22
DESPITE HER NEWFOUND clarity, Elizabeth couldn’t sleep. Perhaps it was the excitement of tomorrow? If the emotion fluttering wildly in her chest felt more like fear than excitement, she told herself it was only natural. The signing of the betrothal contract and the exchange of vows were nearly as binding as marriage. Breaking it wouldn’t be easy, and at the very least would require a hefty payment of recompense.
It was well after midnight when she admitted defeat in finding sleep. Slipping out of her chamber past a sleeping Izzie and the two of the tiring women who’d accompanied them, Elizabeth headed down the single flight of stairs.
Fresh air would help. As a young lass she would have climbed to the roof, but since the simple pitched roof of the guesthouse wasn’t accessible, she headed outside. Perhaps a turn about the courtyard would help to settle her?
There would be no stars to look to tonight. The blast of misty cold air hit her as soon as she opened the door, which she did carefully so as not to alert anyone to her nighttime outing.
She was glad for the extra plaid she’d thought to take from her bed to go over her night rail and thick fur-lined dressing robe, but it was still cold enough to almost make her reconsider. The pebbles dug into her feet through the thin soles of her slippers as she walked along the path. A very light dusting of snow had spread over the hard winter ground, as she could feel icy dampness seeping into the soft leather around her toes.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. She didn’t want to catch a chill.
She started to turn around when someone grabbed her from behind. She was too shocked to scream at first, and by the time she recovered, she recognized who it was.
Strangely she wasn’t that surprised that Thom had found her tonight. When they were growing up, he’d always seemed to sense when she needed him. Or rather when she was restless and couldn’t sleep. She didn’t need him . . . did she?
He’d wrapped his arm around her waist and held her snug against the hard—the very hard—shield of his body. It was the same way he’d held her when he’d talked about doing all those wicked things to her from behind, and she would know the feel of him against her anywhere. Just as she would know the scent of leather and soap and the warmth of his spicy breath against her ear.
“Second thoughts?”
She stilled at the menacing sneer in his tone. “Aye,” she said, her breath slightly uneven—from the cold, of course. “It’s too cold to be outside tonight.”
With a low growl, he pulled her in even tighter. The air in her lungs escaped in a hard gasp.
“That isn’t what I meant, and you know it. Did you not wish to tell me something, my lady?”
Elizabeth felt her pulse leap as the blood started racing through her veins. He knows.
She was almost glad he was holding her from behind, so she didn’t have to see the hurt and anger in his eyes as he looked at her.
“Nothing to say?” he demanded.
Elizabeth knew he was angry—and had a right to be—but she wasn’t going to let him intimidate her. She twisted out of his arms and turned to face him.
She nearly took a step back. Good gracious, he was intimidating. Every muscle in his body seemed drawn up and flared, and his expression was every bit as dark and menacing as his voice, but it was his eyes that jolted her. They pinned her with a fierce intensity she’d never experienced before. She felt like a misbehaving heathen being brought before a panel of inquisitors: guilty, condemned, and about to do penance—or be burned at the stake.
She took a deep breath and forced her gaze to meet his. She hadn’t done anything of which to be ashamed. She’d been honest with him about her plans. “What would you like me to say? You obviously know I’ve agreed to marry the earl. I’m sorry you had to find out like this. I would have told you myself, but Jo said you were away.”
“Did you not think you owed me an answer first? Did I not deserve an explanation before you agreed to marry someone else?” The dark expression cracked, revealing a flash of his tormented emotions. “Damn it, El, I saw him kiss you.”
The blood slipped from her face, her chest pinched in horror . . . and guilt. “Oh God, Thom, I’m sorry. It . . .”
What could she say? It didn’t mean anything? But it did. It meant everything. She was marrying someone else, and they both would have to accept that.
She drew herself up and took a deep breath. “I did try to tell you the other day, but you didn’t want to hear it.” He’d kissed her before she could finish her refusal.
It was obvious he still didn’t want to hear it. “What if I’d come back tomorrow? It could have been too late.”
It was already too late.
He must have seen the resolve on her face. “You can’t marry him. You don’t love him. You love me.”
She didn’t say anything.
