“And because of it, my father will remain in the Tower of London.” De Moray rubbed his face, shadows haunting every crease. “I very likely have sentenced my father to his death.”
“No,” Griffin said, his words firm. “Any guilt lies upon King Edward. Since his wife’s death, he cares not who suffers due to his decisions, or who he kills.”
“Aye,” Wallace agreed. “All the bastard cares about is power, to claim yet another country.”
His lips a thin line, de Moray thrummed his fingers upon the goblet. “Even if I had agreed, think you he would have nae ensured an accident during battle to guarantee my father’s death? Or, ensured that I never would be allowed to leave the tower alive?”
Griffin nodded. “With each passing year King Edward grows colder, and if possible, angrier.”
“More so,” Wallace agreed, “as his son is far from the heir he wishes to pass the crown.”
King Edward’s rants on his son’s incompetence echoed in Griffin’s mind. “Edward II will never be the leader his father is.”
De Moray’s eyes met Griffin’s. “But King Edward’s mood or his son’s affairs are nae our immediate concern. That would be Stirling Bridge.”
Griffin nodded. “Aye. The reason I have come.”
De Moray stiffened. “You have more information?”
“I have.”
Wallace nodded, rose. “Come, let us talk in private.”
In silence, Griffin followed the men, aware that once they’d finished, he would face another tense meeting, that with Lord Brom.
Rois stepped into the solar and paused. Her father sat upon his carved stool near the hearth inspecting his sword before securing it within its sheath. Images of him over the years as he’d greeted her each morning swamped her, his smile, the twinkle in his eyes, his warm laugh.
This morning he prepared for war.
She swallowed hard, fought the swarm of emotions as she closed the door. “When do you leave?”
At the roughness of her words, he looked up, the frown furrowed in his brow exposing his worry.
Tears burning her eyes, she remained by the entry. If she went to him now, hugged him, she would break down. He needed her strong. That she would give him.
Her father set his weapon aside. “On the morrow.”
Fear rippled through her. “I thought ’twould be a few days yet.”
“Things have changed.”
She clenched her hands at her sides. “I shall keep you in my prayers.”
Tenderness cut through the worry upon his weathered face. He walked over. “As I you.” He hesitated. “If I do nae return—”
“You will.”
“Lass. There are no guarantees in battle, more so when reports are that King Edward has sent north the Earl of Surrey, who leads thousands of troops.”
She started to speak, but he interrupted, “Nay. You will hear me out.”
Fear wound through her with a numbing coil. Hear him out?
“It is time you have a man to protect you, one who will be there if for some reason I do nae return.”
Her heart slammed in her chest. “Da—”
“’Tis nae the time to allow emotions to guide us, Rois. Our choices must be made through wisdom, and through the necessity of reality.”
Reality? “Of what do you speak?” The upcoming battle her father faced incited horrific images of swords slicing flesh from bone, warriors’ faces raw with agony as they crumpled to the ground, and their screams of pain.
“The baron.”
Eyes widening, she gasped. “You canna expect me to remain wed to King Edward’s man?”
His mouth tightened. “’Twas the man you chose for your husband.”
“It was—”
“Your decision”—he gave a firm nod—“and one I shall honor.”
“Last night you said you would take care of the marriage!”
Determined lines creased his weathered face. “And so I will.”
She fought to control the panic racing through her. “By allowing me to remain wed to the enemy?”
“Rois—”
A hard rap sounded on the door.
Face grim, her father nodded. “’Tis the baron.”
“How do you know?”
“A guard informed me of his approach moments ago. I bade him to escort Lord Monceaux here upon his arrival.”
And her da had nae warned her. Nay, he’d wanted her ignorant and planned this meeting without her consent. How could he after she’d married the enemy to save him?
Heart aching, she understood. He was afraid he would nae return from the battle at Stirling Bridge, and believed that finding someone to protect her would help keep her safe.
