by Caroline Lee
The Queen had taken on the responsibility, the onus, of seeing John MacDonald’s treachery exposed. Charlotte had worked toward that acknowledgment for so long, that it felt odd not to have to worry about it anymore. Instead, she worried about Elizabeth’s cold expression when she’d dismissed them.
Nay, Charlotte didn’t have to worry about John’s treason anymore…but she did have to worry about the Queen and King’s vengeance.
Each evening, as she said her prayers, Charlotte alternated between praying she hadn’t made things worse by bringing her concerns before the Queen in such a violent manner, and praying she’d have the chance to see Elizabeth again.
Because Liam was with the Queen.
“Ye’re no’ even listening!”
Her father’s bellow jerked her attention away from the nearly full trencher in front of her. Charlotte’s spine snapped straight, and she smiled sweetly at the older man.
“I’m sorry, Da. I was contemplating my sins.”
Her father frowned, unsure if his youngest daughter was mocking him. “And what did you decide?”
“That I’ll likely have quite a few penances when I go to confession.”
“Aye,” Da growled, “for refusing to honor yer father.”
“And mother,” Charlotte helpfully pointed out. When he frowned again, she widened her eyes in innocence. “Father Thomas says the passage speaks of honoring my father and mother, which of course I would, if Mother ever gave me any commands.”
Somewhere down the table, one of her brothers snorted doubtfully, but Charlotte just smiled wider. Beside her, Mother murmured something she didn’t catch. Probably something encouraging and dutiful toward her husband, and not at all helpful to her daughter.
Da’s fist banged against the table. “By refusing to honor the marriage contract yer father’s arranged for ye, ye’re showing the world ye defy no’ just yer father, but yer clan and tradition! Ye’re dragging yer entire family down, ye harlot! Ye want us all to rot in hell with ye—”
“And what were ye doing, when ye destroyed the messages Liam Bruce sent to me? He’s a good man, and marriage to him would’ve been an even stronger alliance! So why did ye let me believe he wanted nothing to do with me?”
It was the first time she’d asked the question—shouted it, more like—and when Da’s hands curled into fists, she knew he was angry. But it was something she’d been wondering about since that afternoon on the deck of the Queen’s birlinn, and she needed to know if Liam had been telling the truth.
“I did it, daughter, because the MacDonalds offer a better alliance, and it’s up to ye to show ye honor yer clan—and yer father!—by following along with my commands!”
Charlotte slowly exhaled. She hadn’t been exactly sure what she’d expected, but hearing her father admit so baldly he’d betrayed her, had come between her and the happiness which might’ve been hers, just because he thought he knew better, well, Charlotte couldn’t do much but sigh.
A fortnight ago, Queen Elizabeth had commanded her to leave her ship, without even the chance to say goodbye to Liam. Charlotte had been the one to follow that command, knowing if she’d left the choice in Liam’s hands, he might’ve hesitated. He might’ve hesitated, or resented being forced to choose between her and his loyalty to the Crown again.
So she’d made the choice for him. And now she knew he’d been telling the truth, and her father had made a choice for her, she knew how it felt.
Da was still ranting about honor and duty, and Charlotte had had enough.
He was getting worked up again, and the silence which reigned in the hall around him, told her his audience would be no help. Charlotte sighed and placed her palms flat on the table on either side of her trencher.
“Da, I’m honoring my clan, by refusing to ally us with a traitor and a villain.”
It wasn’t the first time her father had heard her arguments, and he rolled his eyes with great exaggeration. “John MacDonald is a good lad—”
“A traitor by his own admission, and a rapist by my troth!”
As always, when Charlotte dared to use that word, Da’s ruddy cheeks darkened. Not in anger, but a sort of blustery embarrassment. “Ye— I donae— Lads will be lads—”
“The church also tells husbands to honor their wives and treat them well.”
Da frowned again. “When in damnation did ye become to be so devout?” he muttered uncomfortably.