He looked shocked. “You aren’t going to deny it?”
She shrugged. “My feelings don’t make any difference.”
He stared at her in disbelief. “Are you telling me you love me, and it doesn’t matter?”
A gust of wind made her shiver. She drew the plaid tighter around her shoulders as she stared up at him, not knowing what to say.
He swore and led her into the closest outbuilding—which happened to be the stables. The pungent scents and sultry air enveloped her. Perhaps the smell would be distracting? Though Lord knew it hadn’t been distracting enough last time. Last time . . .
Don’t think of that.
Sliding the door behind them, he said, “It will be warmer in here. The smell could be better, but at least you will be out of the wind.”
“I should go.”
“Not until we are finished.”
“We are finished. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
“How can you say that?” He reached down and cupped her face in a big, callused hand that seemed to swallow her up. “Christ, sweetheart, you just told me you loved me.”
The tenderness and happiness in his gaze made her chest tug hard against her ribs and nearly stole her breath.
She looked away. “It isn’t enough.”
Even if she yearned for it with every fiber of her being.
The thumb that had been gently stroking her cheek stopped. “You are wrong, it is everything. No wealth or position in the world will ever make up for what is in here.” He moved her hand to his heart and covered it with his own. “I know this is difficult for you. I know what I am asking you to give up.”
Elizabeth felt a flicker of anger spark inside her. “Do you? I don’t think you have any idea.” He was living in some kind of romantic fantasy where love was the only thing that mattered. But love wouldn’t put food in her belly or a roof over her head. Love wouldn’t provide for her children’s future. Love wouldn’t bridge the gap that separated them in society’s eyes and make him an acceptable husband. “My duty to my family—my only duty—is to make a good marriage. So in addition to ignoring that, you are asking me to give up wealth, position, and security, for what kind of life? Have you given any thought to how we will live? Where we will live? Because I can assure you that without my tocher those bags of coins I saved won’t last long.”
His mouth fell into a thin white line. “We don’t need your brother’s damned money—although I’m not surprised the bastard would punish you for marrying me.” It wasn’t punishment; it was not approving. “I told you I would be able to provide for you. I have some coin saved.”
“Coin that you will need if you are to become a knight,” she pointed out.
She could see his jaw clamping down harder. The muscle below his cheek started to tic. Obviously he didn’t appreciate the dose of reality any more than she had from Jamie. “And enough for a place to live. We may need to live simply for a while, but it will not always be so. I can’t see the future and give you all the answers you want, but I can tell you I will do everything in my power to see that you have the life you want. Hell, if that means living in Paris, I’ll do my best to get you there.”
She couldn’t prevent one corner of her mouth from lifting. “You would hate it there. Everyone speaks French.”
His mouth quirked at the shared jest. But he sobered quickly. “Don’t you see? None of that matters. If you were by my side, I wouldn’t care if they were speaking Greek. I would find a way to make it work.” He paused. “Do you remember when I asked you to jump to that tree?”
She nodded. How could she ever forget? It was one of the most terrifying things she’d ever done in her life.
“I’m asking you to do that again. I’m asking you to believe in me—to have a little faith. I’m asking you to jump.”
She wanted to. God, how she wanted to. Part of her wanted to believe that he would always be there to catch her. That love would be enough. But the bigger part—the more practical part—knew that she needed more. She needed certainty. Thom had said there weren’t any guarantees. Maybe not, but Randolph was as close to one as she could hope to find. “I can’t.”
His face darkened with anger and frustration. “You mean you won’t.”
She didn’t argue.
“I would give up everything for you,” he said fiercely.
Elizabeth bristled; that wasn’t fair. “Which is easy to say when you are not the one giving up anything.”
His face turned white. “I never thought to call you a coward, but if you go through with this—if you agree to marry a man you don’t love for the wrong reasons because the thought of marrying me is so terrifying—that is what you will be, and you will get no better than you deserve.”
She flushed. “Don’t threaten me.”
He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him. “If I thought it would force you to accept the truth, I would do a hell of a lot more than threaten.”
“What truth?”
“That if you agree to marry him tomorrow you will regret it for the rest of your life. That every time he takes you in his bed, you will wish it were me. That no other man will ever make you feel the way that I do. That you are mine and have been since the first time you kissed me.”
