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Authors: Diana Cosby

BOOK: Forbidden Legacy
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“Nor would your father expect you to,” Stephan said, confident of his assessment. “Our king is nae a man who abides pretense. Once he knows you are aware of your parentage, he will expect questions, and answer them in kind.”
“I agree, but 'tis still difficult. All my life I have thought of him as a friend of my parents, a man I could turn to, one I could trust.”
“Neither has that changed.”
The worry in her expression eased and she nodded.
“Come.” He drew her with him as he walked toward the entry. “We must welcome our king.”
* * *
A short while later, with the formalities of greeting their sovereign complete and settled within the solar, Stephan handed King Robert a goblet of wine and then moved to sit beside Katherine. “'Tis an honor to welcome you to Avalon Castle, Your Grace.”
“I had planned to visit prior,” the Bruce said. “Due to complications, I was delayed.”
Scotland was embroiled in a civil war and their sovereign struggled to reunite clans divided.
Complications
hardly described the gravity of the difficulties he faced.
The king glanced toward Stephan's hand covering Katherine's. A smile touched his lips, and then his gaze shifted to her. “You are happy?”
A blush swept her cheeks. “I am, Your Grace.”
The king nodded to Stephan. “And how do you find marriage?”
“Agreeable. In truth, I love her,” he said, curious at her father's reaction.
Surprise, then happiness, warmed the Bruce's face. He arched a brow at Katherine. “And you?”
“I love Stephan as well.” She paused. “Is that what you sailed to discover?”
A smile curved the king's lips. His laughter, warm and rich, bubbled through Katherine like waves of hope. “I admit seeing how you were faring was one of the reasons for my visit. Neither am I too proud to admit that I prayed that you and Stephan would grow close.”
“I know the truth,” she said, her words unsteady. “I know that you are my father.”
Silence crashed around them, broken by the muted voices in the bailey below, the wind outside, and errant sparks in the hearth.
The king's face whitened. “How?”
“I found a ledger, one kept in the secret chamber my fath—” she paused—“Sir Cainnech MacIssac built.”
The Bruce studied her. “You read all the pages?”
“Aye,” she replied, her words tight. “Sir Cainnech MacIssac was a Knight Templar, and 'twas his sister who pretended to be my mother. But the entries mentioned naught of my real mother. Who was she?”
Grief darkened the Bruce's eyes, a deep sadness that revealed that whoever the woman was, her father had loved her. “ 'Twas many years ago, long before my first marriage. Her name was Mariote. A cart drew up where I was staying and she climbed down. However impossible it sounds, when I saw her, I fell in love.”
Happiness touched Katherine's heart. “And did she love you in return?”
Tenderness softened his face. “Aye.”
She leaned forward. “What happened to her?”
The warmth in his expression faded. “Our time together was fleeting. Duty demanded my attention and I was forced to depart. Months later I learned Mariote had given birth, fallen ill, and died.”
Sadness swelled inside Katherine. Never would she meet the woman who had stolen her father's heart. “I am so sorry.”
“Never will I forget her.” Melancholy touched his gaze. “You have the look of her, as well as her stubborn determination. A trait that will indeed offer challenges to your husband.”
“Challenges I shall forever cherish, Your Grace,” Stephan said. “But . . .”
The king arched a brow.
Now wasna the time for hesitation but truths. “You are aware of my father's treachery?” Stephan's question thundered between them.
The king nodded. “I am.”
“I dinna understand . . . How could you . . .” He shook his head. “God's blade, how could you allow your daughter to wed the son of a man who'd betrayed Scotland?”
“Your father's decisions were his own,” the king said. “In Urquhart Castle, when you believed Katherine's father had murdered your family; before you departed, you told me that 'twas wrong to take your anger out on someone who was innocent, nor would you hold the sins of her father against her. As to your father's choices, 'tis a feeling I share. Stephan, you are your own man, one who over the years has carved a legacy of pride, honor, and respect. Indeed, you have earned mine. In Urquhart Castle I believed that circumstance brought you both before me. Now I understand 'twas fate. That you and my daughter have fallen in love is a blessing.”
“ 'Tis,” Katherine said, moved. “When you first stated your wish that Stephan and I marry, I was furious. Now I understand that your decision was nae only made for love, 'twas guided by wisdom. For that I thank you. And I must admit that although I will always love Sir Cainnech MacIssac and his sister for raising me with kindness and compassion, I have always loved you as well.”
The king walked over and embraced her tenderly, then pressed a kiss on her brow. “You are a blessing in my life, Katherine. Always remember that.”
Happiness filled her, but shadows lingered. “Why did you send me to Avalon and never tell me why?”
