20
IT WAS LATE afternoon before the opportunity arose for Elizabeth to sneak away. Jamie had been uncharacteristically slow in leaving them to return to his duties after the midday meal. He was supposed to accompany the king on a hunt, and for a while, she feared he might beg off to stay at the abbey with them.
“Go,” Joanna said a few minutes after he finally left. “Take this.” She handed her a small but heavy bag containing the stones and gold that could be melted down to use on the sword. “I will cover for you if James returns while you are gone.”
Elizabeth looked at her uneasily. “Are you sure? I don’t want to cause any trouble between you.”
Jamie had been asking a lot of questions about their plans for later today. It could be nothing, or it could be he suspected something. Elizabeth didn’t want to put Joanna in an awkward position or force her to lie to her husband.
“Let me worry about James. I know you are anxious to see that Thom has everything he needs.”
They both knew that wasn’t the reason for her anxiousness, but Elizabeth appreciated the pretense.
After leaving the guesthouse, she met Simon, the same young warrior who’d taken her last time, in the stables and made the short walk to the forge.
This time Thom heard her when she entered. He looked up but didn’t stop what he was doing right away, finishing hammering out the metal while it was hot before sticking it in a barrel of sand to cool. He was already working on the tang.
He stared at her, obviously waiting. Remembering the reason for her visit, she pulled the bag with the gold and jewels and handed it to him. “Here. Jo was able to purchase everything that you requested.”
He didn’t bother looking inside, but nodded and put the bag on the workbench. “Thanks.” They stared at each other in silence for a few moments. “If there is nothing else, I should get back to work.”
That was all he had to say? He wasn’t going to explain . . . anything? Her hands fisted in the wool fold of her cloak. In her flustered state, she blurted, “I saw you with Lady Marjorie.”
One brow arched in mild surprise. “Aye.”
Elizabeth gaped at him. “Aye? That is all you have to say?”
“What else am I supposed to say?”
She marched across the room toward him, stopping a few feet away with her hands on her hips. “She’s the widow you were planning to marry.”
“Is that a question?”
She gritted her teeth, feeling the distinct urge to stomp her foot. How could he be so nonchalant? Was he being purposefully obtuse? He was acting as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t spent a couple of hours with another woman practically on his lap—as if he hadn’t left with her . . . alone.
“No, it is not a question.” Her foot might have indeed moved up and down. “Yes, it’s a question. Are you marrying her?”
He wasn’t kind enough to betray any of his thoughts with his expression. God knew, he probably thought she was a crazy woman—she was certainly acting like it.
“Is there any reason I shouldn’t?”
“I thought . . .” Marry me. She flushed. “You don’t love her.”
There was more of a question in her voice than she intended. This time both brows shot up in surprise. “I wasn’t aware that was a prerequisite for marriage. Indeed, I seem to recall you telling me differently.”
The challenge in his eyes never let up. Only when she shifted her gaze to the floor did it release her. She stood there miserable, wanting to cry, but unable to deny his words.
He was right, and she had no right to interfere. Lady Marjorie would make him a good wife. She didn’t want him to change his plans for her, did she? What about Randolph?
His accusations at Roxburgh came back to her. Was she still thinking of him as hers? Still assuming he would always be there for her?
He wasn’t hers, and she shouldn’t be here.
He crossed the distance between them, lifting her face to his with the back of his finger under her chin. His voice was husky and tender. “I’m not marrying her, Elizabeth.”
She scanned his face, blinking back tears. “You’re not?”
He shook his head. “I told her circumstances had changed, and it was no longer possible.”
“Oh.”
“Aye, oh.”
The sense of relief that she had no right to feel was overwhelming. She stared into his eyes, not knowing what to say.
His hand was still holding her chin, but one thumb had moved over to caress her lower lip. “I want you, sweetheart. Only you. And my marrying Lady Marjorie for the wrong reasons when I love someone else would be just as wrong as you marrying Randolph. Besides, in case I wasn’t clear the other night, I’ve already asked you to marry me.”
“Thom, I . . .” Can’t. But before she could get the word out to refuse, his mouth was on hers, and all she could think was that nothing had ever felt more right.
Their first two kisses had been an explosion of passion, their third a tender expression of love, and this one . . . this was a lesson in seduction.
