped up at the guard’s announcement. His gaze met Elaine’s across the King’s table on the raised dais. All thoughts of the trade agreement with France they’d been discussing with the Bruce over the morning meal fled.

  Elaine’s bright, excited eyes reflected his thoughts. Kieran brought William de Soules with him—which meant the last conspirator against the Bruce would finally face justice.

  And they would finally be wed.

  A few days after de Brechin’s thwarted assassination attempt, Finn returned to Trellham Keep to allow his arm to heal and to be with Rosamond when she delivered their bairn—another healthy boy to join Rand. But the Bruce had requested that Elaine and Jerome remain at Scone to assist him in the process of hunting down and questioning those who’d been involved in the plot.

  The three guests Jerome had seen that night at the feast, along with Orrin and the other two men who’d served de Brechin, had all been taken into the King’s custody. The nobles were Sir John Logie, Sir Gilbert Malherbe, and Countess Agnes of Strathearn. The Countess had immediately come undone under the threat of being drawn and quartered. In exchange for a life of imprisonment rather than death, she’d turned over Sir Richard Broun and Roger Mowbray, as well as a few lesser nobles.

  All the co-conspirators were land owners who’d once supported Balliol and English control over Scotland instead of the Bruce. When the Bruce had come into power, they’d all reluctantly pledged their fealty to him, and he’d willingly forgiven their past opposition. Yet despite several of the traitors’ public support of the Bruce—some had even attached their seals of approval to the Declaration of Arbroath—they’d secretly turned against him, imagining they’d been passed over for more lands and titles. Greed was a powerful poison.

  Roger Mowbray, who had already been ailing, died in the King’s custody. The others remained locked in Scone’s dungeon, awaiting the Bruce’s final judgement.

  But with the matter unresolved until de Soules, the conspiracy’s architect, could be brought to Scone, the Bruce had requested that Elaine and Jerome hold off on their nuptials so that they could remain focused on fully unraveling the plot against him. Elaine had also wished to delay their wedding until Rosamond was recovered enough to travel with the whole family to Scone for the event.

  The waiting had been torture. Now that Elaine held Jerome’s heart, and he hers, he wanted naught more than to bind them together before the eyes of God, the King, and Elaine’s family. Luckily, the Bruce and all those in the palace had turned a blind eye to the fact that Elaine had stolen off to Jerome’s chamber every night for the last two months.

  Yet Kieran’s arrival with de Soules in tow would put an end to all their clandestine meetings. Jerome would finally be able to say that he had the bravest, boldest, bonniest wife in all of Scotland.

  But first de Soules had to be dealt with.

  The Bruce ordered the great hall emptied except for Elaine, Jerome, and a handful of guards. Their meal was cleared away, as were the other tables and benches below the dais.

  Just as the last of the servants slipped out, the double doors opened and in strode Kieran, pulling a bound William de Soules by the arm after him.

  Never one for formalities, Kieran sketched a faint bow to the King, then unceremoniously shoved de Soules to his knees before the dais.

  “As requested, sire,” Kieran said. “The traitor.”

  Gone were de Soules’s obsequious, overwrought manners and in their place was a defiant sneer. His once-fine clothes were tattered and stained, yet even on his knees, and even after his spectacular failure, his brown eyes burned with hatred as he stared up at the Bruce.

  “Do ye have aught to say for yerself, man?” the Bruce asked evenly.

  De Soules spat on the ground. “Ye may have won this battle, but the war is far from over. There are others like me, others who are tired of kissing the hem of a pretender-King, and when they rise again—”

  “Oh, aye,” the Bruce cut in. “Havenae ye heard? Nay, I suppose ye wouldnae have. We’ve already apprehended all yer co-conspirators.”

  As the Bruce began rattling off the names of the others they’d captured, de Soules’s eyes grew wider and wider in disbelief.

  “And the lass here killed yer friend David de Brechin with her bare hands,” the Bruce added blithely, gesturing toward Elaine. She stared at de Soules with the closest thing to hate Jerome had ever seen in her vibrant eyes.

  “Nay,” de Soules hissed. He shot Elaine a detestable look. It took all of Jerome’s self-restraint to keep from vaulting over the table and pummeling de Soules into oblivion just for laying eyes on her.

