19
ELIZABETH HAD PLENT OF time to think over the next two days. But really there was not much to think about. The answer—the only possible answer—was clear.
Thom was wrong. She wasn’t going to marry Randolph because she was scared, she was going to marry him because it was her duty and the smart—indeed the only rational—thing to do. Any woman in her position would do the same. He was refined, handsome, charming, and would soon be one of the most wealthy and powerful men in the kingdom. He would bring prominence, added wealth, and prestige to the Douglases. He was the king’s nephew, for goodness’ sake! She would be a fool not to accept his proposal when it came.
Marry me . . .
The sharp tug in her chest did not lessen no matter how many times the words echoed through her head. Why was Thom doing this to her? He had to know what he asked was impossible. She couldn’t marry him. Even if there was no Randolph the gap between them was too wide. Why was he forcing her to hurt him again?
But those were not the only words echoing in her head. Her cheeks heated every time she thought of the way he’d spoken to her. The things he’d said. The things he’d done.
She could still feel the warm pressure of his hand between her legs as her bottom pressed against the steely column of his manhood. Could he really . . . ?
Aye, she knew he could. Just as she also knew he was right: she would like it. She suspected she would like anything and everything he did to her.
Blast him for confusing her! For distracting her. For trying to turn her from her course. How was she supposed to think of anything else when all she could think about was his naughty words and wicked promises?
She wanted him—there was no denying that. But he was wrong if he thought it was enough to make her happy. She would never be happy with the life he proposed—one where she would be ostracized from many of the other nobles. Where the money she’d hidden wouldn’t be enough to keep them from the threat of poverty. Where she would be tucked away in some small cottage in a small village with nothing to do. She would go mad.
Randolph and she were perfectly suited. They would get along well enough. And Elizabeth was determined to prove it. For the first time since arriving in Edinburgh she threw herself wholeheartedly into getting to know him better and enjoying the city, which included Sunday’s outing to the market after mass.
Elizabeth was aware of the number of eyes that followed her and Izzie as they made their way through the crowded stalls. It wasn’t surprising, given their escort. She imagined it wasn’t often that a knight in full mail and arms with entourage strode through mercat cross in Edinburgh. That it was the king’s nephew made it all the more unusual, and the excited whispers buzzed through the crowd like a hive of bees. But Elizabeth paid them no mind; she was having too much fun.
It had been a glorious morning, in large part due to Randolph. So far he’d stuffed them full of pies and tarts, bought them more ribbons than they could wear in a lifetime, and made them laugh as he jested more than bargained with the merchants.
Surprisingly, even Izzie seemed to be having a good time. She’d barely spoken two words to Elizabeth when she’d returned from her ride to the park. Deciding that she would rather not be questioned about her own activities that day, Elizabeth hadn’t asked what went wrong. Suffice it to say, Izzie and Randolph weren’t going to be friends. Elizabeth had been surprised when Izzie had agreed to come along with her today—as had Randolph upon seeing her. But as the day went on, the sunshine and festive atmosphere worked its magic, and whatever tension she’d sensed between them had faded away.
The group stopped to watch a merchant selling apples juggle the fruit high up in the air, the women clapping each time he added an additional piece. When he finally missed at eight, Randolph insisted on buying the whole basket and had one of his men take it back to camp.
“I think I smell plum tarts up ahead,” he said as they ambled away from the applemonger.
Both women groaned. “I couldn’t eat another bite,” Elizabeth said.
“Nor could I,” Izzie added, putting a hand over her stomach. “I will not eat another sweet for a week.”
Randolph and Elizabeth exchanged a glance and smiled. They both knew what a sweet tooth Izzie had. She would probably be raiding the monks’ kitchens in a few hours.
“Well, if not more tarts, perhaps we can find something else you might like?”
He had a knowing smile on his face as he stopped before a jewelry merchant. As Sir Thomas had come straight from the siege camp, he had been carrying his helm under his arm, but he put it down on one of the tables to pick up a cameo brooch. He said something to the merchant she could not hear, and the man appeared very excited when he nodded and pulled something out of the purse he wore at his waist.
It was a bracelet. A very beautiful one. The thick rope of gold was designed in an intricate woven pattern. Every half inch or so was a large stone—alternating rubies and garnets.