He wooed her with his lips and enticed her with his tongue, the long, slow strokes licking deep into her mouth, hinting and promising so much more.
He teased, he tempted, he gave her a taste of the carnal pleasures that awaited her if she succumbed before slowly retreating.
It was a masterful dance calculated to drive her mad with wanting.
It worked.
She couldn’t get enough of him. His heat. His taste. She wanted to sink into the warmth of his embrace and never let go.
She gripped him harder, sliding her arms around his neck to press her body more fully against his.
She moaned.
He groaned.
The kiss intensified. She could feel his control slipping away. Feel the gentle seduction take on a harder, more purposeful edge.
He cupped her bottom, lifting her against him, and the feel of him big and hard, pounding between her legs and against her stomach, turned her warm and melty and filled her with a wicked craving. A craving for more.
Aye, this is what she wanted. All she wanted.
Whether he would have given her what she desired, she would never know.
The door opened. “MacGowan, I . . . ah, hell, sorry.”
They’d jumped apart at the sound of the door, but it was obvious from Lachlan MacRuairi’s expression that it had been too late. He’d seen more than enough to know what he’d interrupted.
Thom had instinctively moved around to shield her from the other man’s view, but there was no hope of him not recognizing her.
“I’ll come back,” MacRuairi offered.
“Just give me a few minutes,” Thom said.
But the discovery, like a bucket of icy water, had brought Elizabeth harshly back to reality. Perhaps for the first time, she realized exactly what she was risking by being with him.
Everything.
If MacRuairi told anyone . . .
The flames in her cheeks were doused in icy sheets of panic.
“No!” Elizabeth exclaimed, and then less adamantly explained, “I was just leaving. Joanna is waiting for me. I was running an errand for her. It’s a secret. From James.”
She realized she was babbling and snapped her mouth closed.
“I’m sure it is,” MacRuairi said wryly, an amused quirk twisting his lips. When her cheeks flamed again, he added, “Don’t worry. Douglas won’t hear about your secret from me.”
Understanding what he meant, she breathed a sigh of relief. He wouldn’t say anything.
Disaster had been averted . . . but for how long? She couldn’t keep doing this. Why couldn’t she stay away from him? Were her feelings deeper than she realized? Were they making her lose sight of what was important?
She felt the sudden urge to run.
Thom caught her arm before she could flee. “We aren’t done here, El.”
She looked up at him, feeling her heart squeeze with a fierce jumble of emotions—the biggest of them longing. She longed for him with every fiber of her being. “I know.”
He would find her later, and they would settle this. Once and for all.
Apparently satisfied, he dropped her arm and let her go.
Thom muttered a curse as the door closed behind her. That wasn’t the way he’d hoped the afternoon would end.
He’d almost had her, damn it. She’d been so close to admitting her feelings for him. Hell, if he’d known all it would take was seeing him with another woman, he would have tried that a long time ago.
He still couldn’t believe it: she’d been jealous. Didn’t she realize the only woman he’d ever had eyes for was her?
But he hadn’t been able to resist teasing her. God knows, she’d been torturing him enough the past week with Randolph, and letting her think he might be considering marrying someone else for a few minutes seemed a pittance by comparison—especially as it forced her to confront her own feelings. They’d been right there on the edge. A little push was all she needed.
Although he had to admit he’d gotten a little off track with that kiss. Maybe he should be glad MacRuairi had interrupted them.
“Sorry about that,” MacRuairi said. “But here’s a suggestion. Next time you think about putting your life and future on the line by touching Douglas’s sister, you might want to latch the door. Christ, anyone could have walked in here.”
Thom winced, knowing he was right. “Aye, I’ll try to remember that.”
MacRuairi gave him a hard look, although with MacRuairi there wasn’t really anything else. “I won’t ask what the hell you are doing.”
“Good.”
“It isn’t any of my business,” he finished as if Thom hadn’t spoken. “But I hope you realize what’s at stake. You fit in well—and God knows we need that after Seton. But if Douglas or MacLeod finds out . . .”
Thom’s jaw hardened. “You don’t need to say anything else. I understand.”
“Do you? I hope to hell she’s worth it.”
She was, but that wasn’t any concern of MacRuairi’s.
