Trust and Treason

TRUST AND TREASON Published by Linden Bay Romance, 2006 Linden Bay Romance, LLC, U.S.

ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-905393-46-6 Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned): PDF, PRC & HTML Copyright © DONNA MACQUIGG, 2006 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED The work is protected by copyright and should not be copied without permission. Linden Bay Romance, LLC reserves all rights. Re-use or re-distribution of any and all materials is prohibited under law. This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or business establishments, events or locales is coincidental. Edited by Stephanie Wardwell-Gaw Cover art by Dan Skinner Cover typesetting by S.L. Carpenter

TRUST AND TREASON DONNA MACQUIGG

Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason Prologue Scotland 1332 James MacGregor tugged his plaid more tightly over this shoulders as he stood on the battlements of Stonehaven. He gazed across the misty glen to a craggy bluff overlooking the North Sea. A storm brewed and the sky looked red and angry, but that wasn't what caused his brows to snap together tightly. 'Twas the lone figure of a man standing amongst the crosses of the clan’s graveyard, that drew his attention. “How long has the laird been out there?” James asked one of the guards. “Since dawn,” the man replied softly. “'Tis a rotten shame, it is.” James nodded his agreement. He slowly descended the steps and slipped out the gate of the MacDiarmid burgh. When he finally came to the graves, he crossed himself, clearing the tightness from this throat. He heaved a long sigh, then glanced up at the darkening sky. “Looks like we're in for a bit o' rain.” Robert MacDiarmid lifted his tortured gaze from the graves. ”She died because I was'na here tae help her.” “You did the best you could by 'em,” James said gruffly, swiping at his eyes. “Mary knows that, lad.” “Nay. I dinna. The man who murdered her still lives.” Robert walked over to a smaller mound upon which stood an elaborate wooden cross carved with the name Donald MacDiarmid. “They're both dead, and why?” Robert ground out, his voice edged with hopelessness. “Because I failed them, Jamie.” “They're in God's hands now, lad,” James said softly. “Are they?” Robert glanced at several other graves. “Are Davy and Duncan there, too?” he asked, his voice edged with icy wrath. He walked over to the cross upon which the name Mary MacDiarmid was carved. With a cry of anguish, he wrenched it free from the mound then heaved it over the craggy bluff. It shattered on the rocks below. “For the love of God, Robbie, don't do this tae yourself.” “There is no God,” he replied, his voice as cold and empty as a tomb. One by one the crosses of his father and two brothers were cast over the edge of the bluff until he came to the small cross marking his infant son's grave. He hesitated for a fractured moment, then jerked it free and sent it to follow the others. “Do you hear me?” Robert hollered, his voice echoing out over the misty glen. “There is no God.” Slowly, he sank to his knees, placing his hands on his wife's grave as if

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason touching it he could somehow touch her. “Ah, Mary, my sweet Mary. I swear tae you, I will avenge thee.” “Robbie, come away, lad.” James sniffed then put his hand on Robert's shoulder, but still his laird would not turn away. “Leave me,” he said, his tone deathly quiet. “Nay, I willna let you torture yourself any longer.” “Leave me,” he shouted, but the wind carried his words away. He turned and dug his fingers into the soil, staring at his fists for a moment before raising them to the angry heaven above. “Hear me,” he yelled. “I forsake You as You’ve forsaken me.” Chapter 1 England, Two years later Surrounded by battle hardened Scottish warriors, Elizabeth Rothwell could barely hear the wrathful words spoken by her uncle. The yellow firelight from the torches around the bailey of Thornhill Castle cast ominous shadows on the faces of all those who gathered. Her captor was in front of her, astride an enormous black horse which seemed to her to be the largest beast God could have created. He was an animal of extraordinary resplendence, as was the palfrey she sat astride. And their master, though Elizabeth was loathe to admit it, was resplendent, too, only in a dark and brooding way. She glanced at his broad back, trying not to notice how his long, sandy hair reflected the muted light like burnished gold. When he turned and caught her staring, his features were granite-hard, his darker brows drawn together in a scowl so fierce, she had to suppress a shiver. A thin white scar stretched from ear to chin along his jaw, adding to his rugged good looks. “You are her guardian?” her captor said in a deep, commanding voice thickly laced with brogue. His dark gaze fastened on the ruddy features of her uncle. “I had hoped you tae be dead and rottin' in hell with the rest of your kind.” He paused a moment, his contempt causing those who hated him to shift nervously when their gazes briefly touched the laird’s. “Mayhaps you're bein' alive is a good thing, 'cause now I can have the pleasure of killin' you myself.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Harm me and you will offend the Church,” the bishop warned, lifting his chin in an unspoken challenge. “More the reason tae do so,” the Scottish warrior countered. He glanced over his shoulder once more. “I've captured the lady...” She bristled when the last word was said with heavy sarcasm. “Reason enough tae surrender without a fight.” Tense silence caused Elizabeth to shift nervously in the saddle and for a fleeting moment the bishop turned his cold gaze upon her before returning to glare at the Scottish chieftain. “Laird MacDiarmid,” the bishop said with open contempt. “I had thought you to be a great and fearsome warlord, yet you hide behind a woman's skirts—a woman foreordained to serve God.” Elizabeth thought the laird would be hard-pressed to believe such a ridiculous notion, especially after what had transpired in the forest a day ago. She knew she'd been correct in her thinking the moment he purposely shifted his gaze to her rubbing the bruise on his chin. Her captor leaned on the pommel of his saddle unaffected by the priest's insult. “This woman,” he began, adjusting the claymore that hung from a thick leather belt at his waist, “is no lady, and if your God does'na know that by now, then He, like you, is a fool.” A collective gasp filled the night. “Blasphemy!” the priest shouted as he tightened his grip on his staff. “Under whose authority do you breach these holy walls?” “Holy walls?” mocked the warrior. “More Scots have died because of this fortress and the English armies she's housed than all the others combined. Thornhill is mine now, and I'll do with her as I please.” His eyes narrowed as he watched many of the priests close their fists over the hilts of their swords. “'Tis cold and damp and your lovely niece has had a long,” he cast a backwards glance at her, “tryin’ day.” He motioned to one of his men. “Take off the gag.” Curly wisps of coppery red hair blew across her oval face as the one called James removed the bothersome gag. She felt her captor's gaze upon her face like the heat of a too-hot fire. She countered with what she hoped was a haughty toss of her head, then purposely glared back. Yet still he stared, and the more he continued to do so, the more uncomfortable she felt. She finally looked away, wondering how one man could unravel her so completely. As her hands were still tied before her, she clutched them together and began to pray.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Heavenly Father,” Elizabeth said in a clear, deliberate voice. “Forgive this big savage brute and forgive these poor ignorant dogs...sheep,” she amended, “who follow him, for they know naught that they will be cast into the fiery pits of hell for their evil deeds.” When some of MacDiarmid's men grumbled, she cast them a sideways glance. Her captor no longer glowered at her. Nay, he wore that cynical smile that infuriated her. Forgetting that she wanted to avoid his piercing gaze, she met it, raising her chin in open defiance. “And, dearest Father, I ask that you forgive me for not having the strength to show this heathen the error of his ways at the river.” This time she got more of a reaction. His smile faded as he nudged his horse closer. Her courage fled, and then she closed her eyes and truly began to pray. “Hear my plea,” she said softly, hoping that God would show her some sign that He was listening. “Save us.” But 'twas to no avail. No lightning bolt shattered the growing darkness as she dearly hoped it would. The only light came from the torches on the wall. No mighty hand struck down the handsome intruder. The only hand she felt was the firm grip of Laird MacDiarmid as his fingers closed around her arm making her forget all about her prayer. “Close your mouth, lassie,” he warned, so close to her ear she felt the warmth of his breath. Her heart leapt into her throat, but she managed to return his glare though a little precariously. The sight of him so close reluctantly dragged her back to the events that had brought her to this miserable end. Mother Mary, if only she could have been faster. And if only he would’ve been a little slower. Her thoughts drifted back in time... ~ “When Uncle Anselm learns that we have left the safety of the castle, he will be furious,” Megan told her sister. Elizabeth cast a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure they weren't being followed. “'Tis been a fortnight since I've replenished my herbs. They’re dangerously low.” She turned the big grey mare down a steep path that led deeper into the forest and felt her little sister shift to a more comfortable position behind the saddle. “Uncle Anselm says 'tis not proper for nuns to ride horses.” “We are not nuns, not yet, and if my prayers are answered, we never shall be.” A cold, blustery day, fall leaves skipped across the well-worn path. “Are you warm?” “Aye.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Good. I would ride a while longer. The best herbs are near the river,” said Elizabeth. The smell of pine teased her nostrils and the cold breeze stung her cheeks. With her favorite clearing just over the ridge, she pulled the horse to a stop and slipped from the saddle. “Meg, take Esmeralda down to the river for a drink whilst I gather some wild mint under yonder trees.” ~ Robert MacDiarmid hunched his broad shoulders against the biting October wind as he halted the unlikely army that followed. As prearranged by Reginald Baynard, he and his Scottish warriors had met up with a regiment of English soldiers to make a show of force, hoping to encourage the warrior priests to forfeit the fortress of Thornhill Castle. “I canna blame you for scowlin', Robbie,” James complained as he stretched tired muscles, then tossed his reins to the young English page, grabbing a sack off the pommel first. “Even though you'll soon be the richest man in all of Scotland and England.” James pulled his plaid tighter. “I'd be scowlin' too, if'n it were me who had tae marry an English wench.” Robert glanced over at James with a grin. “You've given me a grand idea. Mayhaps we could arrange for you tae marry her. Then, I, as your best friend, could give you worthless advice.” Older by two score, James placed his weathered hand over his heart. “You wound me with your unkind words, you do. Have I no' given up me own home tae be here?” “A gallant sacrifice, too, being it was burnt tae the ground months ago.” “No matter,” James protested. “No matter, it was still me home, and I might add, on Scottish soil.” “I dinna ask you tae come,” Robert reminded his friend. “I could'na let you come alone. Who'd watch your back, an Englishman?” James snorted in disgust as he glanced around those who wore King Edward's colors. Robert grinned at his old friend's hurt expression. “The English canna be trusted and we both know that. Mayhaps after I've warmed my backside 'afore a blazin' fire and filled my belly with hot food and sweet wine I’ll feel better about what lays ahead. ” “Tomorrow our pangs of hunger will be a thing of the past,” James promised, his hurt feelings forgotten, replaced with the voracious eagerness Robert was accustomed to. “We'll roast a pig tae celebrate. I can almost smell and taste it now.” James closed his eyes and inhaled. “Ahhh, yes.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason Robert shook his head. “There you go again, thinkin' of your belly.” He put his finger on James's chest with a crafty grin. “My offer still stands. You marry the wench and I'll watch your back.” He raised one dark brow. “Well?” James rubbed his chin, pulling his tawny brows together. “For one, Robbie me boy, I'm no' the laird of the clan MacDiarmid. And for another, I've had three wives, and since you're askin', that was two too many.” He gave a disgusted snort, then scratched his beard as if in thought, but Robert knew by the old man's expression he was far from finished. “I've heard it said,” James continued, “that the lady, in her younger days, was a hoyden, and that's why her dyin' mother gave her inta Bishop Benedict's care.” He shook his head. “Definitely no' the kind of lass I'd want.” James dug around in the sack he'd taken from his saddle and pulled out a large chunk of bread. He tore it in two and handed half to Robert. “Rumors,” Robert said over a mouthful of bread. He inspected a small tear in his plaid. “I'm sure she's as mild as a new born lamb, perfect for a man like you teeterin' at the threshold of old age.” James snorted, and then his pale eyes squinted with renewed determination. “I've also heard that she's better with the crossbow than Ian MacDougal.” James gave an exaggerated shudder, then bit off a chunk of his bread before adding, “Women who use weapons frighten me, they do.” Robert looked up from his inspection of his plaid, amused by his friend's antics. “That good, is she?” “Better.” Robert shook his head, slapping James on the back as Robert ate more of the bread. “I'm thinkin' that what you've heard, Jamie old man, are wee little lies spread tae scare us off. 'Tis a fact, I heard from Lord Baynard hisself, she’s a delicate flower, compared tae the fairest rose. Perfect,” he repeated, pointing at James with the crust, “for a man like you.” “Methinks you've forgotten how well most nobles lie, excludin' you, of course,” James added, popping the last of his bread into his mouth. Robert's smile faded. “'Tis a small price tae pay, Jamie, tae have the chance tae avenge my kinsmen and mayhaps help free Berwick from Edward's clutches.” James glanced around again. “Be careful what you say, Robbie.” They walked a little further then James shook his head. “Revenge can sometimes be a sweet wine, but gettin' married is no way tae avenge our dead.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “True, but with the lady's hand comes the fortress of Thornhill, and we both know that old castle's been the fist around our throats since they built it. By spring, I'll see her reduced tae a pile of stone and ashes. There'll be no place tae garrison troops. 'Twill be a small gain, but mayhaps enough tae get a foothold.” James shook his head. “'Tis dangerous tae defy Balliol.” “The bastard's more English than Scottish. I've pledged my sword tae David, and I will honor that pledge. 'Twas Edward who broke the treaty, and only through Reginald Baynard's hard work are we here now. One year. After that, I'm on my way back tae Scotland and mark my words, Jamie, I'll see Thornhill ruined 'afore I go.” “Me sword arm ain't what it used tae be. I'm thinkin' I'm too old for much of a battle.” “I'd forgotten you're as old as you are,” Robert agreed, amused when James gave him a dark look. “Perhaps I should be looking for a nice, grassy glen to bury your old bones.” “I ain’t dead yet,” James muttered. They walked past several men using oiled rags to polish their claymores, and when Robert glanced at them, vivid memories of brutal battles and burning villages flashed through his mind. Too much blood had soaked the soil north of Hadrian's Wall—most of it shed at the will of the English armies dispatched from Thornhill Castle. Though it had been two long years since his wife and child drowned, the pain that tightened his chest felt as if it were just yesterday. Mary would’ve enjoyed seeing England again, and Lord Baynard and Lady Catherine would’ve loved to have seen their daughter and grandson. He heaved a long sigh. A new marriage had been arranged by his late wife's father to further strengthen the fragile peace between their two countries. But now, he wondered if Lord Baynard had really understood why Robert had agreed. “How far is the Black Rose from here?” James asked, breaking into Robert's thoughts. “Four days ride due west.” “How is it Baynard knows the lady Rothwell?” “He fought with the lass's father. Mary and she were childhood friends.” “He must think highly of her. You'd think it'd be hard for a man tae find his daughter's replacement.” Robert turned to James. “No one will ever replace Mary.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “I dinna mean it the way it sounded,” James said, placing his hand on his friend's shoulder. “I loved her, too...we all did.” James' bushy brows came together. “You look terrible. I'll have Peter set up your tent so you can get some sleep.” “Nay...don't rush the lad. I'm no' in any hurry.” “I knew it. You've been havin' them blasted nightmares again.” James held up his calloused palm. “Dinna go lookin' at me like that, Robbie. I know 'tis none of my concern, but I've heard you mumblin' at night.” “I dinna think you could possibly hear anythin' over your own snorin'. That's why I'm tired. Your racket keeps me awake. Now go and see that our men dinna pick any fights with the English.” Robert rubbed the day's growth of beard on his square chin as he made his way through the forest to be by himself for awhile. He came to a small clearing, surrounded by blue and green pines, ancient oaks and bushy evergreens. He yawned and took a deep cleansing breath, noticing a soft bed of needles sheltered by a huge pine. He took off his claymore, sat and braced his back against the trunk. He had much to think about, but now, in the peaceful forest he found it difficult to stay awake. ~ A stick cracked loudly close by. Robert came awake with a start, grabbing his weapon and scrambling to his feet. His reflex action spooked a large grey horse and it bolted sideways, unseating its small rider. A young girl screamed as she landed at his feet. Unnerved by the vivid details of his dream, he stared at the frightened child as his mind cleared. “Easy, lassie,” Robert finally managed to say. He sheathed his sword then extended his hand to help the child rise. The next instant a nun broke from the trees and flew at him. Her eyes blazed and a vicious snarl escaped her pink lips. He didn't see the danger until she thrust a small dagger at his chest. Reflex made him block the blow. Too late he realized his mistake—pain shot through his arm, but he had no time to think about it as a small fist slammed into his chin. The force of the blow snapped his jaw shut. He dropped his claymore in order to grab the second fist in midair just inches from his cheek. Growling with rage, he forced her arm outward, twisting the young woman around backwards, trapping her against his chest. The more she struggled, the tighter he held until he thought he'd surely crush her. But still she wouldn't stop. She gave a high-pitched snarl, squirming and kicking until her heel struck hard on his shin. “Damn you,” Robert muttered as he flung her to the ground beside the child. The young woman grabbed the child and scooted back out of his reach. A dull, throbbing pain shot

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason up his arm and when he glanced down, a very small dagger was nearly buried to the hilt in his flesh. Tasting blood, he dragged his hand across his mouth and glanced at the crimson streak on the back. For a moment his pain and anger were nearly forgotten as he stared into the emerald depths of his attacker's vibrant green eyes. To his chagrin, her gaze slid slowly from his, down to his arm where it stopped. Rankled, he wrapped his fingers around the hilt of her dagger and with an angry grunt, pulled the blade free, aware that she blanched, and even more aware that she didn't look away as blood soaked his white sleeve and trickled down his hand. When he looked at her, she was ghastly white, but stood quickly, dragging the child up behind her. With her wimple askew, her fiery red curls blew softly in the icy breeze, giving her a wild, untamed look. “Who are you?” he asked contemptuously as he wiped the blade on his kilt before tucking it into his broad black belt. “Who are you? And what are you doing on my land?” demanded Elizabeth before she realized she was challenging one of the largest men she’d ever seen. By his appearance, he hadn't bathed or shaved in days. His black, red and gold plaid only served to intensify the breadth of his shoulders. She swallowed down her fear and pushed her sister farther behind her as she cautiously took another step backwards toward her horse. Though her knees trembled, she raised her chin defiantly and stared into a pair of silvery-blue eyes that nearly destroyed her dwindling courage. “You are on my property, and if you don’t leave immediately, I shall have my uncle's guards arrest you.” She pulled herself up to her full height in an effort to intimidate the tall intruder. “They are just over the rise. There,” she pointed her finger toward the brace of thorn bushes in the distance where the top of a merlon-stone tower peeped between the pines. “Yonder is Thornhill Castle, and you are trespassing.” “You canna be Lady Rothwell,” the brute stated, raking his long hair back impatiently. “You're a nun.” “I am not,” Elizabeth said with a defiant toss of her head. She pushed Megan a little farther as she continued on, “I am a ward of the Church and therefore required to dress appropriately. But, I assure you, I am Lady Rothwell, and you...you miscreant are in grave danger. I suggest that—” Their eyes met and held. Her heart increased its already rapid tempo and she forgot what she was going to say. She glanced at his left hand, surprised to see blood dripping from it. “I would suggest that you leave before you faint from loss of blood.” He was looking directly at her now, his right hand toying with the dagger still sheathed in his belt. She licked her dry lips and took several cautious steps back, shrewdly pushing her sister closer and closer to their horse. As if he could read her thoughts, the man took a giant step forward and grabbed her wrist.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “I canna allow you or the child tae leave.” Furious, Elizabeth sank her teeth into his hand and at the same time snatched her dagger from his belt. “Christ's teeth,” he bellowed as he jerked his hand back and dodged a quick jab. “Run,” Elizabeth screamed to her sister, wildly slashing with the small blade. “Run!” Accustomed to obeying, Megan clambered up into the saddle and galloped away. “Will you stop?” the Scot growled as he wrestled the dagger from her fingers and pinned her arms to her sides. “I've shed enough blood makin' your acquaintance.” “Unhand me, you murderous pig,” she hissed, stomping her foot down on his. Unprepared for his reaction, she found herself hurled none too gently into the bed of pine needles. Outraged, she clambered up and charged again. “How dare you think you can have your way with me.” Robert was ready this time. He caught her wrists before she clawed his face. Bits of leaves and debris stuck in the curly mass of fiery hair. “Lassie,” he replied angrily as the sweet scent of roses assaulted his senses. “The very last thing I want is tae have my way with you any longer than absolutely necessary.” At that moment, he recalled his conversation with James and the way he said the lady compared to the rose. More tae the thorn, he mused. His hand wore her teeth marks like a badge, and his wrist throbbed painfully as he felt the warmth of fresh blood soak his sleeve. “I would’ve preferred tae leave your hands unbound, but you've forced me tae be less than chivalrous.” She squealed in frustration as he held her wrists with one strong hand while he pulled the lacing out from the front of his shirt and tied her hands together. “That should squelch your thirst for blood.” He shoved her away, smiling smugly as he limped towards the river. Elizabeth spun around. “Chivalry?” she shouted furiously. “What know you of chivalry? When my uncle hears of this...this malfeasance, he will have you drawn and quartered.” “So I've been threatened 'afore,” he muttered. “You will beg for my forgiveness, and I will laugh in your face.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Aye. I'm sure.” Robert scowled as the lady tossed her hair over her shoulder in a defiant gesture. Only slightly amused by her courage, he knelt by the river and washed the blood from his hand. He soaked the small puncture wound in the cold water, tore off a piece of his shirt, and used it as a bandage. When he finished with his arm, he cast a glance over his shoulder at the young woman standing in the shadow of the big pine. For a moment he almost looked forward to being with her under more peaceful conditions—in a soft, clean bed. As if she read his thoughts, her features softened and she walked submissively towards him. Slowly he stood, amazed at the sweet surrender on her smooth oval face. “My lord?” she asked, in what sounded like an angel’s voice. “Please allow me to apologize for my behavior. 'Tis just that I thought you had harmed my sister and I only wished to protect her...you—” She rammed him with her shoulder, sending him backwards into the frigid water. As he spluttered several oaths of vengeance, she lifted her chin in smug satisfaction. “You dirty Scottish beggar.” “Witch,” he swore as he found his footing and reached for her, catching the hem of her cloak. She yelped, squirmed out of it, then grabbed fistfuls of skirt and ran, her bound hands clasped before her. Chancing a quick glance over her shoulder, she groaned in despair, devastated to see him climbing out of the water to race after her. She turned and would’ve made it down a small ravine if her hem hadn't caught on one of the many thorn bushes. She came abruptly to a halt, turning to tug at the sturdy material with both hands. “Help me, heavenly Father,” she yelled, tearing at her skirt. When the garment wouldn't budge she began unlacing her gown. “Make me swift,” she prayed, slipping out of her habit as her assailant got closer. “Give me courage,” she nearly screamed as she jumped out of the Scot's reach. She scrambled down the ravine in her under garments and linen chemise. “If you hear me, dear God, strike him down.” At that moment she heard the Scot grunt and turned, shocked to see he had tripped. “See, Scotsman, God does help the meek,” she laughed, turning to flee, but in her haste, tripped over a large stone. She landed hard, hearing his deep laughter as he approached. A moment later he stood over her, offering her his hand. “Meek?” he repeated incredulously. “Had you no' been so full of yourself lass, you would've made it. Is’na pride a sin?” He yanked her to her feet and pulled her along behind. “Answer this if you can. Did you trip, or did your God push you?”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason Chapter 2

An hour later, Elizabeth huddled under a thick fleece, shivering more from nerves than the cold. She’d nearly died from embarrassment when her Scottish warrior had dragged her into his camp half-dressed. Though she prayed frantically and furiously, no one came to her rescue until an old warrior stepped forward, offering her his warm plaid—getting a dark scowl from her captor for his trouble. The older one's expression when he noticed the blood on his companion was comical, but at the time she found little to laugh at even though she felt a small smattering of satisfaction for having wounded the brute. The tent had a canvas floor upon which a huge trunk doubled as a table and several stumps were used for stools. ‘Twas only after hearing the warrior's deep voice commanding his men to make sure she didn't escape, did she realize he was the chieftain, but her revelation did nothing to settle her nerves. What in heaven's name was a Scottish army doing this close to her beloved Thornhill? And … did she get a glimpse of English soldiers camped further back in the forest? Nay, 'twas not possible. With no candle and confined to the tent, she couldn’t tell the time of day. The only thing she knew for sure was that their little ruckus in the forest had left her drained. She offered another reverent prayer that her sister had made it back to Thornhill, promising to pray more for the sick and hungry if the latter proved true. Elizabeth yawned. Surely if Megan had made it back and told them what had happened, her uncle's army of warrior priests would scour the forest in search of her. The thought brought a confident smile to play across her mouth. “You will see, Scotsman,” she muttered as she snuggled down amongst the furs, “who will be laughing when my uncle arrives.” “I dinna think he's comin', lassie.” Elizabeth let out a strangled scream as she struggled to her feet, tangled up in the fleece and teetering precariously. Much to her surprise, he hurried to catch her before she fell. “You're a clumsy wench for all your noble upbringin’,” he replied with what she thought was a rather smug smile. “If you release me, many lives will be saved, and I will ask my uncle to allow your return to Scotland unscathed.” She gave him a superior smile.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason Bewildered by the way his smile widened, she shrugged her shoulders and tried to move from his grasp, but he held her fast. She raised one fine brow. “Are you deaf or just dense?” She met his firm gaze with one as firm as his. “I said—” “Oh, I heard you, lassie, and if you want me tae let go, you should ask a wee bit nicer.” “Nicer?” she hissed. “Unhand me, knave, or I will personally see your eyes plucked out of their sockets before you’re hanged.” He feigned a shudder. “For one so small, you're a vicious little mite.” She sighed impatiently. Saints, but he was extremely tall. And he'd changed. His kilt was no longer covered in mud and his white shirt was open at the neck, giving her a glimpse at the dark hairs on his chest. And quite a broad chest it was. She felt her cheeks heat with color before she forced herself to look away, her gaze drifting to his rolled cuffs which exposed the neat bandage around his forearm. A tiny shiver ran down her spine as she remembered how deeply she’d sunk the blade. “Release me and I may find it in my heart to forgive you,” she hurried to say, hoping he would relent and let her go. 'Twas a fact being this close made her pulse race and her knees quake. And the fleece—this close to her captor—‘twas far too warm. Elizabeth watched as a dozen emotions flitted across his vibrant eyes. He was a handsome man for sure, and she rather liked the stubborn angle of his chin. She inwardly blanched. She’d need to be strong. She couldn’t be having such thoughts. The moment he let her go, she turned toward the trunk. “You're no' aware of it, lassie, but you've saved me a lot of time and trouble.” He paused momentarily as he filled two cups, holding one out to her. “I thank you for that, but dinna think that I'll let you walk out of here.” She accepted the cup and took a sip before replying, “Soon you will have no choice. My uncle is most likely gathering his army as we speak. Though men of God, they are fearsome, well-trained warriors.” She shrugged her shoulders then added, “I should have expected that a man of your ilk would not listen to reason.” She drank deeply, then held the cup out to him. “You’re a thick-headed Scotsman, and, no doubt, lost without an English lord to lead you. Do as you please. Ride up to the gate of Thornhill and be met with a murderous arrow storm.” A muscle jumped above his firm jaw, but other than that he seemed untouched by her insults. A small spark of panic flamed to life in the pit of her stomach. “Look at me. I am nothing special, my lord. Certainly not worth dying for.” He stepped closer and took her cup, purposely catching her fingers in his grasp before he smiled. “That's where we agree, lass. You're no' worth dyin' for.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Why you insolent—” He placed a warm finger over her mouth, catching her completely by surprise. “Dinna say something you'll regret, lassie.” Stunned by his arrogant smirk, she sank her teeth into his still raised finger. A swift pop to the head and she found herself back on the pallet wondering how anyone could move that fast. “Y-you struck me,” she stammered. The Scot examined his finger. “Aye, and I'll do it again if you canna act like a lady. Now sit there,” he looked at his wounded finger again then glared at her, “and don't move or I'll tie you tae a post.” “I will be rescued,” she threatened. “Aye, the sooner the better.” “God protects those who are—,” “Meek?” he finished raising one dark brow. “Penitent.” She smiled triumphantly. “Then you're sorry you bit me?” “No...no...I did not mean it that way,” she stammered. “No? But, you just said you were penitent, and if I recall, penitent means—,” “I don’t care what you think it means, it does not mean that I'm sorry I bit you. In fact, had I the opportunity to do it over again, I would bite harder.” He laughed at her rebellious expression. “Would you, now?” “Yes,” she nearly screamed just as the old warrior who had given her his mantle stepped inside. “The messenger has returned and...,” he looked at his master before he looked at Elizabeth, turning his gaze back to his master. “Don't ask,” her captor growled as he ducked out of the tent. When the older man didn't immediately follow, his chieftain bellowed, “Jamie.” The old man scratched his head then left almost as quickly as his master.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason Drained, Elizabeth sank down on the furs. She wanted to cry, but her firm determination not to cower kept her from it. “I am a Rothwell,” she said out loud, lifting her quivering chin. “And I swear on all that’s holy, that man will rue the day he met me.” ~ 'Twas a long and lonely night, and an even a longer day. When evening shadows again appeared on the walls of the tent, James came back and asked Elizabeth if she would like to get some “fresh air.” Or so he put it, blushing more than she thought a seasoned old warrior should about something perfectly natural. He handed her a worn mantle, tied a length of thin rope around her wrists, and led the way to the edge of the forest. She was grateful for the few minutes alone, but no amount of tugging with her teeth or twisting her hands could budge the knot. Reluctantly she took care of her needs then walked back to camp. The sun squatted heavily on the horizon as men began to saddle their horses and change into their battle attire. Odd, she thought, for them to do such things with the approaching night. “I see your leader has changed his mind. I assume I am to be escorted back to Thornhill?” she asked. “I suppose you could put it that way,” the old man replied. He pointed toward a copse of trees. “He wishes tae have a moment of your time, and if'n I were you, I would'na keep him waitin'.” Elizabeth squared her shoulders. Just as his man had said, the laird groomed a handsome black horse tied to a tree. When her captor heard her approach, he turned, but then resumed his task, speaking in Gaelic to the beast. At that same moment the stallion looked at her and she had the absurd feeling the two were sharing some comment about her person. “You wished to speak with me?” she asked, her tone a little more scornful that she intended. Robert turned and faced her. She was a small woman...nay, not hardly a full grown woman yet. In the over-sized mantle she looked more like a lost child. Even terribly tangled, her hair glistened in the fading light that filtered down through the trees. But, it was her eyes that bewitched him. Dark now with anger, but greener than the sea. “Lady Rothwell,” he began, taking a step closer. He searched her face, noticing for the first time the spattering of freckles on her nose. “I regret what happened yesterday. I dinna mean tae frighten you or your sister. I was restin' and dinna hear her approach.” Apparently uncomfortable with his nearness, she took a calming breath before she raised her chin defiantly. The gesture was quite feminine, and confirmed that this was a woman with courage. He knew she’d need a fair amount if she were to survive their marriage.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Though you scared my poor sister nearly to her death, I am not afraid of you,” she began, meeting his gaze with one as intense. “My offer still stands. Release me, leave England, and all will be forgiven.” She tried to leave, but he caught her by the arm. “You'll forgive me?” he asked incredulously. She swallowed first then nodded. “A-aye, I will.” “For what? I've done nothin'...yet.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Her lips were soft and warm, not at all what he’d expected. Had his wildcat turned into a kitten? He deepened the kiss, pleased when she moaned softly. A moment later he pulled away cautiously, expecting her to attack, but her eyes were still closed and her sweet mouth was still slightly open. It was a kiss meant to shock her, but he was the one surprised. She’d melted against him, staying in his arms for several moments until her eyes flew open. Almost as an afterthought, she shoved him back with incredible strength. “Are you through?” she asked more calmly than he would’ve expected. “For now.” He thought he saw her chin quiver, but as he scrutinized her features, he wasn’t so sure. ‘Twould be interesting to see what would happen if he kissed her again. “May I go?” “That's all?” he asked, somewhat baffled that she acted as if nothing was amiss. “You've no insults tae toss?” “What would you have me say, my lord? Your behavior does not surprise me. You are a Scotsman, after all.” He didn't like the defiant gleam in her eyes, and the way she raised her chin was becoming an annoyance, too. For a moment he wondered how far he could push her before she lost her rigid self-control. More the reason to do so, he thought with another smile—one he hoped would irritate her as much as she irritated him. “You canna convince me that my kiss had absolutely no effect.” “You flatter yourself, my lord,” she replied with a confident nod. “In truth, I’ve had better.” “On the remote chance that your uncle refuses to yield, and has my eyes plucked out 'afore I'm hung, mayhaps you would let me try again?” He paused for effect. “Grant me this one wish and I'd die a happy man.” Elizabeth sensed she’d pushed him too far the moment his fingers closed around her arms once more. She feigned a bored sigh, inwardly groaning. How was she to

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason behave? She had no experience with men. When his mouth had first claimed hers, his lips were smooth and delightfully warm. They made her feel as if she would faint away, if not from his touch, from the spark of excitement that burst to life in her breast, the tingling weakness in her limbs. Stunned by her own reaction, she worried she'd be lost for sure if he did it again. “I am sorry, my lord, but I fear you will need a lot more practice to please me.” “Do you think?” he asked. “I am certain of it,” she confirmed with a haughty nod. “And an expert you are on such things?” “Not an expert, precisely, but knowledgeable.” “Then mayhaps you could teach me.” His patronizing expression fueled her temper. She gave him what she hoped was a sympathetic smile and stepped closer. “First you must untie my hands,” she stated, delighted when he complied. 'Twould be easy to fool this Scot, she thought as she hurriedly formed a plan. “Place your arms around me. Ladies like to be held snugly.” The laird wrapped his arms around her, one on her waist and the other around her shoulder, pulling her close against his muscular chest—a very warm, muscular chest. Her heart began to hammer against her ribs, and as close as she was to him, she wondered if he could feel it. “Like this?” he asked. “A-aye...like that,” she gasped when he pulled her closer. Focusing on her plan, she placed one trembling hand on his chest while the other carefully slid his dagger out of its sheath. “Now, my lord, close your eyes and...” He didn’t wait for her instructions. Instead, he bent his head and pressed his lips to hers. She clamped her mouth shut, but he was determined, teasing and tasting at the same time his hand inched up her spine, causing her senses to swirl out of control. She tried to keep her eyes open and a grip on reality—she tried to concentrate on her plan, but even the air around her felt alive. But his lips were cool and delightfully sensual on hers. His hands were ever so warm and gentle, pulling her closer, wrapping her in a warm, protective embrace. Her eyes closed in blissful delight and she forgot all about the stolen dagger, eager to kiss him back.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason He devoured her lips, exploring, touching until she pulled back breathless and flushed. She knew her lips must be red with his kiss, as his mouth was wet with hers. Clinging to him, she stared into his eyes for several long moments waiting for her heartbeat to return to normal. Finally, he brushed his lips near the sensitive spot near her ear and whispered, “I'll have my dagger now, lassie.” The passionate spell he’d cast vanished, and he took the dagger from her slack fingers. Shaken more by his kiss than having her deception discovered, she tried to slap him, but he caught her hand and held it tightly in his own. He sheathed his dagger, then raised her palm and kissed it. “Thank you for the lesson.” His eyes danced with unabashed mirth as he slowly replaced her bindings. When the rope was firmly in place, he slowly dragged his fingers down her cheek then caught her chin when she tried to turn away. “I think you're no' as knowledgeable as you say. In fact, I think you could use a little more practice. But, dinna worry overly much. Once we’re married, I'll be more than happy tae help you.” Married? Had she heard correctly? Married? She couldn’t believe what he’d just said, nor what had just happened between them. Why hadn’t she stuck to her plan, she wondered as he left her standing in the small clearing. Stunned, she watched as he went over to James. The two men spoke in Gaelic, then looked her direction. Mortified, she picked up a small rock, and shouting profanities unbecoming her status as lady, hurled it at them. ~ “God is on our side,” Bishop Anselm Benedict stated loudly, jarring Elizabeth back from her memories to the present. “Does no' every warrior fightin' for his country believe that God is on their side?” Robert asked skeptically, but he gave no time for the bishop to answer. “And when they are heartlessly slaughtered, do they still believe this? Or do they say God has forsaken them?” The laird shifted in the saddle. “Nay, Benedict, God will'na protect you or any of your warriors from my claymore.” The rumble of male voices grew louder until the bishop held up his hand, silencing the angry crowd. Men on both sides shifted uncomfortably. “'Tis well known that you are a heretic who seeks only to fill his purse with this union. I will not surrender one of God's intended into your blood-stained hands. Now that I see who is chosen for my niece to wed, I am directed by a higher authority.” Dear God, she muttered silently, her thoughts in a whirl. It was true. The brute intended to marry her. She turned and glared at the laird. “You blackguard,” she hissed. “If you think I will be a willing wife…think again.” Livid, she twisted her hands until the rope cut painfully into her skin. “I’ll…I’ll kill myself before I become the wife of a Scottish pagan.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Be still, lassie,” James said gruffly. “He’ll be handin’ you his knife so you can.” When she glanced at James, he grinned. “’Tis easy for you,” she muttered miserably. “You have not been ordered to marry the son of Satan.” “Ah, lassie, he willna like ye sayin’ such a thing.” “Cut her loose,” the laird ordered, thwarting any further comments. Although her heart leapt into her throat, she tried not to cower when the laird leaned a little closer. “Are there any more frenzied women in your household?” he asked sarcastically. “If there are, I should reinforce my armor.” “You might want to sleep in it, my lord. For as long as you reside in my home, you will not be safe.” She squared her shoulders and brushed the tangled curls from her face. “Have you a name, milord? Or, as your betrothed, shall I call you by a more personal endearment such as Lucifer?” A spark of fear flamed to life at the way his jaw clenched and his long fingers curled more tightly over the hilt of his claymore. Even James shifted uncomfortably at her side. Again the laird's eyes locked with hers and in that uneasy moment she realized her words had wounded him. “Very well, lassie,” her Scottish captor said tersely. “Allow me tae formally introduce myself. I'm Robert MacDiarmid, laird of the clan MacDiarmid, second son of Donald the Terrible. I've been given an English earldom, in part by your king, but mostly because of Lord Baynard. Through his diligent work, I've also been awarded Thornhill and your hand in marriage for loyal service tae Scotland, and pledgin' the same, as distasteful as it was, tae England.” His cold gaze stabbed into her. “But first, I must unseat your uncle from his lofty perch. Though I shudder at the prospect of bein' bound in wedlock tae a shrew, despensin' his holiness will give me great pleasure.” His rolling 'r's' reverberated in her ears. “'Tis impossible,” she hissed. “Your title is a forgery.” She swallowed back another retort when the laird leaned closer and caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Hold your tongue, lass, lest you tempt me tae replace the gag.” She didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until he turned and spoke to her uncle. “Is your niece’s life worth so little that you'd risk losin' her as well as Thornhill? Mark my words, priest, you will lose Thornhill.” “Having been with you, I fear her virtue is already destroyed.” Benedict turned away from the Scot then addressed his army of priests. “Behold the legend of Lord Satan.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason He slaughters unarmed men and ravages innocent women.” Once again Elizabeth noticed the laird's back stiffen ever so slightly. “Honi soit qui mal y pense.” The laird's features were hard and cold, but his voice was as calm as death—his French clear and well spoken. “Evil come tae him who evil thinks,” he translated, and then paused just long enough to let his insult permeate. “Your mighty Edward has offered the Pope a generous contribution if you surrender peacefully. I would suggest you do so since the first blood tae spill would be that of your niece.” “'Twas yours,” Elizabeth hissed under her breath with a smug nod when he cast an angry glance her way. Benedict looked as if he wanted to say more, but an elderly priest stepped forward and whispered something in the Bishop's ear. Her uncle cast a quick glance in her direction before turning his attention back to the laird. “I will review your documents and if indeed the Pope sanctioned this union, then I have no choice but to obey.” Absorbed in the angry scowl on her uncle's face, Elizabeth didn't hear the approach of one of his priests until the man stood by her horse, waiting for her to climb down. Still clad in the over-sized mantle and her under garments, she hesitated to dismount until she caught sight of the dark expression on the laird. She quickly dismounted and hurried up the steps. “I see that you’ve disgraced yourself,” Benedict observed as Elizabeth came to stand beside him. “Had you obeyed my orders and stayed within the great wall, you would’ve spared us this humiliation. And Megan. Poor child. I doubt she’ll ever be the same after her terrifying ordeal.” Elizabeth blanched at the barely-controlled rage seething in her uncle's faded green eyes. His gaze stabbed into hers and made her feel as if she were vile and corrupt. “Cleanse yourself, and after you calm you little sister, go to the chapel and give thanks that you are only defiled and not dead.” “I am not defi—” “Obey me!” Anselm struck her across the mouth with the back of his hand. Angry voices covered her gasp as she saw the laird in a blur of motion. The next instant, he was there, and before she could stop him, he slammed his fist into her uncle’s face. The sounds of steel slithering out of sheaths filled the night, but the laird had drawn her own small dagger from his belt and pressed it against Anselm's throat. Cold hatred flickered in his eyes, frightening her beyond measure. “I have no’ forgotten what you did to Mary and my son,” Robert said tightly, but in a voice so low and deadly, only Elizabeth could hear. What did he remember? she wondered.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Do you believe what you preach, Benedict? An eye for an eye?” Beads of sweat dotted the Bishop's brow. As if using great restraint, the laird slowly retracted the blade then dragged the portly priest up and shoved him toward the huge door of the manse. Elizabeth tried to flee, but the laird caught her arm and stopped her. “Stay,” he commanded, but she recoiled at his touch, and then dashed into the manse. Robert followed her in, somewhat taken aback by the riches that surrounded him. Thick carpets covered the floor where he expected rushes to be. Elaborately carved chairs, upholstered with scarlet velvet graced a long trestle table—one chair on each end, and eight on each side. Polished wooden shelves lined the wall, and upon them twinkled jeweled goblets and silver platters. Elizabeth spoke softly to her uncle, and then without a backward glance, disappeared up the stairs. At the same time, James stumbled in, tripping on the carpet, nearly crashing into his laird as he looked at the lavish furnishing of Thornhill Castle. “Have you ever seen the like,” James gasped as he glanced around the huge hall. “Look at that.” He nodded at a large tapestry depicting a hunting scene. “Is that who I think it is?” He stifled a laugh. “Lookie, Robbie, they've done old Eddie up like a girl”. His amused expression turned to one of pure delight. “We're rich.” “Wipe the drool off your chin,” Robert said sarcastically, flashing his friend a stern look. Benedict threw himself into the high-backed chair at the head of the table and began to read the documents Robert had given him. A young priest came into the great hall with a platter of bread and cheese as another brought in a silver pitcher full of wine. They took several of the goblets from the shelves and began to fill them. “They actually drink from 'em, Robbie, can you believe it?” James whispered incredulously. “Wine, my lord?” The young priest waited patiently while James wiped his hands on his kilt before taking the cup. Robert accepted a full goblet also, but purposely put his hand on Jamie's arm before the older man drank. “Let the bishop taste it first,” Robert said, keeping his voice low so only James heard. Benedict tossed the documents down, then lifted his goblet and drained it. James lost no time in doing the same, smacking his lips loudly. “That's fine wine,” James said, thrusting his cup out. The young cleric hurried to refill it. ~

