The King's Rebel

by Morrison, Michelle

  “Good mornin’ sweet Meggie,” he said as soon as he reached her.

  “And to you my bonny Will.”

  There were too many people in the hall for a stolen kiss, but their gazes caressed each other with longing.

  “I’ve no seen your father about. Is he no awake yet?” William had only to ask Oengus Innes for his daughter’s hand and the betrothal announcement could be made.

  Meghan glanced at the group of men who were breaking their fast at the head table. “Nay. But he never sleeps late. He won’t be long.”

  “In that case,” William said, pulling her into a shadowed alcove. “Let us bid a proper good mornin’.”

  Several minutes later, Meghan stepped out of the shadows and smoothed her hair. She touched her kiss-swollen lips and smiled. Aye, she’d best find her father soon.

  She crossed the great hall and was just about to ask one of the servants about her father when someone grabbed her arm and swung her around. Thinking it was William, she smiled in mock reproof. “I told you I must find–oh! Good mornin’ father.”

  Oengus Innes did not look like he was having a good morning, but, Meghan thought with an inward sigh, he had rarely smiled since the death of her brothers. Many a time she had wished she could rub the frown line from his brow, soothe the harsh creases at his mouth into lines of laughter. When she was a child and the rest of her family still lived, he had been a gruff but kind parent, quietly proud of his rather wild daughter and deeply devoted to his wife. He had withdrawn into an aloof shell when her mother died and he had grown bitter at losing not one, but two sons.

  Suddenly Meghan smiled as it occurred to her that she was about to give her father an heir just as strong and courageous and bonny as either of her brothers had been. Perhaps she and William could make Oengus’ old age content again with grandchildren. She opened her mouth to deliver the good news but Oengus stopped her.

  “Pack yer things,” he said in a harsh voice. “We leave within the hour.”

  Thinking he’d received urgent news from back home, Meghan clutched his arm. “Why, Da? What’s wrong?”

  Oengus pushed her hand from his arm. “I’ll no be forced to hear folk sayin’ a daughter o’ mine has become the whore of a Bruce.”

  “What? Father, what are you saying?” Meghan shook her head as if her ears were full of wool and she’d not heard right.

  “Ye heard me!” Oengus’s voice rose and several people in the hall turned to stare. Scowling back at them, Oengus grabbed her arm and hauled her to the side of the hall.

  “Father, you’re making no sense. There’s not a member of the Bruce family would dare show his face at this gathering. Earl Seamus is a known supporter of the Comyn clan.”

  “No any longer, apparently.”

  Meghan raked her fingers through her hair as if it were as tangled as her thoughts. Suddenly her father’s earlier words rang loudly in her mind.

  Anger overcame her confusion and filled her voice. “What’s more, father, I’m no man’s whore, be he a Bruce or otherwise. How dare you accuse me of such wickedness?”

  “I shall speak to ye any way I please for I’m yer father, though I’m loath to admit such today. That man,” he said, pointing across the hall. “Black William they call him. He is cousin to Robert the Bruce and no doubt just as cowardly and scheming as his kin.”

  “What? Father you’re mistaken. Aye, William is his name, but–“

  ”Damn ye girl! There’s no mistakin’ it. If ye dinna recognize his plaid, ask him yerself. Then fetch yer things. Ye’ve made me the laughin’ stock already. I’ll no have ye drag my name through the mud any longer.”

  Meghan grabbed at his tunic in desperation. “But we wished to wed! He was waiting to ask your permission.”

  Oengus rounded on her and Meghan’s eyes widened with fear at the rage on his face. “Ye’re a fool to think a Bruce would want anything but what’s between yer legs! But even should he gain the Pope’s blessing, I’d kill ye with me own hands before allowin’ ye to marry such a baseborn bastard.” Oengus again brushed off Meghan’s hand and the gaze he now turned on her was cold. “I thought I’d raised ye better than that, Meghan. I thought ye were as committed to yer clan as yer brothers were. Perchance I was mistaken.”

