Page 2 of Christmas with a Highlander (Renegade Scots)

“I’m nae going to risk my life to put Bruce on the throne!” someone bellowed.

Robert flinched, knowing they were referring to his father. The guard who was with them snickered, and Robert glared the man into silence.

“Bruce is the rightful claimant,” came another voice.

“Bah! Bruce swore fealty to Edward as overlord of Scotland!”

“Ye ken he did that to avoid swearing allegiance to Balliol!” someone else shouted.

“Where is he, then?” the other man thundered. “Balliol has abdicated, and Bruce the elder does nae return to Scotland to help us stop Edward. What does he do instead? He sits in his lavish English estate! He has no backbone to rebel! Let us look to John Comyn to lead us in Balliol’s absence. He has managed to escape the imprisonment that befell many in his family.”

Their words were like harsh blows to Robert’s chest. John “the Red” Comyn came from one of the most powerful families in Scotland—Robert’s being the other—and that was the heart of the conflict between his family and the Comyns. The Comyns wanted all the power, including the throne, but not for the good of Scotland—for greed. Comyn cared for the rebellion only insomuch as he wished to protect his vast estates and current power. He did not truly care for the people and their freedom.

Robert gritted his teeth. He would have to fight beside a man who wanted to destroy him in order to save the land he loved. He shoved the guard out of the way, but a hand came to his arm. He turned to find Niall staring at him. “I’ll nae bend the knee to a Comyn,” Niall said. “Ye ken as well as I do that they will do all they can to gain the throne if there is nae any hope to return Balliol to it.”

Robert nodded. “We will fight for Scotland.” He didn’t say that he hoped his father would join them, though the hope lingered.

Suddenly, the door was flung open, and a giant of a man appeared at the threshold. He had to duck to exit the great hall. He strode toward Robert and Niall, his boots thudding against the floor. He stopped in front of them and smiled, a genuine expression that reached his clear blue eyes and made them crinkle at the edges. “I thought I heard a noise out here,” he said in a deep, friendly voice.

“Ye heard us despite all the commotion within?” Robert asked, exchanging a quick glance with Niall.

“Aye.” The Scot nodded as he scratched at his russet beard. “I’ve had to learn to listen carefully, especially when surrounded by chaos. ’Tis how I still survive though the English hunt me. I’m William Wallace of Elderslie.”

“We’ve heard of ye,” Niall replied. “I’m sorry to hear about yer wife.”

Grief swept over Wallace’s face for the space of a breath before murderous rage replaced it. “I thank ye. The English are suffering for the murder of my wife and will continue to do so. And ye are?” His curious gaze took in both Robert and Niall.

“Niall Campbell.”

“Carrick,” Robert said, giving only his title, as was customary.

“Ah, Bruce,” Wallace said, ignoring the given title. “Word of yer deeds have been brought to us by a messenger from Lady Moray.”

Robert nodded and Wallace grinned. “Seems ye made a friend in the lady and she thought to save yer head should anyone want to take it off.” He gazed intently at Robert. “Why have ye come here to us?”

“To help retain Scotland’s freedom, just as ye, Wallace.” Wallace looked unconvinced, so Robert added, “I’ve heard some things about ye as well.”

“Aye? What do they say?” he asked, a twinkle in his eyes.

“That ye fight like a brute beast.”

Wallace chuckled. “How would ye have me fight?”

“To win,” Robert replied easily enough.

Wallace set a large hand on Robert’s shoulder. “I do believe ye are the first noble I’ve met that I have actually liked,” Wallace said, winking at Robert. “Let us see if my opinion is enough to keep yer head on yer shoulders.”

Robert nodded and fell into step with Niall by his side behind Wallace. Wallace entered the room of disagreeing Scottish nobles and rebels, and when Robert and Niall followed all arguing ceased, chairs scraped, and the singing of swords being unsheathed filled the air.

England

Elizabeth pressed her hands against the cold glass of her bedchamber window, which overlooked the beautiful gardens at the king’s court. Her breath caught when her father and the king turned to look up at her as one. She scurried back from the window and bumped into the table behind her. The vase teetered, and she lunged for it, catching it before it hit the floor. But her foot slid out in front of her, and she went down with a hard thud , the breath whooshing out of her and the water in the vase spilling down the front of her gown.

