Page 34 of Sinful Scot
“Yes,” he said, seizing on the lighthearted moment so he didn’t say the rest of what was in his head.
“All right, then. If I attract any attention, I’ll owe ye one wish.”
“Careful, Maggie,” he said, his desire for her hardening his body. “I’m not the sort of man you want to owe a wish to.”
“Nay?” she whispered. “What sort of man are ye?”
He thought about the ruthlessness it sometimes took to run his company. “I’m used to getting what I want,” he admitted.
“That must be verra boring,” she said, her gaze searching his.
“Not usually,” he said truthfully, thinking of business again. “Normally, I achieve what I want through a lot of hard work.”
Except, he realized, with women. His relationships had not taken much work on his end at all. He was not so conceited as to believe the effort they had put in was simply because he was so great, though. It was the money. Women flocked to his status more than tohim, even Jenny, andthatwas boring, as Maggie had put it. Maggie was different, but then so was he in this time.
“Listen to me, Maggie,” he said as the snow started to fall faster and heavier. “I want to prove to you that I’m telling the truth, and I want you to help me, but I also want you to think about what it could mean if I tell you what I know. Once you know something, you can’t un-know it, and that, I think, will change the course of your life.” He couldn’t see how it wouldn’t. Look at his own life. Even if he went back to his time right now, he would never again be the person he had been before he’d left.
“Perhaps,” she said. She blinked and snowflakes fell from her lashes. “But perhaps I want the course of my life to change.” Before he could react, she continued. “And perhaps I will nae believe ye.”
Her need to make certain he knew she would not be easily convinced made her even more appealing. Maggie was a woman ahead of her time.
She waved him on to walk again. He fell into step beside her as they made their way up a snow-packed hill. The snow came mid-calf on him, and a glance in her direction revealed it was just above knee-high on her. Her face was set in determination, but her grunts told him she was struggling. Silently, he extended his hand to her, and she took it.
“Tell me,” she said as they trudged up the hill.
“As I said before, six guardians will be appointed,” Rhys began, and they huffed up the hill hand in hand, white rings of puffy breath coming from each of them as they moved at a brisk pace. When Maggie did not respond, just walked silently beside him, he continued. “The Bruce clan and the Balliol clan, however, will be excluded from the guardianship roles since the two of them have the strongest claims to the throne aside from the Maid of Norway. William Fraser, the Bishop of St. Andrews; the earl of Fife; and the earl of Buchanan represent the interests of Scotland to the north of the River Forth, while Robert Wishart, the bishop of Glasgow; John Comyn of Badenoch; and James Stewart, the fifth High Steward of Scotland represent the interests of those to the south.”
Her fingers tightened around his hand, and he glanced over to see that her face had drained of color. And he knew it wasn’t because of the cold. She was frightened. She was frightened that what he was telling her was true.
“Ye can nae know such things,” she said, not slowing down but speeding up her steps, as if she was now in more of a hurry to get to the Black Hart Inn and prove him a liar.
“But I do,” he replied, easily adjusting his stride for her new pace. “I do because in my time—the year 2020—what happened in your country, whatwillhappen, is history.” He paused for a beat. “Do you want me to stop?”
She shook her head, but her fingers grew even tighter around his hand.
He nodded and went on. “A group of men will be sent to the king of England—as a courtesy, really—to let him know what’s happening. If I recall correctly, that happens a few months after the guardians are appointed. Around that same time, Robert the Bruce, the elder, will try to dominate Balliol. Bruce will take Balliol’s castle at Dumfries, Wigtown, and Buittle Castle with the help of his son and their supporters: James the Steward, the earls of March and Menteith, and the Lord of the Isles, who rules the Isles to the west of Scotland.”
“I know who the Lord of the Isles is,” she said dryly. “The MacDonald. And I know well where he rules.”
“Sorry,” he said a bit sheepishly. He’d forgotten until now just how much he’d loved Scottish history—and apparently, he had also forgotten that she lived in that history. There had been a time he’d wanted to teach it, but his father had talked him into joining the shipping business. “The rebellion will be dispelled, and the Maid of Norway will remain in Norway for a time. But eventually, she will travel here to wed King Edward’s son. It will be a shock—”
“I should say so,” Maggie interrupted.
“This will be the beginning, Maggie, of King Edward making his move to take control of Scotland. He will subjugate the Scottish people. He will wage war on them, bend them, break them. Women will be raped, children killed, men beheaded. King Edward will become known by your people as the Hammer of the Scots.” Rhys’s blood rushed through his veins and roared in his ears. “By our people,” he corrected. “And no one will realize he’s plotting to take control of Scotland until it’s too late.”
She stopped at the top of the hill then, and when he glanced down the incline, he could see a town in the distance. She turned to him, not releasing his hand, her worry putting a crease between her brows. “This can nae be true. The Maid of Norway will surely take the throne eventually.”
“She won’t, Maggie. She’ll die before she ever has the chance to be inaugurated as queen of Scotland.”
“What year?” Maggie whispered, her lips bloodless.
“1290 on her way to Scotland for her betrothal to King Edward’s son. The details of the marriage were, I mean will, be negotiated in July of 1290 and laid out in something called the Treaty of Birgham. It’s that treaty, which is very cleverly worded, that will eventually help Edward gain a foothold in Scotland when the Maid of Norway dies and the great houses of Balliol, Bruce, and Comyn, among others, all attempt to claim the empty throne.”
“My God,” Maggie murmured, her voice shaking.
He nodded in understanding of her shock and fear. “Your country will soon be on the brink of civil war, which is horrible enough in itself, except the Scottish people will not only have to contend with fighting between the Scottish leaders. They will have to struggle to oppose the king of England. They’ll think him a friend at first, a wise leader, but what he is, is a vulture, a betrayer, a ferocious, power-hungry man who will stop at nothing to get what he wants.” Tears filled her eyes, but he continued, his voice softer now. “It will be years, Maggie… Bloody, harsh, horrific years until Robert the Bruce the elder’s grandson will rise up and claim the Scottish throne and eventually lead the Scots to freedom.”
Snow fell between them, upon them, around them, blanketing the road, the trees, their hair. Everything looked blank, like a canvas yet to be painted. “If what ye say is true,” Maggie said slowly, blinking back her tears and standing straighter, “we must do something to stop it. I must do something to change it.”