  “No! Father! ‘Tis just that I–“ Meghan’s voice broke as her father stormed away. She sank onto a nearby wooden bench and buried her face in her hands to stop the dizzying swirl of the room.

  William a Bruce? Impossible! He knew her clan, knew their affiliations. She’d even made a joke about never wedding a Bruce. Surely were it true, he’d have said something then. Meghan pushed her hair off her face and wiped the tears of confusion from her face. No, there had to be an explanation. She would find William and he would laugh as he told her that he was really a Cameron or a Fraser or–or a Plantagenet for sweet Christ’s sake!

  Meghan stood and quickly searched the room again. She spotted William easily and threaded her way through the crowd to him.

  “William, we must talk.”

  “O’ course, darlin’. Excuse me, gentlemen, but my intended wife seeks my wise counsel.”

  The men at the table laughed and some nudged their fellows to ask if they’d heard aright. Meghan was too distraught to consider that he’d just made an informal announcement of their betrothal.

  “Meghan?” William’s voice filled with concern as he saw her distress. “What ails ye? Has someone said something to ye?”

  “Aye,” she began weakly.

  “Have they insulted ye? Point him out and I’ll–“

  ”No! William! ‘Tis nothing like that. ‘Tis just that...” Meghan wrung her hands. Oh it could not be true!

  “What? What is wrong? Have ye no found your father?”

  The mention of her father made her stomach clench painfully. “I found him.”

  William frowned. “Ye did no tell him our plans, did ye? I was going to approach him formally as soon as I found him.”

  “No, I told him nothing.” Meghan took a deep breath and pressed on. “But he–well, somehow he knew that, oh I know not what he knows, but he–“ Meghan broke off again. “Oh William! He tells me you’re a Bruce, cousin to the Earl Robert himself!”

  William laughed and then dropped a quick kiss on her nose. “My sweet love, is that what has you so upset?”

  Relief flooded Meghan’s veins. She knew there’d been a mistake! “Tell me quickly then, who is your family? I must tell my father–“

  ”Aye, my family name is Bruce. And ‘twill be your name before the sun sets tonight.“

  ”No!” Meghan whispered. “No, no, no, no.”

  “Meghan, calm down there’s nothing–“

  Her lips numb with grief and anger, Meghan looked into his hazel green eyes. “I am an Innes, and kin to John Comyn. Our families have fought for years for the throne of Scotland.”

  “Aye, but they’re no fighting now, are they? Meghan! We are both Scots are we not? United by our country first and foremost.” William’s voice tightened. “I love you, Meghan. Surely that means more than who our families are?”

  “You knew what my feeling were that first day! I told you it would kill my father if I ran off with a Bruce. Why did you not say anything then?”

  “Because–Christ! I know not! I’d no idea you were serious. The feud ended with my cousin’s coronation. He’s even offered the peace branch to the Comyns for their support against the English king.” William must have seen the anguish in her eyes for he hurriedly said, “Meghan, you’re father’s disapproval does not mean we cannot wed. You’re of an age. You need no one’s permission!”

  Feeling as if her heart was being torn from her breast, Meghan shook her head. “I cannot marry a Bruce.”

  She watched William’s handsome face harden. She wanted to cry out that it did not matter if he were the son of Satan himself, that she loved him and would wed him. But her father’s stony countenance was burned into her mind’s eye. She saw nothing but his const
ant disapproval of her actions. She knew that he might not forgive her for falling in love with William, but she knew he would approve of her if she gave that love up.

  William straightened and he became a stranger to her as his sensuous mouth tightened into a line of disgust, and his laughing eyes narrowed with contempt. Condemnation was evident in every line of his handsome face for a brief moment. Then he turned and walked away as if they’d never spoken. Through a blur of tears, Meghan watched his broad shoulders push through the crowds, saw a breeze tug at his inky hair as he slammed the great door open and stalked outside.