She sat there with her bottom pulsing in pain, and her mind awhirl with horrid possibilities about what punishment the king was demanding her father dole out after what she’d done at the Morays’ castle. Banishment from her parents, her brothers, and her sisters to some remote place? A nunnery for life? She shuddered. She may only be twelve summers, as her mother and older sister always loved to remind her, but she did know some things, contrary to what they seemed to believe. She understood fully that she had far too much zest for life to spend hers in a nunnery or someday be a docile wife, for that matter. She inhaled a long breath and tried to slow her racing heart. Her father loved her. He would reason with the king. He would protect her.

Wouldn’t he?

Worry niggled at her as she set down the vase beside her and drew her legs to her chest, shivering with a chill of which she could not seem to rid herself. The memory of her father giving the order to burn men alive filled her mind. There had to be some explanation. There simply had to be. Because if there was not, then her father was not the man she believed him to be. And if he was not good and honorable, then how could she trust he’d protect her?

Still quivering, she set her palms to the cold, wet floor and scooted over enough to see in the slash of sunlight coming through the window. She could recall her father’s face just before he had locked her in this bedchamber, and the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Never had she seen such rage from him. He’d been nearly purple and unable to speak, and it said a great deal that he had not come to see her even once in the past sennight, nor had he allowed her out of her bedchamber. She had thought he would have by now. In fact, she had been sure he would visit so he could tell her he was vexed, very vexed, but that he loved her and had been compelled somehow to give the horrific order to burn the men.

She twined her hair around her finger, her agitation increasing. She was not sure how much longer she could endure being locked in here alone. The only person she had seen since returning to the king’s court was the chambermaid who brought a tray of food three times a day and emptied the chamber pot. She let out a ragged sigh. Perhaps she should be grateful she was being fed. She began to rock back and forth, going through the events that had led her to disguise herself as a squire and ride out with her father, his men, and Lord Carrick, Robert the Bruce.

It had been two things truly. She’d been irritated that her father had dismissed her request to ride with him that day so completely, loudly, and publicly. She’d not known the “mission,” but she had known she wanted to be part of it, and she could not see why she should not. Father had always allowed her to do things other girls did not. She rode as a man did, she spoke her mind, and she had even accompanied her father and his men on hunts.

The other compelling factor had been Lord Carrick himself. She had not met him, though the young man had been at court for some time. He was always surrounded by other lords and lavishly dressed women batting their eyelashes at him, but it was the way his dark gaze looked through the ladies and the simpering lords as if they were not there—or perhaps as if he wished to be anywhere but there himself—that intrigued her so. Once she had overheard her father tell the king that Bruce concerned him. He feared the young lord harbored secret compassion for the wretched Scots’ cause. Those words had burrowed into her heart, for she secretly thought that it was wrong of her godfather to try to make himself king of a land to which he had not been born, to a people who did not want him as their king. She did not dare utter such a thing out loud, of course; even she knew it was foolish to always speak one’s mind.

A soft tap came at the door followed by, “Elizabeth?” in a low, worried murmur.

Elizabeth jumped to her feet at her cousin’s voice, nearly slipping in her haste. “Lillianna!” she cried out, pressing her palms to the thick, dark wood of the door. Never had she been so happy to hear her dearest friend’s voice.

Lillianna was more of a sister to Elizabeth than her three true sisters were. Lillianna was the only female Elizabeth knew who shared her leanings toward things that were considered restricted for women—riding as a man, archery, swimming, and learning more than how to embroider and select food for supper. Her cousin also was an excellent eavesdropper, a talent she’d taught Elizabeth when Lillianna had come to live with them two years ago after the death of her mother.

“I’m so glad to hear your voice!” Elizabeth said. “What news do you bring? Is it terrible? Am I to be banished? What did you learn?”

“Not very much, I’m afraid,” Lillianna moaned. “Whatever has been decided about your fate has thus far been discussed behind doors too thick for eavesdropping. I’m not even supposed to be here. Your mother and father expressly forbade me from coming to see you, and Aveline has been trailing me, keeping watch.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at her older sister Aveline being her usual perfectly awful self. “How did you manage to escape her?”

Lillianna snickered. “I told her Guy de Beauchamp wished to see her in the solar.”

“Oh, Lillianna!” Elizabeth laughed, feeling so grateful for her cousin and only true friend. “Aveline will be livid when she learns you tricked her. She has a tendre for Lord de Beauchamp. Though I cannot see why. There is something about him that unsettles me.”