Randolph held it out for her approval. “How about this?”
Elizabeth’s stomach dropped with something suspiciously like dread. Her heart started to pound. “I couldn’t,” she said. “It’s much too fine.”
“Nonsense. It is nothing.”
Nothing to him could feed a family for a year or two—maybe longer. But it wasn’t just the cost, it was what it signified. A bracelet of gold and precious stones was not a ribbon or a tart. There was only one occasion on which it was acceptable to give an unmarried woman this kind of jewelry, and that was on a betrothal or wedding. Indeed, the giving of jewelry was expected to befit the new bride-to-be’s standing.
Sir Thomas was essentially making a public declaration of his intentions.
The irony of him choosing a bracelet did not escape her.
Elizabeth wanted to refuse, but she knew what that would signify. And she did want to marry him. Of course she did. Today had proved they would suit quite well. Even if I don’t want to bed him at night . . .
Her mouth pursed. The bed part would come later.
So after another polite but halfhearted protest, she allowed him to put the bracelet on her wrist. It was heavy and foreign feeling. And for one ridiculous moment she heard what sounded like the clap of irons ring in her ears.
“Thank you,” she managed. “I don’t know what to say.”
“It is a mere trifle. There will be more—much more—I hope soon,” he said with a gallant bow over her hand.
It was just as before on the first night they arrived. It was a perfect moment—or what should have been a perfect moment—but it was almost as if it was for the appreciation of those around them more than for each other. Sir Thomas knew what was expected of him as one of the most renowned chivalrous knights in the kingdom and acted accordingly.
That wasn’t to suggest that it was in any way disingenuous or fake; rather that there was no real sentiment behind his actions.
Is sentiment what she wanted? Was it fair to expect from him what she was not demanding from herself?
They visited a few more booths, laughed, and continued to enjoy the bustle of activity around them, but a strange pall had been cast over the day. Indeed, Izzie had grown noticeably quiet.
Elizabeth couldn’t claim to be disappointed when one of Randolph’s men found him to say he was needed back at camp.
It seemed Edward Bruce, the Earl of Carrick, had arrived from Roxburgh to meet with his brother the king on the way to begin the siege at Stirling.
Making his apologies, Randolph left without delay, promising to see them at the abbey later. “If I know my uncle Edward, he’ll expect a feast.”
“Good thing it’s a Sunday,” she replied with a teasing smile.
A smile he returned, recalling their earlier conversation. “I hope we shall have more to celebrate in the next few days?”
She did not miss his meaning. He was going to formally propose the betrothal. Oh God. “Perhaps,” she managed in what she hoped he mistook for shy rather than uncomfortable.
The two women visited a few more booths—with Elizabeth purchasing some fabric for a new veil—before deciding to return to the abbey. It would be time to get ready for the midday meal soon.
“Is something wrong?” she asked Izzie as they walked down the hill, two of Jamie’s men following discreetly behind them.
“Of course not.”
“You seem upset.”
Her cousin shook her head. “Surprised perhaps. I thought you might be reconsidering.”
“I know you do not like him.”
“I like Sir Perfect well enough. What’s not to like?” she teased, repeating Elizabeth’s words from Blackhouse with an added note of dry amusement. Elizabeth tried not to laugh at Sir Perfect, not wanting to encourage her sobriquets—no matter how funny they were. “I merely thought you might be interested in someone else.”
Elizabeth sighed deeply in almost a groan. “Is it that obvious?”
Izzie’s mouth turned wryly. “To me and Joanna, perhaps.”
“Please do not tell me I will be hearing it from you as well.”
Izzie laughed and shook her head. “No.” But then she sobered. “Do you love him?”
That was a question she wouldn’t ask herself. She couldn’t love him; it was as simple as that.
Izzie would understand. She wasn’t like Joanna—she was practical like Elizabeth. “That’s an unusually sentimental question from you, cousin.”
“Maybe I’m feeling unusually sentimental.”
Elizabeth gave her a challenging look. “Does it matter?”
“I suppose not,” Izzie admitted. “The match with Randolph is a good one—an excellent one. The one with your smithy’s son is not just a bad match, it’s a horrible one. There would be consequences.” She gave a sharp laugh as if something had just occurred to her. “To refuse Randolph for a smithy’s son? Lud, I almost wish you could do it just to see Sir No-One-Has-Ever-Refused-Me’s face. I can’t say that I wouldn’t enjoy seeing him knocked down a peg or two.”