  “Aye,” the Bruce countered calmly. “In a matter of days, I am set to pass final judgement on them all.”

  “Some are already calling it the Black Parliament,” Jerome commented, fixing a hard stare on de Soules. “For death promises to be the outcome for those who would seek to assassinate their King.”

  De Soules’s eyes darted from Jerome to the Bruce. “Ye can kill me, but it will only serve to make me a martyr in the eyes of those who sympathize with me.”

  The Bruce waved as if de Soules’s threat was naught more than the buzzing of a midge.

  “Oh, the others will receive a traitor’s death—except for Agnes of Strathearn, who turned so quickly on the others. But I’m inclined no’ to grant ye the same fate.”

  De Soules lifted his chin defiantly, but Jerome didn’t miss the fact that he swallowed hard.

  “Aye,” the Bruce continued evenly. “I’m inclined to make an example of ye instead. But no’ by displaying yer entrails in a public execution or mounting yer head on a pike outside Scone.”

  He leaned forward, his tone sharpening. “Nay, I think I’ll let ye live. That way, every day ye sit in my dungeon will serve as a reminder of yer failure to best me. Every breath ye draw will be a token of my perseverance. Ye’ll become an example to others who think to cross me—and yer punishment will be to remember yer ruin for the rest of yer long life.”

  “Nay,” de Soules breathed again. He stared in disbelief at the King, who motioned to two of the guards to remove de Soules. As the guards began dragging him from the hall, he screamed at the Bruce, alternating between curses and pleas, until the doors closed behind him and the hall fell silent.

  The Bruce let a long breath go. “That was more satisfying than I’d imagined,” he said. He gave himself a little shake and fixed his attention on Kieran, growing sober once more. “What news from France?”

  Kieran clasped his hands behind his back. “We successfully delivered the Declaration of Arbroath to the Pope,” he began. “Thanks to Bishop Kininmund, who spoke on yer behalf, sire, the Pope seemed receptive to reversing course and acknowledging Scotland as sovereign from England.”

  The Bruce slapped the arm of his chair, a wide grin breaking out behind his beard. “Excellent!”

  “In fact, the Pope asked Bishop Kininmund to remain in Avignon to discuss the role of the Scottish Church in yer efforts for freedom. And he indicated that he would be writing to King Edward to urge him to cease his war against Scotland once and for all.”

  “That is better than I�
�d let myself hope for,” the Bruce said, shaking his head in amazement.

  “I would have remained longer, too, but when yer missive about the attack against ye reached me, I made haste for Paris,” Kieran said. “Apparently word of the assassination attempt traveled just as swiftly as yer missive, for when I reached the French court, King Philip had already secured de Soules in his dungeon. If it makes ye feel better for allowing the man to live, Vivienne, the lady-in-waiting who aided us, kept de Soules drugged and miserable for nearly a fortnight before the King finally learned of his role in the attempted coup and locked him away.”

  “Aye, that is a pleasant thought,” the Bruce mused.

  Kieran’s mouth quirked into a wry smile before he returned to his serious demeanor. “By the time I passed through Picardy with de Soules, Balliol had already fled to England.”

  The Bruce nodded. “Aye, he is said to be at Westminster hiding behind King Edward’s robes.”

  “King Philip was none too pleased to learn that the pretender had sheltered in France and that treasonous plotting against his ally had taken place on his soil. He has seized all of Balliol’s land, as well as de Soules’s, and is even considering rescinding King Edward’s French titles and lands for harboring Balliol.” Kieran shrugged. “Philip is eager to show ye that he counts ye as a friend, sire, and that yer alliance remains strong.”

  “I never doubted Philip,” the Bruce replied. “I’ll write to him immediately to let him hear it from me.”

  “There is…one final matter I wish to discuss with ye, sire.” Suddenly Kieran’s normally confident air was replaced with hesitancy.

  The Bruce frowned. “What is it?”

  “Given the fact that de Soules fomented his plot no’ only in Scotland but also on French soil, King Philip is determined to ensure that if any of the man’s sympathizers remain in France, he’ll weed them out. Still, Lady Vivienne’s role in incapacitating de Soules is now public knowledge in court. If any of de Soules’s co-conspirators still lurk in France, she could become a target for helping ye.”