“Perhaps it’s the way he is always staring at you as if you are a great treasure he wishes to add to his collection when you become of age,” Lillianna said sarcastically.

“I will never marry a man such as Guy de Beauchamp,” Elizabeth vowed. “I don’t care if he is one of the wealthiest lords in the land. Aveline can have him!”

“As if you will have a choice of who you marry.” Sadness blanketed Lillianna’s voice.

Elizabeth wished she could hug her cousin. “Are you thinking of your mother and father?”

“Yes,” Lillianna said, her tone hushed. “I will likely be forced to wed, just as my mother was forced to wed my father. And look how that turned out.”

Elizabeth bit her lip as agitation roiled within her. Uncle Brice had beaten Aunt Kara for supposedly being unfaithful, and she had died from the beating. But Elizabeth knew, as everyone in the family did, that Uncle Brice had really killed Aunt Kara because of a long-festering rage that her aunt did not love her uncle.

It was not even that Uncle Brice had loved Aunt Kara and wanted the affection returned. He had only married Aunt Kara because she had been a seer, and he had wanted to know the future. But she had lost her abilities when the man she had truly loved had betrayed her. According to legend, a seer like Aunt Kara only had the power of sight when she was in love, so when she couldn’t be made to love Uncle Brice, her power did not return and he had never forgiven her. No one truly knew what had finally made him snap and kill Aunt Kara after so many years, but he had. Yet being a powerful lord, he had gone unpunished for the death of a simple Scottish lass.

Elizabeth inhaled deeply, burying the worry that was trying to rise. She had enough to be concerned about and the problem of one day being forced to wed against her will was at least several years off. “We shall both use our very clever minds to come up with a plot to marry men of our own choosing. We will aid each other!”

“You are so naive and hopeful, Elizabeth. ’Tis one of the reasons I adore you so. I cannot linger, though I wish I could. I came to warn you that your mother is coming to see you today.”

Elizabeth tensed. Her mother never had a kind word for her, only criticism, and Elizabeth could only imagine what she would say about ignoring her father’s orders. Likely, she was livid. Not out of care for Elizabeth, of course, but over being embarrassed at court by Elizabeth’s actions. “You better depart, then. I’d not want Mother to take out her vexation with me on you.” And her mother would; Lillianna knew this. Mother cared for Lillianna even less than she did Elizabeth, which was barely at all. Elizabeth felt sure her cousin had only been permitted to come live with them because it had made Mother look charitable and warm-hearted.

“I’ll return tonight if I’m able,” Lillianna said.

“Only if it’s safe. I don’t want you bringing trouble to yourself on my account.”

“I’ll be careful,” Lillianna promised, then the tap of her footsteps fell on the floor.

Elizabeth stood there listening until the sound of Lillianna’s departure faded. Silence descended momentarily but was broken once more by the tap of shoes upon the floor. She sucked in a sharp breath, fearing it was her mother. She hoped Lillianna had not been seen.

A distinct jangling of keys and the clink of a lock made Elizabeth’s heart race. The door opened, and her mother, looking perfectly coiffed and richly garbed, stepped into the room. Blue eyes that she’d been told a thousand times were the same color as hers narrowed on Elizabeth. “You cannot depart this room looking like that.”

Her mother’s unfriendly tone made her clench her teeth, but the news that she was to depart hit her like a ray of hope. “I’m to be released? I’m forgiven?”

“Forgiven?” Sarcasm laced Mother’s words. She stepped in front of Elizabeth, close enough that she got a full whiff of the pungent oil her mother liked to wear. “You are not forgiven. You are lucky to still have your head, you silly, willful girl!”

The slap came fast and hard, leaving a sting that brought tears to Elizabeth’s eyes.

“Marietta!” Elizabeth’s father boomed from the doorway. “Don’t raise your hand to Elizabeth again!” Relief flowed through Elizabeth, but as her father settled his dark, unfriendly gaze on her, it vanished. “She has to be taken through the great hall to depart, and I’ll not have anyone seeing her skin marred with red welts that will remind them of her deed.”

“She is the talk of the court!” her mother wailed. “Let them see we punished her!”

Elizabeth’s stomach knotted at her mother’s words.

“Clearly, you have not been in the great hall this morning,” her father said to her mother. “Elizabeth’s deed is no longer on everyone’s lips. Bruce is the talk of the court now.” His voice was lethal. “It seems he left the rebel Moray’s castle and rode from there to join the other Scottish lords and renegades to rise against Edward.”