He brought her a little closer, letting her feel the heat and hardness of his body. Letting her feel how perfectly they fused together. How the contact was enough to set off every nerve ending in her body and fill her with a desperate longing.
His eyes darkened as he lowered his mouth to hers. Tantalizingly close. Achingly close. So close that she could taste the spice of his breath on her tongue and feel the warmth of his lips consuming her.
“Should I prove it to you? Should I strip off your clothes, lay you down on that hay over there, and make love to you until the only word you can say is my name over and over as you cry out your release?” He covered her breast with his hand, molding it gently but possessively. As if to prove his point, her nipple peaked at the contact. She arched deeper into his hand and was unable to bite back the little moan of pleasure or the flush of heat that washed over her.
“Would you stop me? Would you tell me no?” He dared her to answer. “And if I took your innocence, what then, Elizabeth? Would Randolph still have you, or would you be forced to marry me?”
She sucked in her breath, staring at him wild-eyed. He wouldn’t do that . . . would he? Thom was too noble to seduce her. She didn’t need to ask herself if he could. She knew the answer. She could no more hold back her desire for him than she could hold back the waves from crashing upon the shore.
He must have seen the fear in her eyes and released her. “Don’t worry,” he said with a bitter sneer. “I may not have land or a title, but I am not without honor, nor do I share society’s view of my worth. Good enough to fuck isn’t good enough. I deserve more.”
He was right. He did. More than she could give him.
Without another word, he was gone.
“I, Elizabeth, will take thee Thomas to wed . . .”
Thom flinched inwardly at the name—the irony cruel and biting. It should be me.
Though his expression betrayed nothing, MacKay knew.
“You don’t need to be here,” the big Highlander whispered at his side.
The Guard, along with what seemed like half the city, had gathered in the refectory to witness the betrothal ceremony. Although Douglas and Randolph would have signed the contracts this morning in private—probably in the king’s presence due to the importance of the alliance—the betrothal ceremony was being held in public before the abbot. It didn’t need to be, but it added to the significance and solemnity of the occasion. Douglas wasn’t leaving any doubt about the binding nature of the agreement.
“Yes, I do,” Thom said.
MacKay gave him a long look and then nodded. “I understand. I’ve been where you are right now. It won’t help. There is only one thing that will, but that will have to wait.”
Nothing would help, but Thom nodded anyway and forcibly turned back to the ceremony taking place before him.
Elizabeth had never looked more beautiful, and never had that beauty left him so cold. She looked every inch the regal ice princess in her fine silvery light-blue gown (blue being the traditional color of purity), with her hair covered by a silky veil of the same color and secured by a magnificent circlet encrusted with enormous diamonds. No doubt it was a betrothal gift from Randolph. Every time she moved or a streak of sunlight hit her, she glittered. She was that perfect rare jewel again, and he was the little boy looking up into the blinding magnificence of what would never be his.
What now belonged to the equally blindingly magnificent man at her side. Randolph was also outfitted in his finery—his mail gleaming, his surcoat bright and colorful—every inch the faerie-tale knight of bards’ tales. To complete the magnificent picture, the happy couple was flanked by the king on one side and Douglas on the other.
Douglas glanced over his shoulder, his gaze meeting Thom’s for a long pause before turning back.
Both Douglas and Jo had been eyeing Thom uncertainly ever since he’d walked into the building, as if expecting him to do something rash. Jo’s gaze he couldn’t meet—the pity would be too much to bear—but Douglas’s . . . Douglas’s he met full on. Thom had had years of holding his tongue and perfecting stony indifference, and he used it now to pretend none of this mattered. To pretend that every minute he was forced to stand here didn’t feel like his skin was being flayed off and nails were being driven deeper and deeper into his bones.
He’d lost her. He’d fought for her, and it hadn’t made a damned bit of difference.
But their fears were for naught. Thom wasn’t going to do anything rash. He wasn’t going to do a damned thing but sit here and watch.
He’d done everything he could last night.
