It did not take long for their horses to be brought to them, and once all the hunters were mounted—ten in all to make five pairs—squires came around bearing horns to be blown when a kill was made and cross spears with which to kill the boar. One of the squires approached them and handed the spear to Robert and the horn to Elizabeth. Robert noted Elizabeth’s frown, and as they weaved their mounts around the barking dogs that would lead the hunt for the boar, Robert drew his destrier close to hers.
“Why the frown?” he asked, genuinely curious as to how her mind worked.
She cast her gaze around them—he suspected to make certain neither her father nor the king were in listening distance. They were not, and her eyes met his, fiery with what appeared to be indignation. “Women have such an unfair lot!” she said, hushed. “I vow I’m just as good of a hunter and rider as you, but naturally, the squire handed me the horn and you the spear. I am defenseless while you get the weapon. I suppose if you fall under the boar, I’m to whack the beast on the head with the horn.” Sarcasm dripped from her words.
He burst out laughing, which earned him a reluctant smile that made his chest tighten. “I will protect ye from the boar,” he promised her.
“Yes, but who will protect me from you?” Her expression had turned earnest, her eyes searching.
“Do ye believe ye need protection from me?” he asked, feeling he was on the verge of some truth.
“I cannot say for certain,” she said in a low voice. “And that is my dilemma. I want to trust you, but should I?”
“I do nae wish to harm ye,” he said. “Do ye believe ye are on a path that is harmless to me?”
She bit her lip and stared at him for a long moment. “I’m on a course I did not set myself upon, as I told you.”
He frowned. “That is nae an answer to my question.”
She smirked. “Perhaps you should answer mine first… Should I trust you?”
“Likely, ye should nae,” he said honestly. “I mean ye no harm, but harm may come.”
She smiled. “Oddly, that statement makes me trust you more than anything else you could have said.”
Before he could respond, the hunt master blew the horn announcing the start of the hunt, and the barking dogs were let loose. Robert’s eyes met Elizabeth’s, and together, they took off at the head of the group.
He set them to a hard, fast pace, but not as fast or hard as he could have gone. As his horse thundered across the bumpy terrain, Robert worried for Elizabeth’s safety. What if her horse had a misstep and she was thrown? They left the open grounds and galloped into the thick woods, having to duck low-hanging branches and jump several fallen trees. Elizabeth kept pace with him, expertly flying over the obstacles while hunched low, her face set in determination.
They followed the thick pack of barking dogs through a stream, and freezing-cold water splashed high to soak Robert. Beside him, Elizabeth surprised him with delighted laughter. He stole a quick glance at her. She had a joyous smile on her face, and her blond hair streamed back behind her, making her look like a wild nymph. He grinned, utterly enchanted by her in that moment.
They came to the other side of the stream with the king, her father, and the other hunters close behind them. To the north was a steep climb, and to the south, even marshland. The pack of dogs split in two. Robert paused, his instincts telling him to take the climb, but he did not want to endanger Elizabeth.
“Robert!” she said impatiently from beside him. “What shall we do?” Her father and the king raced by them and started up the climb, while the rest of the hunters made for the marsh.
“Have ye ever climbed such a steep embankment on a horse?” He had to shout above the noise. A look of fear skittered across her face. “We’ll take the marsh,” he said instantly.
She bit her lip, her hands clenching her reins. “Will we likely lose, then?”
“Likely, aye,” he replied. “But yer safety is more important than victory.”
Her brow furrowed as she frowned. “No,” she said fiercely, “it’s not!” And with that, she urged her horse forward before Robert could stop her. She climbed at a pace that matched the best riders he’d known, and when they reached the top, she offered him a triumphant grin.
“Impressive!” he said, then glanced toward the thick woods into which the king and her father were disappearing. “Come,” he advised her. “Duck when I say so.”
She nodded, and he tapped his horse with his heels to get him to move faster.