Her throat tightened as she fought back tears. How could she be angry when his decisions toward her were made out of love? Except, did he truly believe her safe with the Baron of Monceaux?
There must be something he hadn’t told her. Had he received insight from one of the many informants he met with in private? Considering he despised the English with his every breath, only one reason would make him foist her in the enemy’s arms—he believed the rebels would lose.
A firm rap again sounded upon the door.
Nausea swept Rois as she fought to clear her head, to accept his belief in Scotland’s demise.
“Enter.” Her father’s voice echoed as if from far away.
The door creaked softly as it swung open.
“Lord Brom, Lady Rois.”
Lord Monceaux’s deep baritone shuddered within the room.
In slow motion she turned toward the man she’d wed, and the man whom her father entrusted with her care. The man both well understood was their enemy.
Her nightmare had begun.
Chapter Six
At Lord Brom’s bid to enter, Griffin strode inside and halted. Framed between two large swords on either side of a majestic mantle, Lady Rois stood beside her father. Face pale, she laced her fingers together before her. Her expression was one he recognized, a look he’d seen yesterday when she’d confronted him in the great hall—fear.
As from the first, her fey-like beauty stunned him, drew him like no woman had ever before. After touching and tasting her last eve, images of her naked and responding to his lovemaking ignited in his mind. His body started to harden, and he willed the erotic thoughts away. God’s teeth, he need not think about the things he’d done, or what he’d almost taken.
A virgin.
An innocent, who, if not for the interruption by the Scottish knight, he would have bedded. Not that his marital vows didn’t bestow upon him such a right, but had he taken her, he would have destroyed any hope to reclaim his freedom. In hindsight, the humiliation of a wedding night spent alone seemed a paltry price.
“Lord Brom,” Griffin said, formality necessary in his daughter’s presence. Never must Rois learn her father was a contact in his work as Wulfe, or of their secret meetings to help gain Scotland’s freedom.
Eyes somber, Angus strode forward, clasped Griffin’s hand. “Lord Monceaux.”
“I regret to come at such troubled times, my lord, but”—Griffin glanced at Rois, then back to the Scottish lord—“’tis best we speak alone.”
“Alone?” Angus asked.
“Yes, my lord,” Griffin replied. “To . . . discuss the unfortunate tangle of events of the day past and how to proceed.”
Thick charcoal brows dropped into a frown. “Unfortunate tangle of events?”
God’s teeth, did Lord Brom not understand that he wished to spare Rois the embarrassment of speaking so openly of an annulment? Though the men had grown close through contact over the years, the dialogue between him and Angus would be difficult enough.
Angus nodded for him to continue.
So be it. “I wished to spare your daughter any discomfort in my discussing an annulment.”
Aged eyes narrowed. “’Tis unnecessary.”
Unnecessary? No, disengaging his life from this troublesome wo
man was a definite necessity. “Lord Brom, I understand your concerns for your daughter. While you are off to fight, I will keep her safe.”
The deep lines of worry on his brow eased.
“Da, this can wait—”
Angus shot his daughter a warning look. “We will discuss this now. ’Twas your actions yesterday that brought about this meeting.”
Griffin nodded.
“I explained my reasons.” Rois glared at him. “I need nae his protection!”
“Fear not, my lady,” Griffin said. “Our time together will be but days. Once your father departs for battle, I will escort you to a nearby nunnery. There, you will await his return.”
Hues of red splashed upon her cheeks. “You will take me nowhere!”
“Aye he willna,” Lord Brom stated. “Lord Monceaux, as your wife, Rois will remain with you, her protection and welfare your duty.”
A foreboding settled within Griffin’s gut. Why was Angus pressing the issue? The ramifications of Rois at his side were simple—in addition to placing her in danger, each day she remained with him increased the risk of her learning of his secret identity. Neither consequence he wished to contemplate.
Griffin cleared his throat and leveled a hard look at Angus. “My lord, think you ’tis wise for your daughter to remain with me given the circumstances?”
