A Kingdom's Cost, a Historical Novel of Scotland (9 page)

Suddenly, she recoiled and pushed both
hands against his chest.

James was shuddering like a lathered horse
as he pulled away. He still felt the ghost of her mouth on his and clenched his
fist to keep from grabbing her back again.

"We can't do this," she whispered.
Before he could stop her, she darted away, lifting her skirts to run towards the
camp. He let her go, following her at a distance to see she got back safely.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Glendochart,
Scotland: July 1306

The men-at-arms were lazing about the camp
in the dusk, gathered in clumps around small fires. No feast would be held
although the king and his ladies were eating their evening meal at what had
been last night's high table. No one expected them to eat oat bannocks or a
half-burnt bit of venison whilst sitting on the ground.

Lady Elizabeth motioned to James to join
them as the king severed the leg off a grouse and handed it to her. "You'll
have a place between Lady Isabella and me, Sir James." She raised an
eyebrow at her husband. "I saw that he brought these this afternoon. And
you, my lord, returned empty handed."

Bruce smiled genially. "So I did. James
has an amazing knack for it." He waved James towards a place at the bench.

 
James knew his face was hot, but he took
the place anyway. The Lords of Douglas weren't so great that he expected a
place next to the queen, but a camp of fleeing fugitives was nowhere for
ceremony. When he turned to Isabella to offer her a slice of the grouse from
his knife, a smile flittered across her lips. He paused.

Across the table, Edward Bruce, seated next
to the elderly Earl of Atholl, was frowning at him. Thomas Bruce smirked in
James's direction, an amused tilt to his eyebrows.

"My lady?" He offered her the
slice of meat.

She inclined her head, indicating her
bannock trencher. As he gave it to her, he kept wondering what that smile was
about. Had she had something to do with this strange invitation to sit between
her and the queen?

 
Lady Marjorie, seated next to the king,
began kicking the table, and he rested his hand on her shoulder. He leaned over
to whisper a word in her ear. The child wrinkled her nose at him but sat still.

Isabella squared her shoulders after a
moment and turned to James with a smiling mien. "Someone told me that you
grew up in Bishop Lamberton's household, Sir James."

He thought about it for a moment, wondering
if he really wanted to talk about where he grew up and then shrugged. Why not? "I
wouldn't say I grew up there although I was his squire for several years."

He stripped the meat off the leg of a
grouse with his teeth and waited whilst both ladies turned to him in surprise. "I
would have sworn that his Grace told me so," the queen said.

"I was the bishop's squire. He has the
right of it there." James tilted his wine cup one way and then another,
looking into the dark liquid. "I'd been my father's page. When he deemed
it too dangerous for me to remain with him and Wallace, he sent me to my uncle,
the Stewart. Then the English wanted me for a hostage. Sending me to France to
keep me out of their hands was why--" He paused. The story of his father's
death was a grim one. He wasn't eager to remind them of it. Still his time in
Paris hadn't been so bad. "--was why he was sent to the London Tower, but
I had a bit of a wild life in Paris. I learned a skill or two that most pages
aren't taught. Things like how to trap your dinner."

Isabella took a small bite of the grouse
and chewed it thoughtfully. "So how did you end up in Bishop Lamberton's
household?"

"When I returned from France, he took
me in. He had lost track of where I was hidden. I think my father feared anyone
knowing."

"I'd never heard that, Jamie." The
king leaned forward on his elbows to give James a considering look.

"There was much that happened those
years, your Grace. The adventures of one lost page were hardly of moment."

Christina, the king's grieving sister who
hadn't spoken all evening, tilted her head and smiled at him. "Lord of
Douglas. Nephew and godson of the Stewart. Hardly just a lost page, Sir James."

He took a gulp of his wine to give himself
time to think of an answer, besides that as long as the English held
Douglasdale, he was no true lord. It seemed for the moment she wasn't thinking
of the horror of her husband's death. He had no desire to remind her. "Most
had more important things to think of," he said with a smile. "It was
beyond kind for my lord bishop to go to so much trouble for me."