For the first time, Mother spoke up. “Are ye considering holy vows then?” she asked hopefully, resting her hand on Charlotte’s arm. “My aunt would welcome ye at the abbey, I’m sure, and a quiet life of contemplation and service would do ye well.”
Charlotte met her mother’s dark, naïve eyes, and did her best not to smile.
Did Mother honestly think she was suited for quiet contemplation? No sword practice, no sailing, no intrigue?
“Perhaps, Mother,” she finally managed to say, as she patted the other woman’s hand. “I’ll consider it.”
Da was still frowning. “Ye’d take vows just to avoid marriage, lass?”
Charlotte looked down the table where her brothers were involved in their own conversations, either with one another, or their wives. None of them had bad marriages, and although she didn’t personally want the same life her mother had built with her father, Charlotte could admit it wasn’t terrible.
There were plenty of women out there who’d welcome marriage to a laird’s son, even a younger one like John.
But she’d wager if those women had ever met John MacDonald, they’d be less willing. And now with that scar she’d given him, mayhap he’d think twice about forcing an unwilling lass.
The Queen will make sure he’s punished.
Elizabeth had promised. She had the evidence, and even if it took some time, Charlotte had to trust the other woman to use her power to do the right thing.
And hope it wouldn’t mean doom for Charlotte and the Black Banner.
So she lifted her chin and met her father’s eyes. “It will no’ come to that, Da. But I will no’ marry John MacDonald.”
Mayhap he would’ve said more. Mayhap he would’ve ranted and raved and confined her to the dungeon without supper again—which had been a popular punishment when she’d done something particularly reckless as a child.
But they never had the chance to discover his response, because at that moment, a messenger rushed through the door to the keep, his cloak wet from the rain, and appearing as if he hadn’t slept in some time.
And he wore the royal livery.
Da wasn’t the only one in the hall who shot to his feet as the messenger hurried toward the dais. Charlotte felt her heart pounding in her chest, and laced her fingers together atop her heavy skirts to keep them from shaking.
Oh Lord.
She realized she was praying again, but wasn’t sure what she was praying for.
For the message to have nothing to do with her? Or have everything to do with her?
The man pulled a scroll from a pouch and handed it to Da without a word. No announcement, no acknowledgment, no proclamation. Just a simple scroll.
With the King’s seal dangling from it.
Da’s expression was grim as he took the parchment, and he didn’t bother sitting to unroll it. Everyone at the table seemed to be holding their breath, and Mother’s hand dropped to Charlotte’s laced fingers.
To offer support? Or to take it?
Not all Highland lairds could read, and Da wasn’t as accomplished as some of his children. Charlotte watched his lips move as he read, and she tried to guess what the letter said.
“A summons,” he finally said softly.
Beside Charlotte, Mother slowly stood, her hands shaking as she gripped the edge of the table. “For ye, husband? Again? What do ye think it means? Is the Bruce calling up his forces once more?”
“Nay,” Da said in a hoarse voice, turning his attention to Charlotte. “No’ for me. For her.”
Around the table—aro
und the hall—whispers broke out. Charlotte rose to her feet, not sure if she was relieved to finally have her question answered.
Queen Elizabeth had said Charlotte would be lucky to never again hear from her.
I guess I’m no’ lucky.
But she couldn’t be disappointed, because, aye, Elizabeth was at court…but so was Liam.
Beside her, Mother collapsed onto the bench, her fingers in front of her lips as if to keep from crying. She—and a few of Charlotte’s sisters-in-law—were staring at her with pity.
Da’s hand shook just slightly, the scroll’s royal seal swaying, as he sank into his carved chair. His eyes were wide as well, but Charlotte couldn’t tell if it was from shock, or disappointment.
And perversely, Charlotte felt herself grinning. She might be going to her doom, but at least Liam would be there. At least she would have answers to the question of what exactly had gone on months ago.
Aye, she was on her way to her future, one way or another.
Da swallowed, his voice hoarse when he waved the scroll toward her and asked, “What in the hell did ye do this time, Charlotte?”