  Mother of God, what had she done? She had thrown away with both hands her chance for the purest, most radiant love in return for the possibility of her father’s grudging approval! Meghan started to run after William, to beg him to forgive her. An iron grip on her arm stopped her and she turned to find her father staring at her coldly.

  “I’ve gathered your things. The horses are waiting outside.”

  Meghan started to shake her head. “Come daughter, he’d no have married ye anyway. Once he discovered I’d not release your dowry to a Bruce, he’d have found another wealthy heiress.”

  Meghan frowned. She and William had planned to set aside her dowry for their daughters. He did not need her father’s money. A memory of William saying his manor was in disrepair rang in her mind. Then there was Glynnis’s words that first night: “He leads a girl to believe he’ll marry her just to woo her to bed. I hear he even took one maid’s dowry, gambled it away and still refused to wed her!”

  “No!” Meghan whispered fiercely. “It cannot be true.”

  “Aye ‘tis true lassie,” her father said, his voice softening. “Come now. At least I stopped ye before ye gave your virtue away to that blackguard. Let’s go home and I’ll find ye a husband who will honor you and your family.”

  Meghan allowed him to lead her outside to her mount. She was stunned both by the gentle tone of his words as well as their import. As he helped her onto her horse, Meghan shook her head. “Let us go home, father, but I’ve no wish to wed any man.”

  Her father’s gentle tone disappeared. “Aye, ye will. You’ll marry who I say and be grateful he’ll have ye after Black William touched ye.”

  His harshness was familiar to her and so it was not upon her father’s anger that Meghan dwelt as they made the long trip home. It was the thought of Black William touching her: her hair, her neck, her breasts, her very soul. Oblivious to everything, Meghan wavered between feelings of utter hopelessness, sharp betrayal, and thwarted passion.

  Chapter 6

  Meghan extended her feet closer to the fire until her shoes began to smoke and her feet felt as though they were scorching. She pulled them back and they quickly grew as cold as ice. The summer, which had begun so warm and so early, now hid behind the mask of a winter’s day: a persistent drizzle soaked the stoutest wool cloak and penetrated the smallest roof chinks. It was weather which perfectly suited Meghan’s mood as she mended the elbow of a tunic she had torn while making candles the day before. Just because she was suffused with memories of the disastrous Mayday celebration did not mean she couldn’t still accomplish something useful. As she inspected the puckered and uneven seam, however, she reflected she might as well have just wallowed in her miserable recollections. She sighed and shoved the tunic back into her mending basket.

  In the months since her ignoble return from the Mayday celebration, Meghan had thrown herself into the innumerable tasks of maintaining her father’s keep. She rose before dawn to oversee the churning of the day’s butter, broke her fast while taking an inventory of the larder, matched her father step for step as he visited the small outbuildings which housed the blacksmith, the carpenter, the livestock. She left the supper table to attend the smallest chore and checked on those suffering ailments though she had no knowledge of herbs and could no sooner diagnose a broken leg from a sore throat. All this she studiously did to avoid thinking of William Bruce. She failed miserably. She thought of William upon first waking, before the remembrance of her hurt assailed her. She thought of him when she heard a man’s deep laughter and she thought of him when her uncle asked if she’d harvested any strawberries for their supper.

  To compound her failure, Oengus had told Lennox of her near-disastrous liaison and her uncle, while a kind and good-hearted man, could not keep a secret. As a result, everyone knew that Meghan had fallen in love with a Bruce and everywhere she went, she was sure she saw either hilarity or condemnation. It mattered not that her clansmen treated her with the same affectionate regard she had always known; smothered as she was in humiliation, every glance her way was one of derision, every overheard laugh was at her expense.

