The King's Rebel

by Morrison, Michelle

  He chuckled and kept his eyes closed. “I’m supposed to be sayin’ such things to you.”

  “Ah, but I’m no a lad, am I?” she said with a grin.

  At last his eyes opened and the smile that matched her own was filled with purpose. “No, you are definitely no a lad.” With that, he rolled atop her and set about proving his point.

  Chapter 15

  Meghan looked upon the rocky coast of Scotland and thanked God they’d made it home safely. The small dinghy in which they were being rowed to the beach lurched sharply and cold water splashed over the low edge. Almost home, she amended. She glanced at William who was busy manning one of the oars. As she watched the muscles of his shoulders roll powerfully beneath his tunic, she became aware of the by now familiar tightening of her breasts, the tingling which radiated from the very center of her being. The feeling was at once blatantly physical, affecting her body like a delicious fever, and at the same time, burned her very soul. She felt linked to William in a way that lasted long after their frequent lovemaking.

  For their voyage along the coast of England had passed all too quickly as she and William had spent the majority of their time in Captain Paddy’s small berth. It was as if the time since the Mayday celebration had melted away and with it, all of the hurt and anger that had built between them. Between bouts of passionate lovemaking they had whispered the confidences of their hearts, sharing stories of their lives as they had shared each other’s bodies.

  Meghan pressed a cold hand to her flushed cheeks and glanced at the sailors around her, glad that they were too busy rowing to pay attention to her. She glanced over her shoulder again and saw they were nearly to the shore.

  Thanks to their convincing portrayal of a newlywed couple, old Paddy had gallantly offered to take them all the way to Scotland after he and his crew had delivered their cargo to York.

  Meghan squinted to see the small ship anchored behind them. She saw the squat figure of the captain on deck and she waved a final farewell. Paddy had winked a fond goodbye to her as she boarded the dinghy and advised William that he would need a different set of muscles for farming than he had for swinging a sword.

  “Wily auld goat,” William had muttered as the sailors lowered the dinghy to the water. But he had grinned appreciatively at the captain.

  Returning her gaze and her thoughts to William, she frowned slightly. During those glorious days of seclusion the only thing they had not discussed was the future. Words of marriage and home did not spill from his lips as they had before. Meghan had resolutely pushed thoughts of her father and her duty to her clan to the back of her mind during their escape from both the English and the rest of the world. But with Scotland’s shore growing ever closer, Meghan could no longer push her duties aside and she had no idea what the future held for her and William.

  The small dinghy plowed into the sand and the sailors hopped over the side into the knee-deep water and pulled the boat up onto the dry shore. William lifted Meghan out of the boat and set her gently on the ground. She felt the sand lurch beneath her feet, much as the ship had and she quickly grabbed William’s arms.

  “Canna get enough of me, eh?” he said in a husky whisper.

  Meghan felt a seductive smile part her lips as she looked into his eyes. His hands tightened on her waist and for a brief moment of insanity, Meghan forgot they were on a beach surrounded by a rough group of sailors. She started to lean forward just as Hamish clapped her on the shoulder and laughed.

  “‘Tis yer sea legs, lass. I’ve got ‘em as well. These mates,” he indicated the sailors with a nod of his head. “Tell me it will last a day or two if ye stay up and walkin’.”

  Meghan’s eyes widened and she felt the hot flush of embarrassment creep up her cheeks at Hamish’s mild joke. Though he obviously spoke in jest, it was a further reminder that it was time to resume duty and responsibility.

  She quickly pulled back from William and straightened her spine. The ground lurched beneath her feet again, but she braced her feet apart and forced her reeling mind to clear.

  By this time, the sailors had returned from refilling their water caskets at a small stream inland and they quickly loaded the heavy casks into the dinghy and pushed off with waves and farewells. Within moments, Meghan, William, and Hamish were alone on the beach.

  “What do we do now?” Hamish asked.

  “I must return home and see if my uncle has had any word of my father,” Meghan said resolutely. With every passing moment, her guilt over abandoning her father was increasing and she could taste its bitter gall at the back of her throat. Deliberately swallowing it down, she turned to William.

  “How far are we from Innesbrook?”

  William squinted at the early morning light. “Two, perhaps three days on a good mount.”

  “Captain Paddy gave you a few coins?”

  William felt the pouch tucked securely in his tunic. “Aye, our ‘wedding present’ he called it,” he said with a smile.

  Hamish rolled his eyes but Meghan studiously ignored him.

  “Is it enough to purchase horses and supplies?

  William raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps three old nags, but no food.”

  “We shall have to forage along the way then,” Meghan decided.

  “Along the way to where?” he asked.

  Meghan glanced from him to Hamish then back to William. “To Innesbrook. Did I not just say that?”

  “We’re no going to Innesbrook. We must return to my cousin’s castle and find out the status of the war.”

  “What war?”

  William’s brows disappeared beneath the hair that fell over his forehead. “The one that began when Robert attacked York.”

  “But a border skirmish isn’t a war.”

  “’Tis no border skirmish. Robert means to force Edward to recognize his sovereignty. He’s been planning it for months. Why do you think we went to London but to distract Edward—“ William clamped his lips shut and then his eyes.