They stopped talking as they walked through the gate, noticing a commotion in the yard. A group of riders had just ridden in.
Elizabeth’s heart jumped, realizing who they were. She’d suspected Thommy’s mission was with the Guard, but it wasn’t until she saw him standing to the side with a couple of the men laughing that her suspicions were confirmed. But a quick glance at the group and a longer study of Thom told her much more. It was just the members of the Guard—no other men had gone with them. And the close camaraderie among the group that had always struck her . . . it extended to Thom.
They are recruiting him, she realized. And she had to admit the realization awed her a little. Was Thom really good enough to fight beside some of the best warriors in Christendom?
It seemed so.
She was proud of him. Immensely proud of him. But she frowned, suddenly realizing something else. He’d lied to her! If he was on a mission with the Guard, she could be sure it was dangerous.
She was tempted to stomp over there and berate him for the untruth—and indeed might have done exactly that—if someone else hadn’t beaten her to him.
She stopped in her tracks as a woman, a very beautiful dark-haired woman, rushed forward to greet him. She must have come out of the refectory.
Thom had his back to her, so Elizabeth couldn’t see his expression, but the one on the woman’s face was enough to make her heart seize in an icy hold.
It was the coy, flirtatious look of a lover—or a woman determined to make him so. She looked at Thom as if he belonged to her and she couldn’t wait to get her hands all over him.
“Who is that?” Izzie asked at her side.
Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t know.” But her heart squeezed; she suspected it was his widow.
“Lady Marjorie Rutherford,” Edward Bruce confirmed later at the midday meal. Elizabeth was pretending not to listen to his conversation with Jamie. “She grew tired of waiting for MacGowan so she decided to take matters into her own hands, so to speak. I do admire a woman with determined hands.” He laughed at the ribald jest, ignoring the censorious look from the abbot a few seats away, and took another long drink from his goblet, which from the loudness of his voice—and his jests—Elizabeth suspected contained something stronger than wine.
The jest might be inappropriate, but it was painfully accurate. The beautiful widow did indeed have determined hands. Every time Elizabeth glanced at the table across the aisle, the “lady” had her hands on him. Nothing too overt: a brush of the arm, a graze of his fingers, a “thoughtless” touch of his shoulder when he said something that amused her, which seemed to be often, and one time when her hand had slipped beneath the table to—Elizabeth would swear—rest on his leg.
Something akin to panic had taken hold. A cold sweat broke out on her brow, her pulse spiked, and nausea swam in her stomach.
She didn’t know whether she wanted to throw up or march over there and toss the woman off the bench—probably a little of both. It was the anger—which was both unjust and irrational—that made Elizabeth realize the emotion was jealousy.
If only the woman wasn’t so pretty. But with her dark hair, tilted eyes, and striking red lips, she had a sensuality and exotic appeal with which Elizabeth couldn’t compete.
Her reaction—her distraction—hadn’t gone unnoticed.
“Lady Elizabeth?” Randolph said. “Are you unwell?”
She shook her head. “Perhaps a bit tired.” She smiled. “And maybe all those tarts are catching up to me.” He looked so concerned she regretted the jest. “I was only teasing. Now, you were mentioning something about your new lands in Badenoch?”
In addition to the earldom of Moray, Randolph had been given the old Bruce lordship of Annandale, the Comyn lordship of Badenoch, the lordship of Man, and the lordship of Lochaber. Only the king’s brother had been granted more. The knowledge should please her—thrill her. She couldn’t have hoped for a better marriage.
I can make you happy . . .
“Aye, Lochindorb Castle is quite an impressive structure—Comyn might have chosen the wrong bed to lie in, but he did know how to build a place to put it—but the interiors will need some modernizing. A woman’s touch, if you will. I hoped that you might be willing to help?”
The panicked feeling came over her again and this time it had nothing to do with Lady Marjorie and her wandering hands. She knew what he was asking and knew what she should say. But the response was harder to form than it should be.
Unable to meet his gaze, she looked down. “I would be honored, my lord.” Her voice came out far softer than she intended.