Sadness filled his eyes. “Given the political upheaval at the time of your birth, along with my having to swear fealty to England's king, 'twas unsafe to allow King Edward to become aware of you. With his drive to claim Scotland, had he learned of your existence, discovered your importance to me, he would have done all within his power to abduct you. And with you in his grasp, King Edward would have held the ability to force me to heel beneath his rule.”
“Which is why you turned to the Grand Master,” Stephan said.
Bruce nodded. “After long discussions, we agreed 'twas best to place Katherine under Templar protection. We met in secret with King Alexander III, who due to the circumstance, agreed to bestow the title of Earl of Dunsmore upon Sir Cainnech MacIssac. The rest you know.”
She nodded. Her father's explanation eased misgivings of why he'd kept their blood tie a secret. A shiver swept her. “Had King Edward learned of my existence, with him merciless to all, Scotland would have long since lay beneath his rule.”
Lines furrowed the king's brow. “A distinct possibility. Thank God he never did. Still, the challenges of reuniting a torn Scotland are many. Neither can I forget England's new sovereign. Though inexperienced, Edward of Caernarfon is a man of intelligence, one to proceed against with caution.”
“Mayhap,” Katherine said, pride in her voice, “but I have faith in Scotland's king.”
A smile touched Bruce's lips. “I believe you might be partial.”
With a soft chuckle, she smiled. “Mayhap.”
* * *
A sennight later, standing on the wall walk with the first light of dawn shimmering through a thick layer of fog, Stephan pressed a kiss to his wife's brow as the last Templar galley faded from view. “I should have sailed with Thomas, Aiden, and the other Templars.”
“Our king needed a warrior he could trust to ensure Avalon Castle remained safe.” Katherine smiled. “I believe my father chose well.”
Pride at her words filled him, and he skimmed his mouth across hers. “I believe,” he said, his burr thick, “your father wants a grandchild.”
In the soft morning light, she entwined her fingers in his. “He did hint at that.”
Stephan laughed, never so happy in his entire life. “I need a grandson on my lap' is far from a hint.”
Her eyes twinkled with mirth as she pressed her body flush against his. “And I do believe you are just the man to fulfill the task.”
Need seared him, and he lifted her in his arms, thankful for her love, the happiness she'd given him, and the promise of their life ahead.
Katherine's laughter spilled between them. “What are you doing?”
“Taking you to our chamber to make love to my incredible wife, who I love with my every breath. And”—Stephan gave her a wink—“giving a king his wish.”
Keep reading for
A sneak peek at the next book in
The Forbidden Series,
FORBIDDEN KNIGHT
Available June 2017
From Lyrical Press
Chapter One
Scotland, late fall 1307
 
W
ind sharp with the edge of winter battered Alesone MacNiven as she ducked beneath the thick limb of an oak. She scanned the surrounding trees, her body aching with exhaustion after two days of hard travel.
Withered brown leaves scraped across the snow-smeared ground like harbingers of death. She shuddered, damning the images haunting her mind. Although she'd nae seen Comyn's men since last night, his knights hadna given up searching for her.
Fingers trembling, she withdrew the ring from a hidden pocket in her cape. A flake of snow settled on the ruby embraced by the carved gold figure of a lion.
“Give this to King Robert,” Grisel Bucahn rasped. “Tell him—” Her body rattled as she'd coughed.
“Dinna try to talk,” Alesone pleaded to the woman who'd raised her.
Her beloved mentor placed the ring in Alesone's palm, curled her fingers over the circlet. “Lo-long ago I saved Robert Bruce's life. He said if ever I had need of his assistance to bring him this ring. 'Tis too late for me, but he will protect you.”
“Grisel—”
“Our enemy returns any minute. Go!”
Tears burning her eyes, Alesone hugged Grisel, slipped the ring into her pocket, and fled.
Sunlight shimmered off the ruby as if to mock her heartbreak. She stowed the ring. Aye, the bastards would pay!
After taking a drink, she secured her water pouch and continued on. Beyond the stand of fir and oak, a field came into view. Alesone kept to the woods. As much as she needed to put distance between herself and her pursuers, 'twas safest to travel under cover.
A pain-filled scream sounded nearby.
She ducked behind a clump of bushes.
“Tell us where King Robert is!” a man's rough voice demanded.
Dread ripped through her.
Sir Huwe!
Another agony-laden scream.
Pulse racing, Alesone looked whence the voices had come in search of the knights. She spotted the clump of firs a distance away.
Go!
'Twas tempting death to linger. And yet, if she left, whoever suffered Sir Huwe's brand of twisted brutality would die. Like Grisel.
Crouching low, she crept to the thick boughs. Between the breaks in the needled branches, she caught sight of the burly knight's back.
From her limited view, neither could she see if his detestable friend helped him with whomever he tortured. Alesone grimaced. Little doubt the vermin was near. Like wolves, bad blood traveled in packs.
Her bow readied, she crept closer.
Another knight, ill-kempt, stood paces away.
