25
THOM WAS SEATED at the high table. After being roused from bed by MacLeod, he and the others had taken to the streets to join in the celebration, which had eventually wound its way into the Great Hall of Edinburgh Castle. The midday meal was a sea of people, the Hall stuffed to the gills with loyal Scots grateful to the king—and his men—for liberating the castle from the enemy.
And at the center was Thom.
From his position of honor beside the king on the dais, he could take it all in, savoring the moment for all that it meant. This was his moment, damn it. The blacksmith’s son had indeed climbed high—high enough to sit next to a princess. Lady Margaret Bruce was seated on his other side. But she wasn’t the princess who was bothering him.
Throughout the long meal, Thom was painfully aware of the woman seated on the other side of Randolph, who held the other position of honor beside the king. Fortunately, due to the two men being between them, the only conversation he’d had to endure with Elizabeth was when she and the other women had arrived at the table to take their seats, and she’d offered her heartfelt congratulations and “relief” that he was safe. Ignoring the plea in her eyes the one time they’d met, he’d given her offer more than it deserved: courtesy and nothing more.
But keeping up the wall of steel he’d erected around his heart wasn’t easy, especially when he could see how much his remoteness hurt her. But this is what she’d wanted, he kept telling himself. Not him. Which didn’t explain why he felt like he’d just kicked a kitten.
She’d tried to engage him in conversation a few more times, but the men between them proved a convenient barrier and means of evasion. Not to mention they were also speaking French. Of course they were. All nobles spoke French. Maybe that’s why he’d always hated it. It brought home the division between them in a way that could not be denied. He didn’t even speak the same bloody language.
It never would have worked out. He could see that now. She had tutors and he had no formal education to speak of; he’d grown up with one pair of boots for the winter, and she had a trunk full of pretty slippers; he melted gold and silver for a living, she wore it decorated with precious jewels in her hair. She was sophisticated and refined, he was provincial and rough.
He could go on and on. But even the fact that he was thinking about her made him angry.
He was furious with himself. He’d done what he’d set out to do—hell, far more than he’d ever set out to do—changing his fortune by earning a knighthood, a barony, and a place among the most elite warriors in Christendom. He’d done something no man had ever done before in climbing Castle Rock (solidifying his war name in the Guard as Rock), and in doing so had achieved battle immortality.
He should be basking in the glory, wallowing in the admiration, and delighting in all that he’d achieved. Instead it all rang hollow. None of it could fill the emptiness inside him or dull the ache where his heart used to be. None of it could make up for the one thing that he’d lost.
Damn her.
He made his escape at the earliest opportunity.
“Back to work already, MacGowan?” the king said as they stood to leave.
“Aye, sire. Some of the men have already begun taking down the south gate.”
The king nodded. “It is an unfortunate task but necessary. We can’t risk letting the English use this as a stronghold against us again, and I do not have the men necessary to defend it and meet them on the battlefield.” He put his hand on Thom’s back. “But at least we will enjoy it for a few days. Tomorrow we will have quite a celebration—I hope you are ready.”
Thom nodded. “I am indeed, sire.”
Tomorrow Thom would be knighted by the king himself, admitted into the Guard with a private ceremony, and formally be given his barony. A barony that had gotten richer when the king learned of his role in saving his nephew. He was going to be a wealthy man.
By refusing him, she’d given him the means of achieving not only fame but also fortune.
Irony was a cruel bastard.
Elizabeth watched Thom walk away with her heart in her throat. She wanted to go after him, and might have tossed propriety aside and done exactly that, had Randolph not been speaking to her.
Since she’d arrived at the castle with the other women from the abbey, she’d been fighting for a chance to speak to Thom. But he’d been surrounded by hordes of townspeople who all seemed to want to be near him—to touch greatness.
Especially the women. Watching them fawn and flirt had made her heart ache and her stomach turn. What had she expected? That he would become a monk? He was swoon-worthy handsome, tall, with a body that was as hard and impressive as the famous Rock he’d just climbed. Just because she’d been too blind to see it didn’t mean others wouldn’t.
She’d been unable to approach him until they were seated for the meal, but even then he’d barely spared her a glance and cut off any attempts she made to talk to him.
