Page 70 of Highland Treasure (Highland Brides 9)

Rory tried to follow, wanting to stick close to Elysande, but the guards that had escorted them in and stood on either side of their small group suddenly thrust their lances out, crossing them in front of him. He supposed that meant he was to wait right where he was. He also supposed he didn’t have much choice in the matter. He didn’t like it though.

“I must thank you, Lady Elysande, for your part in revealing the plot de Buci and his cohorts had planned against us. And I, of course, offer my condolences on the loss of your parents and their soldiers. I liked your father. He was a good man.”

“Yes, he was,” Elysande murmured, and Rory frowned when he heard the husky tone to her voice and saw the glassy look to her eyes. Elysande did not cry. Or at least she hadn’t used to. But she had become most sensitive this past month of her pregnancy. He didn’t like to see her cry. It made his heart hurt. Fortunately, she regained control of herself, cleared her throat and said, “And thank you for your condolences. I am just glad to see that you are healthy and well and de Buci’s plan did not succeed. My parents’ sacrifice was not in vain.”

King Edward nodded, and then glanced around when a man standing beside and a little behind him suddenly bent to whisper in his ear, gesturing toward Rory and the men as he did. The king followed his gesture to Rory as he listened and then sighed and nodded before turning back to Elysande.

“I understand that you have married?” he said gently, and then added solemnly, “Without gaining my permission first?”

Rory felt his hands clench into fists as he braced himself for trouble. He was sure he’d been right. The man was going to demand an annulment.

“Aye,” Elysande murmured, and then smiled crookedly at the king. “And I do feel awful about that. For while I knew you would surely approve of my marrying the man who saved your life, I was most distressed that he felt forced to offer marriage simply to save my reputation. Especially when it was only ruined in my efforts to save you.”

When she stopped speaking and offered him a sweet smile, the king sat blinking briefly before saying, “The man who . . .”

“Saved your life, aye,” she supplied gently, and then asked, “Did you not know?”

King Edward turned to glance at Rory standing behind the crossed lances in his finest plaid, and then turned back to Elysande. “I understood that you— That is, the letter is from your mother . . .”

“Aye. But I fear I should never have got it to you, Your Majesty. I did my best, but in the end it was my husband, Rory Buchanan, who found a way to get the warning to you. While I lay unconscious after an attack by one of de Buci’s agents, he took the messages that I had hidden away and gave them to my man, Tom, then arranged passage for him on a ship heading south. He also sent two of his best men with him, to help keep him safe on the journey to court: Fearghas and Donnghail,” she informed him, and then pointed toward Rory and the men, saying, “That is them there. The two tall men standing on either side of Tom in the back are Fearghas and Donnghail.”

“Good Christ, she’s pointing at us,” Rory heard Fearghas hiss with alarm. “What is she telling him?”

“I do no’ ken,” Donnghail muttered. “I was no’ paying attention. Just pretend they’re no’ staring rudely and maybe they’ll stop.”

“Lady Elysande is smiling,” Fearghas pointed out. “Do we smile back?”

“I’m no’ sure. She’s smiling, but the English king’s looking a bit vexed and befuddled to me,” Donnghail pointed out.

Rory did not comment; he was trying very hard not to laugh. Because his beautiful wife was brilliant, and the king truly did appear vexed and befuddled as he listened to her tell him that he, Rory Buchanan, a Scot, was the hero of the story. No doubt, she did so in the hopes that the king would find it very hard to annul her marriage to a man who had apparently saved his life. And Rory supposed he had played a part in that endeavor. But the truth was, he’d only done it for Elysande. He hadn’t given a fig whether the English king lived or died.

Before Fearghas and Donnghail could sort out whether to smile or not, Elysande was speaking again and the king’s attention had returned to her.

“So you see, my husband is the true hero. Without him, I fear you never would have been warned in time.”

“I see,” the king murmured, lowering his head. Probably to hide his expression, Rory thought, which was no doubt becoming more vexed by the moment.

“That is why I felt so bad that he felt he had to offer marriage to save my reputation,” Elysande murmured with a sad sigh.

The king glanced up. “Your reputation? You mentioned that before.”

“Aye. Well, my efforts to get the warning to you necessitated my traveling alone with eight men who were neither husband nor kin. I fear my reputation was quickly in shreds from it. And then he began introducing me as his wife to avoid my suffering the slurs of others and I answered to the title, which as you know, is as good as wed in Scotland.”

“Oh. I see.” King Edward frowned.

“When he then asked me to wed him good and proper in front of a priest,” Elysande went on, “I felt sure you would want me to marry the man who had been so instrumental in saving your life and the life of your son, but I did have qualms about it myself. I felt I was taking advantage of a man of honor and integrity. But I had come to love him.” She paused and smiled sweetly again. “How could I not love a man who saved my king?”

She’d left the king blinking again, Rory noted with amusement.

“Fortunately, we do seem to do well together,” Elysande went on. Placing a hand over her burgeoning stomach, she added, “And as you can see, the union has borne fruit.”

“Aye.” King Edward stared at her stomach, his frown returning.

“However,” Elysande said, drawing his attention back to her face, “Your Majesty, we are living in Scotland now, and building a keep there.”

“What of Kynardersley?” the king asked at once, pouncing on the subject like a cat on a mouse, and Rory knew that was the crux of the problem. The English king would hardly want a Scot as lord over a powerful holding in the south of England.

“That is a dilemma, Your Majesty,” Elysande confessed solemnly. “I find I cannot bring myself to return to Kynardersley. The memory of the horrors I witnessed and endured there . . .” She shook her head, her eyes again glassy. “But, of course, I would not deny my child their birthright, so I was hoping that you might consider assigning a guardian to the castle and estates to look after it until my child is old enough to do so.”

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