“Pity,” her mother murmured. “I had a hope to marry Aveline to Bruce but that won’t do now. He’ll lose his estates for certain.”

Her father frowned. “I have a marriage in mind for Aveline already, so don’t vex yourself. Now, wait outside. I wish to speak with Elizabeth alone.”

“Richard,” her mother exclaimed, “you promised me I would have charge of her now!”

The news made Elizabeth cringe.

“Woman!” her father roared. “You will, but you will have it after I have spoken to her.”

Her mother, eyes wide and no doubt sensing she had pushed Father as far as he would be pushed, backed out of the room, shutting the door as she left.

Elizabeth pressed her back against the wall, wishing she could disappear into it.

Her father’s eyes seemed to harden as he looked at her. “You have made a fool of me.”

Elizabeth clenched her hands. “Father, no. I—”

“Silence!” The word whipped across the space and hit her just as hard as her mother had.

She flinched away from him and fisted the slick material of her gown in her hands.

Her father’s gaze raked over her. “I always had a particular tendre for you, so I gave indulgences I did not with your brothers and sisters, ones I should not have allowed.”

Color rose in his cheeks as he spoke, and Elizabeth stared at the rosy bloom that spread down his neck. Father saying that he’d had a particular tendre for her echoed in her mind. Had she destroyed his love for her, then? Her belly felt suddenly hollow.

He swiped a hand across his red beard, tugging at the ends. “Your mother warned me that I was ruining you, making you into the opposite of what a lady should be—willful, too curious, wild—but I told her to mind her place.” He shook his head. “I let you linger when I should have sent you away, and because of my weakness, you believe you can do as you please!” He banged a fist into his open palm. “You—” He pointed a finger at her. “You seem to think you have a place at the table of men!” His hand gripped her chin so swiftly she gasped. “I tell you now, you do not. You are a girl and will grow to be a lady, obedient and lovely, and you will learn that your purpose is to serve my house as I command for the furthering of the family. Do you understand me?”

She fought against the tremor in her body. She understood. Her importance to him lay only with what wealth or connections she could bring to the family one day, just as Aveline had always claimed. Elizabeth had not believed it until now. What a fool she’d been! She had no freedom, only the rights her father gave to her. Did he feel no true affection for her? Was there no explanation for the order he had given that day? Her mind spun, making her stomach clench.

Her father squeezed her chin. “Do. You. Understand?”

She stared at the pulsing vein near his right eye. She knew she ought to respond immediately, yet such worry coursed through her, she could not make herself speak, even knowing her silence would have grave repercussions.

“Elizabeth,” he hissed, his color rising again. “Your head is currently on your shoulders because I convinced the king that you could be useful to him eventually. Should I tell him otherwise?”

The king? Her father had convinced Edward that she would be useful to him? But how? Gooseflesh swept down her arms as her father’s fingers curled even deeper into her skin. “No,” she managed to choke out.

“Good.” He released her chin, and she rocked back from him, desperately wanting to rub her aching skin. Instead, she forced herself to fold her hands together and prayed she appeared calm.

Silence stretched between them, and he watched her steadily before he smiled. “You are stubborn and prideful, and you don’t know your place. But you will learn it. By God you will.” He grabbed her suddenly by the arm, half dragged her across the room, flung open the door, and shoved her toward her mother. “Take her home to Ireland, and make her into a lady who will benefit this family.”

The anger and hurt deep inside Elizabeth burst within her and overcame her fear. “You would have burned men alive to keep the king’s esteem,” she accused with a desperate hope that he would deny it.

“Yes,” he replied, his wintry voice and open acceptance of the awful truth making her feel as if her legs would buckle. She placed a steadying hand on the wall as the floor beneath her seemed to sway. “Do you think I became this rich and powerful without aiding men such as the king when they request a favor?” he demanded.

“Favor?” She heard herself gasp, yet her voice seemed very far away. Her ears rang horribly. “How can you call a request to burn men alive a favor?”

Her father’s nostrils flared, and she tensed, fearing he would strike her. But he inhaled a deep breath and said, “I cannot allow anyone to defy me. Ever. Including you. You’d do well not to forget it, Daughter.”

She would not forget. As much as it pained her, she would hold close the memory that her father had traded his honor for the king’s continued support and the wealth it would bring. Never would she marry a man who would do such a thing.