Her skin crawled with disgust.
With a curse, Sir Huwe hauled up the man who lay sprawled at his feet. “The king is camped nearby; tell us where!”
Blood streaked the prisoner's half-swollen face. He remained silent.
“Let me kill him,” the scrawny man spat. “He is naught but a traitor to Lord Comyn.”
“Ki-King Robert is Scotland's rightful king,” the stranger rasped.
“Rightful king,” Sir Huwe grunted. “The Bruce murdered his rival at the church of the Greyfriars to ensure he received the crown.” His fingers tightened on the man's garb. “Tell us where he is or die!”
The bastard! Alesone stepped into the opening, drew back the bowstring, aimed. “Leave him.”
Sir Huwe's gaze shifted to her. Surprise darkened to recognition. His eyes narrowed. “You are a fool to dare to threaten me.”
“Move back,” she ordered, praying he didna see her trembling, “and I will allow you to walk away, unlike what you allowed Grisel.”
A cold smile iced his gaze. He shoved the wounded man to the ground, strode toward her. “Unlike the healer, before you die beneath my blade, with your spirit you will make a fine piece to bed.”
She released the shaft.
The arrow drove through the knight's heart. On a grunt, Sir Huwe stumbled back, collapsed.
Outrage reddened his accomplice's face. He withdrew his sword, charged.
Her second arrow plunged deep into his chest.
Face ashen, he stumbled back, dropped to the ground.
After ensuring nay others were in sight, Alesone secured her bow, and hurried to the injured man's side. “I am a healer.” She knelt, tore a strip from her garb, and pressed the cloth against the large gash across his shoulder.
Pain-filled eyes held hers. “You must leave!” the stranger urged. “A large contingent of Comyn's troops wait over the ridge. I was on my way back to warn . . .” The stranger's face paled.
“King Robert. I heard you. Dinna worry,” she said as she secured his broken arm. “I am loyal to the Bruce.”
Relief swept over the man's face. “The king must be warned of the threat.”
“Aye.” She helped him as he struggled to his feet. “Can you walk?”
He nodded. “My name is Sir Deargh.”
“I am called Alesone.” With one last look around, they hurried into the shield of trees.
* * *
Firelight illuminated the powerful sovereign's face, that of a warrior, a man renowned for his tactical expertise. Fighting to steady her nerves, Alesone curtsied before Scotland's king. “'Tis an honor to meet you, Your Grace.”
“Rise, Mistress Alesone,” Robert the Bruce said.
Exhausted, she stood, relieved they'd arrived before the last rays of sunlight faded.
The crackle of the campfire melded with the murmurs of the men outside the tent as the king settled in a sturdy but unadorned chair. He motioned for her to sit on a nearby bench. “You saved the life of one of my knights. For that I thank you.”
She clenched the ring in her palm. “I am a healer. I did naught but come to the aid of a wounded warrior.”
“Which explains your actions in part, though my knight could have been a criminal.”
“A worry I would have considered, Your Grace, but I heard his attackers demand he reveal your camp's location. I recognized the knights as well. Both men served Lord Comyn.”
Surprise flickered in his eyes, and then his gaze narrowed. “How would you know their allegiance?”
“My loyalties lie with you, Your Grace,” she rushed out, aware that with but a word he could name her a traitor and order her hanged.
The Bruce rubbed his chin. “From my man's account of the event, a claim I believe.” He paused. “You are brave to have faced down two knights alone.”
Brave? Nay, furious.
“Tell me, why are you in the forest without protection when Scotland is at war?”
She drew an unsteady breath. “ 'Tis complicated.”
A frown worked his brow and he leaned back. “I have time.”
Against the snap of the fire, Alesone met the king's eyes, found sincerity, patience, and intellect. Grisel's dying words roiled through her. Though the healer had saved King Robert, would his pledge given to her those many years ago override Alesone's blood tie to his enemy?
As smoke curled from the flames, Alesone explained how, two days before, she'd returned to her home and found the woman who'd raised her beaten, and dying. And how, with her last breath, she'd revealed who'd attacked her.
“What did she do to incite their outrage?” Bruce asked.
Tears burned in Alesone's eyes as she struggled with the loss, that she'd never again see Grisel. “I found one of your knights wounded, hid him in our home. Until Comyn's men charged, we believed no one was aware of his presence. Before they stormed the hut, she helped your knight slip away through a secret passage. Loyal to you, Grisel remained to stall the men so he could escape.” She paused, angled her chin. “Neither will I apologize for killing either of Comyn's men this day.”
“Nor should you.” With a dark frown, he set his cup aside. “You are alone and on the run, then?”
“I am.”
“You travel to relations?”
“Nay.” Alesone damned that her voice wavered.
“Friends?”
She shook her head. Hand trembling, she held out the ring. “Grisel Bucahn said to bring you this and you would offer me protection.”