The ride through the thick bramble was at once unnerving and exhilarating. The first couple of times he called for her to duck, he chanced glances behind him to ensure she was safe, but after a few minutes, he focused on the hunt, trusting now that she was skilled beyond most men he knew.
He could see her father and the king just ahead, and both men’s horses jumped over something, then followed one of the dogs to the right of a marsh. Another dog went to the left, and when Robert rode up to the spot, he saw the path to the left was treacherous, rocky, and narrow.
“We’ll go toward the marsh,” Robert said, his heart pounding and his breath coming hard from the ride. Alone, he would have taken the left, as the marsh would likely be slower and take longer to get around, but with Elizabeth…
“No, Robert, no!” She seemed desperate to prove something, whether to him, herself, or perhaps the king and her father, he could not say.
“If ye are injured—”
“I won’t be,” she interrupted, her eagerness to win written across her face. “I trust you to take care of me. Trust me to take care of you, as well. We are a team now, yes?”
“In this, aye, we can work together.” Unbidden, he wondered what else they might be able to accomplish if they could come to an understanding that aided them both. He set the thought aside to examine later and started down the path. Rocks slid under his horse’s hooves, and suddenly, his horse was sliding. He gritted his teeth and pulled slowly back on the reins as his horse neighed, and Robert got a glimpse of a drop-off from the hill to the rocks below.
“Tread carefully,” he cautioned, chancing a glance behind him. Elizabeth’s face was stark white. “What is it?”
“I’m fearful of heights,” she admitted through clenched teeth.
“Oh, aye? And ye waited to tell me until after I permitted ye to take this narrow strip of death!” He was unaccountably angry that she would hide such a thing and endanger herself.
“You did not permit me!” she said in an outraged tone. “I came on this path of my own accord!”
Her words were self-assured, but her white-knuckled grip on the reins of her horse combined with the worry glittering in her gaze told him just how frightened she was. Worry reared inside of him. Her horse began to neigh and flick her ear, and then the beast began to jerk her head.
“Saorsa, be still,” Elizabeth hissed, but the horse only grew more agitated, throwing her head up and down.
Robert’s shock that Elizabeth had named her horse the Gaelic word for freedom gave him a second of pause, but when the horse danced perilously close to the edge, Robert dismounted in one swift move and tapped his own horse on the flank to send him down the path. He turned toward Elizabeth and her mount once more.
“Shh, Saorsa.” His voice was soft and low as he lifted his hands in the air and held them up in front of her. The horse eyed him. “Saorsa, my beauty, settle now, ye wee beastie,” he said, making sure to keep his words soothing as he crept toward the horse.
“Robert?” Elizabeth’s tone was frightened, and the horse neighed in response to her fear.
“Shh, now, Elizabeth,” he said in the same soothing tone he’d used for the beast. When she glared at him, he had to stifle the urge to chuckle. Even in danger for her life, the lass was willful.
“Saorsa,” he said again, taking another step closer to her. “What a fine mount ye are.” He moved his hand ever so slowly toward the horse’s nose and allowed the destrier to sniff his fingers. She did, and then she nudge
d him. He patted her long nose. “Come now, lass,” he said, sweeping his gaze over the horse and Elizabeth, “I’ll guide ye down.”
He arched his eyebrows at Elizabeth, half expecting her to protest, but she bit her lip and nodded. Being very cautious, he reached for the reins, watching for signs of terror from the horse, and when he saw none, he took them firmly in his grip, turned on his heel, and led Elizabeth and her horse down the steep, narrow path to the thick woods at the bottom, where his own destrier waited for him.
When they were on level ground, he turned to Elizabeth. She sat stiffly on her destrier, his own mount trotting to her as if his beast sensed the other had need of him. His horse stopped beside Saorsa and snorted and her; she snorted back. He watched all this silently, glad for a moment to slow his own thundering heart. Little scared him anymore. He’d seen death and destruction. He’d experienced betrayal and degradation. Still, the idea of Elizabeth’s life being cut short left him cold.
