"Now," he said, crossing to her and gently gripping her shoulders. "Do ye wish to hear Edward's surprise for ye?" When she remained silent, he continued. "Edward has found a husband for ye."
"What?" Meghan gasped.
"Aye, a right bonny laird. Broad of shoulder and fair of hair. Ye couldna ask for a better man."
"But...who?"
"Lord Carmichael of Sussex."
"An Englishman?" You would see me wed to an Englishman?"
"Well and I do have a pact to keep, do I no? Did ye think Edward was just going to take my word that we'd support him?"
"Not if he knew what your word was worth," she retorted.
His hands on her arms clenched tightly and then he released her. "My word is to my clan, whether ye see it that way or no. Now, let me cut your bonds so ye can clean yourself up. We meet with the king as soon as he sups."
Meghan felt a moment's panic and then called upon her anger to see her through.
"I'll no meet with him!" Meghan declared. "If ye've sold me into marriage ye'll vouch for it on yer own." She watched her uncle clench his fists.
"Ye are the most pig-headed lass I've ever known. Ye'll no see beyond your own wants and needs, will ye? No wonder yer father was sore disappointed in ye."
Meghan's breath caught and she formed her own fists. "That's no true!"
"Aye, lassie, he told me so himself on numerous occasions. Said ye caused him no end of grief tryin' to be something ye weren't. All ye need have done was marry a good man and give Oengus an heir, but ye were always pestering him to show ye how to be an heir yerself!"
"You lie, uncle, for my father took pride in my accomplishments!"
"Believe that if ye like," Lennox said with a shrug. He turned to leave and paused by the tent flap. "I'll tell the king ye've taken ill, but are looking forward to returning to England." He glanced over his shoulder.
"This trip will be more effective than the last, will it no?"
Meghan watched the canvas flap down and closed her eyes. She dropped her head forward and tried to ignore the pain in her heart at her uncle's words.
"Ye're right, ye know."
William's whisper startled her. In her misery, she'd near forgotten he was here. Letting her bonds fall to the floor, she dashed the back of her hand across her eyes, removing any tell-tale tears.
"Right about what?" she asked.
"Your father bein' proud of ye."
Meghan snorted lightly. "And how would you know?"
"Trust me, I've ways of knowin'."
Meghan snorted again, louder this time.
"'Tis no a very ladylike sound ye've got there," William commented.
"I'm not feeling very ladylike right now," she countered. "Nor am I feeling very trusting."
William crossed the tent to peek out of the flap. "Your guard has a right healthy bladder," he said upon returning. "As soon as he leaves again to empty it, we'll sneak out. The sun's set, we should be able to avoid detection.
Meghan nodded and watched as he crossed to the inlaid table and helped himself to Lennox's wine.
"Did ye know that Robert sought a truce with your father a few months back?"
"No," she said with a frown. "Did he need the Innes support that badly?"
"He wants the support of all Scotsmen, but, no, that was not his main intention."
"Then why did he seek a truce?"
William fumbled with the dagger at his waist. "I suppose he did it for my sake."
"You?" I do not understand."
He removed the blade from its sheath, examined its blade as if searching for nicks, obviously avoiding her gaze.
"Explain yourself, William," she said softly.
"One night, not long after that Mayday celebration, Robert and I got stinking drunk. We started swapping stories of...of women and by the end of the evening, I was so out of my wits, I told him of you. Of what happened to us. I scarcely remembered the telling of it, I know not how Robert remembered, but he thought that if your clan and ours could reach a truce, perhaps you and I would stand a chance."
"But my father refused, aye?"
"Aye."
Meghan was not surprised. Oengus was prouder of nothing than the steadfastness of Clan Innes to the Comyns.
William shook his head, apparently following her line of thought. "He did not refuse Robert's offer out of loyalty for the Comyn or John Baliol. He told the Bruce he'd not accept a truce with the man who maligned his daughter for her pride meant more to him than the political aspirations of a king."
Tears filled Meghan's eyes but this time she did not hide them from him. As they blurred her vision, she could scarcely see him as he pulled her to him.
The kiss he pressed to her lips was warm and comforting, full of understanding. It shared the release she felt at her father's words as well as the budding promise of their future.
Meghan's guard had a whiny, nasal tone as he sneered, "Well now, I'll expect a handsome reward from the king when I present him with the rebel who would steal his Scottish prize."
The man clamped his hand on William's shoulder and spun him around. In that tiny instant, Meghan realized several things: the guard was alone, the oil lamps only dimly lit the tent, preventing their shadows from playing against the tent walls, and William's dagger had remained, forgotten, in his grasp.
That hand rested in the small of her back. As quickly as William turned to face the guard, Meghan pulled the dagger from his hand and thrust with all her strength over his shoulder.
While part of her mind reeled in horror, another part was fascinated at how the honed blade slid into the guard's exposed neck, sinking all the way to the hilt. Horror gained a greater foothold as hot blood from the fatal wound poured over her hand.
"Well placed," William murmured, pulling the dagger from the dying guard and supporting Meghan as her knees wobbled beneath her. "Don't faint now. We've a long way to go to reach safety.