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Megan?” Elizabeth walked softly toward the child’s bed. “Megan, are you asleep?” Megan stirred, then sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Elizabeth?” she cried, throwing herself into her sister’s arms. “I was so afraid for you.” Elizabeth hugged her tightly. “There is nothing to fear, little one.” She held Megan at arms length. “See. I am well.” Megan made a face. “I was so worried. That man frightened me. Did he frighten you, too? You look tired, and…where is your dress?” “Never mind about my clothing. I must go and get clean, but I wanted to make sure you were well.” She gently pushed the child down on the bed and pulled the quilt up to her neck, placing a kiss on her forehead. “Go back to sleep. I will see you in the morning and tell you everything that happened.” ~ A little while later, Elizabeth lifted the hem of her long velvet robe and tip-toed down the corridor, keeping in the shadows close to the wall. When she came near the landing at the top of the stairs, she sank down on her hands and knees and crawled into the corner, confidant she was hidden behind the thick posts of the balustrade. She brushed aside a wayward curl and glanced down. Her captor had taken a seat on the opposite end of the long table. His henchman stood behind his chair, his hand resting on the hilt of his claymore. “Savages,” she muttered. “Wearing weapons into my home.” “I would never have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes,” she heard her uncle say. “'Tis the Archbishop's signature, of that I am sure.” The portly priest heaved a long tired sigh—his features angrier than she ever remembered them being. “The documents are authentic,” he added. “Though I don’t know how you came by them, if the day comes that I learn they are forgeries—” “You'll what?” Robert put down his cup. “Bring your army and fight me, man tae man?” His dry laugh caused Elizabeth to shift her position so she could see him a little better. He pulled his dagger from his belt then pretended to admire the hilt. “I'm no' an untried boy, Benedict, or an innocent woman, or a wee lit'le bairn.” A little child? Why would he say such a thing? Elizabeth strained harder to hear ever word. Hatred radiated from the Scotsman, though oddly enough, he outwardly appeared to be completely calm. “Nay, your holiness, if I thought you'd fight me fair, I'd welcome the chance.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason He laid the dagger on the table then lifted his cup and drained it. When he stood, his chair scraped loudly on the stone floor. “In due time, we’ll settle what’s between us,” he said contemptuously. “In due time.” Her uncle also stood. “I will not be threatened in mine own home,” he growled furiously. The laird only smiled the same cynical smile she’d seen before. “'Tis my home now, and all that you have, includin' your niece is mine now, too.” Robert grabbed one of the young priests on his way to refill James' goblet. “Fetch your master's things. He'll be sleepin' in the stable this night.” Elizabeth pressed herself back against the balustrade as her captor glanced toward the stairs. “Dear God,” she whispered when she realized he was on his way up. She cast a frantic glance around, trying to figure a way to get back to her chamber without being seen. Swallowing her fear, she sank down as low as she could and then crawled toward the corridor until she reached the support pillar. Praying it was wide enough to hide behind while she gathered her courage, she leapt up and dashed down the hall, slipping into her chamber at the same time she heard the familiar squeak of the top step. Closing her eyes in relief, she leaned back against the door as she very quietly pressed it shut. The laird’s footsteps came closer, and then stopped before her door. “Good night, lass,” she heard him say. Her shock turned into anger when she heard his muffled laughter drift down the hall. Chapter 3 By noon on the second day, the inner bailey of Thornhill had been divided between Scottish warriors and English soldiers. An uneasy truce had been established, not by their will, but by the will of the Scottish Chieftain to whom they had pledged their fealty. Since early morning, guests had begun to arrive. Some, like their countrymen, were ordered to do so, others were curious to see the fearsome Scottish warrior bound in holy matrimony to a high-born English lady. Elizabeth looked out the window as she dried her hair with a soft cloth. While she’d soaked in a hot tub, she’d replayed the events of the night of her capture, finding no comfort in any of it. Had she not been so willful, perhaps none of this would’ve happened. And what sort of revenge did the Scot hope to extract upon her uncle? Surely if he had done something terrible she would’ve learned of it. But then perhaps not, for if she hadn't asked about her uncle’s welfare, she would never have learned that though he had been banished to the stable, he and his followers had been housed in the soldiers’

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason quarters. That news offered her some comfort—that many men still honored her uncle as master of the keep. Sighing, she turned and looked at Sister Margaret. Her old and dear friend hummed a lively tune as she searched through a large trunk. Megan sat near the fire playing with a little rag doll. “I never knew there were so many people within traveling distance,” Elizabeth said listlessly. “It seems as if they've been coming for hours.” Margaret stood and inspected her selections. “Like you, I fear they have no say in the matter, they simply come to bear witness to a royal proclamation.” Megan glanced up from her play. “Is a royal proclamation the same as a wedding?” “It is in this case,” Sister Margaret replied. She motioned for Elizabeth to sit on the stool by the fire where she began to comb out her damp curls. “On a more pleasant note, Lord Baynard and Lady Catherine have arrived and are quartered several doors down.” “I must see Catherine immediately.” Elizabeth stood, and then sat abruptly as Sister Margaret pushed her back down. “I must do your hair. There will be time to visit after the ceremony.” “Nay,” Elizabeth said frantically. “Mayhaps Lord and Lady Baynard can do something to stop it.” Sister Margaret smiled sadly. “Nay, my dear. 'Twas they themselves who proposed it.” Stunned by Sister Margaret’s announcement, Elizabeth turned and looked at her dear friend. “Nay, it cannot be true.” A small knot formed in her breast when Sister Margaret nodded. Hot tears burned behind Elizabeth’s eyes, but too stubborn to give in to her feeling of betrayal, she held them at bay. “Little good my marriage to a Scot will do. Did not Catherine's own daughter marry a Scot?” “Yes, she did,” the nun agreed. “And is not Lord Baynard the most powerful warlord in Northumbria?” Again the kindly sister agreed. “Yet still the Scots raid our borders. What good is another marriage when his daughter's marriage to a Scot could not stop them?” The women were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. As it opened, two nuns entered, carrying a gown, veil and mantle. “My lady,” one said, as she bobbed a small curtsy. “Lady Baynard asked us to bring this to you. 'Tis a wedding gift from Laird MacDiarmid.” They placed the garments on the bed. “There is a beautiful gown in little Megan’s chamber also.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason Megan jumped up. “A gown for me?” The young novice nodded at the child then turned to Elizabeth. “Shall we stay and help you dress?” Elizabeth tried to smile but it felt more like a grimace. “Nay, Sister Margaret will help me. But I do think Megan would appreciate your assistance.” Megan ran to the nearest novice, and then slipped her small hand to the nun’s. “Are you sure you don’t need any of us?” Megan asked with a bright smile. “Thank you, but we will manage,” Sister Margaret replied. The young women nodded their respects and then quietly closed the door when they left. “I have never seen material as fine as this,” Margaret whispered as she ran her hand over the lustrous cream-colored material. “There are pearls sewn around the neck and on the sleeves.” She held up the matching girdle. “Look at this. They are sewn in with golden thread. You’ll look like a princess,” she exclaimed, her eyes twinkling. Another knock sounded, and before Elizabeth could respond, Catherine Baynard came into the room, her smile contagious as she gathered Elizabeth into her arms. “'Tis wonderful to see you after so many years,” she said, her grey eyes pooling with tears. Elizabeth raised her chin, hurt in the knowledge that her mother's friends had played a part in her forthcoming marriage. “Why,” she asked before she could stop herself. “Why have you and Lord Baynard done this to me?” Catherine gave Sister Margaret a desperate glance, thankful when the nun nodded and then left them alone. Catherine took Elizabeth's hands and they sat on the edge of the bed. “'Tis a long story, my dear—a promise made to your mother before she died—a vain effort to ease the loneliness of a young man I have grown to love. But more importantly, Elizabeth dear, a union designed to bring peace to Northumbria.” Elizabeth pulled her hands away and stood, wrapping her arms around herself as she began to pace. “How can I accomplish what your own daughter could not?” she cried. Catherine looked up, and by her expression, Elizabeth knew something was terribly wrong. “Mary and our infant grandson drowned nearly two years ago.” Elizabeth stared at Catherine. “Forgive me,” she said as she knelt before the older woman. “I am so sorry. I did not know.” Catherine put her hand on Elizabeth's cheek. “Confined to this fortress, how could you know?”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Catherine, I am sorry to disappoint you, but I am quite sure I cannot endure being married to a Scottish Chieftain.” Catherine stood and smiled sadly once more. “In time, as I came to love Reginald, you will come to love Robert, and he will come to love you. This I know with all my heart.” ~ Elizabeth stared into the fire, watching the logs burn into chunks of red coals. She’d hoped to find an advocate in Catherine, but her hopes were dashed once she learned her dear friends had helped to arrange the marriage. Lost in her dismal thoughts, it was several moments before she became aware of voices rising up over the balcony from the inner bailey. She recognized Lady Baynard's and assumed the deep voice that answered her greeting was that of Lord Baynard's. Perhaps if she appealed to him, the nobleman would change his mind and stop the marriage. She leaned over the railing, but before she could raise her hand to wave and gain Lord Baynard's attention, Robert MacDiarmid approached. She instantly stepped back, partly concealed by the stone pillar. The laird wore a black velvet tunic with gold buttons that enhanced the contrasting colors of his kilt and matching plaid. He was a powerful man, and had it been under different circumstances, Elizabeth knew she would find him most attractive. She watched as Catherine gathered Robert into her arms, kissing his cheek. He hugged the older woman back, holding her as if he were reluctant to let her go. Afterwards, he clasped hands with Reginald before taking Catherine's in his own. “How fares thee?” Elizabeth heard the laird ask. Reginald put his arm around his wife's shoulders as it seemed she became too emotional to answer. “We are well, my son...still sad, but well. And you?” “I am here.” His words, like his stance, were stiff and well controlled. “He is here also.” “You must not do anything that will jeopardize the fragile peace between us,” Reginald hurried to say. “The Bishop will leave with the rest of us tomorrow. Promise me you will do nothing to him or any of his men.” “I canna make that promise,” the laird answered, and Elizabeth could tell by his expression it was a difficult choice to make. “Then promise me you will wait until after the wedding.” “Because you ask me, I promise tae wait, but know this, I made a promise tae your daughter the day she and I were wed—tae protect her. I failed to keep that promise. I

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason made another the day I learned she was murdered, and if it's the last thing I do in this life, I will keep my promise tae avenge her.” Elizabeth clutched the pillar. She could hardly believe what she’d just heard. Dear God in heaven, Robert had been wed to Mary, the dark-haired beauty with whom she used to play. A thousand emotions arched though Elizabeth, but mostly the thought that she would never be able to compete with Mary's charm and gracious wit. “Benedict is Elizabeth's uncle,” Catherine added, drawing Elizabeth’s attention once more. “Please, Robert, think before you act. There is no proof. Don’t risk the life you can have with Elizabeth because of rumors. Mary would not have wanted it to be like this.” “Mary is gone,” the Scotsman said tightly, and by the anguish in his voice, Elizabeth felt the sting of sympathetic tears burn her eyes. “I loved her more than life itself,” he continued. “Don't ask me tae so easily cast the memory of that love aside for a new wife.” He spun and left the couple to watch his departure. Heartsick, Elizabeth turned away, staring blankly at the shimmering gown. How could this be happening? And why did she feel so betrayed? She didn't love Robert, and he certainly didn't love her. During her childhood she’d always felt second to Mary, and now, God help her, she was to be Mary's replacement. Anger began to ease some of the emptiness their overheard conversation had created. Lifting the laird’s gift, she rolled it into a ball and kicked it into the corner. ~ The chapel was filled to capacity yet divided accordingly. The English nobles on the right, the Scottish nobles on the left. Benedict's monks and the villeins lined the walls with the English captains, and Robert's Scottish warriors stood on the other side, all dressed in their best red tunics that blended nicely with their red, gold and black kilts. A young, inexperienced priest stood in front of the altar, nervously waiting for the bride. Standing beside Robert near the door, James flirted with a plump blond woman in the third row, passing the time as best he could to hide the gnawing fear that his laird's intended would refuse to come. His gaze flicked to Robert. His laird stood with his hands clasped firmly behind is back as he stared at the doors where Elizabeth would enter. The priest shifted uncomfortably, dabbing the tiny beads of sweat off his chubby face with a white silk handkerchief. The door squeaked and everyone turned expecting to see the bride, but an elderly nun entered. After paying her respect to the large crucifix hanging behind the alter, she bobbed a little curtsey to Robert and then to James, and then whispered something to the priest.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason The poor man grew pale and tugged at his collar, and then cast another dubious glance at Benedict before chancing a quick look at the laird. He was just about to speak when the door opened. Elizabeth paused a moment in the doorway to gather her courage. Dressed in her mother's black mourning gown, she entered the chapel. And at the sight, a unified gasp filled the room. She had purposely fixed her hair loose about her shoulders, the wild curls secured by a simple golden circlet to which was attached a black gossamer veil. The simple black-satin gown shimmered with each step she took and trailed in gentle folds several feet behind her. Although it fit her well, she knew the style was terribly old and outdated. “My lord,” she replied to her betrothed with an acquiescent smile as she placed her hand upon his offered arm. “I am ready,” she stated flatly, lifting her chin and taking a deep breath. She expected him to rebuke her, but much to her surprise, he matched her smile with an arrogant grin of his own. “You look beautiful, lass,” he whispered close to her ear, “but, who exactly, are you mournin'?” “My life as I know it, my lord,” she whispered back. He frowned as if in thought. “I see.” She nodded, quite pleased with herself until he snapped his fingers and a young warrior stepped forward. Much to Elizabeth's chagrin, the boy handed Robert a beautiful clasp and a neatly folded plaid. Robert shook out the folds. “I should have had the foresight tae ask Catherine tae choose black.” His emphasis on the last word unsettled her, but not nearly as mush as what he did next. Her betrothed carefully arranged the plaid over her shoulder, securing it at her hip with a smaller, ruby clasp that matched the one at his shoulder. The red, gold and black plaid looked wonderful on the black gown. The silence in the chapel was deafening, broken only by a few softly spoken poor child and poor dear as they walked down the aisle. A small giggle briefly lifted her spirits. Searching the crowd, she found Megan sitting on the end of a pew in a beautiful pink gown that matched her pink cheeks. Her features were filled with delight, especially when she used both hands to cover her mouth in a vain effort to stifle more giggles. Elizabeth mustered the courage to look at Robert's men. They stared at her with calm indifference. She quickly glanced at the villagers and her uncle's priests, many of whom she considered her friends—expecting to see understanding, perhaps pity. But instead she saw only disdain, and with their looks of malice the first tinge of panic fluttered to life in her breast. The only ones who smiled proudly were Reginald and Catherine Baynard.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “I suppose,” she whispered as they passed her friends. “I should be grateful we are being married in a church.” She kept her eyes glued on the priest as they slowly made their way down the aisle. “I have heard rumors that you don’t believe in God.” “They were no' rumors, lass,” her Scotsman replied—so softly only she could hear. Her mouth grew uncomfortably dry. “Then...you...you don’t be...believe?” “Tis by my hand that I am fed and clothed, and by my sword that I and those I love survive.” “Your sword did not protect poor Mary,” she countered, but regretted it the moment she glanced at the man by her side. Gone was the almost-teasing warmth, replace by the hardness she’d glimpsed whenever he spoke with her uncle. “I no longer blame God for my failures, lassie,” her Scot whispered. “Nor do I praise Him when I succeed.” His confession took her breath. To hear rumors that the laird was a pagan was one thing, but to hear him speak it was quite another. Dear God, see me through this, she silently prayed as she knelt at the altar. Her mind in a whirl, she didn't really hear the priest, only repeated what he told her—somewhat surprised when the man next to her spoke his vows. She accepted communion, not at all surprised when her new husband refused. Again the displeased rumble of those who witnessed reached her ears and started her heart pounding in her breast. Finally the laird placed a thick gold ring on her cold finger. An altar boy waved the incense around as the priest chanted. The room grew warm with so many bodies pressed into it—the sickening sweet smell of the incense—the droning of the priest giving mass. She felt herself sway and then righted by a strong arm around her waist, but it was so terribly hot she couldn't draw a proper breath. The crowd stood with a loud ohhh, as the bride fainted in her husband's arms. He scooped her up and stood, waiting for his men to force the concerned guests back to their places before he took his new wife from the chapel. No one dared to follow or approach him—no one except Bishop Benedict. “The poor child,” Benedict wailed. “I should have never let you force this marriage, MacDiarmid.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “'Twas no' my idea,” Robert ground out as he pushed the stout bishop aside. “Fetch Catherine,” he growled to James as he took the stairs two at a time. He kicked open the door to his chamber and went directly over to the huge bed and carefully placed Elizabeth's limp body upon the soft coverlet. In an effort to make her more comfortable, he loosened the tight collar of her gown, aware that James had followed him into the chamber and quickly closed the door. “How is she?” he asked as he watched Robert pour some water into a basin. “She's still out cold, if that's what you mean,” Robert replied, more harshly than he intended. He put the basin on a bedside table and went to dampen a cloth to bathe her face, but hesitated. Instead he tossed the cloth aside, picked up the basin and doused her with the water. She came up spluttering, but when their eyes met, her oaths of surprise turned to ones of vengeance. “Why you...you big brute,” she gasped. “Feelin' better?” he asked, rasing one dark brow. The door flew open and Catherine hurried into the room. “Oh dear, oh dear,” she cried as she hurried over to the bed, unconsciously pushing Robert aside as she snatched up the cloth. Scowling, Robert filled two goblets with wine, handing one to James. “See that our guests are entertained 'til my bride recovers. Assure them that all is well and that we'll be attending' the weddin' feast as planned.” “I will never—” Elizabeth's voice was drowned out when Catherine purposely covered her mouth with the cloth. “Hush, my dear. Now is not the time.” James glanced at the bed and then at Robert. “Are you sure she'll be up tae it? She's a wee bit green around the edges.” “She'll be there even if I have tae drag her kickin' and screamin', the whole way.” Catherine gave Robert a stern look before she turned back to Elizabeth. “Sister Margaret told me Elizabeth does not tolerate the incense well, Robert, and that is most likely the reason she fainted.” “I fainted because—” Once more, Catherine used the cloth to bathe Elizabeth’s face, covering her mouth. Elizabeth yanked the cloth from Catherine’s fingers and used it to dry the last few water

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason droplets from her lashes. “How dare you,” she said tightly to her new husband. “You've ruined this gown.” “And a shame it is, too,” he said sarcastically. “I’m sure it would’ve become my favorite.” “I should have expected as much. I am sure that must be how a Scotsman revives his lassie,” she said with a smug toss of her head as she removed the plaid then threw it at him. “Our women dinna need revivin' until after the weddin' night,” her husband amended with an arrogant grin as he retrieved the plaid. “Put this on,” he said as he tossed it back. He shot a dark look at Catherine. “Is there somethin' you can do downstairs?” “'Thou shall honor thy wife, Robert MacDiarmid,” Catherine stated with a dark look of her own as she walked to the door. The moment she left, Elizabeth shot off the bed. “'Twas rude to dismiss her as if she were your servant.” “I dinna dismiss her, I merely asked her tae leave.” “'Twas more an order,” she argued as she poured herself some wine. She took a sip, than stole a quick glance at her husband. He stood by the fire, his forearm resting casually on the mantle holding his goblet. Fingering the small gold cross around her neck, she glanced around the room, noticing that the cream colored gown had been retrieved from her chamber and draped carefully over a high-backed chair. “You should have consulted me before you accepted that gown from Lady Catherine, my lord. 'Twas a waste of time and material.” “The gown was a gift,” he said, his voice tinged with anger—his accent thick. “From me tae you. The coin I spent on it and the preparations for this farce of a weddin' could have fed my clan for a sennight. If you've ever been hungry, lass, you would've appreciated it a wee bit more.” She bristled at the harshness in his voice. “How dare you reprimand me.” “Now that you're my wife, I'll reprimand you any time I feel like it, lassie—especially when you choose tae behave like a spoiled child.” “I can only assume, my lord, that Scottish women require a firm hand as the poor souls don’t possess manners necessary to conduct themselves accordingly. However, I am English, and should you take it upon yourself to raise a hand to me, I will falsify submission,” she smiled, hoping he remembered how easily she’d done so back at the river, “and most assuredly cut your throat whilst you sleep.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason Where she’d expected him to take her to task for her outburst, she’d not counted on his sudden bark of laughter. “Did I say something amusing, my lord?” she asked with what she hoped was a superior smile. “Aye lassie, you did.” He put his wine down and crossed the short distance to stand before her. Her knees quaked beneath her skirts, but she mustered the courage to meet his gaze. “I've a bargain tae make with you, Beth.” Elizabeth felt her heart skip. Why would he choose to call her by anything other than her given name? And why now, when his voice was as soft as the richest velvet. She continued to stare, and at that moment she truly envied Mary, for this man was everything a man should be. “I'll make no bargain with a Scotsman. They cannot be trusted,” she countered. “Aye, neither would I. We're a thrifty lot, you know.” She inwardly groaned. He'd be a difficult man to live with. “I beg you tae reconsider, this one time. Catherine and Reginald are down there with the others, and I will'na hurt two people who only acted with good intentions.” He picked up his wine and drained it. “We've got tae go down and show our nobles that we're unified in this marriage 'afore we have a war on our hands.” Realizing what he said was true, she took a deep breath and began to untie the laces of her gown. “Very well, my lord. I shall conduct myself as your lady wife if you conduct yourself as my adoring husband.” She worked at the ties at her sleeves, then stopped, unable to loosen the knot. “I can help you with that.” “I don’t need your help,” she fired back, choosing to squeeze her hand out of the sleeve. “A gentleman would turn his back,” she added, waiting until he complied. Once she was sure he wasn’t watching, she briefly rubbed the chaffed skin of her wrist. A few more buttons undone, and she stepped out of the black dress and quickly donned the cream one, amazed at how well it fit as she swiftly laced it. “Shall we?” she asked, turning toward the door. He stopped her and held out his plaid. “You forgot this.” “I purposely left it.” “'Tis tradition that you wear it.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Whose? Certainly not mine. I am English, not Scottish.” “Put it on and be done with it,” he ordered. “I would sooner go downstairs in nothing but my chemise,” she countered, planting her fists on her hips. “That can be arranged,” he said tightly, his “r's” rolling like thunder in her ears. Before she could protest, he roughly put the plaid over her shoulder, and none too gently pinned it to her gown. When she reached up to rip it off, he caught her hand in a firm but gentle grasp. “You're a feisty lass, and I like that, but hear me and heed my warning, don't try my patience.” They stared at each other for several disturbing moments—each as stubborn as the other, then much to her surprise, he smiled, and then folded her arm over his and led her toward the great hall. Chapter 4 The great hall nearly overflowed with people. Though there were a few engaged in conversation, most were sullen and quiet, and divided in two groups much as they had been in the chapel. The soft rumble of discourse reached the couple's ears as they descended the stairs to stand on the landing where all could see. As if he’d been watching for them, James raised his goblet, shouting in his gruff voice for everyone's attention. “Tae our laird and his lady.” Lord Baynard and the rest of Robert's men followed suit and were joined by several of the villeins as they repeated the toast. Anselm and his priests ignored the salute. But when the other English nobles and soldiers only stared, Elizabeth felt a spark of anger ignite. How dare they, she thought. 'Twas the Scots that were supposed to be rude, not the English. She flashed the crowd her best smile and entwined her fingers through Robert’s. This simple gesture brought the rest of the crowd alive with a cheer that rang throughout the hall, filling her with unexpected joy. Her husband kept his promise and drew their hands upward to place a kiss on the back of hers before he led her down to the lord's table on the raised dais. Next to their table was a smaller table where Megan sat with Sister Margaret and several young novices. Servants carried in pitchers of wine, ale and hot, spiced cider and everyone raised their cups in salute to the bride and groom. Large platters of roasted meats and winter vegetables were brought in, and soon everyone was occupied with the feast. When

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason Robert turned to speak to James, Anselm leaned over and whispered into Elizabeth's ear. “'Tis my fault you’ve had to suffer this marriage,” the priest muttered. “How so?” she asked, curious after learning that ‘twas Lord and Lady Baynard’s idea. “MacDiarmid has killed many of our soldiers and 'twas because of these atrocities, the Church bid me to baptize his son to take away the father's sin.” Elizabeth's mouth went dry. “You? In Scotland?” “Aye.” He nodded as he took another bite of food. “As Bishop could you not have ordered another to make the journey?” she asked, frowning. “I felt it my obligation.” Elizabeth thought about what her uncle said, feeling none the better. “'Tis comforting to know that the babe died without sin.” She inwardly cringed when her uncle shook his head. “The child drowned before the baptismal could be completed.” “How dreadful,” she said in a strained whisper, crossing herself. “'Twas unfortunate, indeed.” He turned his cold gaze upon the laird who was conversing with one of his men and then smirked. “Perhaps it was God's will.” Stunned by his attitude, Elizabeth could hardly believe her ears. “Uncle, methinks you sound as if the babe deserved to die.” “God’s punishments take many forms,” he replied bluntly. Her uncle popped a chunk of cheese into his mouth, then took a sip of wine. Never before had Elizabeth felt so completely hopeless. Nay, she amended, panicked. Hatred radiated from her uncle as well as her husband each time the two men exchanged a glance. Feeling very much alone, she sipped her wine when her uncle turned to speak with a young monk seated to his right. Her husband conversed with James and several other Scottish nobles who were seated at their table and intermittently traded stories with Reginald and Catherine. On occasion Catherine would glance her way and smile, but the sadness in the older woman's expression did nothing to alleviate Elizabeth's growing anxiety. After several more sips, a cup bearer refilled her goblet, and Elizabeth continued to sip the heady brew. Again, Anselm leaned closer and whispered in her ear.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “He is a Scot—our enemy. Think you of that and the task ahead will be effortless.” “What task?” she asked, but realized too late her naivety. Her heart slammed into her breast as her uncle withdrew a small dagger and slipped it into her lap. Her throat tightened, her mouth grew dry and she felt as if she were living a nightmare. She reached for her wine goblet, having time for only a few swallows before her husband took the cup away. “Methinks you've had enough, lassie.” “I am thirsty still, my lord,” she replied, raising one delicate brow in blatant defiance. She reached for her cup, but he caught her hand and looked directly into her eyes. “There's nothin' tae fear, lass.” His expression was such that she almost wanted to believe him. As soon as he released her, she picked up her goblet and drank, choking on the wine in her haste. Her husband soundly patted her back, trying, much to her chagrin, to keep from laughing. When they finished with the last course, some of his warriors pushed back the tables. The enticing sounds of pipes and drums soon had several couples up and dancing. “Would you like tae dance?” Robert asked, smiling at the look of disbelief on her face. “Nay,” she replied quickly, remembering the dagger resting in her lap. “One dance. 'Tis English tradition, is it not?” His expression mocked her again, and though she didn't feel like it, she decided to accept. As she gathered her skirt to stand, she carefully slid the blade up her sleeve. “I did not think Highlanders knew how to dance,” she countered. “However, I do recall Sister Margaret telling me that pagans often paint their faces, and carrying torches, dance around carved idols of half-beasts and half-men.” His amused smile confused her. “I'm sorry tae disappoint you, lass. I tried, but I could'na find any paint, nor did I have time to chop down a tree big enough tae carve.” He stood and pulled her up beside him, apparently unaffected by her barb. He led her down from the dais, bowed, and then in time with a lively tune, swept her around until she was flushed and breathless. She was amazed that he could move so gracefully. Caught up in the merriment, she was unprepared when he whispered, “'Twould be a mistake to try and kill me 'afore our guests.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason She licked her dry lips and tried to take a calming breath. “I—I don’t know what you are taking about, my lord,” she defended. He twirled her around and pulled her back into his arms. “The blade in your sleeve, lassie. Though you could wound me, 'tis not big enough tae be lethal.” She stared up at him, shocked to see no malice in his eyes. “'Twas a gift to—” “Cut out my heart? If you've a desire tae see me dead, lass, it'll have tae wait 'til later when we're alone.” “I have no wish to see you dead, my lord,” she said in a breathless whisper, and this time his expression told her he believed what she said. The wine flowed as freely as the music. When Elizabeth declined the next dance, stating she was winded and in need of a moment to catch her breath, Robert asked her sister to dance. The child giggled with joy and took Robert's big hand, clearly enamored with the Scottish chieftain. He was careful to follow her shorter steps, dancing not one, but two dances with the laughing little girl. “How odd,” one of the English ladies near Elizabeth said to another, unaware that Elizabeth listened. “The old king would’ve never allowed this union. As for myself, I would think twice before letting that man touch my child.” “As would I,” the other said, her voice heavy with disgust. “But then, I would’ve sequestered myself with the good Sisters at Woodland abbey before consenting to a marriage with a Scottish heathen.” They both gave a dry laugh. “A pity, I say. The Rothwell line has been virtually unblemished before now.” Elizabeth glanced at the women, both richly dressed with haughty smiles on their unrefined features. Is that how the nobles of her country would see her marriage? she wondered as a cup bearer brought her a goblet of wine. The Rothwell line blemished? She sipped from her cup, growing more somber. The Scots made toast after toast to their laird, and after each toast, cups were refilled. One by one, the married couples retired to their chambers. Those left grew loud and rowdy. They hollered vulgar remarks, eager to steal the bride before the groom took her upstairs. An elderly monk came for Megan, and once the child disappeared upstairs, Robert led Elizabeth back to the table, lifting her goblet from her cold fingers. He leaned over to James and spoke, but the noise in the room made it impossible for Elizabeth to hear what he said. He’d placed her wine on the table, and just when she was about to claim