He was surprised how much it meant to hear MacRuairi say that he fit in well. He did, he realized. No matter how unlikely that seemed. He was the only lowborn among them, but in the Guard it mattered what you did, not who you were. They were chiefs, chieftains—even an heir to an earldom—but there was no rank among them, no retinues to follow them, and no pretense. If Chief asked one of them to dig in a cesspit, they would without hesitating.
This is what he’d been searching for, Thom realized. Being a part of something that mattered. Something he would achieve on his own merit. Somewhere along the line winning a place in the Guard had become the most important thing to him—even more important than earning his knighthood.
“I assume you are here for a reason?” he asked.
“Two, actually. I wanted to talk to you about a bracelet Helen mentioned that she’d seen Lady Elizabeth wearing. I believe you made it for her.”
Not knowing what he was getting at, Thom nodded. “It was a gift a long time ago.”
“Helen said the cuff design was unique, and I was hoping you might be able to make something similar for me.”
“For your wife?”
MacRuairi smiled. “Not exactly.” When he described what he wanted, Thom had an inkling of who it might be for. He’d both seen the tattoos the Guardsmen had on their arms and heard mention of the Ghost—a spy they had in the English court. But he hadn’t realized the spy was a woman.
“Can you do it?” MacRuairi asked.
“As soon as you get me the materials. It shouldn’t take me long.”
“Good, but take as long as you need. I want this to be . . . it’s special.”
Thom nodded; he understood. “You said there were two reasons?”
“Aye, it seems we won’t have the night off after all. The king has a mission for us.”
They’d only just returned from their last mission earlier today, but Thom wasn’t complaining. Every mission gave him a chance to prove himself and brought him closer to a place in the Guard. It seemed as if everything he’d ever wanted was in his reach. But at times he felt like he was walking on a razor’s edge—one wrong move and everything would come tumbling down. “When do we leave?”
“You have a few hours, but you might want to pack an extra apple or two for whatever horse you end up using—we’ve a long ride ahead of us.”
Thom muttered a foul curse, and MacRuairi shook his head. “I didn’t think anyone was as unnatural as Saint on a horse. But you put him to shame.”
Thom told him to bugger off, and then shook his head. “How the hell did an Islander become such a good rider anyway? Aren’t you supposed to travel in ships?”
A flash of white suggested MacRuairi was actually grinning. “I’m good with those, too. Just wait until we go out west for your training. I hope you know how to swim.”
Thom looked at him, realized he was serious, and cursed again.
MacRuairi wasn’t just smiling now, he was laughing. “You are going to have a fun two weeks. MacLeod calls it Perdition, but for you it might be worse than hell.”
Thom wasn’t even going to ask. He was sure he didn’t want to know but would find out soon enough. The Guardsmen seemed to be assuming his place on the team. But until MacLeod came to him, he wasn’t going to take anything for granted.
After MacRuairi left, Thom finished working the tang of the sword and cleaned up. He’d hoped to finish his conversation with Elizabeth tonight, but maybe this was better. He’d give her the night to think. But it was time to put this uncertainty between them to rest. For all their sakes, she needed to make a decision.
Elizabeth practically ran back to the abbey—Simon had to hustle to keep up with her—but she couldn’t escape the truth. It was the only thing that explained her inability to let Thom go, her seeking him out, her sinful conduct, and the jealousy and panic she’d felt over Lady Marjorie. Her love for Thom wasn’t just friendship. Nor was it just lust.
She loved him.
But as she had said to Izzie this morning on their way back from the market, what did it matter? Did her grand epiphany really change anything? Was the realization that she loved Thom enough reason for her to refuse Randolph, or did it just make the whole thing more difficult and painful?
Marry me . . . I can make you happy.
Could he? Would it really be so horrible? Was she letting a difficult period in her childhood and what might happen influence her decisions too much?
Oh God, what was she going to do? She felt precariously close to tears as she thanked Simon for accompanying her and turned to leave him at the gatehouse.
She needed to find Joanna. At this time of day—close to dusk—her sister-in-law was probably still with some of the other court ladies embroidering in Lady Margaret and Matilda Bruce’s solar. The king’s young sisters had been given the largest chamber, and that is where they gathered when their duties allowed. The women staying at the abbey were working on a new banner for Bruce that would be carried into battle when the English came in June.