She’d known it wasn’t going to be easy, but it was difficult being patient when every moment felt like his heart was growing harder and harder against her. Soon, nothing would be able to penetrate.
And then there was Randolph. She’d wanted to speak to him as well, but he was so happy, she couldn’t stand the idea of tarnishing what was sure to be one of the greatest days of his life.
Oblivious to her torment, Randolph had regaled her with a moment-by-moment replay of the battle. Her horror on hearing about his fall—and Thom’s crazed rescue—was real. Mistaking the source of her distress, he’d apologized for scaring her, telling her he was perfectly hale. He’d finished the tale—which was a magnificent one indeed—just as Thom was leaving.
Randolph couldn’t seem to wipe the grin off his face. “I’d love to see your brother’s face when he hears the news. I daresay he won’t be happy.”
Jamie wouldn’t be, but not just because of the castle. Had her note reached him yet? She’d sent it with a messenger this morning.
She smiled. “I fear what he will do next to try to top you.”
Randolph laughed. “I’d like to see him try. I think this feat will stand for a while. Your friend MacGowan’s idea for those spikes was ingenious. Good thing he wasn’t born the son of a baker.” He laughed, and then suddenly sobered. “You were right about him; I owe him my life.”
It seemed like the perfect opening. Her voice wobbled a little. “My lord, might we speak in private for a moment?”
He took her hand to help lift her from her seat as they stood. “I should like nothing more, but might it wait? My uncle has put me in charge of the destruction of the castle, and the men are waiting for me.”
She smiled wanly. “Of course.”
“You are a gem. I knew you would understand.”
But would he? Elizabeth had to admit she was not looking forward to Randolph’s reaction on hearing that she wished to break the betrothal. She did not delude herself that he had any real feelings for her, but appearances mattered to him, and his pride would no doubt suffer.
Both Joanna and Izzie looked at her expectantly as she rejoined them for the walk back to the abbey—they’d been seated at a different table.
When Elizabeth shook her head, they couldn’t hide their disappointment.
Izzie asked. “What happened?”
“Neither of them would talk to me. Thom barely looked at me, and Randolph was too happy—and too busy. He said we could speak later.”
“Perhaps it would be best if you waited for James to speak to Randolph?” Joanna said.
“But you said that you didn’t know when Jamie would be back.”
“I don’t. Although I imagine once he receives your note, it won’t take him long. If he wasn’t away when it arrived, I’d wager we’ll see him sometime around midday tomorrow.”
Which was even more reason to have things settled with Thom. The last thing she needed was her brother interfering. When Jamie came back she and Thom needed to be a fait accompli.
But how was she going to manage that when he wouldn’t even talk to her?
Her mouth pursed with frustration. He could be so blastedly stubborn. Prying him out of one of his dark moods had always been difficult, and this was much worse than a dark mood. She was going to have to come up with something far more than a silly jest or two. She needed a plan. A sure way to get him alone.
She hated to involve her sister-in-law, but there was no other choice. Thom would certainly not answer a plea from her, but he would from Joanna.
When she asked for her help, however, Jo surprised her. “I don’t think that will be necessary. I think I know where he will be. I should have realized it right away. He said he would have James’s sword ready for me later tonight.”
Elizabeth followed the direction of her thoughts. “Which means at some point he will have to go to the forge to finish it.”
Joanna nodded excitedly.
Elizabeth smiled. “I will just wait there until he shows up.”
“A good Bruce tactic,” Izzie said wryly.
Elizabeth grinned. “That it is. So far this war has been won on lying-in-wait ambushes.”
It took Elizabeth a moment to realize Joanna wasn’t smiling anymore. Indeed, from the way she was biting her lip, she appeared to be having second thoughts.
“What is it, Jo?”
“Thom can be stubborn. What if he won’t listen?”
“I will have to make sure he does.”
“That’s what I’m worried about. You won’t do anything . . . rash, will you? I don’t want you to get hurt.”
They both knew what she meant by rash. “I’ll be careful, Jo. Besides, you know Thommy.”
He was honorable to the core.
Elizabeth, however, wasn’t. Douglases did what it took to win. Jo, however, did not need to be reminded of that.
Her sister-in-law immediately brightened. “I do.”