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason her prize, he grabbed her hand and held it with gentle pressure while he finished with James. A moment later, the older Scot left to mingle with the other men in the great hall. “Is it a habit of yours tae drink this much?” her husband asked, the arrogant gleam in his eyes more irritating than brogue. “Nay, my lord. Only since my marriage to a heretical Highlander have I felt the need.” His expression changed, and once again she regretted her remark. She expected him to rebuke her—almost disappointed when he did not. Instead he let go of her hand and turned away. She followed his gaze and found James speaking with several of Robert's warriors near the stairs. She tried to find Sister Margaret, but she and the novice nuns must have left with Megan. More and more of his men gathered and before she realized what was happening, they were all there—clad in their laird's colors, strategically placed as if their leader had positioned his army on the battlefield. When her husband stood, he gently grasped her arm and pulled her up beside him. “Do exactly as I say and no one will get hurt.” She blinked up at him. “Hurt? Who would try to hurt us?” Robert nodded toward the crowd. “They would, lass. If they take you, I’ll have a hefty ransom tae pay, and I’ve no coin tae spend on foolish English customs.” The crowd quieted for a moment and then the hall virtually shook with loud lusty remarks, some kind and some not. Elizabeth kept her eyes fastened on the warriors by the stairs. Then, as if given a signal, several young nuns appeared on the landing. She caught sight of James, and as if he knew precisely what his laird would do, he and the rest of the Scottish warriors formed two lines. Robert swept her up in his arms and swiftly carried her toward the stairs. Just as her husband had warned, a thousand hands seemed to reach for her in an effort to rip her from his arms, and for a moment she thought they might succeed. She heard the sounds of material tearing, but the Scots stood fast, allowing their laird to place her over the balustrade into the waiting arms of James, who promptly placed her amid a group of older nuns who quickly swept her upstairs unscathed. It all happened so fast that Elizabeth hardly had time to glance over her shoulder as the disagreeable crowd descended on Robert. The last thing she saw was the crush of a hundred people pushing and pulling at one another. Then it dawned on her. Many in the crowd hated her new husband. Would they do him harm? Before she could vent her fears she was ushered down the hall and into the lord's chamber. Sister Margaret looked up from tending the fire. “Are you well?” the elderly nun asked, shooing the others away.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “I...I believe I am,” Elizabeth said breathlessly. She forced a smile, trying not to think of what lay ahead as she warmed her hands before the fire. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder as Margaret pulled down the coverlet on the big bed and fluffed the feather pillows. When she finished, she came to stand beside Elizabeth who threw herself into the comfort of the kindly nun's arms. “Oh, sister,” she sobbed. “What do I do now?” She raised her teary gaze, searching Margaret's old familiar face. “My uncle …,” she pulled the small dagger from her sleeve and held it out for the nun to see. “He gave me this to use against …” Elizabeth couldn't finish, instead she folded her fingers over the knife and bowed her head. “'Twould be better to take my own life than that of another.” “Nay, nay, my sweet,” Margaret soothed. She hugged Elizabeth, and then took the small dagger and placed it on the bedside table. “Your life is just beginning. Fear not, all will be well, you shall see. All is as it should be.” “How can you say that?” Elizabeth asked in a shaky voice. “Did you see those people down there? They hate each other, and now they hate me for marrying a Scotsman.” “Poor dear,” the kindly nun crooned as she patted Elizabeth's shoulder. “Tis not the marriage of your dreams, but I have a feeling it will not be as glum as you think.” Elizabeth sniffed. “I cannot bear the thought of a bedding ceremony.” “'Tis an old tradition. Many a maiden has suffered through it.” She cupped Elizabeth's wet cheeks, her pale blue eyes full of love and concern. “I will be there if you need me.” She brushed a tear from Elizabeth's cheek. “I am not without some knowledge about the marriage bed, though I cannot share with you any first-hand advice.” Sister Margaret led Elizabeth over to the edge of the big bed where they both sat down. When she was through sharing what she knew, she squeezed Elizabeth's cold hand. “There's a strength in you, deep down inside. You got it from your mother. You can call on it anytime, and as often as you need and it will always be there. Now, stop crying and let me see you lift that stubborn chin.” She smiled as Elizabeth sniffed again and then raised her chin. “That is better, my sweet.” Sister Margaret helped Elizabeth undress, then gave her a long white nightgown and a warm velvet robe. “Slip these on before you catch a chill, and remember what I told you.” Margaret walked over to the table and filled a cup with some warmed wine and handed it to Elizabeth. “Drink this. It will settle your nerves.” She placed a kiss on Elizabeth's cheek and turned to leave.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Wait,” Elizabeth pleaded, finally remembering what she’d overheard—thinking that perhaps if she gave herself to the church it would be best for everyone concerned. “You must help me. You must help me escape to Woodland Abbey.” Sister Margaret frowned. “I don’t understand. Many times we have spoken of this, and each time you’ve stated all the reasons you cannot be a nun.” “I-I've changed my mind,” Elizabeth said with more conviction than she felt. She took a short breath hoping to reason with her friend. “There is still time—we could use the secret passageway—” “Nay, my child. To do so now, why...not only would you deny yourself the opportunity to have children, it would deny your husband his right to a legitimate heir.” “But you don’t understand. He does not believe in God,” Elizabeth blurted out as fresh tears pooled in her eyes. Margaret frowned even more, then came back and sat with Elizabeth on the edge of the bed once more. “He has told you this?” Margaret asked quietly. Elizabeth nodded. “Aye, in the chapel before we were wed.” Sister Margaret clasped Elizabeth's hands between her own. “'Tis odd that he would agree to be married by a priest in our church if he were a true heretic.” She was quiet for a long moment then heaved a thoughtful sigh. “You will have much to keep you busy,” she said with a comforting smile. Elizabeth stared at her, her brows knotting in disbelief. “I will what?” “You will have much to do,” Sister Margaret repeated. “And I know you will succeed.” “Succeed at what?” “To convert him, of course.” Elizabeth gave a frantic shake of her head. “I cannot.” “Oh, but you must. 'Tis your duty as a Christian. You must show him the good that can come with faith.” “Nay, he is too...too frightening.” Elizabeth jumped up from the bed. “He will be here soon.” “Good, the sooner you begin, the sooner he will be saved.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Saved?” Elizabeth cried. “I am the one who needs to be saved—delivered from the clutches of a nonbeliever.” She began to pace again. “I have changed my mind, Sister Margaret. I want to be like you. I want to devote my life to God and be a nun.” “Then you’ve changed your mind about children?” Elizabeth stopped and stared at the kindly old woman. “Children? A-aye, I suppose I have.” “You will have to be more convincing than that, my dear.” Margaret shook her head. “'Tis easy to forget what is important when you are afraid. I have watched the laird. I have spoken with Lady Catherine, and I watched him dance with Megan. And when they did not think I was listening, I have heard his men honor him with their words of praise.” The elderly nun stood and put her hands firmly on Elizabeth's shoulders. “God has chosen this path for you, Elizabeth. Don’t deny the man who is your husband, for surely as you’ve been given to him for a reason, he has been given in to your care for a reason also.” ~ Elizabeth's heart sank as the elderly nun left the room. She retraced the evening, remembering every event, but found little comfort with her memories. Then she remembered the evil gleam in her uncle's eyes as he pressed the dagger into her hand, and all the other, less intimidating memories vanished. Robert's claymore and several other short swords and long deadly daggers leaned against the wall in the corner by his trunk. She stared at them in despair. Her gaze fell on the small knife on the bedside table and before she could fathom what she wanted with it, she slipped it under the mattress. Several long disturbing moments passed before she heard noises coming from the corridor, growing louder as they approached her door. She clutched the robe tight about herself as the portal burst open and Robert stepped inside. He quickly braced his shoulder against the heavy door and dropped the bar into place. He was slightly out of breath and his tunic was torn, exposing his muscled shoulder. While he leaned back and breathed a sigh of relief, she heard her uncle's loud voice protesting from the other side. “Must they come in?” she asked, hating the shaky sound of her voice. “Nay. 'Tis your tradition, no' mine.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason Her anger flared, fueled more by her over indulgence of wine that her own good sense. “I am to abide by your traditions, but you don’t have to abide by mine?” The laird shot her a sideways glance as someone pounded heavily upon the door. “Are you sayin' you want me tae let them in?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. When she didn't answer, he shrugged his shoulders and turned to lift the bar. “Nay,” she shouted as she hurried to the door and put her hand protectively on the bar. “Nay,” she repeated a little breathlessly. “Nay, I don’t want to let them in.” “But you just said—” “Are you purposely trying to confuse me?” she hissed. “I did not mean that I wanted to let them in, I meant that if I have to honor your traditions, then is it not only fair that you honor mine?” He paused as if thinking about what she said, then grabbed the bar. “Nay!” She shoved the bar down, refusing to take her hands off of it. Only when she heard the deep rumble of his laughter, did she turn to look at him. His eyes were alive with mischief and though for a breath of a moment she wanted to slap him, she sensed he was trying to put her at ease. “You—you are a dishonorable, mule-headed Scot. Methinks you enjoy taunting me.” “Aye, I am and I do.” Several more sharp knocks sounded before the grumbling of the crowd began to fade away. As silence descended upon them, he let his eyes feast on the vision before him. In the forest he had seen a fire in her eyes that intrigued him and made him want to tame her, but now he just wanted to hold her and ease her fear. He had to admit the heavy robe hid most of what he wanted to see, but nevertheless, just to know that this young beauty was his wife filled him with a happiness he hadn't expected. He had been prepared to leave his home, come to England and marry, but he had not been prepared to feel this way about another woman other than Mary. “You can let go of the bar now,” he said softly. She jerked her hands away and would have left him if he hadn't caught her arm. “You've no need tae be afraid, lassie.” “I am not afraid,” she replied, raising her chin. “Then why do you tremble?”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason She pulled her arm from his grasp and hugged herself. “I...I am cold.” Much to her surprise, he smiled sympathetically. “Then I'll build a fire.” He knelt by the hearth and placed another log on the coals. “That'll do it for awhile,” he said. The soft timbre of his voice caused a sudden swirl of butterflies to awaken in her stomach. When he stood and faced her, she refused to look at him, glancing at his shoulder instead. “Did they attack you, my lord?” “Our guests were a wee bit persistent in their desire tae see you properly bedded.” His eye twinkled once more with laughter. “For a few moments, I was'na sure that before you could be a wife, you'd be a widow. But then, I'm no' sure you would'na prefer it.” He tried to unfasten his plaid, but the pin had been damaged and wouldn't come loose. Standing on her tiptoes, she undid the brooch. Her husband smelled of pine and a hint of cedar. As her fingers brushed against his bare shoulder, a spark of excited anticipation shot though her. Unsettled by these unfamiliar sensations, she dropped his plaid on the stool by the chair, then stooped to add another log to the fire. He caught her hand and lifted the log from her grasp. “'Tis warm enough in here.” Elizabeth looked up at him. Robert MacDiarmid, the laird of the Clan MacDiarmid, was now her husband. He was a legend—a brutal warrior-laird capable of killing without remorse. She thought of the dagger under the mattress and shuddered. “There is spiced wine on the table, my lord,” she said quickly—too quickly. “I would have you call me by my name now that we're wed.” He said, his voice barely over a whisper. When she refused to look up, he put his knuckle under her chin. “In the church, you fainted 'afore we could seal our vows. I would do that now.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. To his surprise, she stiffened and he felt her tremble. Concerned by her reaction, he released her the moment she pushed gently against his chest. “You need not worry, my lord,” she said breathlessly as she fumbled with the tie of her robe. “I know what is expected of me as your wife.” “Do you now? And what exactly is expected?” he asked. Much to his amusement, she squared her shoulders bravely, reminding him of a woman-warrior preparing to meet her doom as the robe fell to the floor. The long muslin gown she wore hid little from his gaze and only with his iron-will was he able to keep his expression calm.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason She took a deep shuddering breath then caught her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment before answering. “I had thought,” she began, clearing her throat, “since you were married before, that you would know.” She visibly swallowed and began to pace. “However, as it appears you don’t...'tis my duty to...to give you a legitimate heir. Sister Margaret says every man wants an heir.” “An heir?” he repeated. “Aye.” She stopped and gave a firm nod. “'Tis the reason why husbands hasten to consummate their marriages.” The sincerity shining in her eyes amused him, but he dared not laugh or even smile. He suspected too much wine and Sister Margaret were responsible for his wife's behavior. He knew if he made reference to it, or even smiled at the determined gleam in her eyes, it would shatter her innocent trust. And the very last thing he wanted to do was make her feel the fool. “I suppose that's a good enough reason,” he said when he realized his silence was making her even more nervous. He filled a goblet and took a sip of wine. “What else did Sister Margaret tell you about being together...as husband and wife?” His bride blushed hotly and stared at her hands. “We go to bed and I lie down and...you—” “I what?” he asked, watching her intently—enjoying every moment. She raised her eyes to his and instead of fear, he thought he saw a tiny spark of anger—knew it the moment her chin came up and she very nearly glared at him. Good. He’d much rather soothe her anger than chase away silly fears fostered by an elderly nun. “Have you forgotten how it is to be with a woman, my lord?” she asked with a tinge of frustration in her tone. She began to pace once more by the foot of the bed. “'Tis embarrassing to have to explain every detail.” She went to the table. “May I?” she asked as she filled a goblet and drank it down before he could stop her. She dragged the back of her hand across her mouth. “Now,” she began, swaying just a little. “Shall we get it over with?” Robert put his goblet on the table then pulled her gently up against his chest. “Did Sister Margaret tell you that some men like to kiss their wife before they bed her?” “Nay, my lord,” she slurred. “We did not speak much of kissing.” “'Tis true. Scottish men like tae kiss first.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason She blinked several times, then heaved a long, impatient sigh. “Very well.” She kissed him—once on the left cheek and once on the right, her lips barely grazing his skin. “No' like you're kissin' a friend, lassie.” He brushed a loose curl away from her face, enjoying the way her soft breasts pressed against his chest. “I was thinkin' we'd go slowly...like this.” He kissed her deeply, until she leaned more intimately against him, unaware that when she pressed her body closer to his, she sent a bolt of pure pleasure arching through him. Desire, hot and potent flowed between them, he felt it, sensed it, tasted it, and suddenly he wanted more. Much more. “Children are important,” he murmured near her ear once he found his voice, “but so is bein' close tae each other and touchin'.” And touch her he did. He cupped her breast with his left hand as his right slid slowly over her firm, round bottom. She closed her eyes, tilting her head back, exposing the ivory column of her neck. He kissed her again, more seductively than before. His mouth burned a path from her mouth, down her neck, then returning to her willing lips. His tongue teased until she opened for him. He groaned softly, deep in his throat when her tongue tentatively touched his. As he explored the sweet recesses of her mouth, she leaned even closer, pressing her hips innocently to his arousal, inflicting waves of sensual torture to his starving body. When he lifted his head, she clung to him. Memories of another time, another young woman briefly clouded his mind, but he dashed them aside as quickly as they came. Tonight he would rebuke his guilt and delight in the pleasures of physical love with this young beauty. “'Twould make me feel better if we blew out the candles, my love—” His bride's eyes fluttered open. “I-I meant...my lord.” He stared at her for a moment, almost afraid to break the spell that had formed between them. Slowly, he nodded and turned to do as she asked. When he finished, the gown was in a pile on the floor and she was in the bed, the covers pulled up to her chin. Once more her eyes told him that though she was willing to do her duty, she wasn't looking forward to it with any eagerness. He began to undress, smiling as she squeezed her eyes tightly closed and turned away. When he had first seen her, he had thought to take her and make her his, no matter if she were untried. She would soon see he meant to be her master. But then he had looked into her eyes when they were dancing—and then again just moments ago when she was explaining to him how she was going to try and be a good wife, and all thought of extracting revenge on Benedict's niece vanished. “You're tremblin',“ he said softly, sliding into the bed. “Must be because these sheets are a wee bit cold.” He leaned up on one elbow to gaze at the young woman next to him. She opened one eye, then the other, and he knew she was relieved the quilt covered most of his torso.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “How old are you, lassie?” he asked, lifting a strand of curly red hair just to feel the silky texture of it. “I-I am nearly nineteen, my lord. And though I realize I am well past the prime age for marriage, I needs confess that I have never been bedded.” Her words were spoken so casually he almost didn't realize what she’d affirmed. He took her into his arms. She gazed up at him, her expression soft and willing, though tinged with foreboding. He bent his head and like he knew she would, she accepted his kiss. Elizabeth tried to keep her wits about her, but every time he touched her—kissed her, involuntary tremors of desire grew stronger. When once again he encouraged her to open her mouth, she wantonly complied. As his tongue toyed with hers, she felt the need to press her body intimately close to his, aware of his arousal. Strange, she thought, that this part of him could feel so hard … so large. Too large! Her eyes grew quite wide a moment before she pushed him away. “I cannot,” she gasped, keeping her hands against his chest. “Sister Margaret said nothing about—” “Hush,” Robert murmured, covering her protests with the tips of his fingers. “I don't think the good sister knows, lassie, but I do, and there's nothin' tae fret about.” He brushed her lips with another kiss. Keeping the covers around his hips, he knelt and pulled her up to face him. Once more, the color left her cheeks and fear, like candlelight, danced in her eyes as she crossed her arms over her breasts. “'Tis a fact, I was married 'afore,” he confirmed, “and there's much I can teach you.” She took a shuddering breath. “Sister Margaret said it will hurt the first time. I doubted her, thought it silly to say such a thing, but not anymore. Now I—” He replaced his finger against her lips again. “Shush,” he said more firmly, then cupped her cheek and smiled. “Aye, sometimes, a wee little bit, but I'll do my best, lass, no' tae hurt you now or ever.” She blinked, catching her bottom lip between her teeth as she turned to look at the dying fire, but nevertheless, two tears trickled down her cheeks. “Beth.” He gently grasped her arms and waited until she looked at him again. “What happens between a man and a woman is nothin' tae be ashamed of.” He kissed one creamy shoulder, then cupped her breast and kissed a path up her neck to her lips. “You're a bonnie lassie,” he whispered and at the same time pushed her gently down on the soft mattress as he gazed upon the perfect form of his bride. He spread her glorious hair out over the pillow and smiled.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Don't be afraid,” he whispered just before he stole another kiss. He smoothed his palm over the soft planes of her belly, over her hips and then back up to her breasts. He kissed her again, and then let his mouth follow the path his hands had forged. Waves of sensations flowed over Elizabeth. Though trapped by his heavy thigh over hers, she’d never felt so free. She closed her eyes and surrendered to his gentle caress, offering herself completely to his persistent touch. Her eyes flicked open and she marveled at the unbridled passion that darkened his gaze. He nibbled at her ear as his hand slid lower. She tensed, but as his fingers worked their magic, she moaned a weak protest. It didn't surprise her that it was ignored. She was, after all, his property. He could do as he pleased, and...and never mind that it felt deliciously stimulating. Unaware what she was doing, she pressed closer and moaned again. Her soft plea seemed to heighten his desire. He kissed her, teasing her lips with his tongue, plunging the moment she opened her mouth. After he’d taken his pleasure, he kissed a trail down her throat and captured the taunt nipple of her breast gently between his teeth. Sparks of excitement seemed to burst into flames, and she writhed beneath his touch. He positioned himself over her and placed his knee between her legs. She moved her arms to cover herself, but he caught her hands and lifted them above her head. “No, Beth,” he breathed in her ear as he covered her with his body. “You're beautiful and ready, and now you’ll belong completely tae me.” Elizabeth squeezed her eyes tight as he entered. Pain burned between her legs, dissolving her bliss, shattering the illusion. Hot tears flooded her eyes, and had she not had them tightly closed, she would’ve seen the effort her husband was exerting to hold back. “No more, please,” she gasped. “'Twill pass,” he murmured, and she thought it odd that his voice sounded strained. “Aye,” she gasped, taking several deep breaths. “Sister Margaret said I must endure. And, I shall, my lord. I shall.” She felt him withdraw and she slowly opened her eyes. He smiled patiently, and then brushed his knuckles across her cheek, wiping away a tear. Slowly, he eased into her again, covering her protests with ravenous kisses. “You are still hurting me,” she said in a strangled whisper. “You promised you would not hurt me.” “I did,” he soothed, “and for breakin' that promise I'm truly sorry. Though sometimes painful to breach, a woman's maidenhead is her greatest gift tae her husband.” He smiled down at her doubtful expression before placing a kiss on the tip of her nose, then more on her mouth as he slipped his hand between their bodies. A fire began to build in

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason the pit of her stomach, but she fought against it. His breathing sounded harsh, yet his eyes held a tenderness that melted the ice around her heart. Slowly he withdrew then drove a little deeper—each thrust a little more forceful then the one before. A small, warning voice in her head told her to resist, that he was the enemy. But her whole being seemed to cry out for him, flooding her with the sense of being loved and needed—and she was powerless against it. Nay, she wanted it with a passion that frightened her. She moaned her defeat at the same time she held him close, drawing him down to kiss him—giving herself wholly and completely to her Scottish warrior. Chapter 5 Elizabeth slowly raised her head from Robert's shoulder, sure something had disturbed her sleep. Their chamber was cold and dark, the fire long dead. She glanced once around the room, and, satisfied nothing was amiss, pulled up the coverlet and snuggled closer to her husband's warm body. She’d no sooner closed her eyes when she heard his soft moan. Once more she lifted her head, then leaned over and touched a taper to the candle on the bedside table. “My lord?” she whispered, but he only grew more restless, calling out a man's name. Cautiously, she put her hand on his shoulder and gave him a little shake. “Robert?” He came awake with a start—his expression so filled with raw torment that it frightened her. As she calmed her pounding heart, he sat up and took several deep breaths, then raked his fingers though his tousled hair. “I'm sorry, lass,” he murmured with a slight tremor in his voice. “I dinna mean tae wake you.” “'Tis quite all right, my lord, you were having a bad dream.” She put her hand on his shoulder, hoping to offer some comfort. “Shall I get you a cup of water? Perhaps some wine?” His smile warmed her as he lay back down and gathered her in his arms. “Nay, lass.” He placed a kiss on her temple. “I've got all I want right here.” ~ Resting his head in her sweet smelling hair, Robert was reluctant to move, thankful dawn and the reality of why he was there were hours away. Though he tried to relax after his nightmare, he couldn't, so he decided to pass the time watching his young bride whilst she slept. He had been a long time without a woman and now he felt relaxed and content that this marriage would be tolerable. But even as he thought it, a shadow of uncertainty disturbed his happiness. As if she sensed he was thinking about

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason her, she stretched and then snuggled closer. He brushed a strand of silky hair from her cheek. “How is it you always smell so good?” he asked as he gazed into her sleepy eyes. “You remind me of a field of spring flowers, yet here we are in the start of winter.” He leaned over and kissed her on the mouth. “'Tis gettin' cold in here.” He rolled out of bed, unashamed of his nakedness. “I'll put another log on the fire.” When he came back, he would’ve cradled her in his arms, but she slid away from him. “Come here,” he ordered gently, reaching for her. He caught her wrist gently and pulled her close. Her eyes pooled with tears. “Tell me what's troublin' you.” “I don’t know,” she lied. “I suppose 'tis everything, yet nothing at all.” “Everythin' and nothin'? That's a women for you,” he added with conviction. She sniffed and his smile disappeared, replaced with concern. “Methinks the only thing you've done wrong, lass, is drink too much wine.” Elizabeth slipped out of bed, into her robe and crossed the short distance to the chairs before the fire, feeling his gaze on her. She tucked her knees under her robe and stared into the dying coals. She felt terrible, partly because of the dull ache in her head, and partly because she’d failed her uncle and in one night had fallen in love with a man who was suppose to be her enemy. The memory of confessing her love made her stomach twist with guilty regret. Did he think it a childish remark? She almost asked him, and then decided not to remind him about it just in case he did. She thought about her parents, and her father's hate for the Scottish, then rested her head on her knee, offering a small prayer that they would understand. “I doubt you're givin' thanks, so I can only assume you're askin' for forgiveness.” She lifted her head and met his gaze. “Am I forbidden to pray, my lord?” He yawned. “Nay, lass, just forbidden to pray for my untimely death.” His presumption upset her. “I would never do anything so vile.” An uncomfortable silence lingered in the air as she turned back to the dying fire. “As the laird of your clan, will you be content to live the rest of your life in England?” She heard him yawn again. “I'll no’ be livin' the rest of my life in England, lassie, only a year.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “One year?” she repeated. “At the end of that year, where will we go?” But she knew without asking. “I've a keep near Elgin.” The covers ruffled and she knew he was making himself more comfortable. She suppressed the lonely feeling that came over her the moment she learned they would leave her beloved England. One year. A lot could happen in one year. Perhaps she could change his mind. “I know nothing about you except from the storyteller—” She stopped the moment the words left her lips. His prowess in battle was nothing he'd want to be reminded off. She glanced over her shoulder where her husband had bunched the pillows, resting back against them, his broad chest golden in the firelight. “What would you like tae know?” he asked. She wanted to ask him about Mary and learn the details of how she died, but thought better of it. Her head hurt too much to think overly long about another woman—even her best friend—in her husband's arms. “I-I suppose I would like to know about your family. You are still reasonably young.” She ignored his low laugh. “Do your father and mother still live?” “When Edward broke the Treaty of Northampton and sat Balliol on the Scottish throne, my father along with many of the warrior lairds were called tae war. Donald died in battle at Halidon Hill with his friend Archibald Douglas.” She’d heard tales of the battle, a glorious victory for England, but a bitter defeat for the Scots. Instantly she regretted her questions and turned back to stare into the fire. She sighed, silently swearing never to drink so heavily again. She heard her husband rise and shrug on his robe. “Our countries have fought numerous battles and many loved ones have been lost, and for what purpose?” she stated quietly. She looked up as he came to stand beside her. “Freedom, lassie.” “Freedom? From what?” she asked with genuine sincerity as he placed a log on the dwindling flames. “Your people are provided for under English rule. Mayhaps they have had to suffer a few indignities, but nevertheless—” “Indignities?” he repeated tightly. A muscle jumped above his jaw and she could feel his anger. “We dinna suffer a few, lass. We had no rights a'tall. Our women were molested, their men forced tae watch. Our stock and the crops we raised were divided, the best taken by the English overlords, growin' fat whilst we starved. And if we protested, our crops were burned and our stock slaughtered and left tae rot in the fields.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason His accent grew thick, his expression filled with contempt. He heaved a long, impatient sigh then turned away from her to toss another log on the flames. “You've been told too many stories, lassie. Stories made up tae make your English kin heroes.” “What were we to do?” she asked. “Stand by whilst you and yours raided our homes, plundered our villages?” “Those who stole did so tae survive—tae sell what they could tae buy food for their bairns. And if they were caught, the punishments were harsh. Death for a few apples plucked from a tree.” She blanched. “Mayhaps the English overlords overstepped their authority, but—” “Dinna justify what they did,” he warned as he grabbed her arm and pulled her up to face him. “You asked me why I canna believe in God, and now I'll tell you. If He is real...if He cares one wee lit’le bit about us, why has He done nothin' tae stop it? Or are only the English deservin' of his benevolence?” He stared at her long and hard, then released her. “As my wife, I ask that you never speak of this again.” “Don’t remind me,” she shot back, pressing her fingers to her temples. “My marriage is something I have been trying to forget.” She instantly regretted her angry reaction when she heard him curse under his breath. A moment later, he grabbed her by the arms again. “Had you been wed in Scotland where an English nobleman reigns, you would've had tae let him have his way with you first, lass, and I dinna think he would've been as gentle.” He nodded at her look of utter disbelief. “Aye, as overlord, he has the right. Many an English bastard has been conceived in such a foul and disgustin' manner.” She stared at him, her chin raised, her hands curled into fists. “Can you swear to me you or any of your Scottish warriors have never ravaged an English woman?” she cried defensively. A muscle twitched above his jaw before he turned away. “I have never ravished any woman.” “There are rumors you killed a hundred men in one day,” she stated with a defiant toss of her head. This time when he looked at her, his features grew rock-hard and his eyes lost their sparkle, yet he said nothing in his own defense. “'Tis true then?” she half-whispered, half-sobbed. “Tell me it is not.” His continued silence cut into her as she turned away from the torment she glimpsed in his eyes. “Dear God,” she beseeched.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason She felt his fingers close more tightly around her arms, but she spun and pulled away feeling sick. He stood ramrod straight, his eyes dark and unreadable. Taking a deep breath to try and calm her rising anguish, she took several steps back. “You stand before me as my husband, yet 'tis the warrior I see. You pledged your life to me, yet the truth of why we are here is a pledge you made to keep our kinsmen from killing each other. 'Tis unfair of you to think I could so easily forsake who I am and the God in which I believe.” “I'm no' askin' you tae forsake God. But don't ask me tae accept Him either.” Her husband stared into her eyes for a moment then turned back to the fire. “I've found it easier tae believe there is no God than tae believe He would sit on his high and mighty throne and let the hideous things I've seen happen and do nothin' tae stop them.” “'Tis not for us to question God's decisions,” she shot back. “He decides all things for all men.” She blanched again when her husband turned, his features intense. “Then 'tis His will you are my wife?” The color left her cheeks. “You are trying to confuse me.” “Nay, lassie. I'm tryin' tae tell you 'tis mortal men who control our destinies. Powerful men who use God as a shield to hide their foul deeds. If you want tae blame someone, blame Catherine and Reginald, for as sure as I stand 'afore you now, 'tis by their will we are here, no' the will of God.” He inwardly winced as tears pooled in her eyes. She didn't pull away when he reached for her, but lifted her chin defiantly, sparking his ire. “Climb down from your cross, lassie. 'Tis no use bein' a martyr. Like me, you had no choice, and like me, it'll be better if you just accept that there's nothin' we can do to change it.” He released her, his anger cooled by her hurt and confused expression. “All too soon, Benedict will be here tae make sure that our marriage has been consummated. Like it or no', lass, our fates are sealed.” ~ Elizabeth braided her hair, securing it neatly under a sheer wimple in the same rosy hue of her gown. As Robert had promised, her uncle was punctual, pounding on the door as soon as the cock finished crowing. She was saved any embarrassment for as soon as Anselm strode arrogantly into the room, Robert took her elbow and escorted her down the stairs and outside. The inner bailey was filled with lords and their ladies as they prepared to leave. “You will come and visit D'Auvergne sometime soon?” Catherine asked Robert as she arranged her skirts over the saddle. “We will stay the winter with William and Elise, and

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason be back in the spring to finalize the plans to help reinstate the Treaty of Northampton and rouse Balliol from the Scottish throne.” “Aye, mayhaps a short visit in the spring after David has claimed his crown,” Robert offered. He reached up to accept another motherly kiss, then once again, clasped hands with Reginald. “Watch your back,” Robert warned. “There are many who don't honor the alliance between our families. I've provided an armed escort, and a messenger came with news that William will meet you himself at Hadrian's Wall.” “Take care, Robbie. Send word when the other lairds are ready to meet.” Baynard led his wife through the gate with many of the other nobles. Soon only Anselm and his disciples remained. Benedict turned his cold gaze from Elizabeth and little Megan to her husband. “You’ve not seen the last of me,” the bishop threatened as two young monks helped the portly priest up and into the saddle of a large horse. Though Elizabeth tried her best to wish him a safe journey, each time she approached, he directed some type of slur to her husband. Finally she resigned herself to stand aside with Sister Margaret. “'Tis a sad day, indeed, to have a Scotsman strutting around as master of an English keep.” “You'd best be gettin' on your way, ” Robert said dryly as he leaned against the post supporting the battlement. “God have mercy on you,” Anselm said to Elizabeth then looked at the laird. “Don’t get too comfortable, MacDiarmid. There are still those about who have much to gain from your death. God curses those who oppose Him. As in the past, the paltry few warriors you’ve brought will not be able to prevent the inevitable.” He pressed his heels to the horse's side and led his small army of priests out the gate. “I'm glad that old goat is gone,” James stated once the gate was closed, and those who had gathered to watch went back to their business. He turned and looked at Elizabeth and the elderly nun who appeared to be standing guard by her side. “Beggin' your pardon, sister, I meant no disrespect.” “Don’t vex yourself,” Sister Margaret stated calmly. “Double the guard on the battlements,” Robert ordered as he pushed off the post and looked toward the stables. “You're no' takin' his threat seriously, are you?” James asked incredulously, looking first at Robert and then back at the women. “What threat can an old priest be?”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Dinna ask me that.” Robert gave James a stern look. “Now, do as I say, and double the guard.” When James nodded and left, Robert approached Elizabeth and Sister Margaret. “I'll have a word with my wife,” he said, expecting the sister to leave as he approached. “And so you shall, but first, I would like a word with you,” Sister Margaret countered. When Elizabeth tried to speak, the elderly nun gave her a subtle shake of her head. “Leave us, child. You and Megan can say your goodbyes in the solar. Sister Charity will bring her to me when it is time to leave.” As Robert expected, his wife obeyed without delay. Sister Margaret tucked her hands in the sleeves of her habit, and he wondered if she took her time to purposely irritate him. “'Tis a cold day, is it not?” she asked as she walked with him toward the stable. “'Tis no' so bad,” Robert answered. “'Tis colder in the Highlands this time of year.” “I know what you say is true. I have a sister living in Ainess.” She did not return his gaze, but he sensed she knew he watched her. “Pray the weather holds at least until I and the other sisters reach the abbey. As you are now the master of Thornhill, there is no longer a need for us to remain.” “No one's throwin' you out. If it helps tae have you stay, you're welcome.” She smiled then, though her concern was still evident by the knot on her brow. “I thank you for that, my lord, but I must go. 'Tis time you and Lady Elizabeth begin your lives as husband and wife. Little Megan will come with us to the Abbey where she can continue her education.” They walked in silence for several moments then she stopped. “I have been with Elizabeth for many years. Her mother died of the fever soon after Megan was born. Their father was a strong man. Though the Scots were his enemy, if he were alive today, he would see the value in this marriage, but nevertheless it would not lessen his hatred.” She paused and purposely met Robert's gaze. “You remind me of him.” Her knowledgeable gaze never wavered. “When Lord Rothwell died, Elizabeth became Anselm's ward, and has experienced little of life's pleasures. Because of his heavy hand she has become willful and defiant, a trait men don’t tolerate well in their wives.” “I've a feelin' that's no' what's on your mind.” “Have you family in the Highlands?” the nun asked, leading the way.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Aye. My mother and sister.” “Lady Catherine and I are old friends. She told me most of the men in your family had been killed, except you and your half-brother, William of D'Auvergne. She would not tell me what happened to them.” “They died at Halidon Hill with my father.” Sister Margaret stopped and crossed herself then looked at the laird. “God bless them,” she said, hoping to get a glimpse of the Scot's reaction—not at all surprised to see none. “Catherine also told me about the unfortunate accident—” “My wife and son were murdered whilst I was away,” he said bitterly. “'Twas no accident.” A small muscle jumped above the tight set of his jaw, but other than that subtle sign, his features remained calm. “I am sorry if it troubles you to speak of it.” “I try no' to. I've resigned myself tae the fact Mary and my son are lost tae me forever. But, I've made myself a promise and it's one I mean tae keep at any price.” “I assume you speak of revenge?” The laird moved past her and she had to hurry to keep up. “I have always thought of revenge to be like a sleeping beast. The day it awakens, someone usually dies. And for what reason? I am sure Mary was a kind and gentle woman with forgiveness in her heart. Do you think she would approve of your desire to avenge her death?” “We'll never know, will we sister?” he said tightly. “And what part do you intend Elizabeth to play in your scheme? After all is said, Thornhill is still her home, the bishop her uncle.” She nearly ran into the Scot when he stopped abruptly and turned to face her. “She's my responsibility now, no' Benedict's. In due time, I'll take her tae Scotland. There she'll be treated as my wife by my people and respected as such.” “What of love?” She matched his stare, firm and without malice. “I loved Mary.” “Does not Elizabeth deserve to be loved also, my lord?” she asked. “Catherine and Reginald should have thought of that 'afore they convinced David and Edward to draw up the betrothal. Dinna fret, sister. I will honor Elizabeth and treat her kindly.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “So Elizabeth is to be content with respect and kindness?” “I canna give any more.” “You are very young to condemn yourself and Elizabeth to such a fate.” Margaret sighed, then strolled toward the stable again. “My heart is heavy for you...for both of you.” When they reached the gate, she turned. “I ask that you have patience with her, my lord. Give her time to come to know you, to understand how you feel. I appeal to you as an honorable man. Don’t extract your revenge upon her because of her uncle.” Robert looked at the determined little woman in her black and white habit. A heavy gold cross hung around her neck, reflecting the sun as it passed between the patches of grey clouds. “I'm no' a man tae extract revenge on the innocent. But dinna ask me tae forgive what has been done, 'cause that I canna and willna do.” He reached for the gate, but she placed her hand gently over his. “Forgiveness is a balm for a troubled soul.” “Provided you have a soul,” he countered. She frowned. Again, determination gleamed in the depths of her pale blue eyes. “Elizabeth told me you don’t believe in God.” He paused for a long moment, but his gaze never left hers. “Why should it matter what I believe if it affects no one but myself?” She looked past him, at the mountains in the distance. “I am sure you’ve seen beauty in the mountains, perhaps in a sprinkling of flowers growing by a stream.” She nodded toward the black stallion standing in the paddock. “Even in that beast. Do you think that these things, that all things just happened?” She shook her head, and gave him a sad smile. “Nay, my son. By His hand we were all created, and by His direction we travel the path of life.” Robert opened the gate, closing it before she could follow him into the paddock. “I dinna see the hand of God snatch my wife and son from the river. Mary was devout—much more than I. Yet, here I stand, and she who believed is dead, and an innocent babe with her.” Stunned by his confession, Margaret nodded with understanding. “I see that you’ve suffered, but I also see a truth you choose to deny.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason She took a long breath and let it out slowly. “The hours slip by and I still have much packing to complete. God bless you, and may your new life with Elizabeth lead you back to His path.” Chapter 6 Sunlight spilled into the chamber. Elizabeth stretched and opened her eyes, surprised to find herself alone in their bed. Ever since the day when Sister Margaret left with her small band of nuns and novices, her husband had lingered in bed longer than what she suspected he was accustomed to. She’d begun to enjoy rising at a later hour to break their fast with warm bread, butter and soft cheese, sharing small pleasantries as husband and wife. She got up and found her robe, wondering where her husband had tossed her undergarments the previous evening. Memories of his tender lovemaking brought a smile to her lips. The room was warm and by the crackling of the logs on the fire she knew he had purposely tended it to make rising more pleasant. She found her chemise under the bed and slipped it on just as the door opened and Robert stepped inside with a platter of food. “The horses are saddled and waitin',” he said as he cut open the fresh-baked loaf. He spread butter and honey on a thick slice then held it out to her. “Eat, and then we'll take the horses and have a look about.” She took the simple feast and tasted it. “As I saw Sister Louise leave with mine own eyes, who is making this wonderful bread?” “Jamie.” Her husband took a huge bite of his own extra-thick slice. “James?” she nearly choked. “The old man who gave me his plaid the day we met?” “One and the same.” She took another bite, much more appreciative of the kind old Scot. She licked the honey off her fingers then went to the basin and washed her hands and face, patting them dry with a soft cloth. “Where would you like to ride?” she asked, anxious to show off her home. “There is so much to see. My mother was born here as was her father and his father before him.” “I want tae see it all. Tae know every passageway, every outlet. I want tae know what kind of crops you plant, how many villagers depend on us for their livin'. All of it.” He cut another slice from the loaf. “Hurry and get dressed. I'll wait for you outside.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason ~ Robert stood conversing with several of his men when she stepped out into the inner bailey dressed in a gown suitable for riding. Nearly a head taller then the rest of the men, a flicker of pride shot though her as she admired his proud stance and the width of his shoulders. He was as fine to gaze upon as the powerful black stallion that stood patiently by his side. Esmeralda was saddled as well, and when she caught sight of her mistress, raised her head and nickered a greeting. Moments later, astride her horse, Elizabeth watched her husband as he and the black led the way through the gate and over the drawbridge. Once free from the stares of his men, she urged Esmeralda to trot along side. “I was not aware that Scottish nobles bred such fine horses,” she stated as she toyed with a section of her horse's mane. “The palfrey I rode the day you brought me back to Thornhill was quite elegant. And the beast you ride upon now is one of the finest stallions I have ever seen. Perhaps we could breed him to Esmeralda in the spring.” “She'd have tae prove herself first,” her Scot commented easily. “I beg your pardon, my lord?” “Your mare, lassie. She's pretty tae look at, but is she worthy tae be a brood mare? Breedin' horses is no' like breedin' sheep or pigs. A man wants heart in his mount, and courage.” “Really,” she said, and if he had known her better he would’ve realized he had offended her. “Heart and courage?” she repeated, gathering up her reins. “Aye, heart—” He never got to finish for his bride bolted past him, crouched down low over her horse's back. “Come along...if you’ve the courage,” she yelled over her shoulder. The grey was swift, with long ground-covering strides, her rider moving with the beast as if she were born in the saddle. They raced across the meadow, then sailed over a fallen log. She was a sight—one that filled him with unexpected pride, but too soon, changed to annoyance. He cursed in Gaelic when he realized she wasn't circling to come back, then pressed his heels to Oberon's sides and chased after her. Casting a quick glance over her shoulder, she turned the mare toward the forest, dodging branches. Both horse and rider too large to follow the pair into the forest, Robert was forced to choose a path through and around the heavy brush, losing sight of his willful wife.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason 'Twas only when he heard her scream did he pay no heed to the hazards. He crouched down over Oberon's shoulder and urged the stallion to crash through the branches until they came to the river. Esmeralda stood at the edge of the water, trembling, her eyes wild and the reins dangling on the bank. Mud darkened both her knees. “God, no,” Robert said in a strangled whisper. He was off and searching, paying no mind to the frigid water as it rose rapidly above his waist. “Beth,” he shouted over the river's roar. Suddenly he was living a nightmare. A ghostly image of Benedict stood a yard away, his priestly robes floating eerily with the current. His arms were taut as if he were holding someone down with all his strength. Robert stared at the water, his heart thudding against his chest. A face broke the surface gasping, and when he looked into the frantic eyes of Elizabeth, the vision vanished. Her scream was smothered as water rushed over her head. Long dark-red hair boiled up from the frigid depths and churned wildly with the rapid current. His hands shaking, Robert caught her arm. “Beth,” he shouted again as he dragged her up against his chest. She coughed and clung to him—and he to her. “Easy, lass,” he said hoarsely as he scooped her up and waded toward the bank. “Easy, lass, you’re safe now.” By the time he leaned her up against the trunk of a tree, she was shivering uncontrollably. He left her, but only for a few moments. When he returned, he carried a dry plaid. His fingers were numb from the cold, but he worked to strip her wet clothing away. “Here,” he said gruffly as he wrapped her up in the plaid. Too cold to speak, she only gazed at him, her wet hair clinging to her pale face. He left again, this time returning with a small pouch. He piled dry pine needles high, and then retrieved a piece of flint from the pouch. His hands shook so badly, it took several strikes to get a spark, but finally smoke swirled upward as he blew gently on the foundling flames. Carefully, he added more bits of dried leaves and bark until the fire licked hungrily at the wood. “We'll be warmer in a wee bit,” he said, adding larger sticks and twigs. Elizabeth scooted closer, holding her hands out to glean the fire's warmth. “I-I am s-so s-sorry. I-I d-did not s-see the d-danger ‘til it was t-too late.” She glanced over at her mare that grazed near Robert's stallion. “She knew the water was too d-deep, but I tried to force her to c-cross. Don’t punish her, my l-lord. 'Twas my mistake.” “I've no intention of punishing your horse, lass.” He rose and gathered up his horse's reins, tying the stallion to a stout tree. After he removed his saddle, he carried the small

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason blanket, still warm from being on his horse, and covered Elizabeth with it. He made a ring around the flames with rocks then gathered more wood and stacked it on the fire. She watched in silence as he took a short sword and cut several limbs from a nearby tree, ramming the pointed ends into the ground. He notched a third pole to rest on top. Only then did he take off his wet plaid and shirt and after wringing them out, draped them over the pole, doing the same with her garments. When he finished, he looked at her and she noticed for the first time a few small scratches on his cheek. She held out the plaid and beckoned him to join her, pleased when he did. “What were you thinkin'?” he asked after several long moments. “I was not thinking, my lord,” she answered, trying hard to be humble. “I wanted you to see what a fine horse I have in Esmeralda, and because of it, I acted foolishly.” “Aye, you did, and you could have killed yourself and your mare.” He raked his hands though his damp hair, then picked a blade of dried grass and chewed on the end. “You've nothin' tae prove tae me, Beth. I had intended tae breed Oberon tae your mare the moment I learned she was yours.” “Then why did you not say so?” she asked. “'Tis none of your concern.” He tossed the dried grass into the fire. “'Tis a man's business tae breed horses, no' a woman's.” “Really? And why is that, my lord?” she demanded. He cast a side ways glance her direction. “I dinna like the way you said that,” he responded. “Said what?” she asked, raising her chin. “I'm your husband, and I expect you tae remember 'tis my duty tae see tae matters concernin' the stock and our crops, and yours tae see tae runnin' my house and raisin' my bairns.” “We have no bairns,” she countered with a defiant toss of her head. He turned then, and the look in his eyes sent tiny fingers of anticipation scurrying down her spine. “That can be remedied.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “You wouldn’t,” she said, and knew the moment the words were spoken he would. She scrambled to her feet, clutching the plaid tightly about herself as he slowly rose and came toward her. She held her hand out to warn him away. “'Tis barbaric and sinful.” “Aye, it is. But then, you think me tae be a sinful barbarian, remember?” She giggled when he caught her arm and pulled her up against his chest. “Even a barbarian must have a care for his soul or be condemned to hell, my lord.” Robert threw back his head and laughed. “I fear, lassie, that I have no soul.” He kissed her, then pulled back and looked into her eyes. “Yield to me, Beth.” “Nay. I cannot, not here in the forest.” “'Tis as good a place as any.” “'Tis morally wrong,” she said, trying not to smile as he gave her a doubtful look. “Lassie,” he began, nuzzling her ear. “Ours is a union that'll no' be inhibited by the morals of a church I neither respect nor respects me. Nay,” he brushed his lips over hers. “Our marriage will be filled with passion...,” he kissed her more deeply, then moved to nibble her ear, “...and pleasure, no' prayer and repentance.” He pulled back and gave her a lazy smile. “Now, yield tae me.” “But what if someone sees us?” “Who will see us, the birds?” He laughed softly, then slipped his hands inside the plaid, caressing her breasts. Just then a bird took flight overhead, causing his wife to catch her breath in alarm. “There. Now there's nothin' tae worry about. We've scared the birds away.” Gently, slowly, he laid her down. He kissed the hollow of her neck at the same time his cold, damp kilt made contact with her warm bare thighs. She gasped, then they both laughed, but their humor was short lived as he bent his head and kissed her again. The kilt was tossed aside, and she gasped again, this time in sensual pleasure. ~ When their clothes dried, he helped her dress. She wondered what looks she would get from the men when she rode through the gate with her hair a mess, her clothes wrinkled. But, she had little time to ponder as her husband took her from her horse and placed her before him upon his saddle. “What of Esmeralda?” she asked, but then knew the answer the moment her husband leaned over, grabbed the mare’s reins and handed them to her.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “She'll follow,” was all that he said as he settled in behind her. He carefully arranged his plaid over her, then much to her surprise, began to braid her hair, pulling a lace from his shirt to hold it together. “Where did you learn how to do that?” she asked in disbelief. “My sister,” he said close to her ear. “Like you, she's a bit of a shrew. She's also older than I, and if I dinna help her once or twice, she'd threaten tae crack open my head with her brush.” His tone made Elizabeth smile. “A shrew?” she repeated, “Like me?” She leaned back against his chest. “When your sister and I meet, I’m certain I will like her.” He laughed. “Methinks she's a wee bit more of a shrew than you,” he amended. “And, I’m certain she’ll like you.” He paused then added, “Her locks are also red. Mayhaps the color of a lass's hair has somethin' tae do with willful disobedience.” She would’ve taken the challenge, but the ordeal in the river had drained her energy. She settled back in the warmth of her husband's arms, content to let him have this small victory. ~ Bishop Anselm tossed a bone onto the silver platter then licked his pudgy fingers. His host, Charles Grosset, was a pale man, superfluous in his dress, most likely to help offset his bland features, Anselm thought, as he glanced at the man's blue hose and purple tunic. “Your cook knows how to roast mutton. 'Twas seasoned to perfection.” Anselm reached for his wine and after drinking, grabbed the cloth set aside to cleanse his fingers and mouth. “I would ask that you have your page prepare my chamber. These have been trying times. My brothers and I are weary.” “You wish to retire so soon? My cook has prepared apple tarts with honey and almond glaze. I implore you, try the tarts.” Lord of Morpeth Castle, he motioned to the platter on the table. “Nay, I have had my fill.” Anselm took another sip of wine, swishing it around his mouth before swallowing. He was about to rise when Charles placed a firm hand on the Bishop's forearm. “'Tis been nearly a year since I have laid eyes on you, yet you barely speak to me. I must admit, to find you knocking upon my door was unexpected. What sends you out traveling in this weather? Anselm frowned. “I was driven from Thornhill four days past. You cannot know how relieved I was to see Morpeth on the horizon. 'Tis been years since I have ridden so long.” “What do you mean, driven from Thornhill? And if this is so, where is Lady Elizabeth?”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason Anselm gave a disgusted snort. “The girl was wed and the castle forfeited because of it.” Charles leaned closer—two red spots forming high on his narrow cheeks. “I don’t understand. Wed? To whom?” “Robert MacDiarmid.” “A Scot?” Charles nearly choked. “By whose mandate?” “Edward's, of course. Think you I would stand by and let this type of atrocity happen if I had not been ordered to do so?” Anselm shook his head, and then gulped down another swallow of wine. “Nay,” he continued, his voice sounding hollow in the cup. “I obeyed the king, and because of it, my niece and her holdings are lost to me forever.” Charles put his cup down. “This cannot be. Why would Edward order an English noblewoman to marry a Scot?” “As a favor to Lord Baynard and—” “Reginald Baynard?” Charles interrupted. “Aye.” “What in God's name could Reginald have done to earn such favors? 'Twas only a few years ago the man hated the Scots.” “That was before his daughter married one,” Anselm grumbled. Charles shook his head, and at the same time waved his young page over to the table. “See that the Bishop and his priests are settled for the night.” After Anselm stood, Charles walked him toward the stairs. “If there is anything you require, your grace, just ask it of me and it shall be granted.” ~ The next few months passed all too quickly for Elizabeth. 'Twas easy to forget that theirs had been an arranged marriage. She loved Robert more than she thought possible, and with each passing day, her feelings for him grew. As she busied herself with the care of their home and the festivities of the rapidly changing seasons, she’d come to know him better, pleased that under his stubborn, mule-headed exterior there dwelled a kind and gentle man willing to help her with household decisions—as long as no one overheard, as he firmly believed it wasn’t a man’s place to do so. However, if she tried to suggest a different way to sheer a sheep or which pasture would better suit the horses, he would simply shake his head, stopping any further conversation.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason As frustrating as it could be sometimes in the daylight hours, at night—in his arms—she felt loved and cherished, and there wasn’t much she couldn’t get him to promise. But there was something bothering her. Though she gave herself freely when they made love, Robert always seemed to hold a part of himself back. And dare she ask the smallest question about his life with Mary, he would quickly change the subject or worse, remember something pressing he’d forgotten to do. On these rare occasions, he’d leave, and after she fell asleep—or pretended to sleep—he’d return and slip quietly into bed, pulling her into his arms. She longed to tell him how she felt, but each time she tried, he would cover her mouth with his fingers and stop her with a kiss. She comforted herself in the knowledge that she could make him want her with a simple touch, and though it wasn't what she longed for, 'twas enough for now. She remembered Catherine’s advice on the day of their marriage—In time, as I came to love Reginald, you will come to love Robert, and he will come to love you. Frequent snow storms kept both the Scots and the English on their side of the border, and even Robert's men had settled into a harmonious routine with the English soldiers that remained behind. Sometimes, during the day, when the weather wasn't too bad, she could entice her husband to walk through the gardens with her. There, holding hands, she pushed her feelings of unhappiness aside and pretended that they were sweethearts. Once in awhile, he would tell her of his parents and his childhood adventures, but never did he mention Mary or their son. Games were played after meals, and often her husband would join the fun. On occasion, the tables were pushed aside, and to the lively music of the pipe and drum, villeins and warriors alike joined hands, laughing and dancing 'til the fires burned low. Robert seemed to become more peaceful, too. Only once or twice did he wake in a cold sweat. On these occasions, he would pull her close until his hands no longer shook and his heartbeat returned to normal. She tried to urge him to talk, but he never spoke of his dreams. Then, when he was back in control, he would make love to her—primal love, charged with a sense of urgency that left her feeling afraid their happiness was threatened by some unknown foe. 'Twas those times—nestled in her husband's arms—she fretted the most. She would say a little prayer that someday he would say he loved her, too, but he had not, and she was beginning to think he never would. And with each day that passed her heart grew a little heavier—her spirit a little sadder. ~