“Here,” he said, handing her a goblet and splashing wine into it. “Drink this. ‘Twill steady your nerves.”
Meghan stared into the cup, the heady fumes filling her nose, teasing her mind. “You are always trying to get me drunk, Black William.”
He grinned. “Aye, well this time not to my own nefarious ends. Drink up.”
When she’d finished the cup, he held out a hand to her.
“Wait,” she said. “Should we not hide the body? Mayhap it will buy us time if my uncle returns to further chide me. We could put it in the bed, cover it with furs. If he’s had enough of the king’s wine, he may not think to look further.”
William nodded and bending, grabbed the dead man up. Meghan forced herself to move forward and pick up the man’s feet. They dumped him unceremoniously on the bed of furs and hurriedly covered him.
“Douse the lamp,” William said as he moved to peer out the tent flap. Meghan did so and fumbled through the dark to find William. She grabbed his hand with fingers as cold as ice and willed herself to relax, to act like a warrior Innes. Somehow, she thought a warrior Innes would not take such comfort in holding William’s hand, in leaning her head against his muscled shoulder. Nevertheless, she drew strength from him and vowed that she would live, if only to avenge herself on her uncle.
“Let us go,” William whispered, and pulled her out into the cool night air.
Torches dotted the huge encampment, but the largest bonfire was far enough away that they would not be visible by its light. They ducked behind a row of tents, crouching in the shadows while a group of men passed by.
When their path was clear, they took off at a cautious run, heading for the black edge of the encampment and safety. A tent rope loomed out of the shadows, catching Meghan’s foot and she pitched forward. William tried to catch her but only yanked her arm painfully. The air exploded from her lungs with a painful gasp and she lay there, stunned until William grabbed her tunic and hauled her behind a baggage cart.
“I’m sor–“ she began, but William silenced with a look.
“The king meets even now with the barbarian Scots.” The disdainful voice grew closer and Meghan froze.
“Why does His Grace waste his time with them? They’ve betrayed their own kind, does he not believe they will turn on him as easily?”
The first man laughed as he paused on the other side of the cart to pull off his boot and dump rocks from it. “Never fear that anyone will get the better of a deal with Kind Edward.”
“Yes, but that Lennox Innes is most untrustworthy,” whined the second voice. “What kind of man would sell out his own brother?”
“Paugh! Do you forget that Simon de Montfort was brother by marriage to Edward’s sire, King Henry? Blood is as thin as water compared to political gain. Although,” the man conceded, stomping his foot back into his boot, “I will grant that Innes is particularly cold-blooded. Can you imagine? He actually advised Edward not to hold his brother in London for the Scots would make a plea for his life, even urged the king to kill Oengus as soon as possible!”
“No!” Meghan screamed, startling herself and William, causing the two men on the other side of the cart to jump.
“What in God’s name–“ stammered the whiny voice.
The sound of steel being drawn preceded “I say, who goes there?”
At that moment, all hell broke loose from Lennox’s tent.
“The girl is gone!” her uncle bellowed and men appeared out of the shadows.
“Run! For the love of Christ, run!” William yelled and pulling her to her feet, shoved her toward the edge of the encampment.
As she dashed to safety, Meghan threw a brief glance over her shoulder. She saw William leap over the cart and throw himself at the armed man. The clash of steel was a dull reverberation in her ears, full as they were of the frantic rush of blood in her veins. She made it to the darkness past the last tents and turned to watch.
William and the other man clashed several times before the Englishman shoved back as hard as he could to give him time to yell for assistance.
In a flash, William turned and followed Meghan’s path. By the time he reached her, there were easily a score of men after him.
“William!” Meghan whisper-shouted when he almost ran past her in the dark. He stumbled to a stop long enough to grab her hand and then dragged her after him as they fled for their lives.
Within minutes, Meghan’s lungs were burning and the blood was pounding behind her eyes, making her dizzy with the effort to stay upright. She tripped over her own feet countless times, would have fallen had William not such a tight grasp on her wrist as he pulled her along.
In the clear night air, they could hear the sounds of their pursuers. The frantic shouts were only muffled when William and Meghan stumbled into a ravine, but sharpened again as they scrambled up the far edge.
"We'll never make it," Meghan panted. She was beyond caring if they were caught. Her only thought was to collapse and catch her breath, ease the fire in her lungs.
William ignored her, instead pulled all the harder on her wrist when her pace slowed. Suddenly they were plummeting over the crumbling edge of a chasm that opened before them with a darkness even more enveloping than the moonless night. Meghan would have screamed had she breath to spare. As it was, the little breath in her body was violently expelled when she landed face down.
The burning in her lungs lost precedence to the scrapes along the length of her body as she slid down the ravine wall. The roar of rushing rock filled her ears and she choked on the thick dust that boiled about her. When she finally slid to a stop at the edge of a narrow spring, she could not find the strength or will to move. She was a mass of hurts and stings
and her only relief was that she was no longer running.
