2
THOM WAS GRATEFUL to be hidden in the shadow of the roof, as it gave him a moment to recover from the shock. But his voice still came out as a question when he spoke. “Ella?”
She turned at the sound. For a moment the icily perfect facade cracked, and he glimpsed the expression that he remembered, the broad smile and twinkle of girlish delight that had always lit her eyes whenever she first saw him.
“Thommy!” she exclaimed, the single word uttered in the familiar sweet voice filled with happiness.
He felt a rush of relief that was quickly doused when her expression changed to one of distress. She bit her lip. Something he’d seen her do countless times before, but now the sight of those tiny white teeth digging into the plump pouty lower lip provoked a very different reaction in him.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
He stepped out of the shadows. “Why not?”
Her eyes widened as he came toward her. “Good gracious, Thommy, what happened to you?”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
She took a few steps back, her hands fluttering nervously. “You . . . you,” she sputtered accusingly. “You’re huge! You must be as tall as your father.”
“Taller,” he pointed out, stopping in front of her, feeling a little bit like a horse at market as her eyes looked him up and down.
“And your shoulders . . .” She let her voice drop off, as if unable to find the right word. Her eyes lifted to his. “What have you been doing this whole time? Lifting all those rocks you like to climb?”
Thommy frowned back at her, not sure how to react. What had she expected? That he would be the same stripling lad she’d left behind five years ago?
Suddenly it hit him. Hadn’t he been having the same thoughts a few minutes ago about her?
Maybe they both had changed. But in appearance—not in what mattered. Inside he was the same. Was she?
One side of his mouth lifted. “I’ve grown up, El. I’m not an eighteen-year-old lad anymore.”
He’d wanted her to see that, but it seemed he need not have worried. She’d noticed. Although right now she didn’t appear very happy about it.
“Surely you didn’t think I’d look the same?” he asked.
She stared at him with that same frown on her face that she’d had when he’d accidentally ruined a Christmas surprise she’d had for him by showing up early one night on the roof. She’d been halfway through setting up a special picnic of his favorite sweets on a plaid, replete with a candle and wernage. The sweetened wine tasted like syrup, but he’d choked down a glass to please her.
Finally the frown fell, and she seemed to compose herself—the nervous fluttering stopped. “Which is why you shouldn’t be here. We aren’t children anymore.”
Something in her tone bothered him. It was as if she was trying to put distance between them—as if she was trying to forget.
“Yet here you are, too,” he said.
She looked up at him, unable to deny the observation.
“Why haven’t you been to see me, El?”
His tone was questioning, not accusing, yet she blushed guiltily as if it were. She dropped her gaze. “I intended to, of course. I’ve wanted to see both you and Jo; it’s just that we’ve been so busy since we arrived. The castle is in poor condition and you know my stepmother.”
He did. Lady Eleanor had been a wealthy heiress most of her life, and she liked to surround herself with the best of everything. It had become even more pronounced in the years following the old laird’s death, after she’d had most of her possessions stripped by Edward for being the wife of a traitor. Unlike the Douglases, however, Lady Eleanor was able to successfully petition for their return a few years later. It was Jamie’s dispossession and his inability to get his lands returned that had set him on the road to Scone five years ago where he’d joined Robert the Bruce on the way to his coronation.
But from the way Ella was avoiding his gaze, Thom knew it was more than Lady Eleanor wishing to bring the castle up to her high standards at work. Ella had always been a horrible liar.
“I thought you might have forgotten your promise,” he said softly, his deep voice blending into the dark night.
The heat that rose to her cheeks told him she hadn’t. The memory of that day hung between them. She’d run away from the castle the morning Jamie told her he was sending her to France and had gone straight to Thommy in the forge. She’d been crying and near hysterical as she’d launched herself against his chest and held on to him the same way she’d done in the tree all those years before. She wouldn’t do it, she told him, she wouldn’t go.
The horror of her words had been the only thing that had prevented Thom from embarrassing himself. At eighteen the feel of her in his arms had stirred his body in ways that he couldn’t control. He’d been instantly hard and hotter than he’d ever been at the forge, and in danger of exploding just from the pressure of her against him. But “go” had chilled him.
In between sobs, he’d learned that Ella was being sent to France for her protection during Bruce’s rebellion. She didn’t want to leave her home and friends again. She didn’t want to leave him. But Jamie—with the agreement of Lady Eleanor—would not be gainsaid.