If he noticed her tentativeness, he did not let on. He had the answer he wanted. She had as good as agreed to marry him. She half-feared he might get down on his knee and make some spectacular proposal right in the middle of the meal. Horror washed over her. Good gracious, would he do that?
She was saved from finding out when Joanna asked him a question. “Did I hear some prisoners were freed from Dunbar, my lord?”
“Aye,” Randolph said. “Although I’m not sure you are supposed to know about that. But it seems your friend MacGowan is a highly skilled climber. I’d wager the English think those men flew out of the prison tower.” He explained that the prisoners at Dunbar were kept in the base of a tower on a separate rock from the rest of the castle, accessible only on one side. Unless—that is—you approached from the sea and climbed the rock.
Elizabeth wasn’t sure she wanted to hear anything else. God in heaven, he could have been killed! Just what Thom considered dangerous she didn’t want to contemplate.
“Too bad he can’t climb Castle Rock,” Randolph added with a wry smile. “Maybe we could finally put an end to this accursed siege.”
Elizabeth had felt the blood leech out of her face at his words, which she prayed were in jest. “But an attempt to climb Castle Rock . . . that would be akin to suicide, my lord. It is unassailable.”
Thom wouldn’t be so foolish, would he? Please tell me that is not why the Guard is recruiting him?
She chanced a glance in his direction, feeling a stab in her chest when she saw the two dark heads bent together, obviously deep in conversation.
Randolph grew at once contrite, offering her a comforting smile. “I didn’t mean to cause you concern. I’m not that eager to best your brother’s recent escapades at Roxburgh. Climbing that rock isn’t an option. We’ll have to take the castle the old-fashioned way—with patience. Though I wish I had more of it.”
He’d obviously mistaken the source of her concern, but he’d eased it all the same.
She smiled back at him. “I’m relieved to hear it, my lord.” She could say something about finding ways to distract him from his boredom, but flirting with him felt . . . wrong. Instead, she said, “I’m sure they will surrender soon enough. From what you’ve said they cannot hold out much longer without being re-provisioned. And I think you have men in place who will see that doesn’t happen?”
Randolph met her gaze, knowing to which men she referred. Men whom no one was supposed to know about. “Aye, I do indeed.”
“After the past few years, I think you deserve a bit of a reprieve from battle. Perhaps you might look at the siege as a rest for what is to come?”
He gave her a long, appreciative look. “That is indeed a good way of looking at it. I shall try to remember that when I’m cursing the mud, endless trenches, and staring at closed gates willing them to open.” He looked down the table. “Where is your cousin today? I hope she is not feeling the ill effects of our morning indulgences?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “She said she had some letters to write and would join us later.” She frowned, realizing the meal was almost over. “I guess she had more to do than she realized.”
“Your cousin writes?”
“Aye, as well as a scribe. My aunt insisted. I was fortunate to share her and her brothers’ tutor for a while, although I’m afraid I never took to learning as well as Izzie. If she had been a lad, my uncle said she could have gone to Oxford.”
He laughed at the very idea. A woman scholar? “Strangely, I can almost see it. She is unusual, your cousin.”
It almost sounded like a compliment.
She would have said as much if she hadn’t caught movement out of the corner of her eye. A corner of her eye that had unconsciously been fixed on the other table.
She sucked in her breath. Thom and his widow were leaving. Together. Alone.
Her lungs felt like they’d been filled with molten lead. She felt the crazy impulse to go after them, and knew her thoughts must have been plain for all to see when Joanna asked her a silly question with a worried look on her face and a quick shake of the head. Don’t. “Do you have any plans for the afternoon, Elizabeth?” her sister-in-law asked.
“Nay.”
“Good, I was hoping you might help me with something.”
Elizabeth took her meaning. She could find Thom later—at the forge.
But it was small consolation for wondering what he was doing right now.
This was harder than he’d anticipated. Thom had asked to speak to Lady Marjorie privately, but now that they were outside the abbey guesthouse—where the king and others were staying—he didn’t know how to start.
To say that he’d been shocked to see her was an understatement. No doubt Edward Bruce thought he was doing Thom a favor in escorting her here, but it had only made the situation more awkward.
He knew he wasn’t going to be able to marry Lady Marjorie—marrying her for the wrong reasons would be just as bad as Elizabeth marrying Randolph—but he would rather not have had to tell her that after she’d journeyed all this way to see him expecting a proposal.