Beside her another rock pile slid to a stop and she heard William's muffled cough. After a low groan followed by a string of expletives, she heard him scramble to his feet. He gently rolled her over.
"Meghan?" There was fear and worry in his voice. "Are ye alright?"
"Aye, I'll be fine if you'll just let me alone," she whined. A whole new barrage of aches assailed her as William ran his hands along her limbs and torso, searching for broken bones, finding only bruises.
"Come on, then. We must keep moving."
"Nay! Not another step!"
William pressed his hand over her mouth as the shout of a soldier floated along the breeze. Without another word, he hauled her to her feet and then slung her across his shoulder like a bale of wool.
She tried to wiggle down, but an all-too-familiar whack to her backside stilled her. Within moments, William was wedging them into a narrow crevice of rock. Meghan had no idea how he had found the cave in the utter darkness, she only hoped he was not digging their grave, as it were.
Meghan's shoulder smacked into the rock wall several times before the narrow passage finally widened. William carefully set her down. He turned and she flailed her hands about, trying to find him.
"William?" she cried, half-frantically.
"Shh," he said gently. "I'm here." He wrapped a blanket around her and pushed on her shoulders, indicating she should sit. She did and found herself cushioned on a low pallet of heather.
"What is this place?" she whispered.
"A small cave I discovered en route to Edward's camp. I knew I'd likely need a hiding spot did I accomplish what I set out to do."
"And what was that? Kill Edward?"
"Nay." He paused and the weight of the silence grew. "I was to kill you. You and your uncle."
"What?" Meghan hissed, fear choking her throat. Had she eluded one death only to meet another? She scrambled to her feet to better defend herself.
"Ye must understand," William said defensively. "To all appearances, you and Lennox were the only ones who could have betrayed us to the English. And your uncle is, in fact a traitor."
"Aye, he is," Meghan said softly, a whole new hurt assailing her. A thought crossed her mind. "What will happen to me?"
"What do you mean?"
"I assume we are returning to Robert's court. Will he no want vengeance for the English attack?"
“Aye, but he'd no take his vengeance out on a woman, especially after I tell him of your uncle's betrayal to his own clan. Even above that, once I vouch for you, Robert will not doubt your word."
"You trust me then?"
"Aye."
Meghan knew she was treading a dangerous path, but she had to be certain. "And how do you know I've not misled you?"
He stood only a step away. She heard his sharp intake of breath. His hands clamped on her upper arms and Meghan braced herself.
She was prepared for a blow or at least to be shaken. She was not prepared for the harsh kiss that stole her breath and abraded her lips. Somewhere in the harshness, a fire sparked and suddenly the kiss blossomed into one of passion and longing. She gloried in its bloom and returned the sweetness, wrapping her arms about his neck. His firm lips forced hers apart, his probing tongue claiming the whole of her mouth. As it retreated, she followed with her own tongue into his mouth, reveling in the taste of him. She clutched at his shoulders, pulling him more tightly against her body while his hands roamed up and down her back, coming to rest entangled in her hair as he tipped her head for easier access to her lips.
He finally tore his mouth from hers and whispered fiercely into her hair. "Ye have no misled me. Of that I am sure. Ye're still alive, are ye no?"
"Aye," Meghan said, taking his head between her hands and forcing his lips back to hers.
The desire, intensified by weeks of absence, heightened by the danger they faced, could not be contained in a kiss. William ran his hands down Meghan's torn tunic, bunching the fabric up to run his hands along her back, around her midriff to cup her breasts. His sword-calloused palms rasped lightly over the peaks, causing her nipples to harden in defense and desire.
She responded by pressing even closer to him, sliding her knee between his legs, gently nudging him. His body responded, hardening against her thigh. Her
hand quickly replaced her knee and she caressed the hot length of him through the layers of fabric.
They parted only long enough for him to pull her tunic over her head. His own followed, accompanied by a sharp tearing sound. Their bare torsos came together with a slap. Their hands were everywhere and again, Meghan could not catch her breath. This time, however, she was the pursuer, in search of the rapture he had taught her to take.
Amidst the renewed pounding of her heart, Meghan heard another sound-that of horses' hooves and shouting men--right above them. She felt William's muscles tighten and he held her close against him, his head cocked, listening.
Meghan prayed their hiding spot would not be discovered. At least not until she had once more felt the delicious joining of her body to William. Had they one more chance, Edward could kill her himself and she would die happy.
Indistinct shouts filtered into the darkness. Meghan's heart continued to pound-part fear, part irrational arousal. With her face pressed into the warm fold of his neck, she could smell only him-hot and sweaty and delicious. She tentatively reached out her tongue and ran it along his neck.
He was salty and dusty and she loved the taste of him. Her hands roamed the muscled contours of his back, scratching lightly, causing him to inhale sharply. She pressed even more tightly to him as she nibbled none-too-gently on his neck and jaw.
In a flurry of movement, all the more dizzying for the darkness, he spun her around to crash against the wall of the cave.
"I canna wait any longer," he said, his voice thick with passion. "We'll surely be heard, but I dinna care!"
The King's Rebel Page 20