  To punish herself, and in the vain hopes of breaking the spell over her William had cast, Meghan began twisting every memory of their time together. She told herself she was only seeing the true motive behind his words of love and plans for their future. All the rumors about him were true, she assured herself. He had only wooed her for her father’s wealth. No doubt he had risked being seen at Earl Graham’s castle because he’d fallen out of favor with his cousin and was seeking to improve his fortune. Why, his cousin had probably seen William for the devil he was, had probably cast him out without a reference, to starve as he deserved! But with the devil’s own luck, William had come across a damnably naive idiot with a large dowry!

  A flush crept up Meghan’s cheeks that had nothing to do with her proximity to the hearth. He had wooed her for one other reason, too, but marriage it was not! And she had welcomed his embraces, reveled in them and returned them. She wondered what Black William would have done had they announced their sham of a betrothal. He probably would have convinced her that they were as good as wed and well entitled to enjoy the physical entitlements of marriage.

  Meghan was working herself into a fine rage. What was more, he had wooed her knowing that their families were enemies! He was arrogant enough to believe that she was so besotted with him, she’d cast aside her family’s pride–-Meghan sat upright as another thought struck her. His seduction of her was meant as a direct insult to her family! Meghan’s cheeks flamed again, this time from anger. She dug her nails into the wooden arms of the chair and cursed William Bruce for the millionth time. No doubt he was still in the good graces of Earl Robert and they were even now laughing at clan Innes.

  Sinking back, she drew up her cloak and blew into her chilled hands, trying to warm them as she reached her familiar conclusion. It did not matter his motives, she had fallen in love with him and made a complete fool of herself and her clan. And were she truly honest with herself, she would admit that at night, when her dreams cast off her self-imposed hatred of the man, she was lost in a world where she and William never left that secluded strawberry glade. In her dreams she relived the tender words they had spoken and did not search for ulterior motives. In her dreams she would live again each kiss, every embrace. She would awaken in the morning flustered and breathless, as if a secret suitor had stolen her breath as well as kisses. For a few quiet moments, Meghan would lie in bed, allowing herself to pretend that this was that last morning at the festival, that she was about to rise and seek out William and they would be wed. And each morning, as the dawn lit the far walls of her chamber, she would plummet back behind the barricade of hatred she had carefully constructed around her heart.

  Meghan rose and stoked the fire before returning to her mending. She resolutely plucked out the ill-sewn seam and concentrated carefully on each stitch, blocking the painful thoughts of those longing dreams. Dreams were well and good for a child, but she was no child and she would need her wits about her if she were to approach the Bruce and ask him for his help–-especially if his deceiving cousin were with him.

  Meghan shuddered and in so doing, pricked her finger. She stuck the finger in her mouth and cursed Black William. Then she cursed Earl Robert, John Comyn, and lastly, her father. After mumbling every expletive she knew, she took a deep breath, cast aside her
mending, and went in search of her uncle.

  ***

  “Let us go to the Bruce, then,” she grimly told Lennox.

  He looked up in surprise, his kindly features open and affable. “Do ye speak truly?”

  Meghan shook her head but said, “Aye. ‘Tis the only way we’ll free him. I’ve thought until my head pounds and I can devise no alternative. We must ask the Bruce for help.”

  Lennox smiled and said, “Perhaps when we speak to him, we should address him as the king.”

  Meghan wrinkled her nose. “Perhaps.”

  They left with the break of the next dawn. Meghan’s natural inclination was to find a host of tasks she must accomplish before leaving–-anything which would delay her having to face the Bruce and his cousin. It was a character flaw she was well aware of and she had employed it many a time, avoiding unpleasant situations with the perfectly laudable excuse of doing something useful and necessary. But now, each time she found a duty that required her personal and involved attention, she was minded of her father’s predicament.

  She had headed for the buttery, intent on taking an inventory of the casks of ale and comparing them to her written records. Two young boys ran past her, pretending to be warriors.

  “I’ll cut yer heart out and feed it to the ravens!” one of them screamed at the other.

  Meghan’s own such organ froze in her chest. What was she thinking? The delay of so much as a few hours might result in her father’s death! She turned and ran back into the keep to pack her few belongings.