Chapter 8
“And do ye believe the lass?”
The Bruce, King Robert I, had no trace of skepticism in his voice when he asked the question. He was leaning on spread fingers, peering down at the letters from John MacDonald to the Earl of Surrey, and the question hadn’t indicated he doubted their veracity.
Liam would’ve answered, except he knew the King hadn’t been talking to him.
From her seat by the cold hearth, Queen Elizabeth hummed. She was stitching something, a perfectly acceptable queenly pastime, but Liam knew she’d only begun to care about it while in captivity, with nothing else to occupy her time besides prayer. From where he stood, he admired the way she kept her shoulders straight and proud, as she frowned down at the green thread.
Finally, her chin dropped just slightly. “I do. I believe her. She is a bold lass, as you say, for certes. But she is passionate, and believed the MacDonald lad to be a traitor. I tend to agree, based on the evidence.”
Robert grunted an affirmative and pushed himself upright once more. He wasn’t a particularly impressive-looking man, being of average build and coloring, but it was the belief in those dark eyes, which had united a nation. He might not have been the leader Scotland expected when he took power all those years ago, but he’d built a nation by sheer force of belief.
And many, many sacrifices.
Liam met his cousin’s dark eyes and inclined his own head, pleased to be in his confidences once more.
“And ye, Liam?” Robert asked softly. “Ye believe her?”
“Without a doubt,” Liam responded quickly. “Char isnae one to overact.”
The King’s brows rose. “Really? Then what was this I hear about her threatening yer verra life, due to a misunderstanding?”
Liam winced. When it was said like that, Charlotte sounded a wee bit unstable.
“It was understandable, Yer Majesty. As far as she kenned, I’d declared my love for her, taken what I wanted, and left her to face the consequences. I would’ve threatened to stab me too.”
Robert’s lips twitched as he crossed toward his wife. “I believe I might have as well.”
“Aye,” Elizabeth agreed solemnly, not looking up from her stitches. “ ’Tis almost as bad as leaving your lady wife in captivity for—”
“—eight long years,” Robert finished, with a put-upon sigh. But he was smiling when he reached her chair and rested his hand on her shoulder. “How long are ye going to keep bringing that into arguments, lady wife?”
Elizabeth’s lips twitched. “Likely until we are both old and grey.”
“I’m already getting grey hairs, Elizabeth, and ye’ve been home less than a fortnight.”
Finally, the Queen rested her embroidery on her lap and reached up to touch his hand on her shoulder. “Someone has to keep you sharp, Robert,” she said, with a slight smile. “Elsewise, your mind will turn to mush, and Scotland will fall.”
As if emboldened by her teasing, Robert’s grin grew, and he twisted his fingers through hers, lifting her hand to his lips. “I gladly give ye leave to keep me sharp and happy, my love.”
When Elizabeth blushed prettily, Liam turned away.
It wasn’t because he was jealous of his cousin, not exactly.
Aye, seeing the way Robert had welcomed Elizabeth back home, and seeing the way Elizabeth had taken command of so many things, had left Liam longing for a life he could build with Charlotte. Even a few months ago, he might’ve been jealous, might’ve resented Robert for being allowed such open devotion.
But now?
Now, Liam knew Charlotte was waiting for him.
Last year, when they’d parted, their future had been uncertain. He’d been answering Robert’s call for men at Bannockburn, and she’d thought he’d abandoned her. The complications of her contract with the MacDonalds, her treatment at John’s hands, and her father destroying Liam’s letters, had all served to make their future anything but certain.
But Liam’s duty was done. He’d delivered the Queen—safely—to Scone, and fulfilled his obligation to his cousin. While he’d always have a soft spot in his heart for Elizabeth, and would’ve given his life to protect her, he knew she couldn’t be the only woman in his future.
Charlotte would be his wife, no matter what her father said.
He’d given her that vow, and Liam intended to make it happen...and soon.