Izzie, however, wasn’t so easily placated. But surprisingly, her no-nonsense, play-it-straight cousin seemed to be impressed—maybe even admiring of her sinful tactics. She pulled Elizabeth aside so that Jo couldn’t hear. “Don’t worry about Randolph. Do what you need to do. Leave him to me.”
Elizabeth took note of the determined look on Izzie’s face and did not doubt it. She’d been right in her suspicions. She went to the table that still had the quill on it and wrote a quick note of apology. “Give this to him. And thank you.”
Something resembling relief flashed in Izzie’s eyes. “No, thank you.”
Not wanting to take a chance at missing Thom, Elizabeth left for the forge immediately—this time without an escort. She didn’t want someone standing outside to alert Thom to her presence, and she certainly didn’t want anyone inside with her.
It was late afternoon by the time she arrived. Fortunately, the smithy was already gone for the day, and the young apprentice who let her in was too awed by the lady from the abbey, who knew so much about smithing, to ask too many questions about her waiting for her old “friend.”
He was eleven, he informed her, and the smith was his father. She entertained him with stories from her past watching Thom work while he finished up his chores for the day. By the time he left, she was sad to see him go.
With the boy gone and left without distraction, she began to grow nervous. She had not eaten since the midday meal, and her stomach started to grumble as darkness fell outside. She should have grabbed a hunk of bread and cheese. And wine—plenty of fortifying wine. But she hadn’t really thought that far ahead.
What was she going to do if Thom wouldn’t forgive her? She didn’t know anything about seduction—she was a virgin for goodness’ sake! She should have asked someone. Not Joanna, obviously, but maybe Lady Helen? She had the feeling she would have understood. Perhaps she might have offered some tips? Suggestions? Tactics?
Elizabeth took off her heavy fur-lined wool cloak—despite the fire going out some time ago, she was warm—and tossed it on a bench. As it fell, it gave her an idea.
No. She couldn’t. She looked down at her remaining clothes—a fairly simple and easy-to-remove surcotte and cotte. Could she?
Elizabeth was pacing anxiously around the room when she finally heard the door open. She froze, glancing over as a man entered. Only when she saw the tall, familiar frame did she heave an inward sigh of relief. He had a sack slung over his shoulder, which from the size and shape she assumed was Jamie’s sword.
She was standing to the side, so he shouldn’t have noticed her right away. But almost like prey sensing danger, his eyes immediately locked on hers.
His utter lack of reaction sent a pang of foreboding to her heart. He didn’t look surprised, he didn’t look furious (what she’d expected), and he certainly didn’t look happy (had she secretly hoped so?). He didn’t look anything. There wasn’t a flicker of emotion in the cold, blue-eyed gaze that met hers.
Oh God, was it too late? Had she completely destroyed all the feelings he once had for her?
“How did you know—” He stopped, his mouth falling in a grim line. “Joanna.”
Elizabeth nodded mutely. He looked so imposing—so distant—so utterly unlike her Thommy that the nervousness she felt earlier returned tenfold. Her confidence wavered and the first icy beads of perspiration dotted her brow. She was so sure she knew him, but what if she didn’t? What if nothing she did could make him forgive her? What if all she succeeded in doing was humiliating herself?
It didn’t matter. She had to at least try.
“I know I shouldn’t be here like this, but I had to talk to you, and you left me little choice.”
He crossed into the room, putting the sword down on the table before turning to look at her. “And why should it make any difference what I want?”
“That isn’t what I meant—”
He held up his hand to stop her. “Go ahead, say what you have to say, and then leave. I have work to do and people are waiting for me.”
Elizabeth felt a flash of temper, but reminded herself that he had every cause to be disagreeable. She’d wronged him. Horribly. But his impatient and indifferent attitude was definitely grating.
“I’m sorry. I made a mistake, Thom. I never should have agreed to marry Randolph.”
“So you’ve said. Why should that make any difference to me?”
Nothing could prevent her temper from flaring at that one. She pressed her lips together, praying for patience. “Because you love me.”
“I did. More than anything in the world.”
Her heart sank like a stone. Fear gripped her. He still did. Don’t believe him. She remembered what Lady Helen had said about Magnus telling her he no longer loved her—because he was stubborn. “And I love you,” she whispered.
“Not enough apparently.”
She took the barb, which although warranted still stung. She lifted her chin and met his gaze. “Enough to break the engagement with Randolph.”