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason Elizabeth awoke and stretched, trying to decide if she wanted to get out of bed. The room was cold, the fire long dead. She snuggled down under the covers, glancing over at her husband. He still slept and she knew he was in need of it, for he had awakened during the night, covered in sweat and crying out names she hadn't heard before, but knew she'd never forget. What secrets did he keep from her? she wondered. Slightly annoyed, she decided he had slept long enough. She took a strand of her hair and tickled his nose. Much to her distress, he simply grumbled something in Gaelic, then rolled over and fell back to sleep. She thought to leave him be, but then the thought of having to start a fire to warm the room urged her onward. She leaned over and nibbled his ear, snuggling close to glean the warmth from his back. At first she thought her teasing had no effect, but when she sighed and would’ve rolled away, he reached back and caught her hand, dragging her arm around his ribs to tuck it close to his chest—pinning her firmly against his back. “You're wakeful,” he said, his voice husky from sleep.” “Aye, 'tis morning and time to start the day.” He opened his eyes, glanced over at the balcony doors then tucked the pillow back under his head. “So I see,” he said, yawning. He took her hand and kissed it, at the same time he rolled, resting on his back so he could look at her. “And what would you have me do about it?” “We cannot spend the day abed,” she said. “No?” His lazy smile caused heat to warm her cheeks. “I had hoped you would rise and build a fire.” “Aye, if that's my lady's wish, I can do that,” he added, and by the ornery gleam dancing in his eyes, she knew he had deliberately misconstrued her meaning. “Robert,” she protested, feigning a shiver. “'Tis really cold. I would enjoy a real fire made with wood. More importantly, my lord, the snow has melted, the mud has dried, and you promised we'd go riding today.” “Dinna fret, lassie. If you want tae ride, we’ll ride.” He gathered her up into his arms, positioning himself over her. She started to speak, but he kissed her soundly. Her thoughts of riding a horse vanished. She entwined her arms around his neck and kissed him back with all the passion he stirred within her. When they joined she closed her eyes and nearly purred with pleasure, reveling in the way he could kiss her senseless and yet at the same time, bring her to complete fulfillment. When she climaxed a second time, he found his own release, then groaned

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason contentedly and rolled to his back, tucking her firmly next to his side. “I'm thinkin' 'twould be nice tae see what kind of game dwells within your English forest.” “I don’t think English deer taste any different than Scottish deer,” she teased. He gave her a squeeze, his eyes twinkling with arrogance, an arrogance she was beginning to like. “Oh, but they do,” he replied. “How so?” she challenged. “Well, lassie, when I hunt in Scotland, 'tis my own deer and there's no real sport in it. But,” he gave a smug nod. “When I poach in England, 'tis a hangin' offense and the meat is much sweeter for it.” He laughed when she lifted her head to scold him, covering her reprimand with a kiss. “Have you no’ been told forbidden fruit is always sweeter?” His smile was sinful. “It goes for game, too.” He kissed the tip of her nose then rose and began to dress. “Come, the sun will be high 'afore you're ready.” ~ By the time Elizabeth finished dressing and came downstairs, James and six other Scots stood laughing and conversing over a tankard of hot, steamy cider. Robert looked up and by the sly smile on his handsome features, she had the feeling he liked what he saw. She’d purposely chosen a vibrant burgundy gown suitable for riding and over this she’d carefully arranged one of his plaids. Though she’d done it to please her new husband, she’d also done it because the garment was so versatile. It could be used to keep warm, or as she’d learned in the forest, spread on the ground for more pleasant activities. Perhaps such an occasion would arise today whilst hunting? The thought sent a burst of excitement shooting down through her middle. She instantly returned his alluring gaze. “Good day, my lords,” she said with an acquiescent smile. “And a good day tae you, too,” James replied with an exaggerated bow. The others all nodded their greetings with Robert watching on in appreciation. “Perhaps if the hunt is successful, my lord,” she began, “we could celebrate with a feast and invite the villeins to share in our good fortune?” “That, my lady, is a grand idea.” Robert held out his arm, waiting for her to accept his escort. “We'd best be gettin' tae it.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason She followed him out of the great hall and down to the inner bailey. “My father taught me about weapons before he died. I am quite skilled with the crossbow,” she confirmed. James coughed. Her husband seemed to be smiling for no good reason, leaving her with the absurd feeling he and James were sharing some sort of jest. “Do you need a drink?” she asked James when he suffered another bout of coughing. “Nay,” he said, his eyes watering, as he waved her away. “I've just got a wee lit'le somethin' caught in me craw.” She turned to her husband, wishing she knew what witticism the two had shared. “And you, my lord. You appear to be all smiles this morn.” “Do I?” he asked trying to look more serious, but failing miserably. “'Tis probably because I am lookin' so forward tae spendin' the day with such a bonny lassie—” “Who we've heard can shoot better than Ian MacDou—” James never finished as Robert elbowed him in the ribs. Several more of his men coughed and cleared their throats in a vain effort to conceal their mirth. “I dare say, my lord, I wish you would tell me what is so amusing.” Elizabeth smiled, enjoying the men's good nature even if she didn't have a clue as to its cause. “Ian MacDougal,” another man volunteered. “What? Who's callin' my name?” Ian MacDougal looked up from cinching his saddle, grinning when most of the men walking with his laird burst into bouts of laughter. “What's a'matter wit' ye? You’re all lookin' like the cat who stole the cream.” He shook his head then turned back to his task. “I'll get your horse,” James quickly replied, hurrying to untie his mistress's mare. “May I ask one of you to go to the armory and fetch the small crossbow hanging on a hook just left of the door?” Most of Robert's men stepped forward, nearly bumping into each other to volunteer for the task—all with silly grins. She smiled at the youngest, who turned bright red, then hurried off in the direction of the armory. Elizabeth accepted Robert's help into the saddle, adjusting her skirts and taking the reins. “This will be a delightful day, I can tell.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “You willna be runnin' off, will you?” He asked with a reproving frown. “I'm no' in the mood tae go swimin' taday.” She would’ve countered, enjoying everyone's merry mood, but the boy returned with her weapon and handed it up to her with a dreamy smile on his face. Before she could speak, her husband placed a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Thank you, Peter,” Robert said, his tone tinged with impatience when the boy just continued to stare up at his mistress. “You can get on your horse now.” Peter gave Elizabeth his best smile before he hastened to do as he was told. The morning was cool and crisp, a light frost making the leaves crunch as they rode along the path toward the forest. She cast a glance at her husband as they rode side by side, very aware of how her heart did a little flip-flop. Such a delightful feeling, she thought. A feeling that gave her hope their life together would be filled with days like today—with warmth and sunshine, and especially laughter. As they rode deeper into the forest, she was grateful she’d worn the plaid. With tall trees came cooling shadows. It wasn't very long before they came to a ravine where the men decided to dismount and proceed on foot, so as not to have their horses frighten away any potential game. “Are you ready for the kill?” James asked, grinning from ear to ear. Several of the others chuckled, and she had the feeling they shared another jest at her expense, but their good mood was too contagious to protest. Robert came to her and lifted her down from the saddle. His hands fit nicely around her waist, and to her delight he held her a little longer than what she thought proper in front of his men. She gazed into his eyes, pleased when she saw the familiar spark of desire. Could he read her innermost thoughts? Too soon, he turned back to his men. “Ian,” Robert said, keeping his voice low. “Take the point, Elizabeth and I will follow.” He turned to James and the others. “Spread out, lads, and if you spot a worthy stag, you know the signal.” They nodded, split up, and headed off in several different directions while Elizabeth loaded her bow, aiming it toward the ground as she crept along behind the men. They walked for several leagues until they came to a small clearing. Ian motioned for them to stay down as she heard several distant bird calls. Moments later a large buck bounded into view. Without giving it a second thought, Elizabeth took aim and let loose her quarrel. The buck jumped once, then fell dead.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Holy Mother,” Ian MacDougal cried. “Did you see that? She got 'em right in the heart.” She never noticed as James came up behind them, nor did she notice the proud expression of her husband. Had she not been so pleased with herself, she would’ve thought it odd when James took one look at his laird then added, “Aye, it looks like she's put her lit'le arrow right in his heart, for sure. An about time tae, if'n I may say so.” “Say what?” Ian asked with a confused frown, while his laird took hold of his lady's hand and they went to inspect her kill. “Nothin',” James stated with a satisfied nod of his head. “I was just agreein' with you.” ~ The smell of roasted venison still lingered in the air as the hall resounded with robust laughter. Robert's men, each with their own version, told and retold the tale of how their new mistress killed the largest of the four harts killed during the hunt. Even the English soldiers joined in the excitement. Slowly the stories turned to other hunts and then to their fearlessness in battle. At one point, a huge Scot stood and flexed his arm, good naturedly accepting the challenge of the castle's smith to arm wrestle. Tankards were filled and drained as the table was cleared, and amongst wagers placed, the game began. 'Twas over before it started. The Englishman stood and while he accepted the praise of his companions, drained another tankard of ale. No sooner had another challenge been accepted, did the men's cheers end in groans as the smith again defeated his Scottish opponent. “The MacDiarmid could take ye with one hand tied behind his back,” a red-haired Scotsman stated with a nod of his shaggy head. His lilting brogue was drowned out by the English soldiers proclaiming that no man alive could beat their newly acquired champion. The smith then stood and raised his beefy arm to show off his bulging muscles before he pointed at the head table. “You, your lordship,” he called and Elizabeth turned to look at her husband who had been watching while sipping a goblet of wine. “Do ye think your man enough to take me?” “This gold piece says he can.” James's gruff voice rose over the din. She found her husband's henchman amongst the crowd, proudly holding up the coin for all to see. “Two gold pieces say he cannot,” another challenged. The men, both English and Scottish alike, gave the laird little time to answer. Before she realized what was happening, several of his warriors came to escort her husband to

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason the table, pounding his back with encouragement and suggestions of how he could use his superior strength to defeat the English smith. Elizabeth watched intently. She expected the English soldiers to resent the Scots shoving them aside, but happily she realized it was all in fun, and none seemed to mind the teasing and exchanging of insults. Her husband took his place on the stool. The room grew quiet as he clasped hands with the smith, and instantly muscles bulged with the effort to force the other man's arm to the table. “Come on, Willy,” an English knight encouraged the smith. “You can do it.” “He'll never defeat a Highlander,” a Scottish warrior amended. Several more bets were placed as the two men sitting at the table stared at each other, their jaws clenched with determination. Pride swelled in Elizabeth's breast as she watched. The smith was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, yet her husband appeared calm. When she glanced at his shirt, it stretched taut across his muscular back. Suddenly she became aware that James was going to great lengths to fill two tankards with frothy ale, spilling a little as he set one near the Englishman then handed one to her husband. Robert accepted it, nodded to his opponent, then drank it down, setting the tankard on the table with a loud thunk. Then to everyone's surprise, he took up the smith's tankard, held it high as if to admire it, then drank, dragging his hand across his mouth with a contented sigh—ignoring the smith’s muttered complaint. “Was that yours?” Robert asked, feigning concern. The distraction worked. The smith lost his concentration and before he realized what had happened, his hand slammed down on the table, inches away from his empty tankard. The room nearly shook with hearty laughter as the Scots praised their laird and consoled the smith for paying attention to the loss of his ale rather than the loss of his game. More ale was sloshed into his cup and he was encouraged to try again another day. Two others accepted a challenge and soon the men resumed their friendly banter. “Methinks you cheated,” Elizabeth said with a smile as her husband came back to her side. “Nay lass, I merely took advantage of your smith's fondness for drink.” His 'r's rolled off his tongue as easily as he had won the game, and she decided she loved his accent almost as much as she loved the man. “Come, Beth,” he said, taking her hand. “'Tis time for bed.” Hoping that she didn’t appear too eager, she rose and smoothed her skirt before accepting his arm. Once inside their chamber, she expected him to leave her to undress. ‘Twas apparent he had other plans. He pushed her down to sit on the edge of

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason the bed and began to untie the straps of her soft leather slippers. She tried to stand up. He pushed her down again, but this time he leaned slightly forward and kissed her. When he kissed a path to her ear, she sighed and tipped her head, exposing her throat. “I've wanted this all day,” he breathed, his breath warm on her neck. “You’re a bonnie lass.” He pulled her into his arms. He kissed her again and this time she closed her eyes and kissed him back, aware that his nimble fingers worked at the ties of her gown. Hot, potent desire flooded over her. If only he would say he loved her, too, she thought, as her gown floated to the floor. If only he would whisper love words into her ear as tenderly as he slipped her chemise off her shoulders. She felt no shame in the realization that she loved him regardless of his feelings for her. Sister Margaret would agree. He was her husband. It was her pleasant duty to be a good wife. He pulled her tighter against his chest, the soft material of his plaid brushing against her breasts. Lost in the delicious sensations caused by the coarse material on her bare skin, she entwined her arms around his neck as he lifted her into his arms. He carried her to the bed, following her down, covering her mouth once more with his own demanding kiss. She closed her eyes and kissed him in the same manner, tasting— exploring until they were both out of breath. “Robert,” she breathed as she basked in his embrace. His eyes were dark, smoky, and she knew instinctively it was with the need of her. He untied the ribbons of her stockings and slid them off, his touch sending minuscule sparks deep down into her belly. Desire unfurled like a miniature rosebud in the sun, and she tried to express how she felt. “Robert … I love—” “Hush,” he whispered as he kissed the pulse beating on her neck. The fire in their chamber burned low, casting the room in darkness. He slowly pulled away to undress while she watched. The moment he reclined on the bed, she turned into his arms, accepting his kiss as he pulled her close against the full length of his body. She urged him to lay on his back, then, drawing a steady breath for courage, she straddled his hips, close but not where he could take what she brazenly offered. She caught her bottom lip with her teeth, praying he’d be pleased and not repulsed. When he groaned his pleasure, her heart swelled with the sound. She caressed his bare shoulders, kneading the muscles of his broad chest. As he had done to her, she leaned closer and scraped her teeth gently across a nipple, delighted when he sucked in his breath. Giving him pleasure gave her such a heady feeling she could have laughed with the pure joy of it. When she lifted her lips from his breast, his hands cupped her breasts for several blissful moments, then slid down her body to rest possessively on her hips. Elizabeth leaned over to kiss him, her long hair tumbling over her shoulders as she playfully nipped at his lips, savoring the way he responded. When at last she could wait no longer, she kissed him deeply, probing the sweet recesses of his mouth as she

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason eased onto his manhood. Another, more sensual growl fueled her desire to please him. While her body adjusted to his size, her fingers skimmed over his chest, toying with the smattering of dark hairs. She shifted her weight and moaned his name as she began to move slowly back and forth, rhythmically matching his sensual thrusts. His fingers tightened on her hips, his breathing grew harsher as she leaned over to capture his mouth once more with a lustful kiss. When she glanced at his handsome face, his eyes fused with hers with such intensity that all thoughts except to satisfy him vanished. And she did, matching each powerful thrust, savoring each kiss and writhing with each caress. Suddenly she threw her head back and gasped his name, pressing her hips forcefully against his. Robert stilled the moment he felt his young bride's response, letting her experience the full impact of her own climax. She was a sight to behold; her skin glowed like satin, her hair a red-gold halo catching the cavorting light from the fire. Her pink-tipped breasts rose and fell with each deep breath until she slowly floated back to him. Her dreamy gaze locked with his once more. Smiling, she began to move with him again. He groaned a second time, then rolled, and drove into her, cupping her face, staring down at her. She closed her eyes and moaned his name, reaching her second climax precisely the same moment he found his own. Chapter 7 The next morning a cheerful fire danced between and around the logs in the hearth. Elizabeth placed her hand on her husband's side of the bed. 'Twas still warm, and she was sorry she’d missed him, blaming her over-indulgence in the good food and wine they had shared celebrating a successful hunt. Still sleepy, she forced herself to rise, pushing aside a rare bout of fatigue, smiling at last night's memories. She dressed and braided her hair before she hurried downstairs. Robert sat at the table with James. The smith was there as were several other men, talking and laughing softly at each other’s jests until the cook carried in a pot of sweet, steaming porridge. Their laughter turned quickly to words of praise, and they helped themselves, covering the tasty fare with butter and fresh cream. “Join us,” she heard James say, but she suddenly felt light-headed and the voices sounded hollow and distant. The room began to spin. Frantically, she grasped the balustrade to keep from falling. In the next instant her husband appeared, his concern evident by the dark scowl creasing his brow.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Hold on, lass,” she thought she heard him say as he scooped her up into his arms. She thought to protest, but a wave of nausea hushed her words. She closed her eyes and buried her face into the crook of his neck. He must have been chopping wood, for the soothing scent of cedar and pine still clung to his clothes. He carried her back to their chamber and placed her on the bed, insisting she lie down even though she was beginning to feel a little better. “I don’t know what happened,” she said. Robert filled a small basin with cool water, dipped in a cloth and pressed it to her forehead his brows still tightly together with concern. “Really, Robert. There is no need for this. I did not mean to cause such a fuss. It must have been the venison from last night's supper.” “Aye,” he said as he sat by her side. His skeptical answer bothered her. “You don’t believe me?” she asked incredulously. “Why would I suggest it, if it was not possible?” “Because, lassie, I ate from the same meat and I'm no' the one lyin' in bed as pale as a newborn lamb.” She took the cloth off her forehead and sat up. “I am fine now. We should go down and finish the morning meal.” She stood quickly, and once again would’ve fallen if he hadn't been there to catch her. “W-what is the matter with me?” she said softly, swallowing down the urge to be ill. “I need some water,” she gasped, but there was little time for him to fetch it. She scrambled off the bed, barely grabbing the basin in time. “Easy lass,” she heard him say as he came to her aid. His strong arm came around her waist and she leaned heavily upon it. She began to cry, embarrassed and afraid of why she was feeling so sick. “I am never ill,” she defended. “You're no' sick now, lassie, no' in the way you're thinkin'.” He helped her back to the bed and replaced the cool cloth, then brought her a cup of cold water. “Sip it,” he ordered then resumed his seat on the edge of the bed. She did as he told her, but frowned at his bemused expression. “You are no longer concerned?” she asked, feeling a little hurt that his empathy had passed so quickly. “Robert, you don’t understand. I feel terrible.” “Aye, lass, and you will for a bit of time, but the sickness will pass.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “How do you know this?” she nearly cried, confused by his smile. “I told you, I am never sick. What if I have the plague?” His bark of laughter turned her fear into anger. “You dare laugh at me?” she challenged, though tears pooled in her eyes. He tried to look contrite, but failed miserably. His wife was pale, her chin quivering as if she would burst into tears if he didn't agree that she had the plague. “Hush,” he said calmly, pressing her hands between his. She started to protest, but he placed his fingers gently over her pouting mouth. She bit him. “Damn,” he yelped, drawing back to inspect the indentation of little teeth marks. He gave her a firm, side-ways glance. “You've got tae stop doin' that,” he warned. She raised her chin, but he knew by her expression she was genuinely afraid. He picked up the cloth, re-wet it, squeezed it out then gently bathed her face. “You don't have the plague,” he began, trying to be serious. “I've seen it 'afore and you don't have a fever, nor are you coughin' up blood.” He cupped her cheek and waited until she looked at him. “You're feelin' sick because you're with child.” He didn't think it possible, but she grew even whiter. “Aye,” he added with what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “We’ve been married for months now. If you think about it, it makes sense. Women who are carryin' a wee one get sick, mostly in the mornin'.” She was quiet for several moments, her wide, innocent gaze fused to his. “How can you be so sure?” she asked in a small voice. “'Cause I know it's been o'er a month since you've bled.” He smiled as her white cheeks turned red. “Nay, lass, 'tis nothin' tae be embarrassed about.” He bent his head and kissed her tenderly, then brushed a curl away from her cheek. “You're my wife. I've come tae know all there is tae know about you.” “But...but I thought I would know first,” she said staring at her hands. “Sister Margaret said I would know.” He grinned, put his knuckle under her chin and made her look at him. “Dinna fret, lassie. Sister Margaret did her best, but she could'na know, havin' never experienced it herself.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “But you knew, and you’ve never—” She stopped as his smile faded and a shadow flickered in the depths of his eyes. “I am sorry, Robert,” she said softly. “I did not mean to forget about—” “Hush,” he said, and she knew his smile was forced. “I know you dinna.” He rose and tossed another log on the fire, staring into the flames for a long time before he spoke. “Mary taught me much about the ways of women,” he began, and Elizabeth dared not speak, lest he stop. “When she was carryin' my son...,” he fell quiet and she yearned to go to him to comfort him, but didn't, feeling as if she intruded. He turned and dusted off his hands. “'Twill be awhile, but you'll soon feel better.” Elizabeth rose and ran into his arms. Through tears of happiness, she kissed him. “I have prayed for this,” she confessed, placing her hand over her flat belly. “A babe,” she breathed, smiling up at her husband. “Do you think it will be a boy?” she asked. “I can tell you're pregnant, lass, but I canna see inta the future. We'll take what we get and be content.” His answer pleased her. “We must think of names,” she said, her excitement evident in her smile. “We've plenty of time tae choose a name. You're still lookin' a wee bit sickly. You should rest.” He pulled her against his chest and hugged her tightly for several moments. “You’ve made me a verra happy man.” He held her at arms length, his gaze fused with hers. For a breath of a moment her hopes soared that he would finally tell her he loved her, but instead he kissed the tip of her nose then turned and went to the bed where he pulled down the coverlet. “I've work tae do. Come,” he took her hand and led her toward the bed. “Robert, I don’t want to lie down. I’m too excited. We should find some parchment and make a list of names,” she urged. “We shall begin with boy's names, then—” “Rest,” he ordered gently. “You should eat somethin' tae take away the sickness. I'll have the cook bring you some hot cider and a plain crust of bread.” Before she could respond, he left. Slowly she sank down on the bed. She placed her hand on her stomach, and even though she was disappointed in her husband’s actions, a broad smile brightened her face. ~ “Tis kind of you to see me, your grace, especially when preparations for the Easter festivities have you so occupied.” Lord Charles Grosset tipped his head respectfully.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason Anselm looked up from behind the heavily carved desk. “Father Francis stated that you had business of utmost importance to discuss. Please. Sit down.” Charles sat upon a gold velvet chair. “I have learned of a conspiracy and thought you might be interested, as it concerns your niece.” The bishop put down the quill and folded his hands upon the desk. Lord Grosset's crimson cloak was splattered with bits of dried mud. “You look as if it has been days since you've had a proper meal. Pray tell, I would be most interested in hearing what you know, then you must stay and sup with me.” He motioned to a young monk who came and took the baron's sword and mantle, then another young monk brought a goblet of warmed wine. Lord Grosset took a long drink then smoothed his blond moustache. “I have learned that Reginald Baynard, with the aid of several other of the most northern and most powerful barons, have deceived you, and in doing so, deceived our king. When first you told me of the marriage of your niece to Laird MacDiarmid, I must say, I was skeptical. But now, my lord, I have proof that you were duped into believing Edward initiated the union resulting in the forfeiture of Thornhill. Under the pretense that our king supported the enterprise, Baynard convinced other barons to join in his venture with the hollow promise of peace between England and Scotland. The man has made a grievous mistake.” “Political rumors. I assure you, Lord Grosset, rumors abound from all sides. Have you nothing more conclusive? I saw with mine own eyes Edward's soldiers, joined with MacDiarmid's heathens.” Anselm shook his head. “The documents presented to me had the royal seal upon them. Of that I am most positive.” “Did you speak with any of these English soldiers, my lord?” “I did not. However they were dressed appropriately and acted as escort until we reached Woodland abbey. I hardly think MacDiarmid would deplete his forces and have his own men act as escort. They would be too easily found out.” “And once you were at the abbey, what became of these men, if I may ask?” Grossett dabbed at his dripping red nose with a lace handkerchief. “How should I know? They left once we were inside Woodland Abbey.” Anselm was quiet for a long time then his hands curled into fists. “Now that I think upon it, 'twas odd that they did not partake of the sisters' hospitality.” “'Tis not odd at all, your grace. Scottish warriors posing as English soldiers would be found out if forced to converse with the good sisters.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason Anselm slammed his fist down upon the desk. “How could I have been so foolish?” he snarled. He stood up, his face reddening as he began to pace. “I should have seen through it. I thought it insane at the time...but the papers...the seals, the English guard, all of it was done to perfection.” “'Twas meant to be so—to fool even the most shrewd. I only learned of this ruse because I have recently been to court. Though Edward himself was not in residence, his advisor unknowingly confirmed my suspicions. I assure you, your grace, no royal mandate binding an English noblewoman to a Scottish laird would ever be issued whilst a Stewart reins.” “Lord Baynard must be deeply involved,” Anselm ground out as he sank back down into his chair. “Mark my words, Lord Grosset, I will petition Edward. When he learns of this deception, I will have Thornhill returned to me by summer's end.” Charles tucked his handkerchief in his sleeve and took another drink. “MacDiarmid is a smart man and should not be underestimated. With Thornhill under his control, he has a very good chance of accomplishing the impossible—cutting off supplies to our forces in Scotland, and even, God forbid, freeing Berwick.” “Impossible indeed,” Anselm said. “Edward's armies are too powerful to allow what you say to happen.” “On the contrary, my lord. Our constraints in Scotland are meager at best. MacDiarmid and Lord Baynard have chosen their time wisely. Edward has recently dispatched nearly all his army to the coast to provide protection against the possibility of a French attack—a threat, I suspect, planted by Lord Baynard the last time he sat in counsel with the king. To further complicate matters, I have heard rumors that our English garrisons in Dunbar and Tweedsmouth are hard pressed to control the savages. I fear the Scots could very well undermine our strongholds now that winter wanes. They have no sensitivity to cold and damp as we do.” Charles let out a loud sigh, “More barbarians then men.” “And you say our king knows naught of this?” Anselm asked. “I fear if I were to make accusations without substantial proof, he would refuse to believe his loyal cousin, Lord Baynard, could betray him. I am unprepared to forfeit mine own holdings based on, as you so eloquently put it, rumors. And, as I said, MacDiarmid has chosen a time when Edward is preoccupied with his quest to acquire the French throne.” “Without Edward's support, I am helpless to retaliate.” Anselm punched his fist into the palm of his other hand. “I will pray the French are defeated easily.” Charles twisted the ends of his moustache. “I fear, your holiness, that prayer alone will not defeat the Scots. If we don’t take it upon ourselves to prevent MacDiarmid from

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason assembling his forces in the security of Thornhill,” Charles let out another long sigh, “all will be lost.” Anselm looked long and hard at the skeletal baron. “Your devotion to England is commendable, but now you must tell me your real reason for coming to me instead of insisting to see the king.” Charles smiled shrewdly. “I am offering myself and my services to you, Bishop, and in return I require only two things. The first being Thornhill—upon your death, of course.” “Of course,” Anselm repeated tightly. “However, you’ve forgotten Elizabeth is heir to my sister's estate, not I.” “Under English law, only if she is a married woman.” “You mince words, my lord. She is a married woman.” “Soon to be widowed.” Charles twisted his moustache. “Furthermore, once her husband is executed, I will not take the chance that Edward will award Thornhill to another, should you be killed in our endeavor to take her back. This brings me to my second requirement. Tis a precautionary measure to assure my eventual acquisition of Thornhill.” “Speak up, man, I've grown weary of all this talk.” “I request the Lady Elizabeth's hand in marriage after her husband is beheaded for treason.” “Done.” Bishop Anselm stood. ‘Twas apparent by the greedy gleam in Grosset’s eyes the man lusted after his niece. A thought sprang to mind. He’d grant the man his requests and ask for one in return. Should Grosset be killed in his endeavor to take back his beloved castle, he would be awarded Thornhill. Not for himself, of course, but for the Church. “Come, Lord Grosset, let us refine our plans whilst we sup.” Chapter 8 Warmer weather found Elizabeth spending her days in the garden. She’d carefully tended each and every bush, delighted when the first buds began to appear on the many rosebushes. As her husband had promised, the sickness that bothered her before and during Easter subsided. June nights were still cool, but the days were pleasantly warm.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason She busied herself with the replenishing of the larder and making sure the new little chicks didn't wander too far from the coop, the calves from the cows, and the lambs from the ewes. Robert had seen to it that the fields were planted, and with the soft spring rains, they promised a bountiful harvest. Had she not been so deliriously happy, she would’ve noticed more and more men in and around the castle. Had she not been busy making new gowns and learning from an old village woman how to knit, she would’ve noticed how huge holes had been dug in strategic places around the wall, then oil-soaked logs stacked beneath as braces where once stone had been—the holes then covered with more timber and the dirt and grass carefully replaced as if nothing was amiss. “I canna believe you're still planin' tae burn this place down,” James grumbled, wiping his hands on his plaid. “'Tis bad enough you've got most of us workin' at night, the rest of us playin' in the dirt like a bunch of young lads, and all the while, smilin' at the villeins and your wife as if nothin' is amiss. 'Twill be a hard winter on the peasants for sure.” “What would you have me do, Jamie, invite them tae help? I'll leave the fruit trees standin'. That and the game they can poach will get them through.” “I'd have you reconsider. We could get more men and hold this ol' fortress 'til hell freezes over—livin' off what we could grow in those rich fields. That's what I'd have you do. Have you no care for your wife? I've seen the way that little lassie of yours looks at you. She's in deep, Robbie. She loves you heart and soul and you're just tae blind tae see it.” James returned Robert's scowl. “Dinna be lookin' at me like that, any fool can see it. And, whilst I'm speakin' of it, when, in blazes, are you goin' tae choose a name for your bairn? The poor lass asks you at every turn, and you keep puttin' her off.” “Do you think I don't know that?” Robert growled. “'Tis my child she's carryin', for God's sake. You know I've been too busy tae think of names.” “Too busy.” James shook his head. “Nay, lad. Methinks it's too painful.” “Think poorly of me if you want, but the less she knows for now, the better.” Robert lifted the ladle from a bucket and took a long drink of cool water. “We've been lucky, Jamie. But I've a feelin' our luck is about tae run out. Edward's bound tae get a whiff of what we're doin'. We've got tae hurry 'afore he sends his dogs tae snoop about.” He looked over at where some of his men were replanting the shrubs they had dug up last night. “Make sure the dirt is smooth when you're done, lads,” Robert ordered before he took another drink.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “I never thought I'd think you a fool, Robbie, but the day has come.” James threw down his spade, then quickly picked it up and cleared this throat to get the attention of the other workers. They looked up and saw their laird's wife approaching. “Good morning,” she said with a cheerful smile. “Good marnin',” they all said in unison. Her light brows came together as she glanced around at the upturned soil and spades. “What are you doing?” “Cuttin' back the brush from the wall,” Robert stated, neither smiling nor frowning. “'Tis unsafe tae have anything that can burn too close to the stone.” He shot James a dark glance when the older man muttered something in Gaelic. “Oh, I see,” she said softly. “Then you are too busy to take a walk.” She smiled, but disappointment flashed momentarily in her eyes. To those around her it was clearly apparent she was gazing up at her husband as if he were the only man there. James shook his head and tossed the ladle back into the bucket. It landed with a loud splash. “Ahh, go on wit' you,” he grumbled. “We'll finish cuttin' back the brush.” Elizabeth tried not to appear too curious with what the men were doing as she waited until Robert washed his hands then tucked in his shirt and adjusted his plaid over his shoulder. Though the dirt was smooth, she thought she caught sight of a piece of rope, but the thought was so absurd she brushed it aside as her husband stepped up and offered his arm. After all, she shared everything with him, surely he wouldn't keep secrets from her—would he? “I know of a place that is better than the confines of this old castle,” she said as they passed the drab-grey stones of the gatehouse. “Better than this?” he asked as he grinned down at her, his eyes dancing with mischief. His mocking expression made her love him even more, and chased away the feeling that something was amiss. “Aye. There's a place a short distance from here I have often visited. I've food and drink, and would be honored, my lord husband, if you would join me for a picnic.” Hand in hand they walked through the gate into the inner bailey. Robert waited outside as she hurried into the manse, and then returned with a basket. She was about to lead him toward the stable, when he caught her arm. “Should'na we leave the castle first?” he asked.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “We shall,” she said with a crafty smile. “Though I have shown you many, ‘tis time, my lord, you learned all the secrets of Thornhill.” She led him around the stable to a wall that was heavily covered with ivy. She pulled some of it aside, revealing a large, wooden door. “The mason built this castle for my mother's grandfather. In fear that his beloved Thornhill might someday be breached, this door was carefully placed into the wall and obscured by these vines. There are more on the other side as well and a patch of thorn bushes. No one knows of the passageway, not even my uncle.” She stepped aside as her husband effortlessly lifted the bar from its rusty hanger, then pushed it open. She’d forgotten how dark the tunnel was and hesitated a moment, reluctant to enter. “Are you sure this is the way?” he asked cautiously, brushing spider webs from the opening. “'Tis large enough to allow horses tae pass.” His fingers closed around her hand and he pulled her into the tunnel, turning to close the door. While they waited for their eyes to adjust to the dark, she didn't mind at all when he put his arm around her and pulled her back against his chest to brush a kiss in her hair. She’d purposely washed it this morning, very much aware of how he enjoyed the rose-scented smell. His hands rested intimately on her slightly round belly and she smiled happily. Surely her husband would profess his love for her as the birth of their babe drew nearer. A few moments passed before she finally made out the outline of another door. “Stay close,” he whispered into her ear when she went to move away. His brogue was thick, his breath warm. “There could be rats.” “Rats!” she shrieked, her voice unusually loud in the confines of the tunnel. She fumed silently when she heard his deep laugher a moment before he opened the other door. Light flooded into the tunnel. Overgrown vines, much like they had encountered at the first door, barred their exit, but he held them aside and motioned for her to exit. She led him past the thicket of thorn bushes and down the slope towards the forest. Finally they came to the clearing where they had first met. Gone was the dry winter grass, replaced with a lush carpet of green, dotted with brightly colored wild flowers. She turned and after placing a kiss on his cheek, removed his plaid and spread it on the ground under the giant spruce where he had rested so long ago. “Sit with me.” She placed the basket on the ground then sat on the plaid, looking up at him. He followed her down and reached for the basket, but she grabbed it first. “Patience is a virtue, my lord.” “What surprises have you brought in that basket?” he asked.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Well, let me see.” She reached in and retrieved a skin of wine and two small silver cups, filled them both and handed one to her Scot. “You may cut the bread. 'Tis James' recipe and I am most anxious for you to taste it.” She watched bemused as he accepted the small loaf of crusty bread and a generous hunk of cheese. He took his dagger and did as she asked while she withdrew two large red apples. “I had to sneak past the cook, down to the cellar and past two frightful spiders to get these,” she said with a coy smile. “Spiders?” he repeated feigning a shudder as he picked up the apple and took a bite. “They're very good, lassie, well worth the risk.” Her husband stretched out on the plaid, propped up on one elbow. “Forbidden fruit always tastes better, remember?” she asked. His smile warmed her more than the afternoon sun. “You've not tasted yours,” he noted, taking another bite. He looked different to her—relaxed and peaceful. Something sparked deep down inside her and she knew when the year was over, and 'twas time to leave Thornhill she'd gladly go. A gentle breeze blew several tendrils across her face, but before she could brush them away, he reached over and slowly tucked them behind her ear. “You're a bonnie lass,” he murmured, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “You'll be a fine mother.” She couldn't help the blush that started up her neck, nor could she meet his burning gaze. Would he tell her now? she wondered, and her heart fluttered with anticipation. She smiled at the same time her gaze fused with his. Slowly, he came to his knees and placed a kiss, first on her forehead, then one on her cheek. She tipped her head, slipping her fingers into the hair at his nape as his mouth covered hers. The kiss was long and ever so sweet, causing her limbs to tingle. He held her face between his palms and smiled down at her a moment, then let her go and resumed his reclined position. Her hopes spiraled downward when he reached for the skin and refilled his cup. She sighed, then plucked a nearby flower and idly twirled it between her fingers. “James seemed as if he were annoyed at you for leaving,” she said, trying to push aside her disappointment. “I dinna notice much of a change from his usual sour mood.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason She smiled. “He is not sour. In fact, he has been very helpful, and has taught me how to make bread and mutton stew. And whilst we chop the vegetables, he, unlike you, listens whilst I read him my list of names.” “I'm crushed,” Robert stated, covering his heart with his hand. “Whilst the two of you’ve been choppin' carrots, I've kept the wood bin full and the water pitcher brimmin'. What more can I do? By the sound of it, there's no more room in the scullery.” She laughed softly, then grew more serious. “You could help me choose a name for our child.” “There will be plenty of time tae pick a name in the fall, 'afore he's born. Whilst the weather's dry, I need tae make sure the tasks I've assigned the men are completed tae my likin'.” “If you are clearing the brush away from the wall, why did it seem as if you had just planted the bush your men were near?” she asked. When he didn't respond, she put down her apple and sighed impatiently. “Robert, why won't you answer me? Lately you refuse to talk to me about anything that concerns our child or our home. If I did not know better, I would think you are keeping something from me.” She wasn’t prepared for the change that came over him. His casual smile vanished, replaced with an indifferent scowl. “I canna lie tae you anymore, Beth,” he said, and by his tone she knew something was terribly wrong. A thousand thoughts jumbled together—hadn’t she tried hard enough to be a good wife—had she pushed him too much for a name? “Robert, if it is something I—“ “Nay,” he said tersely. “’Tis nothing you’ve done.” He paused for several moments as if trying to find the right words. “The bush is there tae tell me and my men where we've buried the fuse to the timbers.” She shook her head and gave him a puzzled smile. “I don’t understand. Why would there be timbers under the wall? I am sure Thornhill was built upon stone.” “It was, but I've had most of it removed. We took it away and hid it deep in the forest.” Her look of utter disbelief cut into him. “I'm underminin' the walls. When the time comes, the timbers will be torched. Once burned, the wall will crumble. 'Tis the only way tae destroy a castle of Thornhill's magnitude.” “Destroy?” she repeated, then shook her head. “Did I hear you correctly?” “Aye, lass.” He reached for her, but she moved just out of his grasp then stood. He slowly got to his feet, wishing he hadn't been so blunt. “Thornhill can house five