But first, he needed to do what he could to help her. She’d risked so much—her and that idiot brother of hers—to make sure the King knew of the MacDonald treachery. Liam would ensure it hadn’t been for naught.
At the thought of what she’d endured at John MacDonald’s hands, Liam’s stomach roiled sickeningly. His hands curled into fists at his side, and he squeezed his eyes closed in an effort to banish the image of her lying helpless under a villainous man.
But she wasn’t helpless, was she?
He took a deep breath, then another, forcing himself to relax. He’d been through this so many times over the last fortnight, since hearing of her ordeal, and the only thing which helped was reminding himself Charlotte was smart and strong and capable. She’d held him at sword point, after all, and she’d mentioned she’d made MacDonald bleed.
She’d avenged herself, and through her wits, was continuing to avenge herself.
Liam vowed he would do what he could to help.
Behind him, the King cleared his throat. “Back to the matter at hand, my love. This Lady Charlotte...tell me what ye ken of her.”
Liam turned back to see Elizabeth pursing her lips—lips which looked well-kissed—thoughtfully.
“She is crafty,” the Queen finally said. “Intelligent. Used to being underestimated, and knows well how to use that notion. A woman who knows how to get what she wants, and who, luckily, is also honest.”
Not for the first time, Liam thought the Queen and his love would be quite good friends, if the circumstances had been different.
Perhaps the Queen suspected the same, because she nodded firmly. “Charlotte MacLeod is strong, aye, but more importantly, smart.”
Liam’s lips twitched. “Smarter than me, I ken it.”
“Aye,” Robert chuckled. “I suspect that’s true of most ladies. Ye love her?”
His cousin’s question was surprising, but Liam answered truthfully. “With everything I am, Yer Majesty. When this is over, when she has her vengeance, I will marry her.”
“Will she agree?” his cousin teased.
“If she doesnae, I’ll follow her until the end of time, trying to convince her.”
The two cousins shared a companionable smile, but the Queen drew their attention once more.
“Interesting you call it her vengeance, Liam. You do not wish your own retaliation on this John MacDonald? For what he has done to your lass?”
It was obvious from the gleam in the Queen’s eyes, thi
s was a test of some sort, but Liam didn’t bother puzzling through it.
“Ye’ve been with me every day for months, Yer Majesty. I’m surprised ye give me such little credit. I would kill MacDonald for what he’s done to Charlotte…but it would still be her, and her soul, who needs this retribution.”
When Elizabeth nodded in approval, Liam knew he’d answered correctly. He straightened his shoulders and turned to his royal cousin.
“Ye have the evidence in front of ye, Robert. Will ye act on it? John MacDonald is a menace to women, to anyone he sees as weaker than him. But he’s also a traitor.”
Liam was sure he’d known the answer to his question, but when Robert folded his arms in front of him and turned back to the letters spread on the table, fear settled in Liam’s stomach.
After a long moment, the King shook his head. “Ye are my kinsman, Liam, and a member of my clan. The woman ye love deserves vengeance…”
Liam mirrored his liege’s pose. “But?” he prompted, dread making the word taste sour on his tongue.
Robert sighed. “But I’m also a king. The MacDonald patriarch is a powerful man, a powerful ally. He would also make a powerful enemy.”
When his cousin turned to meet his eyes, sorrow evident in the older man’s, Liam understood what he was saying. The evidence spread on the table was enough to convict John MacDonald of treason. Enough to hang him, or if Robert was feeling particularly nasty, an even worse fate.
But if he did that, if Robert condemned John to death, he risked making an enemy of his father, a powerful laird. The MacDonald clan was already in the King’s suspicions, it wouldn’t take much to set them all on John’s traitorous path, if they had reason to hate the Crown.
Charlotte had risked everything to bring Robert this evidence, but the King couldn’t act on it.
He couldn’t give her the retaliation she deserved.
Liam lifted his chin and dropped his hand to the hilt of his sword. “Then let me make an enemy of him.”