The large fire in the middle of the camp
had burned down to a pile of glowing embers and the camp was dark and quiet. Sir
Niall Campbell rose from his place to send out men to relieve the sentries. The
king stretched and stood to help his wife from her place. Everyone was quickly
on their feet so as not to be sitting whilst the king stood.

"Your Grace," Isabella said, "I'm
too restless to retire yet. My mind seems to be a muddle of thoughts that will
not be still, and I’m sure I won’t sleep. If you permit, I'll walk for a whilst
or else I'll be poor company, I fear."

"Not alone," the king said.

"For a certainty not," the queen
replied, and James was sure he heard a smile in her voice. "I believe Sir
James was good enough to escort her earlier. Mayhap he would do so again."

"It would be my honor." He looked
from Isabella to the queen. What in the name of St. Bride had she told the
queen? One never knew with a woman, such foreign creatures.

Isabella put her hand on his arm.

"Jamie," the king said. "Be
careful."

Isabella cocked her head. "I swear I
mean him no harm, your Grace." He could hear the laughter in her voice.

"I never thought so." The king
gave James a firm nod.

"Sire," James dropped a hand on
his hilt. The sword was loose in its scabbard. "We'll stay within a shout
of the camp."

He closed his hand over hers on his arm and
led her to circle the heathery hill
where the king liked to keep watch. In
the stand of towering pines, needles and blown leaves littered the ground, a
soft carpet under his feet.

"Why are you to take care?" she
asked with a tinkle of laughter. "Surely, I'm not so dangerous a
companion."

"Are you not, my lady?" He ran a
finger over her hand. "I wouldn’t swear so, but that wasn’t the king’s
thought. The battle at Methven--we were ambushed in the dark. It worries him. He
seldom sleeps at night."

"Oh. I hadn't been told what happened
exactly, except that so many died. And that you saved the king."

He squeezed her fingers. "It's nothing
any of us want to tell about." He stopped and disengaged his hand to run
his fingers along her chin, tilting it up. "I'd rather kiss you, but if I
did, would you run away again?"

"No." Her voice was soft, her
lips softer when he brushed them with his. He grasped her arms to pull her
close as his kiss deepened. "James--" She turned her head, but still
pressed against him. He buried his lips in the curve of her neck and breathed
in. She smelled of roses. "James. I need to talk to you."

Inside he groaned. Talk? "What do you
want to say?"

Her body shook with laughter. "You,
too. My father used to say women always want to jabber."

"Do they?" His breath came in
gasps. This business of talking wasn't going to be easy.

"You have to know. I need you to know
that I've never--done this before. I mean not--" She seemed to choke on
the words and then laughed. "Why is this so difficult? I've been with no
one but my husband, James. I was afraid you'd think I was a harlot." She
cupped his cheek with her palm. "I suppose I just wanted to tell you that
I am coming to love you."

Her words lit his body like fire. He
plunged his hands into her hair. "I could never think you that. But we
shouldn't--" So near the camp, what if they were seen?

Her eyes closed, she caressed his lips with
hers, fingers tangled in his hair.

He ran his hands up her body, and she
dissolved softly against him. "I love you, want you," he heard
himself say, all thoughts of camp forgotten. His mouth plunged down on hers,
his tongue probing her mouth. Shrugging his cloak onto the ground, he stripped
hers from her shoulders. He tugged at her gown whilst he devoured her mouth,
her neck, her shoulders. She came to his aid, unfastening the buttons that ran
down the front of her kirtle and wriggled to let it slide down over her body. He
cupped her breast, filling his hand with the warm flesh.

"You too," Isabella said, giving
a tug at his sword belt.