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason hundred men, maybe more. Her stores are plentiful, the fields around her rich and capable of feedin' an army ten times the size of mine.” She took a step back when he took one toward her. “I canna leave her standin'. She's tae powerful in the wrong hands.” “B-but she is yours,” his wife countered, unconsciously placing her hand over the slight mound below her breasts. “She will be our son's someday.” “Nay, Beth. That can never be.” He tried to choose his words carefully, but knew by the way the color left her cheeks she’d already realized his meaning. “Thornhill's too close tae Scotland, lass. Too much of a threat. When Edward—” “When Edward what?” she demanded. “When he learns I've taken his precious fortress—” “Nay.” She gave him a pleading glance, one that tore into his heart. “'Twas by his command we were wed. Thornhill is ours now, Robert. We are at peace. No longer do you have to fear an attack.” She came to him then and grasped him by the arms. “If you do this, if you tear her down, 'twill mean the end of the peace, the end of our lives here.” “Beth, there is no peace.” His words sounded hollow in the hush of the forest. “The documents I brought were forgeries, expertly done by Lord Baynard hisself tae convince your uncle.” “Nay,” she said, shaking her head. “The king...the archbishop … my uncle recognized their signatures.” “He was tricked, lass. I told you the day we were wed that the time would come when we'd have tae leave and start new lives in Scotland. Now you know why.” She took a shuddering breath. “I know you told me that we'd leave someday, but I thought...I assumed that the longer we stayed, the more you would see how wonderful our life can be. We will want for nothing if we remain,” she added, hating the shaky sound of her voice—hating the thought that the only reason he married her was to get Thornhill. “We've wealth to share,” she continued, twisting her hands together. “We could send for your people to come and live here. For God's sake, Robert, the fields are already planted. There will be food enough to feed them all.” “Nay, lass,” he said softly. “The rows harrowed, but no seed lies beneath the earth.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “What?” she cried, but she already knew, and her distress intertwined with anger. “There are many who depend on the crops to survive. What of them? Are they not to be considered?” A sob caught in her throat. “The stock will starve without the harvest of hay for the winter. And the villeins,” she turned away from him, too furious to let him see her tears. “God have mercy, they will starve, too.” “'Tis the price I'm willin' tae pay tae save hundreds, maybe thousands of lives.” She spun, and a fire he hadn’t noticed before danced in her eyes. “What right do you have to make choices that affect so many?” She didn't resist when he pulled her around to face him. The old torment she’d seen when he spoke of Mary—when he awoke from one of his dreams, darkened his eyes even stronger this time. She ached to have him hold her—to tell her all he had said was a lie. “Do you think if I had a choice I would'na spare them?” he ground out. “I've no desire tae make your villeins suffer, but I've been given the responsibility tae stop the sufferin' of my own people. All the Lowland lairds are countin' on me, lass, and 'tis their support I'll need when Edward grows weary of fightin' the French and turns his dogs back on Scotland.” He stared at her for several tense moments. “Don't you see? Without Thornhill, the armies will'na be so large. Smaller forces canna do so much damage. I ask you tae try and understand. 'Tis no' my choice alone, lass, but the decision of men far greater than me.” She pushed away. “I-I had thought you to be different,” she began in a small voice. “I was beginning to believe those who would call you heartless were nothing but misguided souls who knew no better. But now,” her voice broke and she angrily swiped at several tears. “I don’t know you, Robert MacDiarmid, nor do I think I will ever know you. You stand there and tell me that all I believed was a lie and now you command me to follow you as if I were a lost lamb being led to slaughter.” She shook her head, pausing a moment to gather the courage to continue. “If you think I will allow you to destroy my home and follow you to Scotland, you are sorely mistaken.” A loud blast sounded from the parapet. Her husband cast a quick glance toward the castle and muttered something under his breath. He hesitated as if he wanted to say something more, then turned away and gathered up the remains of their picnic. Afterwards, he took a long deep breath and she knew by the tiny muscle that jumped on his jaw that he was using great restraint to keep his voice calm. “I know that what I've done is difficult for you tae ken, but you're my wife now, and as the wife of a Scottish laird, my people are your people. The only way we can survive is tae get the English

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason out o' Scotland. That's finally possible, lass, and the means is in the palm of my hand. I canna turn back now. The fortress of Thornhill must be leveled.” He reached for her hand, but she jerked it away. “You’ve forgotten, my lord. I am an English noblewoman with the responsibility of seeing to the welfare of my people as well. I ask that you, as my husband and master of this keep, honor your pledge to me the day we exchanged vows, and in doing so have a thought for those souls who depend on us and this fortress for their very lives.” She raised her chin in open defiance, then lifted her hem with the elegance of a queen and walked briskly toward the hidden passageway. Chapter 9 “What is it?” Robert asked tightly, watching his wife as she started up the steps to the manse. Thankfully, none of his men could tell by her expression what had transpired between them, or he was sure there would be mutiny. “There's an English baron outside the gate with your wife's sister and what appears tae be ten of Baynard's men.” “Is Lord Baynard with them?” Robert asked, frowning as he glanced at the distant clouds. “Nay, but I recognized his colors. The man says he's a friend of Baynard's. His name is Charles Grosset.” “Charles?” Elizabeth repeated as she stopped half way up the steps. “His father was a friend of my father’s.” She continued to stare at her husband. “A storm is brewing. He will need shelter. Will you let him in, or must I greet him outside the wall?” “Let them enter,” Robert replied, ignoring the curious looks from several of his men. A young Scottish warrior appeared with Robert's claymore, handing the weapon to his master as he took a position with the other armed men behind his laird. Elizabeth came to his side. “Is your hate for the English so strong that you intend to strike him down the moment he arrives?” she challenged. Several of the men shifted uncomfortably, waiting for their laird to answer, but Robert just looked away from his wife and watched as the gates were opened. When finally the portcullis was raised, a tall, very slender blond man rode into the bailey with Megan seated before him. Elizabeth hurried to them as Megan very nearly jumped into her waiting arms.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “How thoughtful,” James muttered with skepticism as he and Robert watched. “He brought the little lassie. I thought it odd at first, but now I see why. 'Tis a good way to get inside the gate.” Robert shot James a dark look, watching as the sisters exchanged hugs. “Did he say what he wanted?” “Nay, only that he'd been sent by Lord Baynard tae make sure all was well.” The baron dismounted, gathered Elizabeth into his arms and gave her a hearty hug before holding her at arm's length to look at her. “I wonder why Reginald dinna come himself?” Robert said tightly. He continued to watch as Elizabeth took the baron's hands into hers then placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. “He's a wee bit friendly, don't you think?” James muttered, scowling. He glanced over at Robert. His laird's features were like stone, his fingers curling into fists at his side. “But, then again, maybe it's been a long time since they've seen each other,” James added. His laird took a step, but James caught his arm, immensely pleased that he looked as if he wanted to strangle the man. 'Twas time the stubborn fool admitted he loved his wife. “They're old friends, lad. Leave 'em be.” “He's maulin' her,” Robert growled. “Maulin'? Nay.” James shook his head. “He's only holdin' her hand. See for yourself. Now, don't go gettin' upset, 'twas only a wee lit'le brotherly kiss. Come on. Let's give 'em a few moments tae—” “Tae what?” Robert nearly snarled. “Why tae...tae reminisce, of course.” Robert gave a disgusted snort. “What would you have me do, Jamie, let them have the use of my chamber?” “Shame on you,” James scolded. “'Tis no way tae treat your wife. She's done nothin' tae deserve a taste of your wicked thoughts and foul temper.” “Fine then,” Robert shot in icy wrath. “I've got something I need help with.” “What?” James asked as he hurried to keep up with Robert's long strides. His laird was leaving—not exactly what James had hoped he'd do. He had wanted Robbie to get good and jealous—jealous enough to tell the lass how he felt instead of keeping his

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason feelings locked inside. “Lookie, there,” James added, frantically. “He's kissin' her again. Aren't you goin' tae stop them?” “They're old friends, remember?” James cast a quick look over his shoulder to see the Baron holding Elizabeth's hand in his right hand and Megan's hand in his left hand. “Where are we goin'?” James complained as they passed the stable. “I've a mind tae tear out that old stump behind the hay shed.” James flashed his friend a puzzled look. “The stump?” he repeated. “Why in blazes do you want tae do that now?” “'Cause I canna tear out the man's heart with the ladies watchin', can I? Now, are you comin' or no'?” ~ Elizabeth sighed despondently as she tied the laces of a new dark blue gown. Robert had bought the material from the merchant at the Easter festivities, and she’d worked diligently, hoping to finish it before summer solstice. The soft satin gown was truly the most beautiful she'd ever owned. Tight fitting under her breasts, it fell in loose folds to the floor making it more comfortable over her thickening waist. In a very short time she would be supping with Charles and her little sister, but she dreaded the evening that lay ahead—especially after learning of Robert's plan. She felt betrayed, yet knew deep down inside, what he said was true. Many a time she’d seen soldiers garrisoned at Thornhill, but paid them little or no attention as she was usually confined to her chamber anytime strangers visited. Until Robert brought it up, she’d never given a thought to the Scots when English armies marched north, thinking that her countrymen were doing their best to keep the unruly savages under control. But James and the others were far from savage. Nor was Robert, even when she tried his temper. Though still furious with him, she could not deny her love, nor the fact that she’d come to care for the well-being of his people. To visualize any of them dead or wounded by her countrymen only magnified her guilt. Why then, she wondered, did she react so when learning of her husband's plan? Wouldn't she do the same if faced with the same choices? She placed her hand protectively over her belly. If her child was born a boy, someday he would be expected to lead the MacDiarmid clan. Would he, too, be persecuted by her English kinsmen?

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason She rose and took a calming breath before she opened the door and descended the stairs to the great hall. Robert sat at the head of the table, her empty place on his right. Charles sat across from James, Megan next to him, listening intently to the seasoned old warrior as he told another one of his stories. “Good evening, my lords,” Elizabeth said with a strained smile. They all stood, and bid her welcome. Robert pulled out the high-backed chair and motioned for her to sit. “You look verra beautiful tonight,” he whispered near her ear. As if they’d been watching to make sure all were seated, the servants carried in their food. The first course consisted of a dried fruit and thinly sliced apples, lightly dusted with cinnamon and sugar. Robert made his selection and placed them on their trencher and passed the platter to James. The moment the platters were empty, the second course was carried in. The Scottish cooks had done just as she’d asked. “This looks delightful,” Charles stated with a gentle smile. “I’m quite fond of roasted pig.” Though she thought his comment completely innocent, her husband reacted differently. His hand closed so tightly around his silver goblet, his knuckles turned white. She swallowed to ease the sudden tightness in her throat, grateful when several loaves of hot, crusty bread drew everyone’s attention. Though she thought the meal strained at first, to her amazement, as the evening wore on it became much more pleasant. 'Twas apparent Charles was trying his best to be courteous, joining in on the conversation and even telling a few stories of his own. 'Twas only after the table was cleared and Megan had gone upstairs to bed, that Elizabeth was forced to remain and listen to her husband answer Charles' questions about the excavation along the wall. She wasn't at all surprised how creatively Robert dodged the truth and explained his fictitious plan to extend the great wall of Thornhill to encase the village—to protect them from attack. Soon the candles were burning low, and, feeling more tired than usual, Elizabeth stood to retire for the evening. “Leaving us so soon?” Charles inquired. He turned to Robert and like the true gentleman he was, asked her husband’s permission before he insisted that she visit with him a few moments longer. “Excellent,” Charles replied, rising and offering her his arm. He led her toward the large fireplace and joined her on the padded bench. “It has been far too many years since I have laid eyes on you,” Charles began. “You’ve grown even more beautiful than I remember.” A servant brought over two goblets of warmed, sweet wine and she took one, looking at Charles over the rim as she sipped it, wishing he would retire and leave her to her

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason dismal thoughts. If he’d go to bed, then perhaps she could figure a way to feed her people and still render Thornhill useless. He caught her staring and returned her smile. Where once she’d thought him handsome, his pale, refined features could not compare to the rugged appeal of her Scot. “How is the Scotsman treating you, my lady?” Charles asked. Elizabeth raised her brows, somewhat surprise at the contemptuous way he had referred to her husband as the Scotsman. She knew he had no reason to like Robert, but her husband had invited him into his home and had been most congenial. “I beg your pardon?” she asked, not sure how to answer. “Elizabeth, 'tis rumored that …,” Charles looked uncomfortable, his light brows knotting with concern, “that the laird has abused you.” His statement shook her to the core, but she managed a calm smile as she took another sip of wine. “My husband's fearsome reputation is overstated, I assure you.” She thought of the special care Robert had bestowed upon her ever since learning that she carried his child, but the warm feeling it brought vanished the moment she remembered how easily he had lied to her. “I was not trying to pry.” Charles' soft voice disrupted her thoughts. “I am only concerned for your welfare. I can see by the condition of your household and your lovely gown that he is generous beyond measure with coin from your dowry, no doubt. I only hope that it is not a ruse to hide his ill-use of such a prize as yourself.” The baron tasted his wine, twirling the jeweled goblet as if to admire the precious stones. “Charles, you can put your fears aside. My lord husband is kind and considerate. The goblet from which you drink was my uncle's. Robert's tastes are much more conservative.” As are mine, she finished silently, somewhat surprised by her revelation. “It seems you have everything …,” Charles murmured, “… and for that, I am most grateful. Forgive me if I sounded like a jealous fool. I shall return to Black Rose very shortly and report that all is well.” The baron leaned over and placed his hand over hers. “You wouldn’t lie to me to protect him, would you?” “All is well,” she reaffirmed with more conviction than she felt. She glanced once more at the table to see James rising.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “My husband seems to be ready to retire for the evening. I hope your fears have also been laid to rest?” Charles flashed a bright smile and helped her to rise. He lifted her hand to his lips and brushed the back with a kiss. “Until the morrow, my lady, sleep well.” ~ “Robbie?” James turned to see where Robert's attention had wandered. “Robbie?” “What?” Robert snapped, his voice harsher than he intended. He frowned, then looked back at the prefabricated plans he’d drawn earlier to present to Charles. He pushed away from the table and stood, more disgusted with himself than he wanted to admit. His wife was right. Innocent people were doomed to suffer because of his plan. “I know where there's a keg of the best tasting ale in all of England.” James winked at Robert, even though the laird wasn't paying any attention. “I'm no' thirsty,” Robert said tightly as he continued to watch the Englishman climb the stairs. “What do you suppose he's up tae?” “Why would he be up tae somethin'?” James asked. “I'm no' sure. I'm just wonderin' why Reginald dinna come hisself,” Robert grumbled. “And his men...Reginald's men. I don't remember seein' any of them before.” “Nearly a year, Robbie. How could you remember a half-dozen ugly English faces with all that time passin’?” James shook his head. “You know where tae find me if'n you need me,” James added, heading toward the scullery where the door to the wine cellar was located. Elizabeth approached just as James left. She waited for her husband to look at her, but he only continued to stare at Charles as the baron disappeared down the corridor. “Charles has aged some,” she began, wishing the moment the words left her mouth that she would’ve chosen a better topic. “Aye, he looks as if he's led a hard life,” her husband stated flatly. She ignored his barb. “I have been thinking about what you told me today.” “Have you?” he asked skeptically. “Robert, don’t make this more difficult than it already is. As your wife, 'tis my duty to obey my husband.” She waited for him to respond to her statement, but he didn't. “I will

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason abide by your plan, even live with you in Scotland if you wish it, as long as you agree to make a few concessions.” She felt his gaze upon her as she sank in the chair closest to his. He sat, but his expression was guarded. “I fear for those we will leave behind,” she said softly. “Those that wish to can come with us.” “I am sure some will, but many will not, and those who remain must be left with a means to procure food.” “I have no coin tae spare,” he stated, folding the fraudulent plans. “This castle is filled with things that the villeins could use to trade for food and supplies.” She lifted a heavily jeweled goblet, and then purposely placed it before her husband. “We need not take everything with us to Scotland.” He stared at the goblet, then at her, and had she not felt so betrayed, she would’ve smiled at the look on his face. “'Tis feasible then, my lord, to share a few things with the villeins?” “Aye,” he said. “'Twill please me tae give some of Benedict's plunder tae the poor.” “Aye, and 'twill please me to know my people will not starve. I will begin on the morrow. When they see what gifts we bring, they will keep our secret.” Together they stood. She’d only to tip her head to entice him into kissing her, but she hesitated and then the moment was gone. Feeling uncomfortable under the intensity of his gaze, she turned and would’ve left had he not caught her arm. “Beth,” he said and the soft timbre of his voice flowed over her like warm water, caused her to look up into his eyes. “Yes, my lord?” “It's no' too late tae plant a small crop.” A shadow lifted from her heart, yet something deep down inside made her hold back. Perhaps it was the way he could so easily shatter her dream of living at Thornhill without taking her feelings into consideration. Perhaps it was her pride, wishing that he would profess his love, hurt that she had and he would not. She looked at him for several long moments wondering if he could read her thoughts. Finally, when she realized he was still waiting for her to speak, all she could muster the courage to say was, “Thank you, my lord.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason This time when she turned to leave, he let her go. She sensed that he wanted her to stay, but she couldn’t look back lest she further embarrass herself with another meaningless confession of love—painfully aware it would fall on deaf ears. Unshed tears stung her eyes as she compared her feelings to the rain that at this very moment fell softly on the barren fields. Chapter 10 The next morning, Robert left his sleeping wife and wrapped his plaid around his bare shoulders. He walked to the balcony and gazed out over the mist-shrouded countryside. He barely noticed the men below until he realized they were wearing Lord Baynard's colors. Four men stood with Charles in the courtyard, two holding the reins of their horses, all unaware that Robert watched. Charles took a small scroll out from under his mantle and handed it to the closest man. The man then mounted his horse and rode out the gate—not toward Baynard’s Black Rose, but in the direction of Grosset Castle. “'Tis cold in here.” Robert turned to see Elizabeth stretching. “Shall I build a fire?” he asked with a gentle smile. “Only in the hearth, my lord,” she replied softly and he knew she was still angry with him. “My back aches a little this morn.” He started the fire and afterward came and sat down on the edge of the bed. She stretched again, gazing up at him, her hands above her head, her glorious hair spread out over the pillow. He longed to lean down and cover her pouting mouth with a kiss, but instead placed his palm upon her slightly swollen belly. She tried to move away. “Be still,” he ordered in a soft voice. She obeyed. “Our son is awake,” he replied. “Aye, he is,” she answered. “Shush, there he goes again.” His palm was warm and soothing. “'Tis a wonder you dinna have bruises.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason She laughed then, and the sound pleased him beyond reason. He gazed down at her and knew by her expression she longed to hear that he loved her, and with that knowledge, his chest tightened painfully. “Roll on your side and I’ll rub your back.” “There’s no need. The pain leaves as soon as I rise and begin to move about.” “If you’re sure,” he said, pausing a moment before he stood and tied his plaid over his shoulder and around his waist. He knelt and busied himself tending the fire. He heard her rise, but could not look at her when she put her hand on his shoulder. “Can you not say the words, just this once?” she asked, her voice barely over a whisper. “Am I to forsake all that I hold dear for a man who does not love me?” He glanced up at her and saw the hurt glistening in her eyes. Slowly he stood and cupped her face with both his hands. “I care for you, lassie, more than I care for anyone or anything on this earth.” The torment in her husband's eyes doused her need to force him farther. “'Tis enough for now, Robert MacDiarmid, but someday I will need to hear more.” She blinked back her tears, then turned to fill the basin with water to wash. A knock sounded on the door and as she dried her face on a soft cloth, Robert opened it and stepped partway into the corridor. Though she strained, she couldn’t hear what he said. When her husband returned, his expression was even more serious. “I've got tae go.” “Go where?” she asked, hating the way he always made her feel as if she were intruding. “There's some business tae see tae downstairs.” He dressed quickly, but before he left, he pulled her into his arms. His kiss was long and lingering, filled with a promise of more to come. When he pulled back, his gaze was like that of a hungry man. “I'll no' be gone long.” ~ Robert descended the stairs, not at all surprised to see Charles sharing a goblet of wine at the table with James and two of the four men he'd seen in the courtyard. The way the men were armed and the unconcealed contempt in their eyes as he approached made him instinctively reach for the short sword he usually wore at his side, but instead of the hilt, his fingers grazed only air. He inwardly cursed his carelessness, contributing it to the fact that he had wanted to conclude his business as quickly as possible to return to his distraught wife. Filling a

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason cup with hot cider, he took his place at the head of the table, relieved to see that James hadn’t been so foolish. A large dagger peeked out of his belt and his sword was strapped firmly around his thick middle. “I trust you slept well?” Robert replied as he acknowledged Charles. He looked at the other two men, and then focused his attention on Charles. “State your business. I've things tae do.” “Reginald asked me to give you this,” Charles said as he handed Robert a folded piece of parchment. “There was no time to do so last night. I did not want to alarm Elizabeth...not in her delicate condition.” Robert met the baron's gaze for a moment then read the missive while Charles continued to speak. “The king has grown suspicious. Reginald thinks it wise to reinforce your army. A regiment of soldiers camp in the forest to aid in the defense of Thornhill.” “A regiment?” Robert challenged, tossing the parchment on the table. “Why dinna Lord Baynard come hisself?” “Lady Catherine is ill. Nothing serious, but nevertheless he did not want to leave her. As we fought together many times, he asked me to come in his stead, and as his friend, I was honored to do so. He said it is imperative that we finalize the plans. I and my men are here to assist in any way we can.” Robert stood and looked down at the arrogant man. “I've no need of your army, Grosset. ” “I see.” Something flickered in the man's washed-out gaze, but it vanished almost as fast as it came. The baron let out a bored sigh. “Very well, I shall prepare to leave. However, there is one more matter I wish to discuss. Lord Baynard's men here,” he motioned to the two soldiers, “will attest that my men have used much of their supplies to journey here. I would ask that you allow them to join us for one last feast to celebrate your success.” Charles stood and tipped his head in respect, though Robert doubted it was sincere. “What should I tell them?” “I will have my men gather some supplies and take them out to your men.” “My lord?” Charles stiffened as if he had been insulted. “Are you denying my request?” “Aye, I am, but I'll no' deprive them of hot food and plentiful drink. My men will see tae it.” He would’ve left, but the baron grabbed his arm. Robert paused, looked down at the man's hand for a moment, then raised his eyes to lock with the baron's. “You'd best have somethin' important tae say tae take such a chance.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “A chance?” Grosset challenged. Robert nodded. “Aye, the chance you might lose that hand if you leave it where it is.” Though spoken calmly, his words were reinforced with cool authority. Grosset quickly let go of his arm, but by the way his lips narrowed, Robert sensed he was loathe to do so. “What of my captains? Surely, out of respect to their status you will allow them to sup in the hall?” Robert's gaze was filled with contempt. “Respect?” He smiled, but it didn't soften the contempt in his eyes. “I've found lit'le tae respect in any English army. And as for your captains, did you no’ just tell me they belong to Lord Baynard's army?” The baron visibly bristled. “My mistake. I was only thinking of the men, my lord. 'Tis not for me, but for your good friend, Lord Baynard, that I ask you, at the very least, to let those of his personal guard enter and sup with those of your personal guard.” Robert stared at the baron for several more moments, aware that if he refused, his wife would never understand. “Very well, but no' more than ten at a time.” “As you wish, my lord.” The two English guards that were sitting stood and followed Charles from the hall. “I thought the Baynard's were visitin' William?” asked James as he got up and opened the door, scratching his head. Robert came up and together they watched as Grosset and his men mounted their horses to leave. “Aye, they were, but only for the winter. They'd be back in England by now.” Robert was quiet for several moments, then returned to the table and picked up his cider. “Fetch Peter,” Robert ordered. “Send him through the hidden passageway I showed you, on our fastest horse tae Black Rose. I've a mind tae find out if Catherine is truly ill.” Several hours later, Elizabeth had just finished checking on their meal, when Charles stepped before her, blocking her way into the great hall. “A word, my lady, if you’ve a moment.” “Charles, I really don’t have a moment to spare. I needs speak with Robert. Have you seen him? We need more carrots and leeks brought up from the cellar.” She was unprepared as the baron grabbed her arm and pulled her back into the scullery. “Where are the cooks?” he demanded.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “They left to fetch more meat from the larder for this evening’s meal.” The look in Charles's eyes as he pressed her none too gently against the wall filled her with dread. “Hear me well, Elizabeth. I have joined your uncle's cause and will take this castle tonight.” “You will what?” she asked incredulously. “You heard me,” he hissed. “Nothing will get in my way, do you understand me?” When she didn't immediately answer, his fingers bit into her flesh. “Do you understand me?” “You are insane. Lord Baynard's men will not assist you with such an absurd endeavor, and certainly Robert will not—” “A ruse, madam, one learned from your husband.” “You act as if I am to know of that which you speak. I assure you, my lord, I don’t, nor do I care to. Now,” she glanced down at her arm. “You are hurting me. Let go.” She tried to pull free, but his hold tightened until she was forced to stop struggling. “My men mingle with the laird’s, not Lord Baynard's. They are loyal English warriors. If my plan is to be successful, you will do as I say.” “Nay,” she said, anger replacing her fear. “You cannot make me betray my husband. I would die first.” Charles smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. “'Tis not your death I desire, but your compliance. I suspected you'd resist, and that is why I have the unpleasant duty to tell you little Megan will be the first to die should you divulge our little secret. How old is the child...six, seven?” Elizabeth felt as if he'd slapped her. Her mouth grew dry and her knees began to quake. “You would not,” she said, her voice barely over a whisper. “My uncle would not allow it.” “Don’t think for a moment, my dear, that your uncle would stop it. If needs be, he would kill her himself to get Thornhill back.” By the feral gleam in the baron's eyes, and by her own experience, she knew with sickening assurance everything he said was true. She cast a frantic glance around the room, flinching when he shook her to get her full attention. “Look all you want, but we are alone. No one is about to help you.” He pulled her into the corner, catching her chin roughly between his thumb and forefinger. “I can see in your eyes that you are appalled. A pity. Even defiled by that savage, you are still an

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason innocent lamb. Unfortunately, you are surrounded by ravenous wolves. 'Tis as I have warned. Your uncle and I have joined forces. If you don’t do precisely as say, not only will your sister forfeit her life …,” he drew a long deadly dagger and held it up for her to see, “… I will personally see to it that the first to fall will be your husband.” He pulled her toward the cellar, keeping his voice low as he whispered his instruction, promising that Robert would not be killed, but sent to England to be tried for treason. “Swear it,” she demanded. And when Charles gave her his oath, she breathed a little easier. It was a long ride to London, with many places where a small army could be ambushed. ~ Elizabeth took a calming breath and stared at the dagger she held in the palm of her hand. Though it was as Robert had stated so long ago, a puny blade, the thought that she wasn't completely helpless eased some of her trepidation. She’d no sooner slipped it up her sleeve when Robert came into their chamber, leaving the door open. She spun, and then quickly forced a smile. He had donned a clean shirt and kilt earlier, stating that he didn’t want to be in the way when she dressed. “My lord,” she replied stiffly, praying he wouldn't notice how her hands trembled as she clutched them together. “Is it time already?” “Aye. The cooks will have my head if we’re late.” He stared longer than usual, and she wondered if it was because he’d seen the dagger, or because of her dress. She’d purposely chosen a long-sleeved brocade as the weather had taken a turn for the worse. When he stepped closer, her heart increased its already rapid tempo. For a fractured moment she wanted to throw herself into her husband's arms and tell him everything. She took a step forward, but then caught a glimpse of Charles as he paused by the door. “Lady Elizabeth,” Charles began with a wide smile. “My lord,” he acknowledged to Robert then glanced back at Elizabeth. “What delights have you had the cooks prepare? The aroma wafting from your scullery has my mouth watering. Shall we?” He bowed slightly and motioned for them to go before him. Elizabeth placed her cold hand lightly upon her husband's sleeve. By his stance and the way he carried himself, he was not at all happy that Charles had intruded. She sensed that the only reason the baron was treated so well was out of respect to her. She cast a quick glance at her husband, silently praying for a way to thwart Charles' plan. Robert led her to her chair, and after she sat, he took his own seat. She breathed a little easier when she noticed that nearly all of Robert's men had been invited inside, while only a handful of the baron's men sat in various places about the hall. The food was brought in and the sound of male voices filled the hall. Her husband speared a

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason piece of roasted foul and placed it on her trencher, cutting it into small pieces. “You look a wee bit pale, lass. Are you feelin' all right?” “Aye, my lord.” She refused to meet his gaze, hoping he would notice how distressed she truly was and insist upon returning to their chamber. “Wine?” he asked, but she shook her head. “Nay, I shall stay with the cider, my lord.” “You don't have tae be so formal, are you sure you're feelin' all right?” “Aye. I am well, Robert, please, don’t vex yourself so with my health.” He frowned, but continued his efforts to make conversation, commenting on how wonderful the food tasted, and how lovely she looked in the dark, rose-colored gown. But she remained unusually quiet, speaking only when she had to—praying he would sense that something was amiss. But the more she tried to avoid him, the more he gave her his full attention. All through the meal, she felt Charles watching, and when she cast him a cautious glance, her suspicions were confirmed. He smiled, then purposely glanced at her little sister at the same time he stabbed another piece of meat. With each course served, she grew more and more sullen, almost angry that Robert didn't seem to notice as several of the baron's warriors carefully placed themselves only a few yards away—well within striking distance. “You say you served with the lady's father?” James asked, smiling at little Megan as he refilled her cup with cider. “Nay,” Elizabeth said quickly. “Charles and my uncle—” “I believe his question was directed toward me,” Charles answered, staring at her a long moment before he turned to James. “'Tis true, I've aided the Bishop on a few occasions. But the lady is confused.” Charles smiled to soften his words then turned back to Elizabeth. “Perhaps you were too young to remember, but I assure you, I served Lord Rothwell until his death. He was a very brave man, I might add, and a fearsome warrior.” “My father was a man of honor,” Elizabeth retorted, then glanced at her husband. “Like you, my lord.” She purposely turned and met the baron's gaze. “He could be trusted to keep his word.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Your father was a great man,” Charles replied, slipping his arm around her sister. “You and Megan meant everything to him.” Charles raised his goblet. “To Lord Rothwell.” He took a drink as the others raised their cups in salute—all except Elizabeth, and if her husband thought it odd that she wouldn’t drink to her father’s memory, he never showed it, calmly placing his hand over hers. “May he rest peacefully in the knowledge that his daughters are safe,” Charles added. “You're trembling, lass, are you sure you're well?” Robert repeated, keeping his voice low so only she could hear as Megan asked the baron how he knew her father. “Nay, I am not,” she whispered, trying to think of something to do to stop Charles from carrying out his plan. “In fact, I feel quite ill.” Before she could rise, the two armed men standing behind Robert stepped forward and clearly rested their hands upon the hilts of their swords. At the same time, Charles glared at her, keeping his arm around her sister. “Would you like tae retire?” Robert asked, frowning even more. “You cannot deprive us of your companionship,” Charles protested before she could answer. “If you leave now, I fear I will be forced to break the promise I made to you earlier today when we planned our little surprise.” Elizabeth's mouth went dry as Robert turned to Charles. “And what promise is that?” her husband asked, his brogue thick, his expression filling with contempt. It seemed to Elizabeth that she was the only one who noticed that another English soldier now stood behind James, only this one held a goblet of wine and appeared to be admiring the tapestry. Her heart began to pound against her breast. She cast a quick glance at Robert's men, but they were too involved in their food and conversation to pay any attention to the lord’s table. “'Tis of no importance,” Charles stated nonchalantly. He reached for the wine pitcher. “More wine?” He sloshed some in Elizabeth's cup and then into Robert's and James', ending with his own. “I propose another toast,” the baron began. “To Elizabeth's mother—a beauty in her own right—a devout woman skilled with herbs and potions who would be humiliated and ashamed to know that her daughter carries the child of a filthy Scot.” Charles visibly glared at Elizabeth. “I had thought your inherent knowledge of herbs would’ve prevented it.” Robert started to rise, his features hard, hatred blazing in his eyes.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason Charles pulled Megan closer to his side, pressing his dagger against the child’s throat. “One false move, and she dies.” Charles turned to Robert. “You and your henchman put your weapons on the table, slowly so as not to distract your men from their food—if that's possible.” “Why, you lowly English dog,” James growled, placing his dagger on the table. “Be careful how you speak in front of the ladies,” Charles warned in a quiet voice. “You will frighten the child.” Megan whimpered, then Charles whispered something in her ear and she stopped, but the fear never left her eyes as she looked first at Robert and then at Elizabeth. “Tell him, Elizabeth. Tell him to obey my orders.” Elizabeth put her hand on her husband's arm. “Please do as he says,” she murmured. “What know you of this?” Robert asked in a low, threatening tone. He pulled his arm away as if her touch were vile, then reached for the dagger in his belt. He laid it quietly on the table next to James'. “Well done,” Charles added. He nodded to the men standing behind Robert. They stepped closer, very carefully drawing their swords. “Now, MacDiarmid,” Charles ordered with a sinister smile. “Come on now, don’t be shy. Order your men to lay down their weapons.” “Robert,” Elizabeth said softly, an edge of panic in her voice. She felt her husband's anger like an ox might feel the yoke. She forced herself to look up, becoming even more distraught by his expression. “Please, do as he says.” “Listen to your wife, MacDiarmid. More of my men await my signal outside. Resistance is futile. Surrender peacefully and no one will be hurt. Fight, and I will see your men slaughtered like the pigs they are.” With one arm still wrapped about Megan's waist, Charles raised the dagger a little closer to the child's throat, ignoring Elizabeth's horrified gasp. “The choice is yours. This child's death will be on your soul should you decide to be foolishly brave.” Chapter 11 Robert stood, and though he appeared calm, the tiny muscle that jumped above his jaw was a sure sign to Elizabeth that he was using great restraint. Slowly, his long fingers curling into fists at his sides.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Lads,” he said in a loud, clear voice. The room fell quiet except for the tinkling of goblets and a few muttered whispers. “Hear me,” Robert commanded. “Take your weapons and put them on the tables.” The rumble of male voices grew loud, then even louder as several of his captains stood to protest. The soldier standing behind her husband drew his sword and pressed it against her husband’s back. The room instantly fell silent. Charles stood. “Obey, or forfeit his life.” Not a man made a move to comply. Robert hesitated for several tense moments. He looked at Megan and then at his wife, and Elizabeth knew if she and her sister had not been in the room, a bloody battle would ensue. Robert spoke again. “I ask that you do as he says, no' for me, but for the safety of my wife and her sister.” Though his men muttered angry words of vengeance, they tossed their swords and daggers onto the tables. Two English guards opened the doors and more English soldiers marched into the hall, several carrying lengths of rope. She watched in despair as her husband's men were carefully bound, each to the other, then led out of the hall. Miserable, she glanced up at her husband. “Robert, please believe me. I had no choice but to help them.” A muscle jumped again in the tight set of his jaw. “Aye. I should have seen it comin'.“ “Nay,” she cried with the sickening feeling he had misunderstood her explanation. “I—” “Lady Elizabeth,” Charles warned as he shoved Megan into James' arms and stood. “Remember our agreement.” Charles picked up Robert's dagger and examined the MacDiarmid crest on the hilt. “Evil looking little fellow, this rampant boar.” He smiled then motioned with the dagger. “Take them and lock them up. Bishop Benedict will arrive on the morrow and I shall leave their fates in his hands.” A soldier stepped forward and seized James, but Megan wouldn’t release her tight hold. Uttering a profanity, the man wrenched the child from James’ grasp then shoved her toward another who dragged the crying child away. An instant later James planted his fist on the first man's chin, snapping his head back and sending him crashing into a chair before he hit the floor. Another guard appeared in a blink of an eye and brought the hilt of his sword down hard on James' head. The angry Englishman would’ve run James through, but Robert caught his arm, spun him around and hammered his fist into the soldier’s abdomen. Elizabeth leapt from her chair, drawing her small knife, but another one of Charles’ guards easily disarmed her. “Let me go,” she demanded. “You are hurting me.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason Robert lunged for the guard. The man pushed her away then charged with his sword, slashing wildly, rendering a nasty cut across her husband's ribs. Growling in rage, Robert wrenched the sword from the man's grasp then stabbed it into the Englishman's chest. The stunned soldier died before he hit the floor. Elizabeth had no time to scream a warning before Charles brought a pewter pitcher down hard on Robert's head. Horrified, Elizabeth watched as her beloved sank to his knees and collapsed to the floor. Winded, Charles caught Elizabeth’s arm before she could go to her husband. “Because of your misguided loyalty to the enemy, I have decided I must break my oath. I feel it is my duty to the throne to punish him myself. 'Tis known by all that he is a heretic. When Bishop Benedict arrives, I will personally see that your husband be burned at the stake.” Elizabeth wanted to scream the injustice of all that had happened, but she refused to give Charles any more satisfaction. She straightened her shoulders, tugging her arm from his grasp. Raising her chin defiantly, she watched as Charles' expression changed from fury to bemused contempt. “Have you no honor?” She gave a small laugh. “Nay, I can see that you don’t.” “I can tell by the way you tremble that I have disappointed you, but in time, you will thank me.” The baron motioned to the guards. “Take them and tie them up and put them with the others.” He nodded toward James’ limp form. “When this one wakes, have him and two more of his kind build a platform. Place it in the center of the bailey where all the laird’s warriors can see.” Terrified for her husband, Elizabeth grabbed Charles’ arm. “In the name of God, you cannot do this.” “Aye, my fair lady. 'Tis in His name we were successful.” Charles smiled. “I am master of this keep now, and I will do whatever I wish.” He picked up his goblet and took a long drink of wine, spilling a little down his chin as he strode to where Robert lay on the floor. None too gently, he nudged Robert in the ribs with the toe of his boot to rouse him. “What kind of man are you?” she hissed, racing to stop him. A guard grabbed her and for several futile moments, she struggled against his hold. “I am curious to see if the tales of Highland strength and endurance are true.” Charles grimaced at the smear of blood on his boot then glanced at the closest man. “I’ve changed my mind. Take him out and tie him to the battlements. Perhaps the rain will revive him.” “I beg you, Charles. Let me bind his wound first.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason Charles knelt and examined Robert’s wound. “’Tis merely a scratch.” He stood, glanced at the blood on his fingers, and then wiped his hands on his gambeson. He nodded to the man who held Elizabeth. “Take this barbarian away.” “You are no better than a barbarian yourself,” Elizabeth hissed. “If I had a dagger, I would stab it in your wicked heart.” Charles feigned a hurt expression. “You would wound me? I am not the one who used trickery to steal your home, he is. You, my poor misguided lamb, have been duped into thinking this savage cares for you. Trust me, he does not. He only agreed to marry you to destroy this fortress and free his precious Scotland from English rule. Unfortunately, you were the means by which he hoped to accomplish it.” His words cut, confirming her worst suspicions. “T-that is not true,” she cried with more conviction that she felt. “You think not?” Charles shoved Robert's dagger into his belt. “Methinks you will come to your senses soon. Did you see the way he looked at you a few moments ago?” When she didn't answer, Charles shook his head and gave her a sympathetic smile. “I had planned on telling him how I found out about his ruse, and how I forced you to help, but watching the way he looked at you this eve, I have decided to let him draw his own conclusions.” Charles grabbed her arm and shoved her toward the stairs. “Go to your chamber and comfort your sister. Thornhill is once again under English rule and your marriage to a Scottish barbarian is over.” ~ “Elizabeth?” Megan came and leaned against her sister’s side. “We've been in here all night and all day, and now ‘tis nearly night again. I’m afraid. I want to go back to the Abbey.” Elizabeth turned away from the balcony and led her sister back into the chamber, pulling the doors closed. “I know, sweetling. I wish we I could take you, but I cannot—not yet.” She sat on the side of the bed and smoothed several blond curls away from her sister's face as she tried her best to answer the child's questions. “And …,” Megan continued as she put aside the little rag doll, “… why did that man hit Jamie?” “They are bad men, Megan, and very often bad people do bad things.” “Is Uncle Anselm bad?” the child asked, her brows drawn together.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason Elizabeth heaved a long, tired sigh. Memories of her uncle's treatment flashed briefly in her mind, one thought leading to another until she recalled her wedding night and the little dagger her uncle had pressed in her hand—the one she’d slipped under the mattress. Without drawing attention to what she did, she found the little dagger and slipped it unnoticed into her pocket. “I don’t want to believe our uncle is bad, but I fear that he and Lord Grosset have...well, I fear they think that what they are doing is a good thing when actually it is not.” She stood and listlessly wandered to the balcony doors and glanced out. The platform where Robert would burn was finally completed and stood in the center of the inner bailey. His men, though still tied together, sat on the ground and lounged against the wall under the battlements where their ropes had been bound to the support posts. The sky was grey, and when she opened the door, the threatening smell of rain washed over her. Several guards began to light the torches along the wall. A moment later, four more came into view, two walking with Robert, holding his arms, and two behind him with their swords draw. Upon seeing their chieftain, Robert's men hollered profanities when the English soldiers shoved their laird up the crude steps, then tied him to the post. Though she could not hear what Robert said, her breath caught in her throat and her stomach knotted when the guard retaliated and slammed his fist into Robert's abdomen. Her husband went slack, the ropes the only thing holding him upright. The prisoners roared their disapproval, straining at their bonds, and threatening revenge as insults were tossed back and forth between the English and the Scots. Elizabeth tore her gaze away and glanced at her sister. “Megan, I must leave for a short time. There is food on the table if you get hungry. You will be safe here whilst I am gone.” “Nay, I am frightened to be alone.” “Megan, can you keep a secret?” The child brushed at a tear and nodded. “Very well. If you are brave and do as I say, when I return, we will plan our escape.” “We will?” Megan whispered. “Aye, but no one, no one at all, can know of it. Do you understand?” “I shall cross my heart and hope to die.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason Elizabeth accepted her sister's hug then lifted Robert's plaid from the back of the chair and pulled it around her shoulders before she opened the door. She was met by a large man. “You’re to stay in your chamber, my lady.” “I needs speak with Charles,” Elizabeth demanded as she glared at the armed guard blocking her way. “I have orders that you are to stay in your chamber with the child 'til the bishop arrives.” Elizabeth shrugged and opened her arms. “Look at me. I am no threat to your master. I am certainly too small to harm you. All I ask is a few words with your Lord Grossett.” “You are in no position to make demands,” came Charles' smooth voice. “Especially if you insist on wearing those disgusting garments.” Elizabeth pushed past the guard. “I wish to see my husband.” “Come,” Charles said, offering her his arm. “We will share a cup of wine by the fire, There is a chill in the air tonight.” “I would sooner sup with the devil,” she shot back as she stepped in front of him and descended the stairs. Charles followed her down, catching her arm and turning her to face him. “I am no devil, my sweet. Unlike MacDiarmid, I am quite refined,” he drew his finger down her cheek. “I know how to please a lady of your standing.” Elizabeth jerked her arm from his grasp and at the same instant went to strike him, but he caught her hand in his. She winced as he twisted her arm behind her back, forcing her to lean against his chest. His face was a breath away from hers, his expression that of a hungry man. “Don’t force me to be less than chivalrous, my lady. You remain untouched because I choose it to be this way. I will remain a gentleman only as long as you remain a lady.” Elizabeth slowly turned away, sickened by what she saw in his eyes. “My lord,” she began, hating the slight tremor in her voice. “I beg you to let me see my husband. If he is to die, I would make my peace with him.” Charles slowly let her go. “If you must,” he stated with a smug nod. He followed her to the door. “Let him look at the woman who he thinks betrayed him. When you see for yourself that his hate for you is greater than his hate for your uncle, mayhaps you will stop punishing yourself.” Charles opened the door and held it. “Take a good look. Look at them all. See for yourself that they are crude savages unworthy of your concern.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason Elizabeth drew a portion of Robert’s plaid up and over her head as she stepped outside. A dark night, she was thankful for the flickering torches to help her see. Sometime between leaving her chamber and her confrontation with Charles, it had rained and she had to step around several small puddles. Hidden from the angry stares of his men, she hurried toward her husband. Branches of all sizes had been shoved beneath the platform. The smell of pitch assaulted her nostrils as she approached, and she knew with nauseating assurance it had been slathered over the larger logs to make sure they would burn hot and furious regardless of the rain. Steeling herself for the worst, she forced herself to look at Robert. He stood upon the platform several feet above the ground, his feet and hands bound to a stout post. His wet shirt clung to his muscular torso—a dark stain of blood showed above his kilt. She heard James mutter something in Gaelic, but could not draw her eyes away. “Robert,” she whispered brokenly. Relief washed over her as he lifted his head and slowly opened his eyes. Though she’d seen the guard punch him, she hadn't known he'd been beaten ‘til now. His lip and a cut under his left eye were swollen and caked with dried blood. “Robert, I am so sorry. I did not—” “'Tis dangerous here,” he interrupted. “You must leave. Go tae the Abbey...tae Sister Margaret. You'll be safe there 'til you can get tae Catherine.” “Catherine?” she repeated, then realized his meaning. “Nay,” she said firmly as tears pooled in her eyes. “I will not leave you at the mercy of my uncle. I swear on all that is holy, I will find a way to help you and the others escape.” “You canna risk your life and the life of our bairn tae save me. 'Tis too late for the both of us.” “Nay,” she repeated frantically. “I was a fool to believe we could live here. You were right, Robert. We will never be able to stay in England and be safe.” She cast a glance over her shoulder as a cold rain began to sting her skin. Charles stood in the open doorway of the keep, silhouetted by the light from inside. “I will not lose you like this,” she cried, grabbing branches and trying to tear them away. Suddenly Charles was there and when he grabbed her, she fought until he drew back his hand and slapped her hard across the face. Robert strained against the ropes, unmindful that the stain on his shirt grew larger. “You English scum. If you want tae fight, untie me and fight me man tae man.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “I could kill you now and be done with it,” Charles snarled, “but there would be no sport in that, would there?” A guard shouted from the parapet, but his words were whisked away with the wind. “Come, my dear,” Charles hissed near her ear. “I’ve been expecting your uncle, and by the commotion at the gate, I think he has finally arrived.” Elizabeth mustered every ounce of strength to resist, but she was no match against her captor’s strength. Charles dragged her toward the gate. It began to rain harder, her feet slipping in the mud, but she finally pulled free at the same time her uncle rode into the bailey. She ran to him, clutching his robes and pleading for mercy, but her hopes were dashed when he gave her a disgusted look. “Uncle, I beg you—” “Greetings, your grace,” Charles said with a slight bow. He motioned to the platform. “We have been awaiting your arrival. As you can see, my plan worked. The MacDiarmid has been apprehended and I have arrived at a fitting means of execution. Shall we torch it now before the rain ruins the pitch?” “Uncle, please, spare him,” Elizabeth cried. Anselm stared at her then motioned for several priests to help him get his bulk down from the saddle. “My men and I have not yet eaten. There will be time to watch this heathen burn after our bellies are full.” Elizabeth clutched her uncle’s sleeve. “If my husband has done something wrong, 'tis for the king to decide his fate, not you.” “Don’t vex yourself so,” he said as he tried to cup her cheek. She turned away, repulsed by the evil gleam in his eyes. He grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced her to look at him. “Your husband is a blasphemous pagan, and must pay for his sins. 'Tis my duty as a man of God to rid the earth of such vermin.” “Nay,” she challenged. “'Tis a sin to deliberately take another's life.” Anselm laughed then called out for all to hear, “There is as much sin in killing a Scot as there is in slaughtering a pig.” To her horror, his priests and the English soldiers standing around the bailey laughed. “I wonder if God will agree with you, my lord?” Anselm firmly grasped her elbow and led her toward the steps. “Come, my child. You will catch your death in this weather.” Elizabeth pulled her elbow from his pudgy fingers. “One way or another, dear uncle, we must all pay for our sins. Only a few of us will enjoy the comforts of heaven. Others, such as yourself and Lord Grossett, will surely burn in a fiery abyss of your own making.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason ~ A waning moon wrestled with the storm clouds for possession of the sky. Elizabeth pulled the black hood up over her tightly braided hair. She inched along the wall, thankful that most of the guards had guzzled too much wine in their celebration of regaining Thornhill, and had fallen asleep at the table. Those that were still awake sat with Charles and her uncle before the fire, talking softly and engrossed in their games of chance. No one noticed as she slipped down the steps clutching her sister's hand. Keeping a watchful eye, Elizabeth kept Megan in the shadows close to the wall until they came to the scullery then slipped out the side door. “Megan,” Elizabeth said as she adjusted the little girl's black cape. “'Tis a good thing I did not throw mother's old black dress away. Look at what a lovely cape it made for you to wear. Now, don’t forget. ‘Tis very important.” “I shan’t forget a single thing,” Megan said with a slight smile even though a small spark of fear danced in her eyes.” “Go to the smith and tell him what I told you. We will meet at the secret passageway. Now, stay close to the wall and do exactly as I say.” The child nodded then dashed in the direction she was told. Elizabeth waited until the darkness swallowed up her little sister's image, then pushed away from the wall and ran to the secret gate. Pausing only to catch her breath, she slipped outside then crept around the wall. Several times she froze as from up above on the battlements a man's shadow appeared, but soon she found the oil-soaked ropes and dug with her bare hands to remove the damp, excess dirt. Trembling, she knelt and took from her pocket the flint and steel. Elizabeth went from rope to rope, growing more brazen with each step. Robert's plan worked well—when the tiny flame inched down to the logs, the fire they started was unseen, spreading from timber to timber. Her task complete, she gathered up her skirts and ran back, entering the way she left, pressing back against the wall as she watched and waited. “Fire! Fire!” a guard yelled. Moments later, several more shouted the warning. English soldiers scrambled out of their beds to the battlements. Frantic, they could not decide where to begin. Huge flames blackened the wall in so many places it seemed as if the entire castle burned. Panic-stricken voices rented the night. More guards, tugging on their clothing, scrambled out of their quarters bumping into those already racing to heave buckets of water over the sides. But the timbers were well ablaze and the buckets too few to prevent the damage.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason Amid the chaos, Charles and her uncle dashed out into the bailey then swiftly climbed the stairs to the wall-walk. Using the bedlam as protection, she slipped from her hiding place and ran toward her husband's men. “Why are you here?” James asked in a raspy voice as she crouched down near him. She showed him the dagger. “I have come to your rescue,” she said in a shaky voice, sawing at the ropes around his wrists. The moment he was free, James grabbed the dagger and cut the ropes of the men closest to him, then handed the dagger to another man and he did the same on down the line. “The bloody English are everywhere,” a warrior muttered as he crouched down near James. Elizabeth recognized him as the man who had arm-wrestled the smith. James stood, grabbed Elizabeth's wrist and pulled her along behind, finally shoving her toward a thick post. “Stay here, lass, and don't move.” An English soldier charged with his sword. James ducked, and then hammered his fist into the soldier's ribs, wrenching the sword free. He turned and with the man's weapon, ran another through. More of Robert’s men attacked, wrestling weapons from the English. Steel clanging on steel sounded above the hiss and crackle of the flames. Black smoke began to filter into the bailey offering the Scots more protection. Elizabeth swallowed back her fear, watching the men fight for a few moments before her gaze fastened on Robert as James and his men fought to reach him. Arrows flew past, one slamming into the post above her head. She yelped, then crouched lower, but wouldn't leave even when James shouted for her to run for better cover. It was difficult to see through the smoke and the crush of men. But then suddenly Ian was there with more of Robert's men fighting the English off while James clambered up on the platform. She dragged her sleeve across her burning eyes, trying to watch them rescue her husband—completely unaware as Charles took careful aim with a crossbow. Charles cursed under his breath, then ran to the wall and soaked another arrow in pitch. “Get me that torch,” he snarled as a man clambered up and lifted a torch out of its cradle. The arrow tip blazed to life. Charles knelt and once more took careful aim. Chapter 12 The cries and shouts of men sounded all around Elizabeth. A gust of wind blew more smoke into the bailey. Straining to see, she clutched the post, offering a prayer that