The first crack in his steely shield appeared; she’d surprised him. But then his eyes narrowed. “When did you do that? I was just with your betrothed. He gave no hint that the engagement had ended.”
She flushed. “I tried to tell him earlier, but he had to leave. I wrote him a note, though, that my cousin will give him, and sent one to Jamie as well.”
“I’m no expert at betrothal agreements, but I believe it takes a little more than a couple of notes to break one.”
Condescension and sarcasm were definitely not her favorite combination. She glared at him, snapping, “I know that.”
Thom merely shrugged. “I still don’t understand why any of this should matter to me.”
She was fuming and her hands were on her hips. “Because I want to marry you. Although right now, I’m trying to remember why.”
Her flash of temper did nothing more than elicit a cocked brow from him. “I believe you already refused my proposal, and I don’t recall issuing another one.”
If he was trying to embarrass her and make her feel foolish, it was working. She looked up at him pleadingly. “I was scared and confused, Thom. Can you not try to understand?”
“I do understand. What I don’t understand is what has changed.” He paused, as if something had suddenly occurred to him. “Of course I do. My situation has improved enough for you, is that it? Now that I’ve achieved some renown, that I’m to be knighted and presented with land, I am worth taking a risk on?”
“None of that had anything to do with it.”
“So the timing of your ‘grand epiphany’ is just a coincidence?”
She shouldn’t be surprised that he’d question her motives, but it stung. “I knew I’d made a mistake the moment I stood next to Randolph to say those vows, but it wasn’t until I learned what you were going to do, and that your life was in danger, that I knew I would do whatever I had to do—no matter what the cost or how unpleasant—to extricate myself from it.” Seeing he wasn’t convinced, she added, “If you don’t believe me, ask Joanna. Ask Lady Helen. Ask my cousin. They’ll tell you. I tried to tell you myself, but you wouldn’t listen.” She took a deep breath that was almost a sob. “God, I could have lost you, Thommy. I was so scared. How could you have put yourself in danger like that?”
The tears in her eyes and obvious despair seemed to mean nothing to him. “You lost me the moment you said those words binding you to another man. Whether you regretted it before or after doesn’t matter.”
She took a step toward him. “You don’t mean that.”
But he did. She could see it. He doesn’t want me, he doesn’t love me anymore.
No, he was just being stubborn . . . wasn’t he? His feelings couldn’t change that fast. She had to find a way to get through to him. “What can I say, but I’m sorry. I made a mistake. It all happened so fast, I couldn’t think clearly. I had a plan—I thought I knew what I wanted—and when you came in and tried to change everything at the last minute, I made the wrong decision. I would do anything to take it back, but I can’t. All I can do is try to correct it and beg for your forgiveness.”
He stared at her emotionlessly. Mulishly. Not giving a blasted inch.
“Is there nothing I can do or say that will make you forgive me? Is your heart that hard? Will you allow pride and stubbornness to prevent you from taking what I’m offering?”
The hot flare of anger in his eyes was the first sign that he might not be as indifferent as he seemed. “What exactly are you offering, Elizabeth? Somehow I don’t see your brother welcoming me into the family. So are we to run off together? You can be damned sure if we do that there won’t be a knighthood or a barony—or anything else for that matter.”
Was he relenting? From his expression it was questionable, but at least he appeared to be considering it. She felt bold enough to move forward and place a tentative palm on his chest. “That doesn’t matter.”
His jaw clenched. “It does to me.”
Good gracious, the logic of male pride utterly escaped her. First he wanted her to take him with nothing, and now that he had something, he wouldn’t take her without it? She prayed for patience. “I will make Jamie understand.”
He made a sharp sound of disbelief. “How do you intend to do that?”
“By making sure it’s too late for him to do anything about it.”
It didn’t take him long to realize what she meant. “Hell, no, Elizabeth. I won’t do it. Not like that.”
She took one look at his expression and knew he meant it. At times, honor and nobility could be decidedly inconvenient.
She sighed, realizing she had no other choice. She winced a little at the thought though. Good gracious, could she really do this? Desperate times . . . desperate measures.
Removing her hand from his chest, she stood back and began to work the ties of her gown.
