A terse knock was immediately followed by the opening of the solar door. William and Meghan drew apart like children caught stealing pies.
The smooth-coifed Betrand swept into the room, resplendent in a red brocade tunic. Oblivious to their discomfiture, he ordered the servant behind him to stoke the fire. When the man had withdrawn, Betrand sat in the largest seat and said, “Let us discuss what brings you to His Grace’s presence.”
William raked his teeth over his lower lip and tried to organize his thoughts. “‘Tis a delicate matter, really. One which I’m sure the king will want to give his personal attention.”
“Yes, well, be that as it may,” said Betrand. “We will discuss your request and I will decide if the king will be bothered with it.”
“But—“ William began.
“Robert the Bruce has offered his fealty and then forsworn it more times than I can count. King Edward has no reason to consume his valuable time with the requests of such a man.”
William clenched and unclenched his fists, more from habit than rage, for his thoughts were racing as he wondered what he should tell the king’s steward. Before he could think of a reply, Meghan spoke up.
“We are not here with the earl’s request. We are here with my own.”
For the first time since they had arrived at the castle, Betrand looked at Meghan.
“And who, pray, are you, madam?”
“I am Meghan Innes. My lord,” she said with a curtsey.
Betrand allowed a brief frown before saying, “I know you not and that gives me even less reason to present your case to His Grace.” He rose as if to leave.
“The king holds my father unjustly!” she blurted out.
The steward raised his brows. “The king does nothing unjustly.”
William took a step forward but Meghan again spoke first.
“What I meant to say was, my father was wrongly arrested, as I’m sure His Grace will decide once he hears the case.”
Betrand frowned again. “Innes you say? I think I remember the name. Poaching as I recall. On royal lands. The king does not trouble himself with such cases. The law is clear: the penalty is death.”
“But my father was not poaching!”
“Nay?” Betrand asked, unconvinced.
With a glance at Meghan’s desperate expression, William cleared his throat. “I believe there has been a slight misunderstanding regarding who actually owned the sheep.”
Betrand transferred his bland gaze to William who cleared his throat again before speaking. “That is why Earl Robert sent us to speak with His Grace. King Edward is well known for his...mercy and understanding.” William hoped that did not sound like the lie it was. Mothers across Scotland threatened errant children with the name of Edward of England and ‘twas not a threat taken lightly.
Apparently, Betrand had used the threat himself for he smiled slightly, if sourly, and said, “Our sovereign is indeed a benevolent ruler.” He paused a moment as if deep in thought. “Well, the case seems clear enough to me, despite your assertions. However, His Grace is a most...understanding king. I will approach him with your request for an audience.” The steward turned to leave but stopped at the door where he turned as if with an afterthought. “The Earl of Bruce does realize, I am sure, that the king, should he grant leniency, would expect a...favor in return.”
“I am sure he does, my lord,” William replied, keeping his expression bland.
As soon as the door shut, Meghan sank into a chair, her hands trembling as she covered her face. “Dear God, dear God, dear God,” she repeated.
William was a little shaky himself, but instead sought solace in the decanter of wine. He poured himself a large cupful, drained it, and poured more before filling a second cup and carrying it to Meghan.
“Here,” he said. When Meghan’s shaky hands lifted to accept the wine, William cupped his own hands around hers. “Don’t spill it,” he said brusquely, unsure of why her touch unnerved him more than the encounter with Betrand. “‘Tis a good vintage. Rhenish, no doubt.”
Meghan took an uncertain sip of the wine, coughed and would have set the cup down but William forced her to take another sip and then a third. She drained the rest of the wine of her own accord and, with much steadier hand, set the empty cup down. She primly dabbed her lips with a fingertip and William was amused to see that her cheeks were already pink with the effects of the wine.
“I’d say the king’s wine is of a better quality than his windows,” she said.
William could no longer contain his grin. “Aye,” he agreed. “Would ye care for some more?”
She nodded and then quickly shook her head. “I—I’d better not. My head is already buzzing.”
“Only buzzing?” William said as he refilled his own goblet. “Then you’re three mugs short of a roaring headache tomorrow morning.”
Meghan laughed and stood, goblet in hand. She allowed him to fill the vessel halfway and followed him back to the chairs seated around the hearth. They drank in companionable silence and William felt the relaxing warmth of the wine steal through his veins, easing the muscles that had been tensed for the past fortnight. He allowed his gaze to rest on Meghan, who sat deep in thought, her own gaze lost in the small blaze in the hearth. Aye, she was a beauty with skin of palest velvet and hair of deepest amber. No, he thought, darkest chestnut. He took another sip of wine. That still was not right. He studied the flickering glints of firelight in her hair and suddenly realized he had lost his train of thought. He sat up abruptly and offered his half-full goblet to Meghan.
“Would ye care for some more?”
Meghan gave him a sideways glance and allowed a small smile to lift one corner of her mouth. “Ye’d no be trying to loosen my morals by getting me foxed, would ye Black William?”