  “I thought we were in London to plead for the life of my father.” Meghan’s whisper was virulent. “I thought we were on a mission of peace whose goal was not only the lives of two fine men, but a union between Scotland’s families. Had I known,” her whisper rose to a shout. “Had I known that you and that bastard Bruce had naught but deception up your sleeves, you can be sure I’d have plunged my knife into his black heart! And yours too, for that matter!” Meghan swung around, staring out to sea to prevent the men from seeing her tears. Through their blur she could just make out the dinghy as it pulled alongside the ship. For a panicked moment she wondered if she could attract their attention, return to London and plead with Edward for her father’s life. Perhaps if she told them all she knew about the Bruce and his plans...

  Her shoulders hunched forward in defeat. Even were she able to return to London, what would prevent the English king from executing her as well? Had she not gained admission to the Tower in the company of a spy?

  “Meghan,” William said softly. He laid his hand on her shoulder.

  She straightened her spine and shrugged off his shoulder. She felt ill. Nauseous, in fact. She had been betrayed by a man who had seduced her with pretty words and breath-stealing kisses. Suddenly the seductive gauze in which she’d been wrapped these past days was as foul as a funeral shroud. How readily she had believed his words, both in the Tower when he had convinced her to flee, and then on board Paddy’s ship when he sought to while away the hours with her body.

  What’s worse, by trusting him, she had betrayed her father! She might never have gone to England, might never have committed her clan to the Bruce banner for all the good she did him. Was he dead already? Did he know of her failure at the end? God, she prayed no one told him she’d come to beg for his life, only to flee to save her own worthless skin. Better he face the executioner with the haughty pride of the Innes than to go to his death with the knowledge of how she had shamed him.

  “Forgive me, papa,” she whispered, but she kne
w that the stern, uncompromising Oengus would not be able to forgive her, even if he did manage to survive the hospitality of the English king. An Innes would not make a pact with the devil, he would say of her alliance with the Bruce. Nor would an Innes leave a man behind as she had readily done. It would matter not that William had convinced her that her father would be safer if they fled. An Innes would not be taken in by deceivers, Oengus would preach. Then he would no doubt qualify his speech with the words, “Not an Innes man.”

  She closed her eyes and forbade the tears to fill her eyes. Not now.

  “Meghan,” William said again. “We must go.”

  She made him wait a long moment more before turning and marching across the beach. She scarcely cared if William and Hamish followed, but when she realized she had no idea how to get home or even which direction to take, she slowed her steps and let William take the lead.

  The sandy beach quickly gave way to a jumble of rocks and Meghan stumbled over them, hampered by her trailing skirts and the tears that blurred her vision. She refused the repeated offers of a helping hand from both William and Hamish, preferring the risk of dashing her head against a stone to accepting their assistance.

  The rocky hill finally leveled out and Meghan saw a narrow road cut through the rough salt grass of the plain. William unerringly turned north. “Dunbar is just over that rise. There we can gain a few supplies and perhaps get a ride with a merchant or farmer.”

  Meghan wondered how he knew exactly where to go and then realized he had questioned Paddy and the other seamen extensively about their knowledge of the Scottish coast and the whereabouts of any English patrols. Meghan beat her fists against her thighs. He had been plotting his next strategy on board while she had simply reveled in their stolen moments of intimacy. She glared up at the gathering clouds. What a fool she had been! Falling for his smooth lies and devastating kisses not once, but twice! Her father was right–the Bruce clan was naught but a sly group of thieves and murderers.

  She bit her lip to stifle a moan at the thought of her father. Was he dead already? Had he been tortured in retaliation for her foolish attempt to save him? Dear Lord, she prayed, please spare him. I swear I will obey him without question. I’ll marry any Comyn he chooses, be he a warty old man or a boy without his first whiskers. Meghan stopped mid-prayer at the thought of marriage. Just a few short hours ago, she had been allowing herself to indulge in the fantasy that somehow, she and William could wed. It was a fantasy she had begun all those months ago at Seamus Graham’s small castle when she thought that William’s strength and intelligence would win her father’s approval. Now, once again, her dreams lay in tattered heaps at her feet, destroyed by the seductive promises of a man who had only used her for the political gains of his clan.

  ***

  Meghan awoke with a jolt. The rickety hay wagon in which she and William and Hamish were riding creaked as its oxen pulled it out of the deep rut into which it had dropped.

  She sat up and rubbed a crick in her neck. The light was fading, the setting sun barely illuminating the landscape from behind its shroud of darkening clouds. Meghan glanced over and saw that Hamish was blissfully asleep, his round belly rising and falling steadily. Beyond him, William sat, his back against the side of the cart, his arms resting on his pulled up knees. She gave a small start when she realized that he was awake. Awake and staring at her with no expression on his face. She glanced away and then back. No, there was an expression on his face. It was the look of a man who had lost something he would never be able to recover. She had seen it before on her father’s face when first her mother and then her brothers had died.