As hurt and angry as Thom had been after his middle-of-the-night confrontation with Elizabeth, there still had been a part of him that didn’t think she’d actually go through with it. A part that thought she would wake up and suddenly realize that she loved him enough to stand down her demons and jump, trusting that he would always catch her. That she could put her faith in him. That no matter how low his birth or the rank that separated them, he would do whatever it took to give her a good life and make her happy.
But standing there, hearing her say the vows that would bind her to another man, seeing her hold out her hand for him to slip on the betrothal ring, Thom knew he was as much a deluded fool as Lady Marjorie had called him. Worse, a deluded naive fool.
He’d thought that once she realized she loved him, everything else would fall into place. He’d thought love would be enough. That it would make up for a few castles, fine jewels, and low birth.
But he’d been wrong. Very wrong. With each damning word, with each torturous moment of this farce that passed, she was showing him exactly what was important to her.
And it wasn’t him.
He held out a flicker of hope until the last minute. But when Randolph lowered his head and touched his lips to hers in yet the second kiss Thom had been forced to witness, a kiss that sealed the bargain between them, it was the final betrayal—the final act that cut her out of his heart forever.
He would have given her everything. Maybe it was easy to say when he didn’t have the stake she did, but it didn’t make it any less true.
But it hadn’t been enough.
The flicker was extinguished for the last time. Inside he went cold, dark, and empty. There was nothing left of the love he’d once felt for her. She was no longer his; she belonged to another man.
He couldn’t even hate her. He understood why she’d done what she did. To just about everyone in this room, she had made the right decision. Choosing him was the “wrong” one. But it didn’t make it any easier to bear.
He thought she would love him enough to defy society’s dictates and her brother’s wishes. He thought she would give up the promise of great wealth for a more modest future. He thought she would fight for him as he would have for her. He thought that the strong, spirited girl he’d fallen in love with would face the demons of her past, not hide from them.
But maybe he’d asked for too much. Maybe it had been unrealistic—naive—to expect that she’d give everything up when all he had to offer her was himself. He wasn’t even a knight yet.
But in the ashes of what remained of his heart, a sense of finality emerged. To hell with her. If she didn’t love him enough to fight for him, if she couldn’t see that the worth of a man did not lie in bags of gold, castles, or titles, it was her loss.
MacKay and Sutherland tried to make him leave, but he refused. He would do this, damn it. All of it. So when the Guard finally filed before the high table during the long meal to wish the happy couple congratulations, Thom was among them.
He didn’t flinch, didn’t steel himself, and didn’t avoid meeting her gaze. He bowed before her, and with all sincerity wished her happiness. “I hope you find everything you ever wanted.”
She gazed up at him, pale and stricken, obviously not knowing what to say or do. Finally she stuttered, “Th-th-thank you.”
He would have moved on and left it at that if he hadn’t glanced down and seen the thin edge of brass under her sleeve.
His muscles went so rigid they might have turned to ice. For one maddening heartbeat he wanted to reach down, rip it off her wrist, and throw it into the damned fire behind them.
She must have sensed the danger, because she inhaled a gasp and wrapped her hand around her wrist.
But she needn’t have been alarmed. As quickly as the flash of rage had appeared, it fled. His expression was perfectly impassive as he looked her in the eye and said, “I think you should probably remove that now.”
Before she could respond, MacKay had shuffled him forward.
As soon as they were out of earshot, the big Highlander slapped his hand on Thom’s back and said grimly, “I think that’s enough of a flogging for tonight. It’s time to find that help.”
Help turned out to be amber liquid that burned like fire as it went down his throat. For the first time in his life Thom drank himself to oblivion. MacKay and Sutherland—and maybe a few others (his recollections were hazy)—got him good and drunk.
But he did remember one thing. It had been some kind of contest—the Guardsmen were always challenging each other over something. Thom recalled looking up from his flagon of uisge beatha to see a blade flying over his head. It stuck in the waddle-and-daub wall of the alehouse the men had taken him to. Another dagger had followed . . . and another. Apparently they were trying to strike a mark and playing a game of who could get closer. But that wasn’t what mattered, for an idea had penetrated the drunken haze.
MacKay was right. The drink did help—at least until Thom woke up. But by then, he knew what he had to do.