Rois’s gaze shifted from Griffin to her father. “What circumstances?”
“None that will change my mind,” Lord Brom replied, his voice firm. “Lord Monceaux, you requested my daughter’s hand before witnesses, and she accepted. By Highland law, you are wed.”
Requested? The woman had challenged him with ludicrous accusations in a chamber of men who believed him the enemy.
“My lord,” Griffin said, amazed at the control in his voice, “With Rois sleeping at Kincardan Castle last eve, and I at Dunadd Castle, we never spent the night as man and wife. Our marriage is but words spoken. An annulment will hold few challenges.”
Lord Brom crossed his arms. “You are telling me that after you and Rois handfasted, you both did nae spend time in the bridal chamber alone?”
Griffin’s throat worked as images of Rois naked and trembling from her release infused his mind. “For a brief while, my lord, but—”
“But?” Angus boomed.
Heat streaked Rois’s cheeks, and she looked down.
“’Tis my daughter’s honor that you will be keeping!”
Blast it! Griffin rubbed his brow. Hadn’t he assured Angus he would protect Rois while the Scot was away at battle? “My lord, your daughter is an innocent, her honor intact.”
“And what say you, lass?” her father demanded.
Her fingers tense, she lifted her eyes to meet her father. “’Tis as he claims.”
The embarrassment in her voice troubled Griffin. For an unexplained reason, he found himself wishing to spare her further upset. “Regardless of her poor choices yesterday, ’twill take but a connection within the church to end this union.” A powerful connection they both knew and worked with, Bishop Wishart.
“I disagree,” Lord Brom replied. “Your time alone with Rois has compromised my daughter’s reputation. You handfasted before our people, a vow I expect you to keep.”
Griffin stared in disbelief. Lord Brom expected he and Rois to stay married? The rebel leader was a man of wit, a man of profound intellect, except ’twould seem when it came to his daughter. Panic slid through Griffin as he searched for a reason that would return him to the sanity of his unwed state. Thick moments passed as the intelligence that had served him throughout the years, the cunning that’d assured him a position with King Edward, fled.
Griffin shifted. “I—”
Angus raised his hand. “You are wed. A union I find myself pleased to see.”
At the gravity of Lord Brom’s expression, the worry churning within his wizened eyes, Griffin understood why Angus had remained silent when he’d offered to handfast with Rois—he sought protection for his daughter. Protection Griffin had once sought for his sister, Nichola, after the tragic loss of their parents. A loss due to his irresponsibility.
Bedamned.
He shoved aside the dark memories of his past. This moment was not about the reckless decisions of his youth, but about a father concerned, a man who he would trust with his own life. Angus prepared to ride off to war and worried for his daughter. What father would not, more so a man who had lost his wife and raised a child alone?
However much Griffin understood her father’s concern, neither would Rois and her impetuous decisions beleaguer him.
“Da, please rethink your decision—”
Angus rounded on his daughter. “You cornered Lord Monceaux, questioned his honor without provocation.”
Panic widened her eyes. “Nay. It was nae my intent. ’Twas to—”
“Were you forced to handfast?” Angus interrupted.
She lowered her head. “Nay, but I explained my reason to you, Father.”
Lord Brom’s face remained impassive.
“I would like to hear her rationale,” Griffin muttered. Observing father and daughter together, it was clear where Rois inherited her stubbornness.
“The lass intervened,” Angus stated, “because she considers you a threat to me.”
“A threat?” Griffin asked.
“Aye—”
“Da, do nae tell—”
“Lass,” Angus said. He focused on Griffin. “She believes that if you saw me at the rebel meeting, you would report my shift of fealty to King Edward.”
Griffin nodded. This explained everything. Terrified that, with the news, King Edward would order her father hanged, Rois had confronted Griffin with an untruth to keep the man who’d raised her, the father she loved, alive.