  She looked away again, quickly, as tears filled her eyes. Why was she feeling torn in two? She hated William, hated what he had done, how he had used her. Why should she now be overcome with the desire to lay her head on his strong shoulder and cry out her grief and fear and anger? After several strained moments, she forced herself to lay down again—her back to William—and close her eyes. She did not sleep.

  ***

  Their arrival three days later in Robert the Bruce’s camp—the camp of the King of Scotland—went all but unnoticed. As Meghan climbed from the back of the raw-boned nag William had finally purchased, she stared in amazement at the swarm of men who raced about the huge camp with purpose in their step and determination in their eyes. Everywhere she looked she saw preparations for war; swords were sharpened, arrows were cast, men trained at combat.

  Amidst such unfamiliar confusion, Meghan was amazed to hear a familiar voice call her name.

  “Uncle Lennox? What are you doing here?”

  Lennox gave her a stout hug and then frowned. “Did ye no hear? Your father’s been killed. Edward had him executed at Colchester.”

  Though she had anticipated such news, her uncle’s matter-of-fact announcement caught her off guard and her knees buckled beneath her. Strong hands caught her and held her upright. When the darkness before her eyes lightened, she realized it was not Lennox who held her. Pulling out of William’s supportive embrace, she heard him say, “Colchester? He was taken from London?”

  “Oengus was never in London, apparently,” Lennox said, frowning worriedly at his niece. “The information we received was wrong.”

  “It was all for nothing, then,” Meghan whispered.

  “What lass?”

  “Our journey to London, entering the Tower, trying to see the English king,” Meghan stared at the flattened grass beneath her feet. “We may as well not have gone.” She lifted her head and stared at William. “Except that you had another purpose.”

  She saw a brief flash of pain cross William’s face and then his expression hardened. “A purpose in addition to that of saving Oengus’ life.”

  “No more lies,” Meghan said tightly.

  “‘Tis no lie!” William said.

  “What’s all this?” Lennox asked, clearly befuddled.

  Meghan shook her head. “It doesna matter.” Pointedly turning her back on William, she tried to suppress the ache of grief and failure. “Does the clan know?” she asked her uncle.

  He took her arm and guided her toward a large tent on the edge of the gathering. “Aye, I was at Innesbrook when word came.”

  Meghan stopped at the door flap of his tent. “I thought you were going to stay with the Bruce to make sure he did not betray us.”

  Lennox glanced around to see if anyone could hear them and then urged her into the tent. Once inside, he lit several tapers and poured himself a goblet of wine before answering her.

  “The Bruce was doing nothing but practicing his swordplay—I felt it was more important to return to Innesbrook and make sure the clan did not hear of your pact with Robert from the wrong person. Ye know as well as I how facts can be twisted.”

  Meghan took the goblet of wine he handed her but did not drink. “My pact? You were the one who convinced me it was for the good of the clan.”

  “Well and who is the leader of clan Innes?” Lennox asked. “It doesna matter if God on high told ye to make the deal, if you are the laird of your people, you take responsibility for your actions.”

  The argument sounded so like something Oengus would say it caught Meghan off guard. “Aye,” she said. “You’re right. How did the rest of the clan take it?”

  Lennox downed his wine and wiped his mouth on the back of his wrist. “They’re split. Half o’ them think it was a wise decision, the other half think yer a traitor to yer family.”

  “What?” Meghan nearly shouted as her uncle poured himself more wine.

  “Well, not so much a traitor,” Lennox hastily amended. “But they dinna agree wi’ ye.”

  “But it was the only way to save my father!” she protested.

  “But ye didna save him, did ye?”

  Meghan stared at her uncle, amazed that the normally kind man could be so cruel.

  Lennox read her expression and quickly swallowed his mouthful of wine. “I don’t mean to hurt ye, lass, but ‘tis the way o
’ the world. If ye’d succeeded, ye’d have been the hero of the Innes clan and none would doubt your ability to lead the clan, woman or no.

  “But when ye failed, well, people canna help but criticize ye. They’d have judged ye so even were ye a man.”

  “Not father.”

  Lennox shrugged. “Well, yer father used a form of persuasion that left little room for questioning.”

  Meghan frowned at her uncle’s tone. He sounded bitter, resentful. She watched him drain his third cup of wine and wondered what else had occurred at Innesbrook during her absence.

  Lennox rubbed his face and firmly set his goblet down with a small shake of his head. “Enough of what is past. We must plan for the future and the immediate future is war.”

  Meghan’s head reeled as if it were she who had drunk nearly a flagon of wine. Was her father’s life and leadership so far in the past? Could they afford him no mourning? Lennox’s final words sank in.

  “War? What do you mean war?”

  “King Robert’s war against the English,” Lennox explained as if she were stupid.

  “Of course,” she murmured. The Bruce’s war—the war that was more important than anything else, especially the lives of Scotland’s men and their women’s honor. Forcing her mind away from that line of thought, she focused instead on trying to be a clan leader.

  “What says the clan? Do we fight with the Bruce? Clan Innes will never side with the English so we either honor the pact I have made with our king, or we approach Clan Comyn and offer to renew our support for them and their claims to the throne.”