“Ye’re either verra foolish or verra brave,” he said, hoping his own vexation did not come through in his tone. Yet when her eyebrows shot upward and her lips parted, he suspected it had.
She gazed down at her horse as she patted her neck. “I cannot claim to be very brave, and I refuse to agree that I am very foolish. I simply do not want to live in fear.”
The statement hung heavy in the air, and he guessed she was speaking of more than climbing a steep trail. “Why did ye name yer horse Saorsa?” he asked.
Slowly, she lifted her gaze, but she did not say anything. Stark fear blanketed her face. “Robert, do not move,” she ordered softly but firmly, her voice even.
His gut hollowed suddenly, and his blood rushed through his veins. Behind him, the boar they had been hunting made a sound somewhere between the roar of a bear and the snort of a pig. Black fright gripped him. For himself, yes, but more for Elizabeth. If the boar killed him, who would protect her?
“Throw me the spear!” he bellowed, lunging for her. She reacted without hesitation, grabbing the crossed spear that was sheathed in a holder of his saddle. The spear hissed through the air, her aim true, and he caught it a hairsbreadth before it gouged his eye out.
He turned toward the boar, who snorted wildly and charged him. Elizabeth screamed his name as he flipped the pointed blade of the spear over in his hand just in time to plunge it into the boar. The strength of the surging beast shoved him backward and onto the ground, its teeth still bared and the animal ready to serve the killing bite. With a grunt, Robert drove the spear further in, and the beast slowed almost instantly and fell heavily forward. They crashed backward as one, and Robert jerked to his right just before he hit the dirt and the boar landed on him.
The boar smacked into the ground with a thud, eyes wide open and body still. Robert stared in stunned disbelief at the dead animal. He still had a firm grip on the spear, and it took a force of will to uncurl his fingers. His blood rushed in his ears, and when he rolled to his back, Elizabeth was kneeling beside him, her extraordinary blue eyes filled with concern.
“Robert, my god!” Her voice shook as she spoke. “You could have died! My god!” she said again, her hand coming to his chest.
Perhaps she was in shock, but she touched him as if to ensure he was, indeed, breathing. Her palm pressed gently over his heart. The contact sent a jolt through him.
“What if you had died? Think of the loss!” Her eyes filled with tears, and the knowledge that she was crying for him broke the lock that he had put on his emotions the day he had decided to rise up against King Edward.
He’d sought to harden himself through the years since he’d first rebelled. He’d seen men cut down before his eyes, friends and family killed, and his homes devastated. He had grown hard-hearted. But heat flooded his chest now. This lass before him, so fragile yet so bold, foolish yet wise, had managed to make him feel something he had not allowed himself to feel in a long time. He wanted to trust her. It was foolish, but it was truth.
Without thought for the deception he was attempting to perpetrate, without thought for if she was a willing participant in the king and her father’s attempt to keep Scotland divided, Robert reached up, cupped her neck, and pulled her to him. He did not pause to think about the complications this kiss could bring. He claimed her mouth with a need that seared him. He crushed her to him, desperate to learn her as simply a woman and him but a man.
Chapter Seven
Elizabeth’s senses reeled as her heartbeat increased. Robert’s mouth covered hers hungrily, swirling emotions that whispered her to abandon any inhibitions. She gave herself freely to the passion of his urgent, searching kiss, refusing to think of what it might mean. They had precious little time, and she wanted to know the feel of him, the taste, the touch of his tongue against hers. He was sweet like ripe berries, likely from the wine he’d drunk earlier.
Their tongues tangled and retreated, then came together again in a dance of seduction as old as time. But for her, it was the first kiss she had ever had, and it sent spirals of ecstasy through her. His sinfully warm and persuasive mouth inflamed her entire body. Even in an act as intimate as this was, Robert exuded power. Leaving her mouth burning with fire, he brushed slow, drugging kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, and then up the sensitive column of skin once more.