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason James and the others would be swift. She heard Robert's voice as he shouted something in Gaelic, and by the desperate tone, she knew something was dreadfully wrong. “Dear God,” she cried when the smoke cleared. A well-placed arrow pinned his shoulder to the post. While other's fought, James worked at the ropes to cut him free, but a flaming arrow hissed past, sinking deep into the oil-soaked wood beneath the platform. Like a hot ember on parchment, it instantly started to burn. “Robert!” Elizabeth cried, racing toward the platform—unmindful of the danger. “Get back,” he shouted, and instinctively she knew to obey, cringing at the flames as they spread, licking hungrily at the dry wood under the platform. She watched in horror as Robert reached up, and growling in pain, broke the feathered shaft of the bolt embedded in his shoulder then wrenched himself free. She pressed her fingers to her mouth, nearly frozen in fear. Only when he jumped down and grabbed her roughly by the arm, did she remember to breathe. “Run,” he yelled a moment before he shoved her away. She instantly obeyed. More arrows hissed past, but the flames had reached the wooden wall-walk and were spreading toward the keep. More and more men were called away from the battle to fight the inferno as burning timbers crumbled. Elizabeth stopped at the hidden gate, gasping for breath, waiting anxiously as James and most of Robert's men caught up with her. “Where is he?” she asked, searching their faces. “He'll be along,” James said impatiently. He pushed her toward the gate. “Go quickly.” “Nay. You must go back for him,” she cried. “He is wounded.” “Think ye I don’t know that?” James growled. “He'll be along, lass, now do as I say and get.” James grabbed her arm and shoved her inside the tunnel. She heard his heavy breathing as he followed behind until they were on the other side. The smith was there with Megan and several other Englishmen she knew they could trust to help with the escape. Robert's stallion pawed the ground nervously as did the other horses they had been able to procure. Much to Elizabeth's relief, Esmeralda was there, too, and Elizabeth nearly wept with relief that her pet would survive. James helped her into the saddle, then went back into the passageway. A few moments later he returned, followed by Robert and more of their men. “There are more horses tied to the trees over yonder,” the smith told James as he lifted little Megan and placed her behind Elizabeth's saddle. “Hold on real tight, little one.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason The big man smiled at Elizabeth, and then disappeared into the tunnel. Elizabeth heard the heavy bar drop into place. A moment later, he appeared, and after he closed the outside door, braced his back against it. “Go,” he boomed. James swung up on his horse. “Come on lass, we've got tae go.” “We must wait for Robert,” she cried. “The gate will not hold for long.” At the sound of her voice, Robert glanced her way. He finished speaking with several of his men then came toward her. His shirt appeared to be covered in blood, but his stance was straight, the look on his face almost frightening. “Go with James—” “Nay, I—” He placed his hand on her leg, his gaze locking with hers for several moments—his expression unreadable. Slowly he turned to Megan and forced a strained smile. “Hold on tight tae your sister,” he warned, and the child obeyed. Elizabeth wanted to speak, to tell him how much she loved him, but James had already started down the path. Robert gave her one last look then brought his hand down hard on her horse's rump. The mare bolted down the path. ~ James finally pulled his horse to a stop after what felt like an eternity. Elizabeth halted Esmeralda alongside, fighting the catch in her throat as she turned and looked back the way they had come. Thornhill, fully ablaze, appeared like an orange demon lighting up the night's sky. Paralyzed by the sight, she was barely aware as the others arrived. “Are you hurt?” James asked as he moved his big roan closer. When she didn't answer, he grabbed her arm and gave her a little shake. “Are you hurt, lass?” he asked softly. Elizabeth dragged her eyes away. “Nay,” she said, when she could find her voice. “Wwhere is Robert?” The older Scot dragged a dirty sleeve down his soot-covered face. “I don't know,” he replied tightly. “We'll wait a bit, then we've got tae go or chance bein' captured. They’ll have saved their horses and be looking for our tracks.” “We must go back,” Elizabeth said, but before she could cue her horse to move forward, James caught the mare's reins. “Nay. He told me he'd follow, and he will.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Did you see him?” she cried incredulously. “He was covered in blood. What if he’s too weak to follow?” She frantically searched the older man's face for some sign of reprieve, but he only held tight to the reins. “Let me go,” she demanded. “I must go and help him.” James shook his head. “Nay, lass. We wait.” “But—” “We wait.” A horse nickered a short distance away, but it was too dark to make out anything but the silhouette of a single horse and rider. “Thank God,” she whispered as Robert rode up. His face was smeared with ash, the left shoulder of his white shirt dark and glistening with fresh blood. “Andrew and Fergus are dead,” he said to James. “The others will take tae the forest. I told 'em where we'd be.” Robert heaved a tired sigh and raked his good hand through his hair as if what he was about to say caused him pain. “I could'na save the smith. I owe my life tae him.” James nodded, and then moved his horse next to Oberon. “You're bleedin', lad. Take this.” He leaned over and wrapped his plaid over Robert’s shoulder and ribs, tying it tightly around Robert’s waist. “Nay,” Elizabeth argued. “That will never do. We must take time to bandage him properly and stop the bleeding”. She would’ve gotten down, but James' gruff voice stopped her. “There’s no need tae trouble yourself. None of us are fooled inta believin' you care.” He glared at her for several painful moments before he checked the makeshift bandage. Robert closed his eyes for a few moments, leaning slightly in the saddle. When she thought she couldn't bear it any longer, he slowly opened his eyes and stared at her. “Now that the fightin' is over, lass” he began, his voice sounding unusually calm. “You should'na be here. Go back, and take your sister with you. Benedict willna harm you if you tell him we forced you tae come with us.” “Go back?” Elizabeth repeated, stunned by his dismissal. “To what? Can you not see that Thornhill is burning? Charles has no chance to save her, and if you think for one moment I would go back to him, you are sorely mistaken.” “You expect me tae believe that?” His gaze stabbed into her. “I swear to God, Robert, I did not betray you. ‘Twas I who freed your men.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason James looked a little sheepish. “She’s right, Robbie. If no’ for her, God knows what would’ve happened tae us.” Robert flicked his gaze to Jamie then back to Elizabeth, but said no more. He stared at her for a moment longer, then, gritting his teeth, urged Oberon ahead. James climbed up on his roan, then gave her a sideways look. “Come, but you’ve got tae keep up. We've a long ride ahead of us.” ~ They rode for several hours. The only sounds disturbing the dense silence of the forest were the steady plodding of the horses' hooves, and the occasional rumble of thunder in the distance. By dawn the storm arrived and the heavy clouds opened and drenched them. 'Twas nearly dusk on the second day when they came to the stone walls of the abbey. Elizabeth didn't ask permission, she just hurried down from her horse and pounded on the thick wooden door with her fist. A small door within the door slid open. “Sister Margaret,” she cried, shivering. “Open the gates. 'Tis me, Elizabeth.” A moment later the groaning of rusty hinges filled the night and the double gates on the south wall were slowly opened. By the time they rode inside, Sister Margaret and several other nuns stood to greet them. “How many are wounded?” Margaret asked as Elizabeth stepped down from her horse. “Three? Four? I don’t know for sure, only that Robert is the worst.” Elizabeth helped Megan down, then hurried to help James with her husband. “Come this way,” the elderly nun ordered. “'Tis Laird MacDiarmid,” Sister Margaret stated as the Abbess came into the inner bailey holding a candle. “He and some of his men have been hurt and need our help.” The Abbess glanced at the drenched men still standing with the horses outside, then motioned to one of the sisters. “Tell these men that there is a shed behind the house for their animals and room inside for them. I shall have Sister Alice bring them some warm mead and blankets as soon as they can be gathered. Little Megan will go with Sister Mary, and as for you, Lady Elizabeth, bring your husband and follow me.” The Abbess led them inside, down the hall and into a cozy room with two beds. A fire burned in the small stone fireplace in the corner. Several rag dolls sat on the small bureau, and Elizabeth knew without asking that it was Sister Margaret's chamber—the one she shared with Megan.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Place him here,” the kindly sister said as she pulled back a thick quilt from a soft feather pallet. James helped Robert to the bed then stepped aside. “Let’s have a look,” Margaret said as she loosened the plaid, looking first at the arrow wound, then at the nasty gash across his middle. “Who did this?” she asked the laird. “'Tis no' your concern,” he said slowly, his words heavy with brogue. “Stitch it so I can leave.” Unoffended by his gruffness, she simply smiled. “Still too stubborn for your own good, I see.” She stood and looked down at the wounded man. “You will not be going far for several days, my lord. The sword wound is deep and jagged, but 'tis the hole in your shoulder that concerns me most.” Margaret gave James a firm look. “Strip him. I will fetch my medications.” “Aye, that I shall, sister,” James replied. Elizabeth shrugged out of her cloak. “Let me help,” she murmured to James. “Leave us,” Robert ordered, but Elizabeth refused to move. “I will not,” she challenged softly. Her husband tried to rise, completing the task only with James' help. “You are in no condition to order me about, Robert,” Elizabeth countered. While James kept him in an upright position, she removed his ruined shirt, wincing as fresh blood trickled down his chest and back. “Damn, you Jamie,” he growled, when James' tugged off his boots. “I canna ride without those.” “You'll no' be goin' anywhere tonight” James countered. Finally they were finished, and after Elizabeth placed a thick cloth over the wound on Robert's back, he rested against the pillows, his face pale and his eyes clouded with pain. “Are the others safe?” Robert asked. “Aye, for the time being,” James offered. “Don't worry so much. You know the others have split up and are heading north in small groups to keep Grossett off our trail.” “Aye...good lads, every one of 'em.” Robert muttered, clenching his jaw when he shifted his weight. “And the child?” “The sister's have put her tae bed. She held up like a true Scottish warrior.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason Robert dragged his hand across his sweat-dampened forehead. “'Tis hot in here, and I would have a drink.” “Rest easy, lad,” James stated, his voice gruff with emotion as he placed his hand on Robert's forehead. “You've a wee bit of a fever.” James filled a cup and helped Robert to a more upright position while he drank. Afterwards, he grabbed a cloth and pressed it to Robert's shoulder. “Where's Sister Margaret?” he asked a little desperately. The kindly nun entered the small room with a basin of hot water and a bundle of clean cloths tucked under her arm. She dipped in a cloth and ignoring Robert's complaints, cleansed his wounds, replacing the cloth over his shoulder to examine the slice on his ribs. “This must be sewn.” She put a pinch of yellow powder into a cup of water. “Drink, it will dull the pain.” “I canna ride if I'm drugged. Just do it and be quick about it.” Margaret ignored his scowl and began to thread a needle. ”You are stubborn to a fault, my lord, now hold still.” Robert clenched his jaw and stared straight ahead 'til the task was done. Only when Margaret tied off the last of the twelve stitches, did he take a proper breath. The nun put aside the needle, lifted the bandage from his shoulder, and shook her head. “Although you cannot afford to lose any more blood, this is best left open to drain.” She visibly glowered at her patient, then glanced at Elizabeth. “Since the laird will most likely ignore my advice to stay abed for several days, I shall give you this salve to take with you on your journey. Use it every time you change his bandage, but don’t put it on the stitches. They are best left dry.” James helped Robert sit upright whilst Margaret bound his wounds. “That should stop the bleeding. Now you must try to get some rest,” the elderly nun said with a tired sigh. She stood and gathered up her medications. “I will have one of the sisters bring you some food and drink.” James sat by Robert and dipped a clean cloth into the basin, then placed it on Robert’s forehead. “I’m famished, and I’m sure Robbie could use some wine.” James smiled at the elderly nun. “For the pain.” Sister Margaret turned to Elizabeth. “Come, my dear, I would have a few moments of your time while their supper is prepared.” Elizabeth followed Sister Margaret out of the room and into a larger chamber where both women were served a steaming cup of hot cider. Sister Margaret sat with a loud sigh, and when Elizabeth sank down on the bench, the nun asked, “When is your child due?”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason Elizabeth smiled sadly, placing her hand on her abdomen. “In the fall.” “’Tis what you wanted, is it not?” Sister Margaret asked with a worried frown. “To have a man to care for you and a child to love?” Elizabeth met her dear friend’s gaze. “Aye, but so much has happened since Robert and I were wed.” She took a sip of cider. “Robert thinks that I betrayed him. You saw him, he barely glanced my direction.” She angrily swiped at a tear. “He hates me, and I fear he no longer wants our babe.” Sister Margaret rose, then came and sat down by Elizabeth, placing her arm over her shoulders. “Did he tell you that?” “Not in so many words, but I know in my heart that he does not love me. And now …,” She raised her red-rimmed eyes to look at the kindly nun. “Thornhill is burning. Lord Grossett conspired with my uncle to take the castle and kill Robert, but we escaped.” She sniffed and then pulled a small handkerchief from the pocket of her gown to dab at her tears. “Robert deceived me … all of us. I was beginning to think he loved me—not like he loved Mary, but enough to make me happy. But all that has changed. He married me so that he could destroy my home.” “You are certain of this?” Elizabeth nodded. “Aye. He told me as much a few days ago.” Elizabeth cast Margaret a desperate glance. “There is no seed in the fields—nothing to feed my people. I fear that when winter comes, they will starve, and … and now Thornhill lies in ruin. There will be no stock, no seed, and even if they can find some of the riches that didn’t burn, it will be of little use to them. Who would buy damaged goods?” Sister Margaret pulled her closer. “The ground is cultivated?” She looked down at the young woman, smiling when she nodded. “Then it will not be too difficult to place seed into the ground. ‘Tis only spring. A late harvest is better than none, aye?” “A-aye,” Elizabeth answered. “But where will they find seed if my stores are ashes?” “Leave that to me to worry about,” the kindly nun replied with a smile. “We at the abbey are not without our resources.” She gave Elizabeth a gentle hug. “Now, tell me every detail of what happened. I cannot help you convince your husband that you are innocent unless I know precisely what happened.” ~ Clad in Sister’s Margaret’s heavy wool cloak and a freshly laundered habit, Elizabeth sat astride her mare watching her husband, amazed that not only had he walked to his horse, but had managed to mount the beast with only a little help from James. The

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason crafty old Scot had used a clean plaid from his saddlebags to bind Robert's left arm snugly to his chest and keep the damp and cold at bay. The only sign that it had been a painful endeavor were the tiny dots of sweat that dampened Robert's brow and the occasionally tic above the tight set of his jaw. The first pink streaks of dawn were breaking over the hilltops as the rest of his men prepared to leave. Elizabeth waited, her mood as dark as the morning sky—her heart as heavy as the mist hugging the ground. Sister Margaret came to her side and pressed a small pouch into her palm. “Put a pinch of this in his water when you camp. ‘Twill help him rest more peacefully. There is food and drink aplenty for your journey, and don’t worry about Megan. Her stay here will remain our little secret—even if your uncle comes looking.” Elizabeth forced a small smile. “Once we are settled, I will send for her, providing Robert allows me to live with him.” Sister Margaret patted her hand. “He is hurting. Give him time to heal, and I am sure he will see what a good and kind spirit you have. If not, then you and the babe are always welcome here. Remember to go slow,” Sister Margaret cautioned as she handed Elizabeth a cloth sack. From the smell, it was freshly baked bread. “Nibble on this, my dear. I had Sister Mary make it with sugar and cinnamon.” Her smile told Elizabeth how happy she was. “’Tis important to keep up your strength. You are feeding two.” “Thank you for everything you’ve done,” Elizabeth said, her words sounding hollow. She leaned over and kissed the nun’s soft cheek. “Pray for us.” “I shall.” The elderly nun patted Elizabeth's hand, holding it just a little longer. “Pray tell, have you chosen a name?” “Not yet,” James hurried to say, much to Elizabeth's surprise. “But soon, verra soon, I'm sure. Come along, lass...,” he motioned down the path at Robert who had already left, “...we'd best be gettin' or he'll leave us behind.” “Godspeed,” Sister Margaret said as she waved goodbye. “Godspeed.” ~ “How far is it to Stonehaven?” Elizabeth asked as she and James made their way through the forest. “Four days, due north,” James replied gruffly. “Four days?” she cried desperately. “You should have told me. Look at him. He can barely sit up.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Dinna worry, lass,” James hurried to say, giving her an understanding smile. “We Highlanders are a hardy bunch. The men and me'll keep our eyes on 'im.” “Hardy, indeed,” she said with a defiant toss of her head. “I would hardly call pushing oneself beyond reason hardy. Reckless, imprudent or even foolish seems more appropriate.” She fumed for another league, then began to worry that at such a slow pace, Lord Grosset or even her uncle and his warrior priests might catch up to them. “Is this path used by to all who live in this area?” she asked, feeling a little silly that she didn't know about it. “Aye,” James answered. She took a calming breath. “Then what is to stop Lord Grosset from following?” “My men.” Robert's simple answer caused her to start. He had slowed his stallion and only when he spoke did she realized she was nearly beside him. By the tight set of his jaw, she knew each step of his horse caused him pain, but he only gave her a brief glance. She looked at the eight men who followed a ways back, then very nearly glared at James as he came alongside. “Would you care to explain how you and nine warriors could stop my uncle's army?” James scratched his beard. “'Tis simple really. Our men know their laird is wounded. Though you canna see the others, they're everywhere. Some will hang back awhile and watch our backs. Others are making false tracks tae lead your uncle astray.” She nodded stiffly at his answer. Of course Robert would have his escape planned. He was, after all, known for his skills in battle and, she suspected, staying alive. She cast him another glance, wincing with him when he shifted his weight as they continued down the rocky path. “Have you forgotten?” she asked, urging her mare to pass Oberon. “My uncle has fought many a battle. He will not be so easily fooled.” Chapter 13 By noon on the second day, Robert and his small army stopped to let the horses drink from the river. Elizabeth quickly jumped down from her horse and then watched as James helped Robert dismount. He was pale, leaning on James as they walked to a large flat rock where he stopped to rest. She went to one of his men, and after she asked for a wineskin, came and held it out. “Are you in a lot of pain, my lord?” she asked when he shifted his weight and cursed. “If you are, I have herbs that will—”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “No,” he said, his tone harsh as he snatched the skin from her grasp. He took several swallows and then thrust it back at her. “Leave me.” She felt the stares of his men as she forced a smile and tried to keep her voice calm. “There is no need to suffer.” She pulled a small sack from her pocket. “Sister Margaret said a pinch of this—” “Do you want me tae say I'm hurtin', lass? Would that make you leave me in peace whilst you mix your lit'le potion?” “I'm...I'm sorry,” she stammered, aware that his men continued to stare. “I did not mean to offend you. I only wished to—” Her husband's expression quelled any desire to finish. Suddenly she felt small and insignificant, and terribly alone. She slipped the packet back into her pocket and would’ve turned away except he caught her arm and pulled her around. “I thought you understood.” By the set of his jaw, his distress was caused by something deeper then the pain from his wounds. “I understand completely, my lord. Let go of me and I will leave you in peace.” “Nay, no' that. I thought you understood why I could'na leave Thornhill standin'.” “'Tis not the place to discuss it, my lord.” She tried to leave, but he wouldn't let her go. “'Tis as good as any.” “Very well,” she began, trying to keep control of her rising temper. “I-I told you I would abide by your decision, and that is precisely what I did.” “That's no' what I mean, and you know it.” He was quiet for a moment, the muscles of his jaw clenching and unclenching. He pulled her closer, his voice laced with raw anguish. “Then answer this if you can. Why did you throw in your lot with Grosset?” Hurt and insulted by his implication, she jerked her arm away, unmindful how the abrupt movement caused him to wince in pain. “How dare you,” she replied with every ounce of scorn she felt. “You were not there, Robert. You were not the one he threatened. I was too frightened to think clearly. Charles told me he would kill Megan if I did not agree to help him.” “You should have come to me,” he demanded furiously. She lifted her chin, unwilling to keep her feelings a secret any longer. “I did not think to confide in you because I did not think you would believe me.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “'Tis a lame excuse.” “Is it? I am not dear to you,” she said a little desperately. “You used our marriage as a means to destroy Thornhill. Catherine told me how much you loved Mary, and rightly so. I knew her to be good and kind and beautiful. I could not compete with her when she was alive and I cannot hope to compete with her memory now that she is dead.” “Beth,” Robert said tightly, pressing his palm to his shoulder as he came to his feet. She took a step back, hot tears burning her eyes as she shook her head in warning. “'Tis the truth when I say I am sorry she is gone, Robert MacDiarmid. 'Twas not my wish to be her replacement, but I am, and there is nothing I can do about it. Your hate …nay, your guilt blinds you.” She angrily swiped at her tears. “Who do you see when you look at me, Robert?” she demanded in a broken whisper. “Do you see what you have, or am I only a reminder of what you lost?” Tears streamed down her pale cheeks. “I am not your precious Mary, but know this—my love is as deep and as strong as hers ever was.” She spun and walked stiffly toward the river. Those of his men who had been watching hurried to find something to do—all except James, who gave Robert a disgusted glance. “Dinna say a word,” Robert ground out. “I'm no' in the mood tae have tae listen tae your opinion.” “I was'na goin' tae give it tae you,” James retorted. “I've a mind no' tae talk tae you a'tal. In fact, I'm goin' tae the river tae make sure your wife does'na jump in and try tae drown herself, the poor lit'le thing.” “That's a rotten thing tae say,” Robert almost snarled. “I thought you were my friend.” “Your the rotten one, Robbie MacDiarmid, no' me. You almost had me and the men believin’ she was a traitor, but I can see I was wrong. You should be ashamed of yourself. Accusin' her of being a traitor and expectin' her to be understandin'.” James shook his head. “You’re pitiful, you are. You should get down on your knees and apologize.” “Apologize?” Robert raked his hand angrily through his sweat-dampened hair. His head ached and his shoulder throbbed, and now James and his men thought him a scoundrel. “I've done nothin' wrong,” he muttered, then raised his voice. “And I've no intention of runnin' after a woman...any woman. No' now or ever.” ~

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Welcome,” the Abbess said with a cheerful smile. “How good it is to see you again, Bishop Benedict.” The bishop tossed his reins to one of his warriors while Lord Grosset dismounted. “My goodness,” the Abbess replied, fingering the gold cross around her neck. “It appears you are dressed for battle.” “We were told you’ve given Laird MacDiarmid sanctuary. Is this true?” Anselm rested his hands on his protruding belly. “We would like to speak with him.” “He is not here, your grace, but please do come inside.” The Abbess led the bishop and Lord Grosset through the door and down a long, narrow corridor to a smaller chamber where bread and cheese had been laid out on a platter. “You are welcome to share our morning meal.” “He was wounded,” Lord Grosset stated tightly, accepting a goblet of wine. “Aye, he was, my lord, a serious wound, too. But after sister Margaret tended to him, the laird insisted they leave.” “Did he say where he was going?” The Abbess heaved a sigh, unwilling to commit a sin for the sake of the others. “North, my lord. I believe they are on their way to Scotland.” ~ Four hours after they broke their afternoon camp on the third day, Robert was barely able to stay in the saddle by himself. Stubborn to a fault, he refused aid when James or any of the others offered. He clung to the saddle with his good arm, letting Oberon keep pace alongside James' big roan. “Stubborn fool,” James muttered under his breath. “I should'na have listened. Take me back tae Scotland,” James mimicked, screwing up his face. “I'll be takin' you back tae be buried instead.” “If I die in Scotland, Jamie MacGregor, at least I'll die a happy man,” Robert said gruffly. His horse stumbled over a protruding root in the path and before Robert could grab a handful of his horse’s mane, he fell. “Ahh, God,” he groaned, rolling on to his back and trying to catch his breath. Elizabeth scrambled down and was instantly at his side. “Oh, Robert,” she cried. “Just...just give me a moment...tae catch my breath,” he said through clenched teeth. “Then we'll go a wee bit farther.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “We will not,” she said with a slight tremor in her voice. When he tried to rise, she shoved him back down. “Stay still.” She glanced at James. “What say you? Is this a good place to make camp?” “As good as any, mistress,” James muttered as he swung down from his horse and motioned to two others to help their laird. While they hoisted him up, Elizabeth hurried to the base of a large oak, using a fallen branch to rake leaves and debris to form a soft mattress where she spread an offered plaid. “I can walk,” Robert protested, swearing in Gaelic when they placed him down. He groaned again, then muttered, “Damn it'al. We’ve got to keep travelin’.” “Would one of you fetch the clean cloths from my saddle bag?” Elizabeth knelt and then untied Robert's plaid to have a look. “You are bleeding again.” “No wonder,” James added before Robert could speak. Elizabeth glanced up at James. “How much farther must we ride?” she asked as she loosened the laces of Robert's shirt. “A full day,” James replied, blanching when Elizabeth pressed a clean bandage to Robert's red and swollen shoulder. The old warrior went to his horse, pulling out another plaid to cover his laird. “Stay with him, lass. I'll have some broth ready in a bit.” James leaned over and put his hand on Robert's forehead, ignoring his gruffly whispered protest. “Rest awhile, Robbie. I’ve a bit of huntin’ tae do.” James straightened up and hollered for Ian. “Bring your snare, lad. We’ve a rabbit tae catch.” ~ “Fool,” Anselm shouted, pounding his fist on the table at Morpeth Castle. “'Tis of no use bemoaning our losses. Who do you think will believe you? Edward? Nay, Charles. Your greed has been our ruin. We lost nearly twenty men trying to save Thornhill, and for what? Elizabeth is gone. Thornhill is gone. And, if God is just, MacDiarmid is dead from his wounds by now.” “He lives,” Charles replied dryly. “I purposely sank my arrow into his shoulder, missing his heart. I wanted him to burn, and he would’ve if Elizabeth hadn’t cut his ropes.” “Wounded or dead, the damage is done. He is a hero to his people. We could torture every man, woman and child we find on the way to Stonehaven, and we'd get nothing from them. 'Tis you and I, Charles, that will be thought of as fools.” “I am not finished with him, not yet.” Charles drew in his breath when the maid changing the bandage on his burned left hand tied the ends together a little too tight.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason He waved her away, then continued to stare at the boar-head dagger he held in his good hand. “I swear to you, I will have my revenge.” “You are a fool to think so. I will not send more men north only to have them picked off like fleas on a dog.” “Don’t scold me as if I were a child, Benedict. As long as MacDiarmid lives, the truth of what you did to his family is still very much a threat to you. What do you suppose the Archbishop would do if he learned that the nasty little rumors about the laird’s wife and son are true?” “You cannot threaten me. I am above reproach.” “Really? If you don’t assist me, I may have to enlighten Lord Baynard to the truth of what really happened to his daughter and grandson. I need not remind you that the man is still a formidable warrior and a favorite cousin of the king.” Charles glanced over at the bishop. “Have you sent the petition?” “Nay, 'tis of no use to us now.” “On the contrary, my warrior priest. 'Tis of utmost importance to me. Without it, Elizabeth is not free to re-marry.” “You still want the girl?” The bishop shook his head. “She has nothing now that Thornhill is ruined.” “So it appears, but she is the means by which I will acquire the land where Thornhill stood. In due time, another fortress, larger and stronger, will be built. Grosset Castle will be the beginning of the end of Scotland.” “You've drunk too much wine,” Anselm grumbled. Charles glanced at the Bishop. “Unknowingly, the laird has given me an idea.” He picked up Robert's dagger and slipped it back into his belt. “Send the petition as soon as possible. Meanwhile, I have a message of mine own to send.” Charles lifted his goblet. “If I am successful in this venture, we will both be very wealthy men.” They clanked their goblets together, then drank. ~ Elizabeth awoke, disoriented for a moment until she realized Robert's deep voice had disturbed her slumber. She leaned up on her elbow and put her hand on his forehead, distraught that he was still hot to the touch. He asked for water, and after she gave him a drink, she glanced around, relieved to see that his men were asleep, the one standing

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason guard not close enough to see what she did. Carefully, she got to her knees, uncapped a nearby wine skin and added the yellow powder. “Here, my love. ‘Tis wine this time and it will help your pain,” she whispered, as she helped him drink. His pain-glazed eyes fluttered open and for a moment she thought she saw him smile, but the night was moonless and she couldn't be sure. “Easy...not too much.” “Where are we?” he asked as he relaxed back upon the makeshift bed. “A day’s ride from Stonehaven, or so James has told me. To be truthful, I am completely lost.” She waited, watching, and soon realized by the steady rise and fall of his chest he was asleep. Sighing, she capped the skin, then covered him more carefully with the plaid. Weary to the bone, she stretched out beside him. ‘Twas a cold night, so she scooted close to glean his warmth. ~ They broke camp at dawn and saddled the horses. This time Robert couldn't climb into the saddle without the aid of a fallen log and two of his men's help. Though she knew she would be rebuked if she asked about his pain, she simply tied the wine skin to his saddle, then left him to get her own horse. Mile after mile they pressed ever onward, but she was so intent on watching him, she hardly noticed as the terrain changed from rolling hills and misty glens to craggy bluffs. On several occasions, James left Robert's side to ride beside her, but only when one of the others took his place lest Robert slip from the saddle. The kindly old Scot told stories about the little villages they passed, trying his best to reassure her that her husband was a strong man, and that soon, very soon, they would be able to see the burgh around the MacDiarmid holdings. “She's quite a sight, she is,” James stated proudly. “Of course, it's no’ the fortress that Thornhill was, but she'd hold her own if'n the English ever got this far north.” Dark clouds rested heavily on the mountaintops by the time the burgh came into view. A mixture of emotions wafted over her as the men standing guard on the wall rang a bell, then called out a greeting. Constructed mostly of wood, Stonehaven was not as oppressive as Thornhill, but just as James had said, a formidable sight. A swarm of men, women and children gathered around, walking alongside the horses. Several young boys ran up to Robert’s stallion, causing the big horse to dance nervously. “Watch it, lads, the laird's been wounded,” James warned. “Run ahead and tell his mother tae make a place ready, and be quick about it.” His mother. The words settled over Elizabeth's heart like the clouds that had settled on the mountaintops. Would she be welcomed or spurned? Her mouth felt dry and her