He frowned and set the cup down heavily on the nearby table. Was she back to those accusations? he wondered. Suddenly, he was minded of that day in the strawberry glade when she’d accused him of all the gossipmonger’s stories. He opened his mouth to deliver a cruel retort but stopped at the look of embarrassed contrition in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I—I wasn’t thinking–I didn’t mean...”
There was no doubting her sincerity and William forced an easy smile to his face. “Don’t worry lass, ‘tis the wine speaking. I’ve said many a foolish thing under its influence as well.”
They glanced away from each other in awkward silence and William strove to recapture the relaxed companionship they had shared earlier.
“What will your father think of you traveling all the way to London to rescue him?”
Meghan was visibly grateful for his overture for she smiled gently at him. Her smile turned rueful and she cast her gaze to the smoke-blackened rafters of the ceiling.
“You mean if he doesna kill me first for allying our clan with the Bruce?” Her tone held no bitterness and when she looked at him he froze, lost in the beauty of her face and the spirited humor of her expression.
“Aye,” he replied softly. “If he doesna kill ye first.”
She shrugged. “Weel,” she said, stretching in her chair and allowing her normally repressed Scots accent to surface. “He’ll no doubt clap me upon the back and vow that I’ve the spirit of a lad if no the balls.” Her eyes widened in horror at what she had just said and he saw a crimson flush stain her cheeks. Rather than assure her that he did not think her unladylike, he burst out laughing. After a moment, she joined in, and while one part of his brain considered him absurd for noticing, another realized that their laughter blended well, as two instruments tuned by the same hand.
“So you are the Innes heir,” he commented, this time without rancor.
“Aye.”
“Did your father never consider marrying again to have another son? Not,” he hastily added, “that you’re no a fit candidate, but leadership of a clan is rarely left to a woman.”
Meghan sniffed. “More’s the pity. No,” she continued. “I don’
t believe remarriage ever crossed my father’s mind.”
“And your uncle? Why is he no your father’s heir?”
“He’s my father’s step-brother, not even an Innes, and his wife and children died years ago from the plague.”
She paused before continuing. “I know my father does not seem to be a gentle man. And God knows he wishes I were a son instead of a daughter. But I believe my father loved my mother—even more than he realized himself. He was always stern, but when my mother died, it was as if a spark within him died also. Then when my brothers died, my father took it as proof that God had turned his face against him.”
“Surely he’s proud of you. How many other daughters can—what was it?—prepare a castle to withstand a siege, negotiate the price of wool over the cost of steel and hit a mark at one hundred paces—“
”Two hundred paces” Meghan corrected.
“Oh, aye, two hundred paces. So?” he prodded. “Is he no proud?”
Meghan shrugged, attempting to seem unconcerned. “Aye, I suppose he is as proud as any man with naught but a daughter to succeed him.”
She lapsed into moody silence and William, not knowing how to comfort her and not understanding why he wished to comfort her, said nothing.
***
“Would ye no produce a male heir?” William asked, continuing their conversation the next afternoon. Meghan was again at her post at the window, though a cold drizzle would have made it impossible to see anything even if there glass were of the finest clarity.
She turned around, startled. “What?”
“If ye married, ye might have a son and your father could name him as heir,” he said. He was at his respective post at the hearth—whittling today instead of sharpening his blade. Hamish was again gone, though today he attended the horses at William’s request rather than his own wish to be absent.
Edward still had not sent for them and William was beginning to worry. They had a matter of days before Robert and his troops attacked. If they did not win Edward’s pardon of his Scots prisoners soon, they never would. Then too, there was every likelihood that they would be imprisoned. So William had instructed Hamish to make sure the horses were ready to travel at a moment’s notice. The saddlebags were packed with supplies and hidden in the stables. William had even mapped out which route they should take from the Salt Tower, should they have to flee.
William pulled himself from those forbidding thoughts and turned his attention to Meghan’s answer.
“That was why my father wanted me to marry.”
William frowned. He had lost the line of their conversation. “Why?”
She turned back to the window and ran one finger over the rippled surface of the glass. “He wanted me to marry so that I could bear him a grandson. A grandson whom he could train to be the real Innes heir. I was not at that Mayday celebration to dance and enjoy the company of friends. I was allowed to join my father there for the express purpose of finding a husband.” She spoke so softly, William had to strain to hear her. She stared unseeing out the window, clearly lost in the memories of the unseasonable warmth of that spring celebration.
“I was determined that I wouldn’t choose a husband. I told myself that if I remained unwed, I could force my father to take my claim seriously. And then, I completely forgot about my plan,” she murmured. “All of a sudden I found the man that would make my father proud. A man whom my father would want to call son. A man whom I would want to call husband.”
William stood up slowly, his blood pounding through his veins. Did she mean—but surely there had not been another man. They had spent all of their free time together. She had to be referring to him. He had to clench his hands to fists to prevent them from shaking. On legs of wood, he slowly approached her.