If her hands weren’t shaking, she would have appreciated the nervous way he was eyeing her.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
She’d never seen him look so shocked; obviously, she’d surprised him. To put it mildly. “Taking off my clothes,” she answered matter-of-factly.
“W-why?”
Sputtering was a good thing, wasn’t it? “I’d rather hoped that would be obvious, but I’m trying to seduce you. And since you said you wanted to see me standing before you naked, I thought that was a good way to start.” She paused for a moment, letting her eyes slide down to the heavy bulge between his legs. “You also said something about having my mouth on you, but I’m afraid I may require some instruction for that.”
Holy hell. Whatever else Thom had been about to say flew out of his mind. It was replaced by an image of Lady Elizabeth Douglas on her knees before him—naked—pleasuring him with her mouth. The surge of lust was so hot and heavy, the yearning so intense, it was a hard image to dislodge.
But he did so. Forcibly. And maybe with a little bit of a groan.
She heard it—damn it—and it emboldened her movements, which had been anxious and fumbling, with newfound purpose. Her surcotte dropped into a pool of velvet at her feet before he could get a hand on her wrist.
“Stop it,” he demanded angrily. “It won’t work. You aren’t going to change my mind. I don’t want you.” She looked down at the proof to the contrary, which was too damned big and hard to hide. His jaw clamped down like a vise. “Not like this.”
“You can have it your way next time.”
His teeth were literally grinding at all the images that flooded his head. “That is not what I meant, damn it.”
“I’m not going to wait for someone else’s permission, Thom. Are you going to let my brother decide your future?” He stiffened, as no doubt was her intention. She knew how much the thought of that would grate. Don’t touch. Don’t reach too high. Remember your place. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and as this seems to be the best way to guarantee it, I’m not going to let anything stand in the way. Your honor will be intact. You aren’t seducing me, I’m seducing you.”
“That doesn’t make any difference, Ella, and you bloody well know it!”
She tugged her wrist from his hold and resumed her task as if he hadn’t spoken.
He should stop her, damn it. He couldn’t let her manipulate him like this. He didn’t love her anymore. She’d hurt him for the last time. He didn’t want—
Ah, hell. Her cotte followed the surcotte to the floor, and his mouth went dry. It felt as if most of the blood in his body had drained to his feet as well.
Want was all he felt.
She bent down to remove her shoes and hose, and then she stood before him in nothing but a chemise. The thin linen left preciously little to the imagination. He could see the high pink tips of her breasts, the heavy roundness of their substantial weight, the slender curve of her waist and hips, the long length of her limbs. With a few tugs at pins in her hair, the luxuriant long blond tresses fell into sensual waves around her shoulders.
She looked like a goddess. Like a creature from his dreams. Like every sexual fantasy he’d ever had. He wanted to scoop her up in his arms, lay her back against the table, wrap her legs around his waist, and sink into her inch by inch.
He forced his hands to his sides, fighting against the urge to touch her. He was a damned fool. He wasn’t going to do this. Not again, damn it. Maybe the first time she’d rejected him he could say that she hadn’t been aware of what she was doing, but he couldn’t say the same this time.
He tore his eyes away. “Get out of here, Elizabeth. You are only shaming yourself.”
For a moment, he thought he’d convinced her. Hell, he almost convinced himself.
She was too quiet. But when he glanced back at her, she shook her head. “No. You still love me, I know you do.” She stared at him defiantly—but with enough uncertainty and embarrassment to remind him of her current vulnerability. To remind him that she was an innocent maid who was acting on instinct, not practice, and how hard this must be for her. To remind him that she was doing this for him.
“I made a mistake.”
Was she right? Was his heart so hard that he couldn’t forgive? Was it pride that was keeping him from pulling her into his arms?
No, damn it. It was the image of her standing before a room of people binding herself to another man.
The fact that she could still get to him, that she thought he could be so easily won over by a naked body and naughty proposition—and that she could make him vacillate, even for an instant—infuriated him. “Think whatever the hell you want. I don’t give a shite.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said with an impressive amount of confidence in the face of his rejection. He might have admired her tenacity if it wasn’t about to test the very limits of his restraint.
Before he could stop her—he was sure he would have—she crossed her arms, clutched the folds of linen in her fists, and pulled her chemise over her head. An instant later it landed on the floor at her feet.