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason palms grew moist as the heavy door opened and two women hurried down the steps with half a dozen more children. “My God, what happened?” The grey-haired woman asked, wiping her hands on a white apron. Worry creased her brow as several men helped Robert down from his horse. “Colleen, go and get his bed turned down, lass, and hurry,” the woman cried as she fussed over her son. “Lilly,” the redhead called, and a little girl stepped out of the crowd. “You and Bridget go and do as your nana asks. I've got tae see tae this lady.” The redhead walked directly up to Elizabeth, planting her fists on her hips. She looked closely at Elizabeth, paused a moment at the small mound under her breasts, then smiled. “I'm Colleen, Robbie's sister.” Elizabeth heaved a relieved sigh then stepped down from her horse and forced a strained smile. “I am Elizabeth, Robert's wife.” ~ 'Twas apparent the moment Elizabeth walked into the bedroom that Robert was delirious. She took a place by the fire, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as she watched his mother and sister strip him and then bathe him with warm water. “Where am I,” her husband asked. “Your home, Robbie dear,” his mother answered. “Same as I told you a'fore.” She dipped the cloth into the water then wrung it out. “Ye’ve got tae rest a bit.” “Fergus...Andrew...they’re dead,” he muttered, trying to rise. “Aye, lad, but there's lit'le we can do for them now.” His mother pushed him down, tucked a thick quilt lovingly around his chest and repeated her answers as he repeated his questions. Elizabeth glanced around. The chamber was spacious, with two large doors that led out to a balcony overlooking the valley where a river wound its way down the mountain. She felt cold, and wondered why they had one door partially open, but didn't feel comfortable enough to ask. “I'm thirsty, Ma...I need a drink.” His 'r's were thick and more exaggerated. The raspy sound of Robert's voice drew her gaze. Again she thought to ask if she could help, but James came in and at Colleen’s request, quickly poured some water into a cup, then helped Robert sit up. Colleen took the empty pitcher and quietly left the room.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Where's my claymore?” Robert asked in thick brogue. He tossed aside the quilt and tried to get out of bed. James pushed him down. “Easy Robbie, 'tis just a dream.” But the stubborn Scot didn't seem to hear. He grabbed James's shirt with both hands. “Bring me my claymore. We've got tae get Davy away from here.” Instantly she remembered the name her husband so often called out in his dreams. “Easy Robbie,” James repeated, trying to pry Robert's fists from his shirt. “I'll go and get it, but first rest a wee bit longer.” The effort her husband expended was all he had. His hands slipped from James' shirt and he slumped back down on the pillow. “Do you hear that, Jamie?” Robert asked in a hoarse whisper. “What?” James asked as he picked up a wet cloth and dabbed at the sweat on Robbie's forehead. “I dinna hea—” “Shush.” Robert raised his hand when James went to speak. “Listen. Mary's callin'. Can you no' hear her?” he asked urgently. A knot formed in Elizabeth's throat, and she felt the sting of tears when his mother let out a little moan, then swiped at her eyes with the corner of the white apron she wore. “I need tae go tae her.” Robert tossed the quilt aside again and would’ve stood had James not kept him from it. “Lie back,” James ordered, “and have a drink of this.” “Nay, I've got tae go,” Robert ground out between clenched teeth, his voice growing more and more urgent. Josephine MacDiarmid glanced at Elizabeth with such a sad expression, hot tears stung the back of her eyes. “Elizabeth, go to him,” Josephine pleaded softly. “Maybe if'n you spoke tae him, he'd rest a bit easier.” Elizabeth stared at her for several heart-wrenching moments then numbly obeyed. “Lookie here,” James added as he stood, making room for Elizabeth. “Mary's here. She's right here,” James lied. Tears pooled in Elizabeth's eyes as she took Robert's hand and sat by his side, unaware that Colleen had come into the room with a pitcher of fresh water. “Hush, my love.” Elizabeth brushed a lock of black hair from his forehead and smiled past the lump in her throat. He turned toward her—the sound of her voice calming him.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Mary?” He lifted his hand and touched his fingers to her cheek. “Is it really you?” Elizabeth caught his hand, aware that his grip was almost painful. “Aye, my love.” “Ah, Mary,” Robert exhaled in an anguished whisper. “I'm so sorry, lass. I failed you. Forgive me.” He closed his eyes and fell quiet, his grasp no longer uncomfortable. Josephine sniffed, then took a long deep breath as if to fortify herself. The worry in her pale blue eyes did nothing to calm Elizabeth's feelings of alarm as she placed her plump hand on her son’s forehead. Afterward she glanced at Elizabeth with a motherly smile. “Now shoo. He'll be sleepin' sound from the potion I put in that pitcher. Jamie and me can see tae him. I'll have Colleen bring you some hot water tae bathe and a cup of warm milk tae drink. You'll be needin' tae conserve your strength, if no' for yourself, for the bairn.” Left with no choice but to obey, Elizabeth stood and quietly left the room. Chapter 14 Elizabeth resigned herself to the fact that no amount of protesting could stop Robert's sister from helping her with her bath. Though she preferred to be left alone, the hot water felt good and was worth the lack of privacy. “When are you due?” Colleen picked up a cake of heather-scented soap and began to lather Elizabeth's hair. Had Elizabeth looked up, she would’ve seen the genuine compassion flickering in the young woman's eyes. “I am not really sure. Sometime near harvest time.” “Robbie dinna waste any time, did he?” Colleen stated matter-of-factly. “I've three of me own, the youngest being nearly a year old. You saw Lilly, she's my eldest. Then there's Duncan and Will.” “I thought I saw Lilly with another little girl. I just assumed she was yours.” “Nay, that's Ma's youngest. She's four. Born just a bit 'afore Da went tae war. When Robbie told Ma and me he was leavin' tae go back tae England tae get married, we thought he was daft. But, now, seein' you, I can see why he did it. Where did you meet?” Elizabeth gave a soft laugh. “In the forest.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “That's a strange place. I would've thought it'd be at Lord Baynard's castle.” It dawned on Elizabeth that Robert's sister had not been told the real reason why her brother had chosen to marry another Englishwoman. She decided to enlighten her. “We wed at my home...Thornhill Castle.” Colleen dropped the soap. She was so quiet, Elizabeth thought to turn around to see the woman's face, but then decided she was too tired to care what Colleen thought. “Thornhill is yours?” Colleen asked, finally breaking the uncomfortable silence. “She was, but no more.” “Robbie destroyed her, didn't he?” Colleen asked as she stepped around to face Elizabeth. Herr sad smile brought tears to Elizabeth's eyes. “There’s no need tae answer. I can see by the look on your face that he did.” Colleen poured a bucket of clean water over Elizabeth's head, then another and another until she was satisfied all the soap was gone. “How was he wounded?” Elizabeth wiped the water from her face, thankful it hid her tears. She accepted a cloth from Colleen to dry her face, annoyed at her bout of self-pity. She took a calming breath and recounted the events that led to her husband being captured. “He believes I betrayed him,” she ended. Robert's sister stood and gathered up Elizabeth's clothes. “I know Robbie's a hard man tae get tae know.” Colleen shook her head sadly. “He was'na always so cold and unfeelin'. I know he feels responsible for many things he had'na control over. As laird, he's built a wall around hisself.” She heaved a long sigh. “Instead of rememberin' the good times, he focuses on the bad. His hate makes him appear hard and ruthless, but deep down he's a good man and if'n you can be strong and patient, I think you're the woman who can rouse that goodness.” Colleen dried her hands on a clean cloth, gave Elizabeth one last smile before leaving her to finish her bath. Elizabeth closed her eyes and lowered her aching body deeper into the hot, steamy water. Drawing a shaky breath, she held it and submerged herself under the water, feeling it close over her aching head. She indulged in the silence, listening only to her own heartbeat. Slowly she surfaced, expelling her breath as her body relaxed. The sweet scent of heather filled her nostrils and she closed her eyes for a moment to enjoy the beautiful fragrance. Memories of Robert's expression in Thornhill just before he was rendered unconscious, flashed in her mind. She opened her eyes, and, heaving a long tired sigh, reached for the soap. Miserable, she began to scrub one leg and then the other. She scrubbed until her body was pink from the force of it and then she sank back, exhausted, her mind

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason numb. But like the steam curling from the water, her thoughts swiftly floated back, as they always did, to her Scot. ~ “How is he?” Elizabeth asked, entering Robert's chamber several hours later clad in a one of Colleen's nightgowns and a velvet robe that was just a little too long. Josephine stood up from her chair, pressing her hands to her lower back. James slumped in a chair, his feet propped up with a stool. Both looked weary. “He's still sleepin',” Josephine confirmed as she went to Robert and put her hand on his forehead. “And no wonder, after Jamie told me how he would'na rest.” “I'll stay with him for awhile,” Elizabeth volunteered. “You look as if you could do with a little rest yourself.” “Ah, I knew the moment I laid eyes on ye that you’re an angel. If'n he wakes and gets too restless, there's some more sleepin' potion in that pitcher over there.” Josephine stepped out, quietly closing the door. The rumble of thunder sounded in the distance and when Elizabeth glanced out the balcony doors, lightning lit up the sky. The hours drifted slowly by. James heaved a tired sigh, stood and then went to the hearth and added another log. He motioned to a pitcher and several goblets on a tray. “Do you want a cup of warmed spiced wine?” Elizabeth smiled and shook her head. He filled his cup, then stared into the flames, quiet for a long time. “Do you think I betrayed him?” she asked. James shook his shaggy head. “Nay, no' after I seen how you risked your own life tae save him.” “You’ve been his friend for a long time?” she asked. “Aye.” James nodded. “His Da and I were friends. I've always thought of Robbie as ken even though we're no'.” “He sleeps peaceful now, but I have seen him wake in the night in a cold sweat, calling out the same names I heard a few hours ago.” She glanced over at her husband then sighed. “Has he always suffered with nightmares?” she asked in a low voice. James closed his eyes and rubbed them with his thumb and forefinger. “Only since the battle of Halidon Hill. He lost his father and two brothers, Davy and Duncan. Duncan

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason died in Robbie's arms.” James kneaded his neck as if to ease an ache. “The battle was long and brutal. We were outnumbered, and the English never seemed tae tire. 'Twas sport for them tae cut a man's head off and put it on a pike. His father and Duncan were fortunate tae die quick. Davy was'na so lucky. The English took him and afore Robbie could—” James dragged his fingers through his tangled hair, and she knew by the way his pale eyes grew moist the memory brought the old man great pain. “Robbie was wounded, so me, as well as Ian and his brother, took Robbie and we hid in an old cave. We could hear Davy's cries. Me and the others had tae hold Robbie down. We could'na let him go, they would’ve killed him, too, and we could'na afford tae lose our new laird. When it was finally over, the English had cut the boy's head off and left it on a broken branch stuck in the mud for us tae see. The lad was only fourteen.” Elizabeth closed her eyes in misery. “'Tis hard to believe that men can be so cruel.” “Aye, for sure. You've lived a sheltered life, lass. But, 'tis a good thing that most women don't learn about the dark side of war—of the death and killin'.” Elizabeth rose and put a shaky hand on James's shoulder. “James, what can I do to help him? He thinks I betrayed him. How can I convince him that I love him and would never be disloyal to that love?” James gave her a tired smile. “Keep doin' what you're doin', lass.” “And what is that?” she asked a little hopelessly. “Just keep lovin' him, lass, no matter what.” ~ The next morning Robert's fever broke. Elizabeth came in with a tray and placed it on the bedside table. “Your mother made some broth. I asked her to put it in this cup to make it easier for you.” She held out the cup, but he waved it away. She sighed, sat on the edge of the bed and forced a smile. “Robert, you've been very ill and must regain your strength.” “I remember a fire, and the smith, but nothin' else,” he said, his brogue still thick. “How did you manage tae free us without gettin' caught?” She would have stood, but he grabbed her wrist and when she glanced at him, his eyes filled with a glimpse of the torment she’d seen when he thought she was Mary. “The timbers you placed under the wall served their purpose, my lord. 'Twas what distracted the guards enough to permit your rescue.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “There were over a hundred English watchin' o'er us.” She raised her chin, offended by his tone. “Though you find it easier to believe I betrayed you, 'tis as I said. I used the secret passageway to sneak out and start the fires. 'Twas enough of a distraction to allow me to free James. He freed the others. Megan fetched the smith, and he brought several others to help. When last I saw him, he was holding the door so we could escape, my lord. Though it must be difficult for you to believe, an Englishman gave his life for your cause.” Robert shifted his weight, pressing the heel of his hand to his shoulder. “Dinna insist that you dinna know what Charles had planned. I saw it in your eyes,” he challenged impatiently. “I need not defend myself to you.” She stood, stepping back in case he reached for her. “'Tis apparent you’ve drawn your own conclusions.” She turned and walked to the door, nearly bumping into James in her haste. “I see that you're awake,” James stated as he came into the room. His laird looked terrible. “I could'na help but overhear.” He filled a cup with wine and carried it over to the bed. “Here, drink this. 'Twill help you rest.” “Have the others arrived yet?” Robert asked, his expression shadowed by pain and fatigue as he took a sip. “Aye, most of 'em. You're as weak as a kitten, lad. You need tae stop worryin' and rest a few more days. Give that hole in your shoulder time tae heal.” “I canna stay abed too long,” Robert stated angrily. “Benedict will not sit idly by now that his precious Thornhill is ruined.” He took another sip then made a face. “What did you put in this?” he asked, frowning. “It tastes awful.” He closed his eyes for a moment then groaned. “Damn you, Jamie...you drugged me, you son-of-a...” James took the cup from Robert's hand before it fell from his grasp. He rose and placed it on the table before picking up another cup and filling it from a different pitcher. “You stubborn fool. You need tae rest more and talk less.” ~ The next few days were nearly unbearable. Though Robert's mother and sister showed her every kindness, Elizabeth felt more alone than ever before. Josephine took charge, telling Elizabeth that Robert's surly mood was just because he was healing, and in due time he'd come to his senses and realize what a good wife he had. Though Josephine meant well, it did little to ease Elizabeth's depression. Colleen was more understanding. “Come with me,” she said, taking Elizabeth's arm. “I want you tae meet the rest of the family.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason Elizabeth was introduced to Robert's clan, each offering polite nods and softly spoken welcomes, until she’d been told so many names she couldn't possibly remember them all. As much as she hated being away from Robert, the time passed quickly and as she held babies, and accepted small baked treats as their laird’s wife, she began to feel a little more at ease. On the walk back to the keep, Elizabeth couldn’t resist. “Has Robert spoken to you...about me?” she asked, stepping inside. She put her gifts on the table where Lilly, Erin, another of Robert's sisters, and little Bridget were playing a game. Little Bridget gazed up at Elizabeth with adoration. “Sure he has,” Colleen replied. “Erin, those aren’t yours. Ask if you want one,” she scolded when the child reached for a sweet oat biscuit. Elizabeth nodded and gave each child their share, returning their grateful smiles. Elizabeth sank down into the nearest chair, sensing Colleen lied to save her feelings. She was about to question her sister-in-law further when a little dark-haired boy ran into the hall and pulled Lilly's braid. “Angus, stop teasing the girls 'afore I take a switch tae your backside.” Two of Colleen's children ran up to Bridget and after whispering something in the little girl's ear, enticed her to dash away with them. Colleen shook her head, then lifted a pile of clean bandages. “If'n you'd keep an eye on the lit'le ones, I'll take these up tae Ma.” Colleen stopped at the top of the stairs and glanced down at her sister-in-law for a moment before she continued down the hall. “And, I'd like tae have a lit'le talk with my mule-headed brother, too. 'Tis time he stopped behaving like a child and make amends with his wife.” ~ “You’ve done well,” Charles said as he placed several gold coins into the man's palm. “I trust you can speak Gaelic?” The man nodded and grinned, showing several broken teeth. “Good. Be ready to leave at first light.” “Don’t be fooled into thinking you can trust that man,” the bishop warned, helping Grosset to carry his purchases into the hall. “I have been told there is a price on his head.” “All the more reason to keep him close. When he has served his purpose, I shall turn him in and collect the reward.” ~

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “How are you feelin'?” Colleen asked Robert as she sat on the side of the bed. “You look like hell.” “'Tis good tae see you, too,” he said, his voice husky from sleep. He smiled when she just shook her head and gave him a stern look. “Let me have a look at your middle.” She reached for the quilt. “Ma says the stitches should come out.” Robert tugged the quilt back over his chest. “Then have her do it,” he complained. “Where'd she go?” “I sent her to help your wife with the bairns. She's got other bairns that need her attention, Robbie, even if you are her pride and joy. Now stop fussin'.” She pushed the quilt down and picked up a small knife. “Hold still, or I'm liable tae slip,” she cautioned with a sly smile. One by one the stitches were removed. “Who sewed you up—Elizabeth?” “A nun.” “A nun? Where in blazes did you run inta a nun?” “Woodland Abby.” “Then it was Sister Margaret?” “Aye,” he said, and she could tell by his frown that he wondered how she knew. “I'm a wee bit surprised you sought refuge at an Abbey since you think yourself some sort of pagan. But I guess that's none of my business, even though it breaks your Ma's heart.” Colleen put down the knife and tucked the covers back over her brother. “Though I thought you a fool tae accept ol' Baynard's proposal, you've done well for yourself, Robbie.” She stared at her brother, wondering why he kept so quiet. “A new wife. A wee lit’le bairn on the way. I'd think ye’d be braggin'—boastin' even.” “I'm glad you like her,” Robert said tightly. “Now leave so I can get dressed.” “I do like her, but there's somethin' botherin' me.” Robert let out a long, impatient sigh. “I know I'll regret askin', but out with it.” “She loves you tae death, so answer this if'n you can. Why are you sleepin' alone?” She raised her hand when he started to speak. “I know you've been sick, Robbie, but when Ian was wounded last year, I dinna leave his bed. In fact I conceived little—”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Good God, Colleen, do you think I need tae know every detail?” She laughed and shook her head. “Robbie, you're my brother. You canna hide your feelin's from me like you can from Ma. Elizabeth is miserable. You're miserable.” “'Tis none of your business, Colleen.” She punched her fists on her hips. “Robbie, I take what I said about you back.” He frowned at her. “Take what back?” “The part about you bein' a fool tae accept Baynard’s—oh never mind .” She sat on the edge of the bed and picked up his hand. “When they brought you home, you were sick and out of your head with fever. I know you dinna mean tae, but you called out for Mary. Do you remember?” His stern features clouded even more. “I vaguely remember seein' Mary in one of my dreams, if you have tae know.” “'Twas no dream and was no' Mary you saw, Robbie. ‘Twas Elizabeth pretendin' tae be her so you'd rest easier.” Colleen paused for effect, giving her brother a long disappointed look. “I've asked myself, if Ian called out another woman's name would I be so understandin'? And I don't think I would.” She sighed when he just continued to gaze over at the fire, his eyes dark and fathomless. “She told me what happened, and I know that you feel betrayed, but I've also come tae know Elizabeth. She's no more a traitor than I am.” Colleen patted her brother's hand, then stood. “She’s jealous of a dead woman, and you're the cause of it. You need tae talk tae her.” “I’ve tried tae talk with her. 'Tis she that willna talk tae me.” “Really?” his sister asked skeptically. “Then answer this, if'n you can, and I want an honest answer. Do you love her?” “I don't know,” he said and met her firm gaze. She knew by the tiny muscle that jumped on his cheek that he was fighting some inner battle. “I know it's been difficult for you, Robbie,” she said, her voice filled with understanding. “You loved Mary and she you, but I'd like you tae think about this. If you had been the one that died, would you’ve wanted Mary tae live alone the rest of her life even if she had the chance to love and be loved and live a happy life?” She knew by his defeated sigh that he agreed. “Then tell Elizabeth that you love her.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “She should know without me sayin’ it,” he said in clipped reserve. “Then you do love her. Well, that's better than that pathetic I don't know,” she added. “So, tell her. You'd be surprised how much those three lit'le words can accomplish.” “Like I said, I would've thought she'd know it without me standin’ on the parapets and tellin’ it tae the world.” “That’s no’ a bad idea, but I don’t think you’ll have tae go that far. But ask yourself this. How is she supposed tae know when you've only just figured it out for yourself?” “By the way I treat her.” “Oh, Robbie you big stubborn oaf. We women don't care how we're treated as long as our men tell us they love us.” She walked toward the door, casting a disgusted glance over her shoulder. “For laird of our clan, Robert MacDiarmid, you've got a lot tae learn.” Chapter 15 The first weeks of summer were delightfully warm, and almost every day Elizabeth walked around the burgh of the MacDiarmid holdings, preferring the cool fresh air to the stuffy, smoky confines of the keep. Today, however, the wind was laced with rain, and after several unpleasant moments outside, Elizabeth decided to forego her usual ritual. With nothing else to do, she settled down with the other women and decided to sew before a crackling fire that chased the dampness away. The children came and went, sometimes stopping to talk, other times just to ask a question or two about her babe, but nothing seemed to help her depression, not their bright smiles or childish giggles. Elizabeth gave a small sigh, choosing to keep her thoughts to herself rather than engage in idle chatter with Josephine and Colleen. She’d just finished sewing flowers around the collar of a small soft gown when her husband came into the room. Though acutely aware of his presence, she refused to look up, preferring to concentrate on her sewing. “Ladies,” he began in his usual deep voice, his brogue ever apparent. “If you dinna mind, I'd like tae have a moment alone with my wife.” “I mind,” Colleen said, causing Elizabeth's head to snap up. The angry scowl on the young woman's features squelched any thought to interfere. “If'n you're thinkin' of sayin' what we talked about a month ago, then Ma and I will leave, but if'n you're thinkin' of tellin' Elizabeth that she need's tae be a better wife, or that she

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason needs tae explain yet again how she rescued you and your men, then you'd better think twice, Robbie, 'cause I'll no' stand for it.” “Colleen, please,” Josephine began cautiously. “Stay out of this, Ma.” Colleen stood and with a jaunty toss of her head, punched her fists on her hips. “Tis you, Robert MacDiarmid, who should say how you really feel, and 'tis you who could be a better husband. Come on, Ma, I could use a bit of fresh air.” Elizabeth swallowed hard, watching them go and wishing she could go with them. Unwilling to have another argument with Robert, she quickly turned her attention back to her sewing. Her nervous fingers flew over the stitches in the fabric she held. Though she felt his gaze upon her, she could not muster the courage to return it. “I've somethin' I want tae give you.” His voice was soft and deep, void of his usual animosity. “A messenger came today and he brought this.” He handed her a leather bound package containing several documents, the last page bearing the Archbishop's seal. She swallowed past the dryness in her throat and began to read. “You should be pleased tae know that you've been released from our marriage and can go back tae England and tae your family.” She looked up then, surprised to see his features like stone, yet a sorrow in his eyes that nearly brought tears to her own. All her hopes of a reconciliation crumbled. Cold panic coiled in the pit of her stomach and slowly snaked up her spine as she thought about leaving Stonehaven. She had no real family in England except for Megan, and in a few weeks, Sister Margaret was bringing her to Stonehaven. Thornhill was destroyed. She had no home. “H-how soon?” she asked with a slight tremor in her voice, too proud to beg him to let her stay. “There are arrangements tae be made. You'll need a place you and your sister can stay. 'Tis a long, hard journey. You canna ride with the child so close tae bein' born. By then winter will be upon us and no one will be gettin' down from these mountains.” He paused for several moments. “At best, it’ll be four months, maybe five a’fore I can take you back tae England.” “And our child? What of him?” she asked, barely recognizing the hollow tone of her voice. Her husband walked to the hearth where now only a small fire burned. He was quiet for a long time then she heard him clear his throat, not once, but twice. When next he spoke, it was apparent that he was having a difficult time, too. “A child needs his mother...at least for the first year.” He looked at her as if he had more to say, but turned and left her to her sewing.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason ~ Elizabeth stood by the window in the great hall of the keep and pulled aside the fur. Summer rains had turned the grass on the mountainside a brilliant green. Patches of heather bloomed amongst the crops of wheat and oats, and everywhere she looked she was greeted with majestic beauty. She wrapped her arms around herself, choosing to gaze out over the countryside rather then participate in the preparations of the afternoon meal. The door opened and James came inside, taking off his rain-wet plaid and hanging it on one of the many pegs by the door. “Ian said one of the lads gave him this missive.” James withdrew a folded piece of parchment and handed it to her husband, who sat at the table with a goblet of wine. Robert read it, and by the look on his face it did not contain good news. Another time she would’ve inquired, but not today, perhaps never again would he allow her that small courtesy. She sighed and looked out the window once more, suddenly missing the rose bushes in the once lush gardens of Thornhill. “Who gave it tae the boy?” Robert asked. She cast a quick glance at her husband. And then there was James and Colleen and Ian and...God help her, she would miss them all terribly. “He said a traveler, and that the reason he dinna give it tae you hisself was that he still had a long journey ahead.” Robert nodded, but by his scowl, Elizabeth sensed he would’ve liked to have spoken to the wayfarer. “I had dared tae hope,” Robert said as he crumpled the missive. “What's it say?” James caught the ball of parchment, unfolded it and read. “I'll be damned. That ol' priest's got the luck of the Devil.” Elizabeth turned. “I assume,” she said formally, “that you are speaking of my uncle, and by your reaction to what you’ve read, he is alive and well?” “Aye, lass,” Robert interrupted before James could speak. “They're both well, havin' made good their escape tae Grosset's castle.” He drained the contents of his cup, slamming it back down on the table. “That must be quite a relief,” he added stiffly. Elizabeth bristled, but instead of shouting at him, chose to look down at her hands, trying to keep her temper in check. When would her husband realize that she hadn’t conspired with Charles, and that she cared little or nothing of the man's welfare? “They are hardly a threat to you now, my lord. Neither one of them are brave enough to venture into Scotland.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “You think no'?” Robert challenged. James cleared his throat uncomfortably, drawing Robert's attention. “Robbie, lad—” “What else did it say?” Elizabeth demanded. In a rustle of silk she strode toward the table. “From your expression, there must be more.” Robert dragged his hand across his eyes. “Grosset has stirred up the few warlords in the area that hate Reginald. Catherine is worried they’ll attack Black Rose.” The realization of what he was contemplating struck her and her anger fled, replaced with apprehension. “You are still recovering, my lord. Lady Catherine cannot expect you to come.” “You've no say in the matter,” he countered. “What of your brother, William? From what Colleen told me, Catherine is his mother. Surely—” “Dinna think for one moment William will’na go. He's no' a man tae neglect his duty, but if there's trouble, he'll need help, and I'll no' stand by and take the chance that Reginald could be hanged as a traitor.” Elizabeth forced a strained smile, clutching her hands tightly before her to keep from screaming. “You forget, my lord. The king is Lord Baynard's cousin. Charles Grosset is no more than an annoying, overly ambitious insect. If he is not careful, Edward will give him a good swat.” “I think she's got a point,” James agreed, his brow creased with worry. “Aye,” she added, feeling a little more confident with James' approval. “You should trust that—” “I think you need tae go and find something tae do whilst James and I discuss this,” Robert replied with icy authority. Stunned by his abrupt dismissal, Elizabeth was about to speak when she caught sight of Colleen standing in the doorway. Mortified that Robert’s sister witnessed her humiliation, Elizabeth lifted her chin, and calling on the last of her courage, she walked past her sister-in-law and out of the room. “That's no way tae speak tae your wife, Robbie.” “I'll no' have you interferin', Colleen.” He rose and walked to the window where just moments before Elizabeth had stood and stared out over his lands, but unlike her, he didn't see anything beautiful. He was too ashamed.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Someday, Robbie,” Colleen began, her tone no longer filled with anger. “Robbie, you're goin' tae regret what you're doin'. You're goin' tae wake up some marnin' after she's gone and you're goin' tae wish you'd never said these cruel things. But then it'll be too late.” Colleen went to the door. “If’n it is'na already.” ~ Covered in sweat and gasping for breath, Robert sat up in bed, awakened by his own cry of anguish. The room was dark, the only light coming from the open balcony door. For a breath of a moment he wished Elizabeth wasn't in the next room, but here with him, so he could hold her. He wiped the sweat from his eyes and then dragged his fingers through his damp hair in an effort to recover from the new and frightening nightmare. He rose from the bed naked and put a flint to a saffron candle, cursing the way his hands shook. He welcomed the cool breeze on his over-heated skin as he sloshed cold water into a basin and then splashed it over his face and chest until the hideous visions disappeared. Bringing the candle closer, he found his razor and shaved. He dried his face on a coarse cloth, then slipped into a long velvet robe. As quietly as he could, he stepped into Elizabeth's room. She was a sight, her hair a mass of curls on the pillow. He bent and lifted a silky strand, then paused just inches away—mesmerized by her flawless features. His gaze flowed over her, lingering on the swell of her belly where she nurtured his child. He stood and closed his eyes as if he were in pain. Stealth-like, Robert slipped out of her chamber then returned to his own room, leaning back against the door for several moments before he returned to his bed and waited for the sun to rise. ~ Josephine looked up from her cook pot to see her son clad in his plaid and tartan, a short sword strapped around his waist and two long, deadly daggers tucked into his wide black belt. “God in heaven,” the older woman moaned as she crossed herself. “I prayed you'd change your mind.” Elizabeth's heart picked up its pace, but she dared not speak, she just focused her attention on kneading the dough. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Robert's mother put down the long wooden spoon, wiping her hands on her apron at the same time his sister stood up from her place at the table.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “When?” was all Colleen could ask, twisting her hands so tightly together that her knuckles were white. “As soon as supplies are gathered and the men have said their farewells.” Colleen tore the apron from around her waist and threw it on the table. “Damn you, Robbie,” she said in an awful voice, one laced with fear and anger. “I've only had Ian home a short while, canna you stay home this one time? Ian,” she called and hurried up the stairs. “Robbie, please,” Josephine pleaded, her shoulders drooping with defeat. “Ma, don't. You know I'd stay if I could, but I canna. I've got tae go back. I have tae make sure Catherine and Reginald are well.” His declaration brought tears quickly to his mother's eyes and she covered her face with her hands. Elizabeth wiped her hands then put her arm around the older woman's shoulders, forcing aside the feeling that she'd never see her husband again. “My lord,” she began, thankful her voice didn't reveal her fear. “I beg you to reconsider. Charles and my uncle will not easily forget what happened. They will stop at nothing to see you dead.” Josephine sobbed a little louder drawing Elizabeth's attention for several moments. “What of your family?” she continued. “What of your clan?” “If I was in trouble, Lord Baynard would do the same for me.” “You canna leave your wife,” Josephine protested, “no' with the birth of your bairn so close!” Robert folded his mother into his arms. “'Tis months away, Ma. I'll be back in time.” “See that you are,” Josephine sniffed as she pulled herself together and dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her apron. Robert faced Elizabeth. She stared back at him, the moisture glistening in her eyes a contradiction to the defiant set of her chin. “You'll take care whilst I'm gone?” he asked quietly. “Aye. Godspeed.” He took a step toward her and for a breath of a moment he swore she wanted to throw herself into his arms and beg him to stay. The thought that she'd miss him sent a bolt of longing straight through his heart, but his mother, unaware of their turmoil, wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed his cheek. “Godspeed,” Josephine repeated. “Godspeed.” ~

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “What is it, Robbie?” James asked as they rode down the steep winding path. “You've been as quiet as death and wearin' that scowl ever since we left the burgh.” “Nothin',” Robert said, his dark brows drawn so tightly together James felt obligated to ask again. “I told you, nothin's the matter,” Robert repeated. James nodded, then twisted in the saddle to get a good look at his laird. “Then explain tae me, Robbie, why I heard you cry out Elizabeth's name as I walked past your bedchamber this marnin'.” James rode closer and put his hand on Robert's shoulder. “You were dreamin' again, weren't you?” James shook his shaggy head. “I'd thought they'd left you, what with you being home. Is it the same one?” “Nay,” Robert said tersely. “This time I see Elizabeth with Benedict.” Robert angrily raked his fingers through his hair. “My every wakin' moment is plagued by her, and now she follows me inta my dreams.” “You've been tryin' too hard to ignore her,” James added with nod as if he and he alone knew the solution. “Why don't you just admit you love her. Tell her and end all this fussin' and feudin'.” “Where do you get such foolishness? This has nothin' tae do with love. 'Tis only 'cause I've got Black Rose on my mind. That's all,” Robert confirmed. “I'm sure of it now that I think upon it.” “Are you now? Well then, I suppose that settles it,” James said with heavy sarcasm. “I'm sure you'll be sleepin' sound from now on.” ~ Elizabeth stood on the wall-walk, watching her husband and nearly all his men as they made their way down the steep, winding path. Only the young and the very old were left behind. Though she never saw it happen, Robert must have sent messengers to the neighboring clans informing them of his plans, for the throng of men and horses steadily grew. “You miss him already, I know,” Colleen said as she rested her forearms on the top of the wall. “You never get used tae it,” she added bitterly, lifting her hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she, too, followed their departure. “Ian has ridden off with him more times than I can count, and I always feel as if I'll never see him again. Sometimes I hate Robbie for it.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason She sniffed, then turned, swiping a tear from her cheek. “But he always brings my Ian home,” she forced a sly smile. “And, oh, what a home-comin' we have.” She laughed when Elizabeth blushed. “Let’s go inside and comfort Ma. She's lost a lot and canna help bein' filled with despair each time the men leave.” ~ “All is going as planned,” Charles said with a smug smile. “My spies tell me that MacDiarmid left a sennight ago.” He walked to the window and looked out. “The rain has stopped. 'Tis time we made ready to leave.” “I can see that,” Bishop Benedict added as he signed a piece of parchment then handed it back to the patiently waiting priest. “However, this is hardly the time to discuss it.” He glanced up at the young priest. “Is that all, Father Matthew?” The priest nodded and left, closing the door. “You are a fool,” Anselm growled. “I would keep this between us.” “I agree,” Charles stated, looking contrite. “'Tis just that I am pleased that everything is moving along so nicely. According to my informant, most of the men of Stonehaven travel with him.” He gave a sly laugh. “Methinks the man’s overly arrogant to leave his home so poorly guarded.” “Use your head, Grosset. Don’t underestimate the Scots. Even their women know how to fight.” The bishop rose and opened the door. “Come, my monks have your costumes ready for your inspection.” Chapter 16 The days passed quickly for Elizabeth. She made up her mind that she would not brood over Robert even if he looked as if he wanted to hold her just before he left. Josephine and Colleen very nearly smothered her with kindness. With Colleen's help, she learned new stitches that once sewn into the cloth, could barely be seen. The women talked endlessly about children, sharing many ideas and childhood stories. Much to Elizabeth's delight, Colleen came into the hall one morning with two small crossbows. “Do you know how to use one of these?” she asked Elizabeth. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Aye. I do.” Colleen handed her one, then took a quiver of arrows from where she’d slung it over her shoulder and gave it to Elizabeth. “Then hurry tae your room and change inta the

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason garments I put on your bed. I dinna know what English ladies do when their men go off tae war, but in Scotland, we women go huntin'.” “You canna be serious,” Josephine complained, looking up from the garland she was weaving. “'Tis Lammas in two days, in case you've forgotten. Who's goin' tae help me with all these flowers?” The older woman shook her head, but the slight smile on her face softened her reprimand. “I suppose a venison roast would taste good tae the wee ones.” “Oh sure, only tae the wee ones, Ma? I can see you droolin' from here.” The older woman laughed then went back to her task. “It'll be good for you and the bairn tae get out and walk around some. Ian willna admit it,” Colleen said with a smile, “but I'm a better hunter than he—lighter on my feet.” “Really?” “Sure, all women are. We're smaller, more graceful, and make less noise. You'll see. We'll have us nice buck 'afore mid-day. You go get dressed and I’ll get one of the older boys tae come with us to help bring back the meat.” ~ The soft crunch of leaves beneath their feet was like a balm to Elizabeth's troubled soul. That and the crisp fall air filled her with a sense of belonging that this wonderful place was the home she'd always dreamed about. Birds sang in the treetops and every so often a hare would dash from its hiding place behind a rock. As they walked deeper and deeper into the forest, Colleen took the lead, picking her way carefully around fallen logs until they came to a clearing in which a small brook cut through the loch. “You stay here,” Colleen whispered and motioned for Elizabeth to sit down behind a large rock. “Rufus, stay with Elizabeth,” she said to the boy who had came along. “I'll circle around and see if I can scare somethin' your way.” Elizabeth made herself comfortable, then loaded a quarrel onto her crossbow. She pulled the string back to the keeper and placed her finger upon the trigger, using the rock to steady her aim. Moments later a hart broke into the clearing and would’ve made good his escape, but her aim was perfect and he fell dead in his tracks. Colleen burst into the clearing, her cheeks red and her eyes filled with excitement. “That was incredible,” she gasped, trying to catch her breath. Elizabeth examined her kill. “He's a good size, but even with Rufus' help, too much for us to carry. How are we to get him back?” “'Tis simple. I'll wait here whilst you go and fetch some of the bigger boys.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Very well.” Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders, and then she and Rufus turned to leave. “And bring a horse—two of them,” Colleen called. ~ “Colleen?” Elizabeth called as she slipped down from Esmeralda's back. Two old men and three more boys began to skin and quarter the hart. “She said she would wait for me,” Elizabeth stated to no one in particular as she began to search the surrounding area. “Rufus, go to the river and see if she’s there. Perhaps she cannot hear us over the water’s noise.” Elizabeth continued to search the area until she came to a place where the leaves were trampled and the dark soil beneath showed through. She bent down to get a closer look. Several pairs of large footprints disappeared deeper into the forest with the smaller ones, only the smaller ones appeared as if they were being dragged, leaving long marks in the dirt. “Dear God,” Elizabeth gasped as she realized someone had forced Colleen to leave with them. Her uncle's features instantly sprang to mind. She took the crossbow from her saddle and placed a quarrel on the shank. “Rufus,” Elizabeth called. When the boy came into view she hurried toward him. “Something has happened to Colleen, see,” she pointed at the footprints. “You and I are going to follow. Tell the others to put the meat on Esmeralda and take it back to the keep. Have them tell Josephine what has happened, and tell them to come for us if we are not back before dark.” ~ Two hours later, Elizabeth pressed back against a large tree and motioned for Rufus to do the same. Cautiously, she peeked around. Three men stood before a small fire, clad in kilts and plaids. Elizabeth frowned. Robert had never mentioned a danger from neighboring clans. She scooted back and peeked around the other side to get a better look. Colleen sat on the ground with her hands tied together. Her brilliant red hair was tangled and cascaded down around her face. By the looks of her garments, she’d been handled roughly and when she lifted her face, Elizabeth gasped at the dark bruise under one eye. Cautiously, Elizabeth signaled to Rufus then stepped back into the cover of the forest. “Did you see those men?” she asked, searching the boy's face. “Aye, but I've never seen them a'fore.” Elizabeth caught her lip between her teeth as she tried to think of what to do. “You must go back for help. I will stay here.” She gave the boy a reassuring smile.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Go...quickly.” She waited until the boy could no longer be seen, then quietly retuned to the tree. “You’ve not eaten,” came a voice she knew instantly. Charles Grosset stepped forward, dressed like a priest. He lifted a pewter plate and inspected Colleen's food. “'Twas no small feat, snaring that hare. The least you could do is eat it.” Charles bent down, his face close to Colleen's as he brushed her hair behind her ear, caressing her cheek with his fingers. “You are a comely wench.” Colleen spat in his face, but was quickly punished when he slapped her. “You bitch. You'll soon see that we English are your masters.” “You'll never be my master,” Colleen said furiously. Elizabeth felt sick as Charles slid his hand under the hem of Colleen's skirt. Colleen muttered several more insults as she scooted back out of his reach, but he grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her up, ignoring her painful yelp. “You will beg me for more soon.” He dragged her away from the others, toward the trees, past Elizabeth, but too intent on taking Colleen deeper into the woods to notice her. Elizabeth waited for a few agonizing moments then silently followed. Well away from the camp, Charles shoved Colleen down on a pile of leaves, lifted his robes and tore at the laces of his breeches. Elizabeth held her breath to take aim. The sickening sound of the quarrel sinking into Charles' back nearly made her wretch, but there was no time to think of it. He stiffened, then turned and when his eyes fused to hers, he tried to speak. She froze, unable to draw her gaze from his as he took a staggering step toward her then fell. Gulping in several deep breaths to keep from being sick, she instantly reloaded her crossbow, then gingerly lifted the dagger from Charles' belt. “Are you hurt?” she whispered as she knelt by Colleen and cut the ropes. Colleen shook her head, and then threw her arms around Elizabeth, weeping. “Thank God you came,” she cried, keeping her voice barely over a whisper as the two women stood. Colleen quickly collected herself, then took the dagger and slipped it in the waist of her skirt. “Come,” Elizabeth said softly. “We must leave before they miss him.” “Hold fast,” came her uncle's deep voice as he stepped from behind a tree directly in her path. Elizabeth had no time to react. The crossbow was wrenched from her hands as