He sucked a breath in through his teeth,
stepping back and unbuckling it to let it drop to the ground and pulled his
hauberk over his head. She stepped out of the puddle of material at her feet. Her
white body glimmered in a stray shaft of moonlight. His eyes drank her in. He
was as hard as the stone of the mountain behind them. Of all of the times that
he'd seen her, he'd never known how beautiful she was. Her legs were slender
but well muscled. In the moonlight, the hair where her thighs met was a mat of curling
blonde.

"I love your soft skin. I love your
lips and the way you kiss me," he said as he pulled her to him. "I
love your breasts." He knelt and pulled her down with him. "I want
you," he heard himself say and forgot everything else. He caressed her
mound as he lowered her onto the soft padding of leaves, lying between her legs.
She opened her arms to pull him to her as he thrust. Welcoming him, she
whispered endearments against his mouth, his ear, into his shoulder as she
shuddered and grasped him fiercely. When the moment of his pleasure came, he
called out her name.

Afterward, she buried her head against him
even though he was dripping with sweat. He stroked her hair and wondered if she
felt shy, reaching for one of the cloaks to pull over her.

"You're beautiful, you know," she
said as he cradled her head on his shoulder.

He snorted. "The moonlight is playing
tricks with your eyes." James knew perfectly well he wasn't a fair knight
who'd dash off with every lady's heart. Sir Edward might but James didn't want
to mention him. "I'm neither fair--nor beautiful." It didn't matter
when he had his good hands with a sword.

She brushed a lock of hair back from his
eyes. "Mayhap not fair the way some might think of it. But I love your
black hair, you see, the way it falls across your forehead." Her lips
softened, and her eyes got a hazy look as she stroked his brow. She shook
herself and touched a finger to his mouth. "Your lips are fine and strong.
And I love your hands." She rolled away from him onto her back and took
his hand to twine her slender fingers into his.

"You have a strange taste in what you
call beauty, my lady, but I won't complain." He pushed back the cloak to
stroke her breast.

She sniffed. "You're going to question
the taste in beauty of the daughter of Fife? For shame, Sir Knight."

"Never," he said, lips twitching.
"If you say I'm beautiful then I must believe my lady. My lady." He
savored the words. "Isabella. My lady."

"Ah, my gallant knight. I knew you
must be so." Her smile was soft and lazy.

A rustle in the tree made him jerk, but it
was only the wind. He looked around. The moonlight had shifted as the night
deepened. "We'd best go back to the camp. The queen might be seeking you."

"I told her I would take a long walk,"
she said snuggling closer to him. "And the night's young."

"What did you tell her?" He
grinned. "I saw looks go between you."

"Only that. I'm nothing so bold as to
tell her I wanted you, although no one would believe it, and me lying here
naked in your arms in the moonlight. Yet, the queen saw how you looked at me
and how I returned your looks. I know that."

He wound her hair around his hand. "It's
not so hard to see how it is with me. I would I could give you the graces a
knight should." He laughed. "Though I'm a poor one at quoting poetry,
and my voice is none too fine for love songs. Yet, I would."

"I know." She kissed his
shoulder. "Think it done, my love. You've my favor in the lists. My
husband gives you foul looks."

He rose on an elbow to look down at her. "It's
an ill thought. His touching you."

"He did rarely enough, though he
loathed any man to look at me. I was no more than a doll for his keeping. Now,
I've no doubt he hates me. He hates the king, you know. How he must rage at my
putting the crown on our liege lord's head." She sighed. "I don't
want to think of it. We have so little time. I'm frightened, Jamie."

He wished he could tell her not to be
frightened, but she'd know it was a lie. "We have what we have. You're my
own love." His voice went thick, husky. He ran his hands up her body. "You're
all I could desire."

The moonlight was gone by the time they
finished, and, as they fumbled into their clothes, they bumped into each other
in the dark. Isabella got tangled in the weight of her dress and fell. She
caught hold of his arm, sending him stumbling. He grabbed her against him and
laughed. Then she was in his arms, her mouth finding his, and it turned out
they weren't finished after all.