grown up together. He had been her childhood champion, her friend, her cousin, and finally, her love. He knew of her misguided passion for England’s king. He knew that he would not take a virgin bride to his marriage bed and that there was a part of her heart he would never have. Still, in the entire time they’d been wed, he had never doubted her. She was a Maxwell of Shiels, his wife, the mother of his son. He trusted her, and for all that, she’d betrayed him.
The betrayal was even more heinous than the breaking of her marriage vows. Mairi had looked directly into David’s trusting brown eyes and lied. She had lied about Edward and she’d lied about the stone. She did not tell him that Edward had carried her into the room she shared with her husband, that she had found such pleasure under his rough, large English hands that she had begged him to take her, not once, but three times throughout that endless, forbidden night. And she would never speak of the stone. For the child’s sake, David would forgive her for Edward. But he would never forgive her for Scotland’s Stone of Destiny.
Bending over the bed, she scooped the babe into her arms and buried her face in his chubby neck. He laughed, showing two perfect front teeth. “There, my love,” Mairi crooned, tickling his stomach. “You’ve waited long enough. I’ll feed you.” Baring her breast, she brought the baby’s lips to her engorged nipple and sat down in a chair. The slight clenching of her stomach and the eager pulling of the bairn’s mouth restored her calm. David need never know about Edward. The servants were discreet. This was Traquair House, home to the Maxwells. Mairi Maxwell, a daughter of the house, would command more loyalty than David Murray. Eventually he would learn about the stone. Everyone would. But perhaps Robert would be victorious, and the truth could be told.
“M’lady.” A servant stepped into the nursery. “There are soldiers and townspeople at the gates. The Bruce leads them.”
Fear, as great as any she had ever known, froze the milk in her breasts. The baby suckled to no avail. Whimpering, he stared up at his mother, confusion in his eyes. Mairi stood and handed him to the maid. “I’ll dress and find out what they want.”
A long look passed between the two women. Mairi reached out and clutched the servant’s arm. “Take care of the bairn,” she whispered. “If I know he is safe, I can bear anything.”
“Shall I wake Lord Murray?” the woman asked.
Mairi shook her head. “Say nothing. He’ll waken soon enough.”
Robert the Bruce looked down from the height of his stallion on David Murray’s wife. They were in the courtyard of Traquair House, surrounded by his soldiers and a mob of angry citizens from Selkirk and Galashiels.
“Where is Lord Murray?” the Bruce asked coldly.
Mairi lifted her chin, meeting the biting anger in his green eyes without fear. “He sleeps, m’lord.”
“Send a servant to wake him. I want him here when I accuse his wife.”
“He’ll know soon enough,” she replied calmly. “Of what am I accused?”
“Sedition.” He flung the word at her feet, expecting her to grovel and plead for mercy.
Mairi of Shiels did neither. She smiled as if the entire scene amused her. Turning to a lackey who stood by the door, she spoke. “Wake my husband, knave. Tell him his” she hesitated over the word—“his king desires speech with him.”
Robert flushed and set his teeth, waiting for the man to do her bidding. He knew that Mairi of Shiels had held him up to measure and found him wanting. Grudging admiration dimmed the anger threatening to explode in Robert’s chest. Holy God, she was magnificent. How had Murray won such a woman? He could see why she had taken Edward of England to her bed, but why had she wed David Murray? There was a time, before her marriage, when Robert had wanted her for himself. In terms it still pained him to remember, she had refused him. There wasn’t another woman in all of Scotland who wouldn’t succumb to the silver-tongued charms of red-haired, green-eyed Robert the Bruce, not even when he’d been the landless earl of Carrick. By the blood of Christ, he was more than ready to bestow royal mercy on such a lass if only she could be persuaded to look upon him with favor.
Moments later, David Murray came through the doors of Traquair, rubbing