Her need to protect her father was one Griffin understood, and a decision he respected. He remembered the death of his parents, and the guilt that they wouldn’t have been traveling had he not been imprisoned.
Face pale, Rois cleared her throat, pulling him from his thoughts. “He is King Edward’s advisor to the Scots. Da, do you nae understand that Lord Monceaux’s knowing you have withdrawn your fealty to King Edward is a sentence to death?”
Griffin stepped forward. God’s teeth, why had Angus allowed her to remain? “Fear not, my lady, I will not report your father’s presence at the rebel meeting, nor his change of loyalties.”
Green eyes sliced him with disbelief. “Do you think I am a dimwit and believe you speak with sincerity? Once you stand before your king, you will reveal everything.”
Blasted stubborn. “I will reveal naught.”
She angled her chin. “Do nae presume I am easily swayed by your practiced words.”
The woman would bedevil the calmest of men. “My lady, I give you my word.”
“By God,” Angus blustered, “This discussion is done. Rois Drummond, ’tis long past time you wed.”
A tremor shuddered through Rois’s body. “How can you entrust me to our enemy?”
Her father remained silent.
Da intended her to remain wed to the Englishman? How could her father entertain such a scandalous alliance?
An idea so stunning, so shocking slipped through Rois’s mind. She wanted to dismiss it, but no other reason existed—mayhap Da knew Lord Monceaux!
Hope exploded against her fear. Lower lip trembling, she took in the formidable man, his dark scowl fierce, and his eyes blazing with anger. Her heart sank. A foolish thought. Never had her father mentioned meeting King Edward’s advisor to the Scots. So, how could her father consider leaving her in Lord Monceaux’s care?
“Da.” Desperation wove through her whisper. “You canna leave me with this man.”
Eyes filled with love and worry held hers. “My child, this day I depart for battle. The Scots face enormous odds at Stirling Bridge against de Warren’s troops. ’Twill ease my mind knowing you are safeguarded.”
Safeguarded? No, sentenced. With her da’s mind made up, for what
ever his reason, at this moment he was blind to her dilemma.
“You will return. I refuse to believe otherwise.” Her voice broke. Rois jerked free, nae wanting her father to see her tears.
Soft steps echoed as Lord Monceaux walked forward. “My lady.”
She whirled. “Do nae touch me, ever!” Her fear for her father found a foothold. “And if you tell your king of Da, I will kill you, I swear it.”
Her father’s mouth tightened. “Rois!”
“Let me, Lord Brom,” Lord Monceaux said with quiet calm.
“Let you?” she said, furious the baron could be so in control when her entire life lay shattered around her. “How dare you tell me or my father anything?”
Her father nodded. “’Tis his right as your husband.”
“A temporary fate,” she replied.
“Lass, always will you be my daughter,” her da said, his voice rough with emotion. “But with your words spoken yesterday at Dunadd Castle, you are now Lady Monceaux. That I willna change.”
Rois floundered for a reply.
“Worry not, Lord Brom. I will keep your daughter safe. If necessary, with my life.”
Were they both insane? Rois shook her head. “’Tis lunacy.”
The Englishman’s face hardened. “If you want your father protected,” Lord Monceaux warned, his words hard with authority, “you will remain with me—a bed you made.”
Her heart pounded. She shot a glance at her father. “Da?”
“Lord Monceaux, I am retreating to my private chamber. Once you finish speaking with your wife, please have a servant bring you to my quarters. There are a few issues I would like to discuss with you in private.”
Her father was leaving them alone?
“My thanks, Lord Brom.”
A wizened face she so loved softened. “I love you, Rois. Never forget that.” With a gentle smile, he departed.
The soft click of the door echoed like a crack of thunder.
Alone.
With the enemy.
Trembling, Rois stepped back. “Leave me.” At her soft command, his jaw tightened.
“We will come to an agreement first.”
“Go to Hades.” His soft laugh grated on her temper. “I find nothing amusing about the situation.”
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