Recognition flared, and his hands tightened on the arms of the chair. “God's teeth,” he rasped.
At the emotion in his voice, her throat tightened. “I will never forget her.”
Eyes dark with sadness held hers. “Nor I; she was a fine woman, one to whom I owe my life.” For a moment he studied her, and then gave a curt nod. “I will honor my promise to her and offer you my protection. And your arrival is fortuitous. I am in need of a healer, one to tend to me personally as well as the injuries of my men. A position I offer you.”
Overwhelmed by his generosity, she nodded. “I thank you. 'Twould please me to serve you, Your Grace.”
The king grimaced. “'Twill nae be easy. Life on campaign is difficult at best.”
“I am well aware of the demands necessary and more than prepared for the task. In addition to understanding how to use herbs, I am skilled with a bow and a dagger,” she stated, proud of her skills, which had saved her life many times over.
Satisfaction filled the king's eyes. “Mistress Alesone, 'twould seem we have a bargain.”
Dread eroded her happiness. Though he'd offered her a position as well as his protection, neither did he know of her own circumstance. Terrified of admitting her bond to his enemy, she refused to be labeled a spy. “There is one more thing, Sire. I fear when you know the truth of my lineage, you will withdraw your offer.”
The king's eyes narrowed. “Go on.”
“I am . . . Or rather, my mother was . . .” Bedamned! “Lord Comyn is my father.”
The howl of wind against the tent filled the silence.
A tremor slid through her.
Please let him look past my heritage.
His mouth tightened. “You said as a newborn you were left with Grisel?”
Shame warmed her cheeks. “Aye. My mother was a noblewoman. While her husband was away on Crusade, she went to Comyn's bed. Horrified at learning she was with child, she begged Comyn to aid her, but he cast her out. After she gave birth, she brought me to Grisel.” A tremor slid through her. “Then my—” Alesone paused and inhaled, lifting her chin. “My mother threw herself from the cliffs. She preferred death over a lifetime of shame. As I grew, my father, along with those within the castle shunned me. Though I hold a blood tie to Comyn, I swear to you, I loathe the very name.”
A cinder snapped within the dance of flames as Alesone awaited the king's reply.
Face taut, Bruce exhaled. “My offer for you to serve as my healer remains. But,” he said, his words firm, “you must swear fealty to me, and never shall you disclose to those loyal to me who your father is. All who serve me might nae be so tolerant.”
Thankful, she dropped to her knees. “Until my death, Your Grace, I swear my fealty, and I shall keep my blood tie a secret.”
The king lay his hand upon her shoulder. “Mistress Alesone, I welcome you.”
* * *
The churn of water filled the crisp morning air and a light mist clung above the land as Sir Thomas MacKelloch glanced toward his knights at the river's edge. “While you finish watering your mounts, I will go atop the hill and ensure nay one is about.”
His men nodded.
Unless King Robert had moved, they should reach the sovereign's camp by midday. Thomas tugged his fur-lined cape closer and led his bay up the steep incline.
The frozen ground crunched beneath his steps as he searched each shadow where an enemy could hide.
Overhead, gray clouds began to smother the sun.
Snow was coming, a storm paltry to the tempest raging within France.
Two months had passed since the Grand Master had secretly dissolved the Knights Templar, a decree Thomas still struggled to accept. In but a breath, the Order, a way of life he loved, had ceased to exist. A decision few of the brotherhood who'd remained within France knew about. For the sake of ensuring their treasures were safely removed and hidden, it was a secret he and the others who had sailed away must keep.
Thomas clenched the reins as he contemplated the arrests of the Knights Templar in France. Charges included claims of heresy, idol worship, sacrilegious acts, and more.
All lies.
Falsehoods spewed by malcontents who'd been cast from the Order.
However despicable the allegations, all within the Brotherhood understood their nefarious origin.
King Philip IV.
A royal plummeting toward financial disaster.
So deep in debt, in his desperation to replenish his coffers, France's king had sacrificed the elite warriors who'd protected him over the years.
Thomas jammed his boot into the hard ground and shoved up. Naught could change the king's atrocious act. Thank God the Grand Master had received warning of the charges, allowing Thomas and many Templars to flee.
Still, too many knights remained in France, including the Grand Master, honorable men falsely defamed. He swallowed hard. Mere weeks had passed since the arrests had begun, and many Templars had been killed. And before 'twas over, many more would die.
A branch cracked beneath his boot.
He cursed, tugged the reins and pushed on, ready to reach Scotland's king, to wield his blade once again for right.
Fragments of sunlight slipped through the clouds, illuminated the few stubborn leaves clinging to their branches overhead. For a moment, the ice-laden shells danced within the current, the fragile brown shimmers warming to amber. The gust abated, and the leaves hung limp like forgotten promises.

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