Her body tightened everywhere. She ached and throbbed for the touch of his mouth in places she had never dreamed of a man touching her. Pressed as she was against his hard body, she knew undeniably that he wanted her with the same reckless abandon that had a hold of her. He recaptured her lips, but this time, his kiss was slow, featherlight, and intimate, as if they had belonged to each other for a thousand years.
Maybe they were fated, and everything that had happened until this point in her life was to bring her to him. Her thoughts whirled and skidded in her head so that she could not concentrate. He gave her one last long kiss and drew a moan from her lips as he broke contact. He gazed at her, his brown eyes almost amber now and so compelling and magnetic she felt a physical pull in the pit of her stomach.
“Ye named yer horse Saorsa,” he said, his voice a mixture of pride and awe.
It was not a question but a statement. “Yes.”
It was hard to think beyond the fact that he was so near she could see his dark whiskers growing from his face, feel the heavy weight of his well-formed muscles pressed against her, and the heat of his body warming her. She finally forced herself to focus. “My father gave her to me to keep here right before I defied him with the Moray men. After that, he forbade me from riding her, which he knew I dearly loved, and forbade me from bringing her back to Ireland. I was forced to ride in a conveyance instead of with her. I felt confined and captive, and I imagined it had to be how you felt, how most Scots feel under King Edward’s rule.”
“Ye want us Scots to win our freedom,” he said, an expression of satisfaction clear in his eyes.
His response answered her biggest question: Robert may have said he was here to bend the knee, but she did not doubt now that he wasn’t. He had not trusted her enough to tell her the truth, just as she had not trusted him enough to tell him why she was acquiescing to her father and the king’s horrid plan. She wanted so very much to confide in him, but she feared doing so.
“You are not here to submit,” she hedged.
His face revealed nothing, not that she had expected him to just admit to it. He sat up and leaned back on his palms. “Ye did nae respond to my comment.”
“You did not respond to mine,” she countered, her heart thundering.
“I spoke first,” he said, his smile devilish and tone smug. “So as a matter of etiquette, ye should respond first.”
She laughed. She could not help it. It was amusing to hear Robert, a hardened warrior, speak of etiquette.
“Ye laugh at me?” he demanded, yet the smile turning up his lips revealed he was amused, as well.
“I do. To hear you speak of things such as etiquette, well…” She shrugged.
Her humor vanished. It felt as if he was leading her to ask him what she wished to know. “I do not forget,” she said quietly. “I hear you are most anxious to retrieve all your land, titles, and coin again. I’m told you desire the wealthiest wife you can secure.”
“Ye should nae waste yer time listening to rumors,” he said, his voice suddenly hard and his eyes now like shiny black stones.
Hope sent warmth surging through her. “I’ll not,” she assured him. “Now that I know the rumors to be false.” Her stomach clenched at what she was about to say, but she knew this might be her only moment for truth. “When I ride Saorsa, I get an indescribable feeling of freedom, and all I want is to have that freedom once more. And I want—” Her throat was suddenly so dry she had to swallow. “I want your people to have it, as well.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” he said, his eyes searching her face and seeming to reach into her thoughts. “That’s what I want, too. Freedom for myself, my people, and ye.”
She believed him. She didn’t know whether that made her foolish or not, but she could neither change how she felt in this moment nor deny it. “You will not gain that freedom by submitting to my godfather’s will.”
Disdain curled his lips. “I know it well, Elizabeth, yet sometimes to achieve a great victory one must sacrifice much.”
She wasn’t sure exactly what he meant by that. Did he mean he would temporarily bend the knee to gain an ultimate victory? She opened her mouth to ask him, but he spoke again. “What do ye gain by yer submission to King Edward and yer father?”
“My cousin’s life,” she whispered, her cheeks heating with shame that she had relented to such a horrid plot against Robert.
His jaw clenched suddenly. “They took yer cousin?”
She nodded, too emotional to speak.
“The one from the woods that day in Ireland? The one who was going to flee with ye?”
Outlaw King Page 11