Bloody hell.
“Perhaps we should sit?” he suggested.
There was a bench looking over the side garden where he led her, and they both took a seat. He’d put some space between them, but she eased up next to him and put her hand on his arm—the lass seemed to have a dozen of them. He had to force himself not to shift out of her hold.
“There is no reason to be nervous,” she said coyly. “I think we both know why we are here.”
He smothered another curse, his mouth falling in a grim line. This was only getting worse. He had to put a stop to it before she said something that would cause her embarrassment.
Perhaps something in his expression alerted her. A hard glint appeared in her eye. “If I didn’t know better, I might think that you aren’t happy to see me.”
“I was surprised,” he hedged. “But I’m always pleased to see a friend.”
She leaned closer to him, putting her hand on his thigh. High on his thigh. “I would have thought we were rather more than friends.”
The invitation was clear. But he wasn’t going to take it. Instead, he removed her hand. “I’m afraid all we can be is friends.”
She drew back, her eyes narrowing. She was a beautiful woman, but again the feline resemblance struck him. If she’d hissed and arched her back, he wouldn’t have been surprised.
“I don’t understand. I thought we had an understanding.”
“I’d hoped that something more might be possible, but I’m afraid that is no longer the case. I apologize if I led you to believe otherwise.”
“You apologize?” she practically spat, her face tight with outrage as she sprang up from the bench and turned on him. “I cannot believe I’m hearing this. You no longer think anything more with me is possible? Do you have any idea the honor I was doing you to even consider such a match? If anyone should be doing the refusing it is me. You should be on your knees thanking God for your good fortune.”
Thom felt his face flush and jaw clench, but he took her verbal lashing and didn’t try to defend himself. She had a right to her anger, and by most standards she was probably correct.
A cold, calculated gleam appeared in her slitted eyes. “Am I to be told the reason for this sudden change of heart?”
“It would not be fair to you. I do not care for you in the way that you deserve.”
She looked at him as if waiting for him to finish a joke. After a long pause, she laughed. “By God, you are serious? Love isn’t what I wanted from you.” Her eyes slid over his body in a way that could not be misunderstood. She wanted him in her bed. He flushed again in anger, feeling not unlike a stallion at market. “You really are a peasant, aren’t you? Only peasants think of love as a reason for marriage.”
The disparagement struck surprisingly hard. Thom stood, his jaw as hard as a block of ice. “Again, I apologize for any trouble I might have caused you. But I think it better if I take my leave now.”
Before he said something they both regretted.
She stepped to the side to block him. “You are a fool. She’ll never marry you.” His gaze shot to hers. “Aye, you didn’t think I noticed the way you stared at James Douglas’s precious little sister every time she turned away? I noticed, but I didn’t give it a second thought. Do you know why? Because there was no reason. There is no way in Hades the illustrious Lady Elizabeth Douglas would consider marrying someone so beneath her—and even if she was inclined to lower herself, her ambitious brother would never allow it. By God, she’s rumored to be almost betrothed to the Earl of Moray!”
He felt the muscle below his jaw start to tic. “You are wrong.”
He didn’t specify about what, hoping she would take his answer and let it go.
Instead it only seemed to increase her amusement. “I almost feel sorry for you. When you realize what you gave up . . . all for nothing.” She shook her head, her smile telling him she was relishing the thought. “You could have been a knight, living in a castle, ruling over substantial lands, and instead you will be lucky to still be carrying that sword if Sir James gets wind of your intentions. He’ll probably see that Bruce kicks you out of his army and sends you right back where you came from.”
Thom wished he could say she was wrong about that, too. But she wasn’t. Douglas’s reaction wasn’t something he hadn’t considered—he just hoped to be in a better position with the Guard and have help from Jo and Elizabeth when the time came.
Finally, she stood back to let him pass. “Go. We are done here. And do not bother coming to find me when you realize she will not have you. I wouldn’t take you if you came crawling on your knees naked and begging—not that I wouldn’t appreciate the view.” Her eyes scanned him again. “What a waste.”
What a narrow escape.
Wanting to put the unpleasant exchange behind him, Thom was only too eager to do as she bade. But her words stayed with him longer than he wanted them to.