“Meghan,” he whispered hoarsely.
She turned reluctantly at the sound of her name and he saw that her eyes were filled with tears, though this time for what they had had and lost, rather than for her father. The sight of them tore at his heart and in an instant he clutched her to him, kissing her with all the intensity of those first days together, the pain of their parting, and the confusion of the past weeks.
Meghan clung to his tunic as if her grip were all that kept her standing. He tightened his hold on her and she relaxed against him, returning his kiss boldly.
He drank passion from her lips, inhaled life from the scent of her hair, took strength from the fragility of her skin. She slid her hands up his chest to entwine them behind his head and he ran his own hands up and down her back, molding her more perfectly to him. He sucked her lower lip into his mouth, nibbling its fullness gently. When he had freed it, she returned the sensation, her straight teeth grazing his lips, his chin, his jaw. She pressed hot lips to his neck and he shuddered in response, clenching her rounded bottom and pulling her tightly against the burgeoning hardness of his pelvis. Now it was her turn to shudder and the action caused a delicious caress along the length of his body.
“My love,” he murmured against her lips before covering them with another kiss. She moaned and slid her fingers into the hair at his nape, tightening her hold as her kiss tightened her hold on his heart. He had forgotten—no, denied—how good she felt, how like a part of him she seemed. Now the sweet memories flooded back, reminding him that he’d never felt such body and soul consuming passion as he did when he was with her.
He could feel the blood pulsing in his manhood, could hear his blood pounding in his ears and for a moment he thought that the sound of the door crashing open was his own heart beating. When Meghan tore her lips from his, he realized that Hamish had burst into the room with all the finesse of a pig at the trough.
Hamish came to an abrupt standstill in the middle of the room, a flush deepening his already ruddy complexion. “I—I...” he began.
Meghan pulled herself from William’s embrace and hid against the window. William scowled at his burly friend and was about to launch into a tirade about knocking when Hamish seemed to realize the reason for his hasty entry.
“Robert has attacked York!”
“What?” Meghan and William said in unison.
“Dougal Cameron brought word. Robert sent him to make sure we were not still in London!”
“Where is Dougal now?”
“He’s left already—says we should leave immediately too.”
William nodded. “When did Robert attack?” he asked.
“Why did he attack?” Meghan interjected. “Are we not here on a mission of peace?”
Hamish ignored Meghan’s question. “If all went as planned, Robert attacked this morning. He sent Dougal ahead to warn us to flee in case we were still here, which we are!” he added unnecessarily.
“I still don’t understand,” said Meghan. “We are on a mission of peace—why would Robert jeopardize that?”
William glanced at her, reluctant to tell her that their mission was a sham to distract Edward from Robert’s rebellious plans.
“Something must have happened,” he prevaricated.
“But—“ Meghan began.
William interrupted her as he moved about the room, gathering up his few possessions. “It doesna matter now! What matters is that we escape before Edward hears of the attack and throws us all in prison.”
“But my father!” she protested.
He stopped in mid stride, his sword in one hand, a cloak in the other. She stood in the middle of the room, a stricken look on her face, twisting her hands helplessly.
William dropped his things on a chair and quickly crossed to her. He took her cold hands in his own but did not know what to say.
“They’ll execute him!” she said. “I canna leave without him!” Her voice rose frantically.
William shook his head. “I don’t think Edward will do any such thing, especially since your clan has long been allied against the Bruces. In fact, Edward may offer your father and the young Comyn lad their freedom in return for their help in opposing Robert.”
“Perha
ps,” Meghan retorted. “Until he finds out that clan Innes is now allied with the Bruce. I won’t leave my father to die!”
William dropped her hands and grabbed her shoulders, giving her a small shake. “There’s no reason for Edward to discover that. Robert did not indicate as much in his letter and we certainly have told no one.”
Meghan nodded and then her eyes widened. “But as soon as Edward learns that I was with you, he’ll know something is up.”
“Imposter,” Hamish said.
William and Meghan glanced over to see Hamish thriftily filling his wineskin from the decanter.
“What?” William asked.
“She’s an imposter. I’ll tell the stable master in a bit o’ confidentiality, ye ken?”
“I don’t understand,” Meghan said but William began to smile.
“‘Tis perfect. Listen,” he said to gain her attention. “Edward will become suspicious because you were here. But when he discovers that Hamish and I brought an imposter with us—not the real Innes heir—then he’ll realize that we probably intended to capture Oengus and the young Comyn for our own nefarious means.”
Meghan stared hard into his eyes, clearly searching for reassurance. “Are you certain?”
The trust she placed in him made him swell with pride even as he regretted his lie to her. “I’m certain. This will probably help your father more than my pleas and avowals of Robert’s fealty.”
Meghan took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “Alright.”
William nodded and dropped a quick kiss on her lips. “Gather your things.” He turned to Hamish as soon as she was in the other room. “Think we’ll make it?”
Hamish shrugged philosophically and plugged his full wineskin. “Doubt it.”
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