But before she could find her sister-in-law, her brother found her. He was storming out of the guesthouse where they were staying as she was about to go in.
“I was just going to look for you,” he said. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Running an errand for Jo.”
His face darkened. “That’s what she said. Where?”
“I can’t tell you,” she hedged. Drat, she knew he’d suspected something! “It’s a secret.”
“That’s what she said as well.” His eyes narrowed on hers. “But I’d bet my favorite sword that you are both lying.”
“It isn’t a lie,” she said, her mouth setting in a stubborn line. Technically.
“You went to go see MacGowan, didn’t you?” She didn’t say anything but just stared at him mulishly. “Should I go ask Simon?” he threatened.
Elizabeth knew she was caught; she wasn’t going to have Jamie intimidating poor Simon because of her. “Leave him out of this. He was only doing his duty.”
“I knew it! Damn it, Ella. What are you doing? And why the hell are you involving Jo and having her lie for you?”
“We weren’t lying, and I didn’t involve her in anything.”
He gave her a hard look. “Aye, if I know my wife, it was probably all her idea. She’s made no secret of her desire to see you and Thom together. No matter how many times I tell her it’s impossible.”
“Is it really so impossible?” Elizabeth asked quietly.
Her question seemed to take him aback. By the time he answered, much of his anger had faded. “Do you really need to ask me that? Randolph spoke to me earlier. He has offered for you, and I have given my permission. He will formally ask you tomorrow.” He paused. “This is what you wanted, El. I thought you’d be happy.”
“It is what I wanted,” she said. “At least what I thought I wanted.”
“And now you don’t?”
She gazed at him pleadingly, the big brother to whom she’d always looked up. “I don’t know.”
He folded her in his arms and held her, giving her comfort as he had so many times in their tumultuous war-torn youth—especially after the death of their father.
After a moment, he pulled back. “I don’t need to tell you how good this match with Randolph is—hell, it’s obvious. You’ll be wife to one of the wealthiest, most powerful men in Scotland. But that isn’t the only reason why I want you to marry him. Randolph is a good man, Ella. One of the best I’ve ever met—don’t tell him I said that,” he added as an aside dryly. “I wouldn’t see you with someone who I didn’t think could make you happy.” His ironic choice of words was not lost on her. “Don’t you like him?”
She shook her head. “It’s not like that. I like him very much.” What’s not to like. “It’s just that . . .”
His mouth tightened. “MacGowan.”
She nodded.
Something in his expression changed. For a moment she glimpsed the Black Douglas, the man who had struck terror in the heart of the enemy who whispered his name in the same breath as the Devil. “Has he touched you, El? If that bastard has compromised you in any way—”
Knowing there were some things her brother would never understand, she cut him off quickly, “He has not compromised me.” That was true. “Or touched me in any way that was improper.” That was maybe a little less true. His eyes narrowed, noting her careful language, and she added, “You know him, Jamie. Thom would never treat me dishonorably.”
He studied her face before relenting. Sitting back on the bench, he smiled. “Aye, MacGowan has always had a fierce streak of honor and nobility in him. At times when we were young, it was bloody inconvenient. You should have seen him when he found out about Jo.” He rubbed his jaw. “Christ, I don’t think I’ve ever been hit that hard.”
“Thommy struck you?” she said in an awed tone. Of course they’d been in brawls in their boyhood, but for Thom to hit his lord as a man . . . James could have had him punished severely if he’d wanted to. “Why?”
Suddenly, he looked uncomfortable—as if he regretted speaking so freely. “He thought I’d wronged Jo. He was right.”
Elizabeth held his gaze for a moment. She’d always wondered what had happened between her brother and Jo a few years back—right around the time Thom had left—but from the bits and pieces she’d picked up over the years, she had a fairly good idea.
Perhaps her brother would understand about compromising and touching more than she realized. Not that she’d chance confiding in him. Thom might not have compromised her, but she doubted Jamie would consider the distinction enough to prevent him from killing him.
“I should still kill him,” Jamie said, echoing her thoughts. “I told him to stay away from you. He has no business confusing you.”
“He has asked me to marry him.”