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason he grabbed her arm. At the same time a big red-haired man came from behind Colleen and when she turned with the dagger in hand, wrenched her arm until she cried out in pain and dropped the weapon. “Angus Campbell, you traitorous dog,” Colleen hissed as she struggled against her captor's hold. “When Robbie learns you're back in Scotland, he'll see you hung from the nearest tree.” “I dinna see 'em anywhere around, do ye?” Angus snarled as he shoved her toward the camp. “A lit'le bird tol' me the laird's back in England, fightin' an imaginary war.” “Enough,” Benedict said contemptuously. “I shan't have our plans ruined because of Charles' unfortunate loss.” He turned his cold gaze to Elizabeth. “You little witch, did the sisters and I not teach you that it is a sin to take another's life? I always thought your father a fool for teaching you how to hunt.” He shoved her into the arms of one of his priests who, like Angus, was dressed as a Scottish warrior. “Father George, take these misguided lambs to the river. We shall wash away their sins.” “Ye ain't goin' tae kill 'em, are ye?” Angus asked, dragging his filthy hand across his mouth. “I don't want any part in killin' women.” Benedict laughed. “I am not asking you to condone it.” He pulled a small leather pouch from his robe and tossed it at the Scot. “Your services are no longer required.” Elizabeth turned in time to see the dirty Scot stuff the sack into his belt, and grinning turned to leave. Too late, she saw Anselm lift a crossbow. She screamed, but it served no purpose as the Scots' grin slowly turned into a grimace. Angus fell forward, a quarrel protruding from his back. ~ James slowed his horse down to a walk. They had ridden hard most of the day and he was glad to have the slower pace. Both his horse and Robert's were lathered with sweat. “Robbie, we’ve got tae rest or we’ll kill the horses.” Robert stared straight ahead, his jaw tight, his fist clenching the reins. “I'll no' rest 'till I know she's safe,” he said gruffly. Had the situation not been so serious, James would’ve reveled in the fact that his laird was finally coming to realize he loved his little English wife. They had left Black Rose almost immediately after arriving and learning that the missive was a farce, taking only those most stalwart, leaving the bulk of their army to follow at a slower pace.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason The journey was long and hard, but finally, with the sun slipping behind the trees, Stonehaven's silhouette stood on the horizon. Robert halted his horse. “If Benedict is there, he'll see us if we use the path.” He glanced at the forest on either side of them. “We'll cut through and work our way to the gate near the loch. We willna make our move 'til it's dark. Colleen will know tae kept Benedict away from that side of the keep.” “Lead the way,” James urged, ducking under a low-hanging branch. They rode in silence for several leagues, then Robert pulled Oberon up and motioned to James. “Take the others and enter on the side of the loch.” “And what about you?” “When it's good and dark, I'm goin' in the front tae distract them whilst you try tae slip in from behind.” “And what's tae stop 'em from plantin' an arrow inta your heart the moment they lay eyes on you?” “I'm countin' on you gettin' there first.” James muttered several reasons why he thought Robert's plan was foolish, but turned his horse east to do as he was bid. When their forms disappeared into the evening mist, Robert dismounted and began to walk toward the river to water his horse whilst he waited for the sun to completely set. He was nearly to the clearing when a woman's scream shattered the night. ~ Anselm laughed, then tossed the empty crossbow aside before he grabbed Elizabeth's trembling chin roughly between his thumb and forefinger. “Stupid woman. You can kill a man who would’ve given you everything your heart desired, yet you scream when a dirty old Scot is dispatched? Shut your mouth,” he snarled, his face so close she felt the heat of his foul breath. He glared at her for several more moments, then nodded toward the priest who held Colleen. “She is of no use to us. Drown her.” “Nay,” Elizabeth cried as both she and Colleen struggled to free themselves. Near the river, the grass was slick with dew. The priest holding Colleen slipped and both tumbled into the fast running water. Colleen wrenched free, shoving with all her might, but the current was too powerful. The priest reached for her, but she purposely swam out into the deeper water and both were whisked away. Elizabeth froze. Hatred, stronger than any emotion she’d ever felt, boiled up in her breast. She jerked her arm from her uncle's grasp and with a strength she didn't know she possessed, wrenched the dagger from the belt around his waist. “Stand back,” she hissed, jabbing the air with the deadly blade.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Elizabeth,” Benedict said with cool authority. “Put down the dagger and come to your senses. There has been enough killing. I am your uncle. You cannot harm me.” “It looks tae me like she could.” Robert stepped into the clearing as Benedict spun. “But then, she'd be deprivin' me of the pleasure.” He cast a quick glance at his wife's rumpled appearance. “I'll ask you what you're doin' out here all alone later.” Benedict quickly raised his arms. “I surrender. You cannot kill me. I am unarmed.” “I can and I will,” Robert replied contemptuously. “Nay, Robert,” Elizabeth replied with cool authority as she stepped around her uncle. “'Tis as he says. You cannot harm an unarmed man.” She strode to where a discarded sword lay in the grass. As regal as a queen, she picked it up and walked toward her uncle. When she was several feet away, she tossed the sword into the air. Reflex made her uncle catch it. He glanced at it, then at her. “I would suggest, my lord, that you use that to defend yourself.” “Why, you little bitch,” Benedict hissed. His fingers curled tightly around the hilt. “Curse you, for surely God will protect me,” he shouted as he raised the sword to strike her down. Swearing under his breath, Robert pulled Elizabeth out of the way as he deflected the blow with his claymore. Anselm struck again and again, but Robert diverted each powerful thrust, keeping himself between the bishop and Elizabeth. Carefully he retreated until Elizabeth was able to reach the closest tree. Once free to fight back, Robert attacked. Anselm blocked the first strike, but the force of the blow sent him stumbling backwards against a large boulder. The priest grunted on impact, but recovered quickly. Bellowing with rage, he swung his sword at Robert's head, but Robert was fast. He dove to the ground, then rolled as Anselm chopped the earth with his blade. Elizabeth tried not to watch, but she couldn't tear her gaze away from the fight. Her breath caught in her throat when it seemed that her uncle had the upper hand. But her husband was agile, dodging strike after strike until sweat dampened her uncle's priestly robes. Suddenly her uncle charged. Once more Robert deflected the savage blow, but his boot caught on a rock and he fell. She screamed as her uncle readied his sword for a final blow, but Robert recovered and sank his blade deep into her uncle's chest. She heard his sharp intake of breath, saw his body stiffen. She stifled another scream as he fell backwards into the grass.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason Breathing hard, Robert dragged his sleeve across his brow, then turned and faced his wife. When she finally dragged her gaze from her uncle, he inwardly winced at her expression. “Is...is he dead?” she asked, her voice barely over a whisper as she glanced down at her uncle once more. “Aye, lass, but it was quick and painless.” “Quick and painless?” she said without emphasis. She looked at him then, her face pale her eyes devoid of any emotion. Swearing once more, he lunged to break her fall, landing on his knees with her in his arms. “Beth,” he murmured, brushing a wisp of curly red hair from her pale cheek. If tomorrow she hated him for killing her uncle, he would learn to accept it, for the only thing that mattered was that she was safe and Benedict was no longer a threat. He swallowed hard with the realization that he had almost lost her just as her eyes fluttered open. “Easy, lass,” he said softly, helping her to sit up. When she clung to him, he held her, wishing he could think of something to say. “Robbie MacDiarmid, 'tis time you got home,” Colleen muttered as she staggered out of the shrubs, drenched. Robert stood, helping Elizabeth to her feet. His expression filled with relief. “You picked a fine time tae take a swim.” They looked at each other for several moments, and then Colleen threw her arms around Robert and Elizabeth, crying and laughing all at the same time. “You're gettin’ us wet,” Robert complained as he held her back, then pulled her into his arms and hugged her. Colleen sniffed, glancing at her brother for a moment before she turned her attention to Elizabeth. “Elizabeth,” she cried and the tears began again as the two women hugged each other. “You poor dear, are you well?” Elizabeth swiped at her tears and nodded. “Aye. But 'tis cold and damp and you will catch your death if we don’t get you out of those wet clothes.” She glanced at Robert, and then without a moment’s hesitation, unfastened his plaid and wrapped it around Colleen, giving the shivering woman another hug. “I suspect Robert has his horse nearby. Come, we will be home and before a warm fire soon.” ~ Later that night as the family sipped spiced wine before a cozy fire, Colleen told Robert how Elizabeth had saved her. The topic turned from the events of the day to the events

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason expected in the near future and soon talk of babies and childbirth dominated the conversation. James yawned then took another sip of his wine. “'Tis a good thing that our women are from strong stock,” he said with conviction. “Aye, it is,” Josephine added. “Speaking of strong stock,” Colleen began, and by the determined gleam in her eyes, Elizabeth knew she was up to something. A nervous knot formed in the pit of her stomach as Colleen put down her cup and smiled sweetly at her brother. “Have you picked a name for your bairn?” “No,” was all he said, before he picked up his tankard and drained it. “There'll be time for that--” “After she delivers?” Colleen asked. “What do you think, Ma, shouldn't Robbie and Elizabeth choose a name?” She smiled kindly at Elizabeth, then at her brother—only it wasn't quite as friendly. “If'n it's a girl, I think Colleen is a nice name.” “Well, if'n it's a boy, I think James is a nice name,” James added with another nod. “I think you've both had too much wine,” Robert confirmed. “What do you think, Ma?” Colleen asked. “Should'na Robbie pick a name 'afore the babe is born?” “Oh, aye,” the older woman added. “If'n you don't and the child is stillborn...” Josephine stopped and stared first at Colleen, then turned to Elizabeth. “Oh, I'm so sorry, dear. I dinna mean nothin' by that. I was only thinkin' that the child'll need tae be baptized and if'n you don't have a—” “My child will not be baptized,” Robert stated, his voice sounding hollow in his cup as he took another drink. Elizabeth glanced around the table, the shocked expressions of Colleen and Josephine fueling her courage. “Our child, will indeed, be baptized.” She reached for her wine and though her hand trembled, took a sip before adding, “He will be cleansed of sin, by the kindly priest I met a few weeks ago, as soon as possible after his birth.” She stood and would’ve left, but Robert caught her wrist in a firm but gentle grasp, standing with her.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “I'm your husband and you'll do as I say,” he replied, well in his cups—his accent more pronounced than ever. She hesitated for several uncomfortable moments then raised her chin. “You’ve forgotten, my lord. Our marriage has been annulled. You are no longer my husband.” His mother's gasp was the only sound heard, and out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth saw Colleen getting ready to stand. “Sit down,” Robert ground out. “I will no'.” Colleen stood ramrod straight, openly glaring at her brother. “'Tis her right as the babe's mother tae ask that the child be baptized.” “And my right as his father to forbid it,” Robert countered. “I gave in once 'afore. I will no' allow another priest in my home now, or ever. Do you ken?” Another uncomfortable silence fell over the others in the room and Elizabeth was almost sure they could hear her heart pounding in her breast. Slowly he uncurled his fingers from her wrist. She fought against the urge to flee, walking as dignified as she could to the stairs where she stopped and turned. “Do you hate—,” her voice caught and she had to take a calming breath. “Do you hate God so much for what men have done you would knowingly deprive our child of the kingdom of heaven?” She did not wait for his answer. She turned and slowly climbed the stairs. Chapter 17 By Michelmas, Elizabeth was heavy with child. Since the night of her uncle's death, Robert had avoided her and with each passing day she grew more and more despondent. She declined to join in on the festivities, preferring the sanctuary of her room and the warmth of her fire. Megan and Sister Margaret, along with her usual trio of sisters, had arrived just a few days ago, but even Margaret's optimism and her kind words of wisdom could not lift the shadow that had formed over Elizabeth's heart. Clad in her velvet robe, Elizabeth stood at the window of her chamber, watching an early snow stick to the pane. She placed her forehead against the mottled glass to soothe her aching head. The drafty window did not allow her to linger long. Cold, she went to the hearth and put more wood on the fire. She sat on a small stool, staring into the flames as they curled and licked at the logs, wishing they could warm the chill from her heart. Her husband's handsome face was suddenly before her. When she closed her eyes, she could feel his strong arms holding her close, and now, her face warmed by the fire, she could feel the tender touch of his lips as they used to be on hers.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason She sighed wistfully and opened her eyes. If only she could go back in time, she thought morosely. Back to those blissful nights when she fell asleep, safe and protected, in his arms. Had she to do it over, she wouldn't have insisted he profess his love, she would gladly settle for just a peaceful existence. She took a deep shuddering breath, painfully aware of why he hated her. And once more she denied it. She hadn’t betrayed him, she thought angrily. She was the one betrayed. Her body betrayed her—longing for what could never be, and even her dreams betrayed her. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered, puzzled by her irrational wish that he would come through the door and hold her in his strong embrace. Several unexpected tears slipped down her cheeks. Angry that the thought of him caused her to cry, she went over and poured some cold water into a porcelain basin, splashing her face until her bout of weakness passed. As she patted her face dry with a cloth, she was nearly doubled over with a spasm of pain. She clutched the table and closed her eyes until it passed. “Nay,” she softly moaned, but knew it was to no avail. 'Twas time for the child to come, and nothing she could do would delay it. She straightened up as someone knocked on her door. “Go away,” she cried, but the door opened and Robert came unexpectedly into the room with an arm full of wood. “Beth?” The tenderness in his voice brought tears to her eyes. “What is it, lass? Are you ill?” he asked as he put the logs in the box by the hearth. “Robert,” she gasped as another contraction caused her to hold tightly to the table. He was by her side the next instant, prying her fingers from the wood. “Easy, lassie.” He scooped her up into his arms and carried her over to the bed. He placed her down then sat by her side, brushing the curls from her face. “'Tis time?” he asked, but she knew he already knew it was. She nodded, but when he went to leave, she clung to his hand. “Please,” she sobbed, unashamed. “Don’t leave me. I am afraid. I cannot do this alone.” Had she looked up she would’ve seen the sorrow in his gaze as he sank down and folded her in his embrace and held her while she wept. Another contraction washed over her and she squeezed her eyes tightly against the pain, pressing her face into the crook of his neck. “Please, don’t leave me,” she moaned. Robert pulled her arms down and pushed her back against the pillows. “I'm goin' tae go fetch Ma and Colleen.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Nay, I need you to stay. Please,” she begged, her eyes filling with fresh tears. “Please, Robert, say you'll stay.” He left her crying, cursing himself and the fact that he knew nothing about childbirth. “Colleen,” he bellowed, scattering servants like rushes on the floor. A moment later his sister came out of the scullery, drying her hands. “What is it, Robbie?” she snapped. “The wee ones are sleepin' and you're loud enough tae raise the dead.” “Elizabeth—” She only had to look at his face to realize what was happening. She ran to the scullery and after ordering the cook to send for the midwife, hurried up the stairs. Robert was on her heels, but she stopped at the door and put her hand forcibly on his chest. “There's nothin' you can do, Robbie. Fetch Ma, and I'll call you when it's over.” ~ Four hours later, a young novice came down the stairs. Robert sat before the fire sharing a tankard of ale with James, while Sister Margaret worked to finish the little gown Elizabeth had been sewing on earlier that day. As the woman approached, the color drained from Robert's features and he stood, but the woman went to the nun instead. “Come quickly Sister,” the girl said softly, dabbing at her tears. The elderly nun stood, and then flashed a brief glance at the laird before she hurried up the stairs. ~ “How long can it take?” Robert growled, pacing before the fire. James didn't answer, his words of encouragement spent hours ago. A door opened and closed and when Robert looked up Colleen slowly descended the stairs. He went to her, catching her in his arms as she burst into tears. He held her while she wept for several moments, trying to not think what caused her tears. After a bit, Colleen pushed away. Anger blazed in the depths of her eyes. “Robbie, you're a bigger fool than I ever thought you tae be,” she nearly shouted. “That woman up there, she loves you more than you'll ever know. She's asked me tae cut your babe from her belly so you can have your son, saying crazy things about givin' you an heir—knowing' full well 'twould kill her.” Colleen looked at her brother as if he were vile. “Sister Margaret is with her. I'm goin' tae fetch the priest and,” she rounded on her brother. “If'n you've any faith left a'tal,

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason Robert MacDiarmid, you should get yourself tae the church and fall down on your knees and ask God for forgiveness. And, after you've done that, I suggest that you beg for His help, if no' for yourself, then for that poor woman upstairs.” She gave him one last contemptuous look, pulled her shawl tight then hurried out the door. “Where are you goin?” James asked when Robert grabbed his plaid and headed toward the door. “I don't know,” Robert replied, his voice tinged with the old familiar anguish James remembered from so long ago. “But it's snowin'. What if they need you here?” “I-I don't know. I just canna stay here any longer.” Robert left before James could stop him. The old man heaved a long, tired sigh then sank back down into his chair. A few moments later, Colleen came inside with a young priest. “Where's Robbie?” she asked as she hung her shawl on the peg by the door. “He left—dinna say where he was goin'.” James stood and would’ve left the room, only Colleen stopped him. “Where are you goin'?” “I've a mind to make some bread.” ~ Colleen came downstairs and went into the scullery. James had just taken two hot loaves from the oven, nearly dropping them when he saw her. “Well, say somethin',” he demanded. “It's over,” Colleen said as James took her into his arms. “Praise God, it's over.” “Can I see her?” the old man asked. Colleen nodded. “Aye, but I'll no' have you sayin' anything in my brother's defense. He's wrong, Jamie, and we both know it.” James gave her a half-smile, then took a knife and sliced his bread, placing two thick pieces on a tray with butter and honey. “I willna mention his name,” he muttered as he walked up the stairs. He paused before Elizabeth's chamber, then took a shuddering breath and knocked softly on the door. When he was bid to enter, he carried the tray over to the little table and set it down.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason A warm fire burned in the hearth. Sister Margaret sat in a nearby chair, slowly rocking the small bundle she cradled in her arms. Her eyes instantly filled with tears, but a smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “He's beautiful,” she said softly. “He's just beautiful.” She held the child out for James to see. The seasoned old warrior swiped at his eyes, then lifted the babe from her arms. “He looks just like his father,” he said, nodding as proudly as if the child were his own blood. “Look how large he is—why he'll be swinging a claymore in no time a'tal.” “Pray he never has to,” Elizabeth's weak voice came from the bed. James gave the baby back to Margaret, then tossed two large logs on the fire before filling a pewter cup with warm cider. He held it out to Elizabeth and took a seat on the edge of the bed. “I hav'na seen you for awhile,” he began, giving her his usual smile. “You've been takin' your supper up here in your room, so I brought you some fresh-baked bread.” He glanced over at Margaret and the baby. “He's a strappin' lad. 'Tis true—looks just like his father.” He sniffed again, then looked at his laird's wife. She was pale, her cheeks slightly sunken, but the defiant brightness he'd grown so fond of was still present in her eyes. “Are you well?” he asked. “Why should you care?” she countered, sipping the savory brew. “I deserve that,” he said, scratching his beard. “Aye, that I do, but know this, I care, lass, and Robbie cares, too.” “Do you see him here in this room?” she said, the bitterness in her voice cutting into him. “Yet I begged him to stay.” “Nay,” he said sadly, shaking his head. “But that don't mean he don't care. He's hurtin' in a way I've never seen him hurt 'afore—worse than when Mary died.” When she raised one brow doubtfully, he nodded and continued. “Aye, what I say is God's truth. Lit'le Peter came and told me he saw Robbie go inta the chapel. Been there for hours. He's down there as we speak. Colleen has'na told him about his bairn yet, she's still too angry with him. Says it'll do him good tae worry. Maybe it will, maybe it won't, but know this, lass, the laird's in love with you, as surely as the sun rises each day and sinks behind the mountain each eve.” Elizabeth raised her chin, a sign she was still on the defensive. “How do you expect me to believe you when my husband rebukes me at every turn?” She stared into her cup. “He would not even help me choose a name for our child.” “James is a nice name, dinna you think?” he said with a smile, tryin his best to cheer her up. When she only continued to stare at the contents of her cup, he sighed and

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason nodded. “Aye, Robbie's a stubborn man, for sure. But then, you're a stubborn woman, too. I know him better than any man alive, and I'm tellin' you, he was sick with worry when he discovered Baynard dinna need our help, and he's sick now, thinkin' you're no' doin' so well. He loves you, lass, and anyone who knows him would agree.” James shrugged his shoulders. “He loves you and you love him. All the women in the burgh know it, his men know it. Now all I have tae do is make the two of you accept it.” He reached down and pressed her hand between his calloused palms. “I'm about tae break a promise.” He sighed heavily. “But, you've a right tae know why your husband canna tell you he loves you, or why he could'na even find the courage tae pick a name for his bairn. And why it's been two long years since he's been in a church.” Elizabeth slipped her hands from his and looked away. “I cannot fathom why he would deny his faith or why he will not accept his son. But I know why he cannot accept me.” “Do you?” James asked, waiting until she looked at him. “He hates me...,” she said in a broken whisper. “He hates me because of my uncle, and...and because I am not Mary.” She sniffed then raised her chin. “Why else would he send me back to England?” “Did he say that?” James asked, his bushy brows drawn tightly together. The pale young woman nodded, and for the first time since this ordeal began, James felt as if he wanted to find his young laird and give him a good thrashing. “Well, now,” he began, searching for the right words. “I dinna think that's what he really wants. Methinks he may have said that, 'cause he thought it was what you wanted.” The baby fussed and Elizabeth put down her cup. When Margaret placed the child in her arms, she shifted him to a more comfortable position over her shoulder, gently patting his back. “Well,” James continued. “You should still hear me out.” He scratched his beard again, searching for the right words. “Nearly two years ago, Mary drowned. She died tryin' tae save their son.” “I know,” Elizabeth said, her voice still tinged with hurt. “Nay lass, you don't know why she drowned. Your uncle, Bishop Benedict, took it upon hisself tae pay a call on her whilst Robbie was away. Thinkin' the bishop was a holy man and being devout herself, Mary let him in. I told you about the battle and the many men Robert killed in self-defense. Well, Mary had heard about it, too. The Bishop convinced her that the child carried the sins of his father and needed tae be baptized tae wash away those sins. They went tae the river, but when the Bishop held Robbie's son under the water, clearly tryin' tae murder the babe, Mary tried tae stop him. She

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason was set upon by several of his priests and when all was said and done, both she and the babe were dead.” James rose and went to the fire. “Robbie could'na get back 'afore the funeral. He has never forgiven hisself for being away when they needed him, and he swore on Mary's grave that he would avenge her.” James was quiet for a long time. “That's the day he denounced his faith, too.” “I did not know,” Elizabeth said softly. “It explains a lot, but still does not excuse the fact that he has yet another son who needs him...and a wife who loves … loved him. Do you see him here?” she demanded though tears pooled in her eyes. “Nay, he has forsaken the living to keep a promise to the dead.” “What do you think will happen when he comes tae his senses?” James asked. She sniffed and brushed angrily at the single tear that had escaped down her cheek. “He will banish us to England.” “Nay, he would never—” “Never?” she challenged. She reached over to the table, picked up a leather bound document and tossed it in James' lap. “Think you again, for it has already been done.” ~ James quietly entered the chapel. Robert was on his knees, his head resting on his arms. At the sound of footsteps, he slowly looked up, crossed himself, and then stood. He looked terrible, but James thought little of it as he paid his respects to the statue of Christ, then faced his laird. “You've a son.” The flicker of relief in Robert's gaze did not go unnoticed, nor the way he caught the back of the pew as if to steady his stance. “And his mother?” Robert asked, his voice sounding harsh in the confines of the empty chapel. “She's a strong lass. She'll recover.” James watched as Robert closed his eyes for a moment then took a long, deep breath. “I must see her,” he said. James caught his arm. “She does'na want tae see you...not yet.” He inwardly winced when a muscle jumped in the tight set of his laird's jaw. “And, after speakin' with her, I dinna blame her one wee lit’le bit.” James glanced around the chapel, heaving a long tired sigh. “Methinks your prayers helped. 'Tis good that you've made peace with God,” he added as he motioned for Robert to follow him out.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “What did she say?” Robert asked as they walked toward the keep. “She said you never talked tae her about baby names,” the seasoned warrior stated, giving his laird a dark look. “How hard can it be? William, or even James for God's sake. Anythin' would’ve made her happy. I canna believe you'd be so busy you could'na do that wee lit'le thing.” James walked on, shaking his head. “She's angry and afraid all at the same time, Robbie, and you're the reason for it.” He stopped and looked at his laird. “She told me you ended your marriage. Showed me the papers with the Archbishop's seal.” Once more he shook his scraggly head and headed for the burghe. “I would'na have believed it if'n I dinna see it with mine own eyes.” Robert caught James' arm. “'Twas by her hand the marriage was ended, no' mine. I never asked for it...not with her carryin' my bairn. You should know me better than that, Jamie.” The older man raked his fingers though his hair, quiet for a long time. “I believe you. But then tell me this. When you got it, dinna you think tae ask her why she'd done it?” Robert's dark gaze was answer enough. “Nay, you're too stubborn and too proud for somethin' as simple as that.” James was quiet for a few more uncomfortable moments, then began to walk away. “Come on, lad. Proud or no', you're goin' tae tell your wife you love her and if'n you have tae pick one out o' the air, you're going tae agree on a name.” “My lord, a moment if I may?” Sister Margaret stepped out of the shadows. “Forgive me. I was on my way to offer a prayer of thanks, and I could not help but overhear.” James coughed uncomfortably. She smiled at the old man, and then turned back to Robert. “I believe I can help clarify the matter of the petition for the annulment. I realized when I read it that it was sent by Bishop Benedict, apparently without Elizabeth's consent.” “There,” James grumbled. “That settles it.” “Indeed,” Sister Margaret added. She reached up and placed a kiss on Robert's cheek. “I knew Elizabeth would help you find your way back to God.” She gave a tired laugh. “Not precisely in a way I would’ve chosen, but effectual nonetheless.” ~

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason Robert took the time to wash, shave and change his clothes, so by the time he knocked softly on Elizabeth's door, he felt at the very least presentable. James stood behind him, a determined gleam in his eyes. Colleen opened the door, but would’ve closed it again if Robert hadn't forced it open. “I'll have a word with my wife,” he said, and both she and James knew he'd not be kept from it. “Very well,” Colleen replied, “But she's sleepin' and I'll no' have you upsettin' her, Robert MacDiarmid. She needs her rest, so be verra quiet.” “He has'na come tae do battle, Colleen,” James added has he put his arm around the young woman. “Come along, now. I've got a hankering for a cup of tea and a piece of your apple pie.” “There is no apple pie,” she snapped. “Then we’ll have tae make one. I’ll peel the apples.” James looked over his shoulder at his laird and winked. Robert stepped inside Elizabeth’s chamber. He quietly closed the door and leaned back against it for a moment. Elizabeth slept, propped up by several fluffy pillows—her skin smooth, her hair brilliant in the muted light from the fire. He took a steadying breath and went to the cradle at the foot of the bed, taking great care as he moved the swaddling aside to gaze upon his son. Pride and pain twisted like a hot poker into his chest as he reached down and lifted the babe into his arms. Afraid to wake the infant's mother, Robert walked to the fire, all the while speaking soft words of comfort to the little boy, afraid to hold him too tightly, yet more afraid to ever let him out of his sight. The baby gave a small cry. “Shush,” Robert whispered, smoothing the babe's cheek with the pad of his thumb. “You're a strappin' brute, you are,” he said, unaware that Elizabeth watched. “You look like your grandfather, but I hope you'll have a better disposition,” Robert added, shifting the babe to rest protectively in the crook of his arm. “Why are you here?” Elizabeth asked, neither malice or encouragement in her tone. Robert dragged his gaze from his child and looked at her. “Tae talk.” He came to the bed and placed the child into her arms, sitting by her as she put the babe to her breast. He watched silently then touched the reddish down on the baby's head. “There's rumors that David will be reinstated tae the throne soon.” “And this should concern me?” she asked. The moment she looked at him, her courage wavered. “I've no interest in politics, my lord, only on returning home, to England. If you have to stay and help David, James may act as my escort.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “You're home now, lass, only you refuse tae acknowledge it.” His expression was guarded, his eyes intense as he gazed deeply into hers. “Nay, my lord,” she said, her voice barely over a whisper. “'Tis not a warm fire, nor a roof above our heads that makes a home.” When he cupped her cheek, she could no longer hold back her tears. “Tell me,” he said, his voice laced with emotion. “What can I do tae repair the damage I've done?” His plea tore into her. “N-nothing, my lord,” she whispered. “I have asked myself the same question, but like you, I am at a loss for an answer.” She did not resist when her husband lifted the babe and placed him over his broad shoulder, patting the small infant gently on the back. She could tell by the tight set of his jaw he was having a difficult time. When the baby fell asleep, Robert placed him back in the cradle, hesitating a moment as he gazed down at his child. “My son's name was Donald. Mary named him after my father tae please the old man.” He swallowed hard then looked at Elizabeth. “Is-is there a name you like?” “James is a good man. 'Twould honor him to use his name,” she said, then added. “I’m rather fond of James Robert.” Her husband smiled then, and some of the tension left his body. “I've a feelin', someone we both know has been makin' suggestions.” She nodded, but could not bring herself to let down her guard. “Why did you really come, my lord?” “Please,” he asked softly. “Don't call me that.” He met her gaze, his eyes dark and unreadable. “I've come...” he paused as if searching for the right words. “In your arms I forgot the past,” he said staring at her. He came and sat down, brushing a curl from her cheek. “Your kiss brought light tae the darkness around my heart, and I threw it all away.” He stood before she could speak, then walked to the fire. “I was away when Mary and Donald died.” He grew quiet for a long time. After he took a long deep breath, he turned back to face her. “I never got the chance tae ask Mary tae forgive me for no' bein' there when she needed me, but I'm asking you now, lassie...nay,” he added quickly as he sank down to his knees by the side of the bed and took her hand between his own. “I'm beggin' you. Forgive me for bein' a fool and causing you so much pain.” “Robert,” she said in a strangled voice, then took him into her arms. He gave an anguished groan and pulled her even closer, holding her as if he never wanted to let her

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason go. Finally, he moved away, and when next he spoke his voice was husky with emotion. “I love you, Beth.” The words were spoken with such sincerity, tears instantly ran down her cheeks. He cupped her face between his hands. “I love you, and if you can find it in your heart tae forgive me, I swear tae you, and tae God, I'll tell you I love you each and every day.” He folded her into his arms, kissing her hair, whispering her name until she lifted her face and kissed him back with all the love and longing she felt.

Epilogue “Robert MacDiarmid, I canna believe you'd be so nervous. After all, it's no' like you're marryin' a stranger.” Colleen reached up and adjusted the folds in his plaid, smoothing a bit of lint from his black-velvet tunic. “You're doin' the right thing. She'll love it...trust me.” “I hope you're right,” he stated tersely. “However, the last time I trusted you, you took my wife out huntin' and—” “I'd rather no' be reminded about that, if'n you don't mind. This is a happy day and I'll no' have you go and spoil it. Ma's had all the women fussin' with the decorations. You should see the church, and Jamie...” she rolled her eyes, “… he took a bath this marnin' and I've never seen him spend so much time dressin'. Why, he even trimmed his beard and asked me tae braid his hair.” She took a sprig of holly off the table and pinned it on her brother's chest. “You look quite handsome, you do.” She reached up and kissed his cheek, accepting a hug. “Let me go, you big brute, I've got tae go and help Elizabeth get ready.” ~ “Do you think I'm fat?” Elizabeth asked Colleen when she entered. Elizabeth stood before the balcony doors and using a polished tray as a mirror. Colleen placed her arm full of pine sprigs and holly on the table, watching as Elizabeth smoothed her hands over the emerald satin gown she and Sister Margaret had made. “'Tis such a beautiful gown, but do you think I should wear the plaid?” Elizabeth fussed with her hair then smoothed the gown again. “I wouldn't want Robert to think I'm ashamed to wear his colors.” “For heaven's sake, stop your worryin'. You’re no’ fat, and the gown looks beautiful. I especially like the tiny holly berries Sister Margaret sewed around the sleeves. And, when I get through fixin' your hair, you're goin' to turn a few heads, for sure.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Perhaps I should wear the plaid,” Elizabeth said with a perplexed frown. “I don’t want to be the center of attention. 'Tis little Jamie's baptismal, after all.” “Sure it is,” Colleen added as she picked up a sheer veil in the same color as the gown. “But then you're his mother, and the good sister did take pains tae sew in all those lit'le berries.” Elizabeth heaved a loud sigh. “Perhaps you're right. I wouldn't want her or you to think that I am unappreciative.” Colleen grabbed Elizabeth's hand and led her over to a chair and pushed her down. “We'll use a plaid tae wrap the babe. That'll be good use of Robert's colors, providin' the lit'le one does'na spit up.” She chuckled at her own jest. “Now be still and let me do your hair.” “I cannot believe Robert insisted we wait this long,” Elizabeth complained. “Jamie is nearly six weeks old.” “You know how men are,” Colleen agreed. “They're always puttin' off what we women think is important.” She glanced down at Robert's wife. “Why the frown?” “'Tis nothing.” “If'n it's nothin', why do I see tears in your eyes?” Elizabeth faced Colleen. “You know I think of you as my sister?” “Aye, and I think the same of you.” “I have no one else I can ask,” Elizabeth stated, looking down at her hands. “Yet, there's something dreadfully important that I must know.” “Ask me anythin' you want,” Colleen urged. “'Tis about Robert.” Elizabeth took a calming breath, unaware that a blush crept up into her cheeks. “He has not … well he has not tried to be with me since Jamie was born and I fear in some way it is my fault.” Colleen tried hard not to laugh. “How in heaven's name could it be your fault?” “I think he thinks I am too fat.” Elizabeth jumped when Colleen burst into laughter. Though she tried her best, each time she looked at Elizabeth's serious expression, Colleen could not stop laughing for several moments. “I had hoped you'd be more sympathetic. I don’t want Jamie to be an only child.”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason It took Colleen several more moments to regain her composure. “Robbie's just been givin' you time tae heal after deliverin' his son.” She picked up a comb and began to fix Elizabeth's hair. “You've nothin' tae worry about, of that I'm sure. You'll see soon enough how much Robbie wants tae be with you. We'll all be grateful, if'n you want tae know. Maybe his disposition will improve.” ~ The chapel overflowed with friends and family. Robert's private guard, dressed in their finery, stood and conversed with several of Robert’s kin. Children ran around, laughing, while Robert's mother seemed to glow with pride as she cradled her tiny grandson. Elizabeth peeked around the door. Colorful wreaths of holly and pine filled the room with their wonderful woody fragrance. Every woman wore a holly garland tied with brightly colored ribbons of red, green and white. “Shouldn't you go and get the babe?” she asked of Colleen. “Nay, Ma's takin' good care of him.” Colleen smiled brightly, pleased that Elizabeth was beginning to slur her words, sounding more and more Scottish with each passing day. “But this is his baptismal.” Elizabeth cast a frantic glance around. “Where in heaven's sake is Robert? He and I should walk side by side with our son as we go to the priest.” “If'n I know Robbie, he'll be late as usual.” Elizabeth turned to find James standing next to her, looking as grand as if he were the laird. “I'd be honored tae take you tae the priest, whilst we're waitin' for Robbie,” he said with an exaggerated bow. He held up his arm, and albeit reluctant, Elizabeth placed her hand upon it, unwilling to hurt the old man's feelings. “Wait just a wee moment,” Colleen said as she slipped into the chapel. Elizabeth's heart picked up its pace as she listened while Colleen asked everyone to take their seats. She scolded herself for being so nervous. Nay, she should be furious at Robert for not being here when she needed him. A moment later, Colleen poked her head around the door and nodded. “'Tis time.” Elizabeth stepped into the room, then stopped in her tracks. A hundred candles of every size filled the room with cheerful, dancing light. Robert's personal guard stood ramrod straight on either side of the aisle, and at the end, standing next to the priest, stood Robert. Her heart felt as if it would burst with pride as she gazed upon him. Clad as he had been when she married him, he walked toward her. As if living a dream, he took both her hands in his and slowly went to his knees.

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason “Elizabeth, will you marry me this fine day?” he asked, his voice fading into the silence of the room. It was as if everyone held their breath, but she never noticed. She only noticed the way his eyes twinkled with roguish delight, and the way his thumbs gently stroked the back of her hands. “I'd be honored, my lord,” she whispered breathlessly and the whole room came alive. Robert stood and after he lifted her up in the air, he slowly eased her down, his gaze fastened on hers. She smiled when he folded her arm over his and led her to the priest. The young cleric smiled and gave them both an approving nod. “Do you, Robert MacDiarmid, take this woman tae be your wedded wife 'afore God and these witnesses?” “I do,” he said and a cheer rose up from the spectators. The priest raised his hand and soon all the well-wishers quieted down. The priest smiled again and turned to the bride. “Do you, Elizabeth Rothwell, take this man tae be your wedded husband 'afore God and these witnesses?” A collective hush fell over the room once more. Elizabeth looked up at her Scot and smiled, then clearly stated, “I do.” Over the roar of the crowd, the priest quickly shouted, “Then I pronounce you husband and wife.” He closed his Bible and stood back as the happy couple were instantly surrounded. “I think you've forgotten somethin',” James hollered, trying to be heard over the din. Some of the others voiced their agreement and slowly the room grew quiet. James went over and whispered something into the priest's ear. The inexperienced cleric came to stand before Robert and Elizabeth and once he had gained their attention, cleared his throat and said in a loud, clear voice, “You may kiss the bride.” This time, a collective sigh came from all the women when their laird gazed down at his bride. Tears came to many an eye when he took her into his arms and she melted against him, and when he sealed their vows with a long, intoxicating kiss, the church bells began to ring. Elizabeth smiled up at her husband. “Now can we baptize our son?” she asked. “Aye, but first I want tae tell you that I love you.” She accepted another kiss. “And I love you,” she whispered. “Now we can baptize our son?”

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason Robert gazed down into her eyes for a moment more, then motioned to his mother. Josephine placed the sleeping bundle into his arms, and then kissed her son's cheek before she stepped back and took her seat. James hurried the priest back to the altar. He turned, and with red-rimmed eyes, gave Elizabeth a fatherly hug. “'Tis a fine name,” he said, dabbing at his tears. “A fine name indeed.” ~ “'Twas a wonderful day,” Elizabeth whispered as she snuggled against her husband. “But, 'tis a very cold night.” He pulled her even closer. “Are you warmer now, lassie?” he asked, kissing the top of her head. “Aye, my lord, much warmer.” She gazed up at him and smiled. Slowly, he bent his head to taste her soft lips, finding them warm and willing. His wife kissed him back, her fingers inching up to toy with the dark hairs on his chest. Much to his amazement, she draped one leg over his thighs and pressed her hips intimately to his. His body reacted to her nearness, but she didn't move away as he thought she would. After all, they'd made love almost the moment they went to bed, and though he was willing, he didn't want to make her sore. “Dinna start what you canna finish,” he warned. “I shan't,” she replied, simply, honestly. She snuggled close again and this time he knew she did it intentionally. One dark brow raised skeptically. “Beth. I'm warnin' you, lass, be still and go tae sleep. Lit'le Jamie will be wakin' us soon enough.” His wife tipped her head back and gazed into his eyes, her soft lips slightly open, begging to be kissed. He lifted his hands and sank his fingers into her hair, pulling her down to receive his kiss. The sweet scent of heather wafted over him and worked to fray his control. “Are you sure you know what your doin'?” he asked one last time as he rolled and pinned her under his weight. “Aye, my lord,” she very nearly purred. She gave herself to him as he gave himself to her, joined in body, heart and soul. Closing her eyes, she basked in his warmth and tenderness, reveling in the way he whispered soft words of endearment and then much to her surprise, uttered several unfamiliar names into her ear. When at last he braced

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason his weight on his forearms and gazed down at her, she smiled at the ornery gleam in his eyes. “Well?” he asked in a husky voice. “I agree, my love,” she replied accepting another kiss. “Lauren would be a wonderful name for a girl … when the time comes.” The End

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Donna MacQuigg Trust and Treason Donna MacQuigg is a multi-published author of historical and contemporary romance. Her Scottish and Medieval romances were published through Kensington in mass market paperback, distributed by Wal-Mart. Their success resulted in releases to the European market. Her current western romance, THE PRICE OF PRIDE, will be published in hardcover by Thomson-Gale/Five Star in May 2006. An interview of Donna and her current release will be featured in OFF THE SHELF, distributed to approximately 8,000 libraries. Her latest contemporary romance, IT’S NEVER TOO LATE, placed fourth in the Great Beginnings Contest. As Vice President of her local RWA chapter, Donna chaired and promoted LERA’s first romantic writers conference. She published a research article with the LERA’s handbook for writers, THE LERA WRITER’S GUIDE. She has shared her expertise in research by conducting classes for her local RWA chapter in medieval weaponry and costumes, archery, castles and swordplay. Her experience in raising Arabian horses, and her marriage to a police officer, resulted in classes in western weapons, gunfights and costume. She currently lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico, with her husband and one little dog, and writes full time. In her spare time she enjoys tending to her horses, writing children’s stories for her daughter’s first grade class, and brainstorming with her best friend and multi-published critique partner. Learn more about her books by logging on to www.geocities.com/donnamacquigg.com, or you can email her at: [email protected]

This is a publication of Linden Bay Romance www.lindenbayromance.com

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