Jamie exploded off the bench beside her. “That overreaching bastard. He had no right! I told him I would never sanction a match between you.”
Elizabeth grabbed his wrist, stopping him from probably fetching his sword and going after him. “Even if I loved him?”
He stilled. “It isn’t enough, El.”
“It was for you and Jo.”
“This is nothing like Jo and me. Thom is the son of a smith. No matter how high he climbs in Bruce’s army, he can’t change that. Nothing will ever make him suitable for you. Nothing. Christ, by comparison Jo is a princess, and you’ve seen how difficult it has been. You’ve seen the derision, the scorn, and heard the comments. People like us marrying beneath us . . . it offends the community’s sense of place. Of right and wrong. Of honor and duty.”
“And do you regret it?”
He didn’t hesitate an instant. “Not for a minute. But make no mistake: the situations are not the same. Joanna was the daughter of a baron, and I am the Lord of Douglas—powerful in my own right with the ability to make myself more powerful with my place in the king’s army. The match with Thom will not just be seen as ‘unfortunate,’ it will be seen as an embarrassment—as something shameful. He will never be accepted. Many of the people who welcomed you into their homes will no longer wish to socialize with you.” Seeing her expression, he softened his tone. “I’m not saying this to hurt you, I’m trying to protect you. Right or wrong, I want to make sure you know exactly how it would be, what your life would be like if you marry so far beneath you. I cannot in good faith condone such a match. Without a tocher or land of his own, how will you live? I’d wager MacGowan doesn’t have more than a few pounds to his name right now. Will you go back and live in Douglas with his father?”
Elizabeth wished she could say she didn’t blanch, but she did. She remembered the small, dark house she’d visited all those years ago. The soot-stained wattle-and-daub walls, the rush-covered floors, the clothes strewn all about, the dirty dishes . . .
“I don’t need to tell you that there is nothing romantic about poverty—you’ve experienced it for yourself. How long do you think your love will last when instead of running a castle—a dozen castles—you are cooking, cleaning, and counting every penny?” She thought of the bags of coins she had hidden—counted pennies—and her stomach knotted. “Maybe MacGowan will become a knight, and earn some land along the way, maybe you’ll be able to afford a couple of servants in a few years. But it won’t be easy.”
She knew that. She’d been there before. Poor, shunned, and . . . miserable.
He gathered her hands in his and gave them a squeeze, undaunted by her continued silence. “I know you, El. You love the excitement of court, being surrounded by educated, accomplished people, the bustle of the cities and big castles, and all the luxuries of wealth because you know what it is like to be without them. Can you see MacGowan at a salon in Paris or sitting at the king’s table during a feast in one of the royal castles? He doesn’t even speak the same language.” French was the language of the nobles. “Being tucked away in a small village somewhere will kill you. Is that what you want?” He let the question linger for a moment. “Randolph will give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of. Do you really want to risk that for an uncertain future with MacGowan?”
The picture he painted had tapped into her darkest fears. Could she be happy like that? Would his love be enough?
It might . . .
Perhaps sensing her hesitation, Jamie dove in for the kill. He wielded the one blade that focused everything into sharp reality. “What about children, El? What kind of life would you want for them?”
Children? Elizabeth stared at him in horror. She hadn’t thought about children.
Or maybe she hadn’t wanted to think about them.
All of a sudden she felt ill. Jamie’s question unknowingly evoked painful memories. Memories of those dark days when no one would help them.
It must have been so difficult for her stepmother, alone with three children to protect—two of them barely more than babes—but she’d hid it so well. The formidable Lady Eleanor, who throughout their difficulties had never showed a hint of fear or vulnerability, had seemed the strongest person Elizabeth knew.
But even her seemingly indestructible stepmother had been broken by Hugh’s cries of hunger. Elizabeth would never forget seeing Lady Eleanor’s tears and worse, her helplessness and fear in the face of her baby’s empty stomach. She’d given up, and were it not for the bag of coins provided by the abbess that took them to her uncle at Bonkyl, they would have ended up in an almshouse.
A baby. Children. How could Elizabeth best protect them? What duty did she have to them?
She looked up at Jamie wordlessly, her heart feeling as if it was being squeezed in a vise. Tears shimmered in her eyes, but there had only ever been one answer.