After the falling-out between him and Jamie the night before, Thom wasn’t surprised. It was the speed of Jamie’s reaction that came as a shock. Jamie was taking no chances in allowing whatever it was between Thom and Ella to progress. In a strange way it had heartened him: Jamie had seen it, too.
Knowing there was nothing he could do, Thom had held her in his arms, smoothing her hair and trying to comfort her while his heart was being torn apart. It had been one of the hundreds of times he’d reminded himself not to touch her, not to press his mouth to hers, when she’d stood there looking up at him with tears glistening in her lashes and made him promise that he would never forget her. That he would be here when she returned and nothing would change. She knew about the money his mother had left him, and feared he would do something “stupid” like run off and “get yourself killed” in the war.
He’d promised, and she in turn had sworn she would return as soon as she could. He would take her and Jo to the Crags of Craigneith to see the cave just like they’d planned. She’d been recovered enough by that point to jest that maybe he would overcome his aversion to horses by then and they could ride rather than walk. He’d grumbled good-naturedly, used to her teasing about his lack of regard for the “infernal beasts”—a feeling that seemed to be mutual.
He’d never imagined it would be nearly five years.
Ella shook her head, a wistful smile turning her soft red lips. “I didn’t forget, but it’s been a long time. I wasn’t sure you would remember.” She gave him a sidelong look from under her lashes, her smile turning teasing. “I thought maybe you’d be married by now with a couple of bairns.”
The lighthearted words made his chest pinch. “How could you think that?”
Her perfectly etched brows furrowed. “You are three and twenty. It’s only natural to suppose that one of those village lasses who was always trying to get your attention might have caught it by now.” She laughed, and the sound eviscerated him like a blade honed at the stone for hours. It was the same way she’d teased him when they were younger, utterly oblivious that for him there was only one woman whose attention he craved.
Did the thought of another woman “catching” him still mean nothing to her? Did it cause her not the slightest twinge of jealousy? For almost five years he’d lived in agonized fear of hearing she was betrothed or married. Yet the same thought on her part seemed to cause her not one smidgen of distress.
He’d been so sure that she’d felt the same way as he. That she was just too young to realize her feelings. But she was twenty now—almost one and twenty—and no longer a girl of sixteen. There were no more excuses. Either she felt what had always been between them as he did or she did not.
He could wait no longer. He took a step toward her, his gaze boring into her. His voice held a hint of the frustration burgeoning inside him. “I am not interested in any of the village lasses.”
She took a step back—an unconscious evasion—and frowned. “What’s the matter with you, Thommy? Why are you so cross with me? I’m sorry I didn’t come see you, but surely you realize that things can’t be as they were. Jamie is rumored—”
He took her arm, practically growling in frustration, hurt, and anger. “I’ve heard enough about your damned brother.”
She shook her head. “You sound just like him. What happened between you two that night? You were the best of friends.”
“Were,” he repeated angrily. “Until I overstepped my bounds.”
“You presume too much. We are not friends, I am your laird.”
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
For the first time in his life, Thom felt like shaking her. As if he could force her to see what was before her eyes. Him. Where he’d always been. Loyal friend, frequent rescuer, and would-be lover—for the rest of his life, if she’d have him.
“You are always there when I need you, Thommy.” How many times had she said that over the years? Didn’t she know why?
“Don’t you?” he demanded angrily. “Can you not see what Jamie did? Can you not guess why your exalted brother was so determined to separate us?”
Eyes wide, she blinked up at him wordlessly. Cluelessly.
Thom couldn’t believe it. For five years he’d been waiting for this day. For five years he’d faithfully waited for a woman who still had no idea how he felt. Could she really be that blind? How could she not see what was right in front of her?
He released her, frustration teeming through every muscle and vein of his body. He didn’t trust himself to keep touching her and not pull her into his arms and show her exactly what he meant. Would that shock her? What would Lady Elizabeth Douglas think if her childhood friend took her in his arms and showed her a man’s desire?
Instead he told her. “Jamie saw how I felt about you and realized what was happening between us.”
She tilted her head questioningly. “What was happening between us? We were friends. The very dearest of friends. Like we’d always been.”
Friends. She had no idea how deeply she’d just twisted her dagger.
“Is that really all it was to you?” he demanded. “Did you feel nothing else for me? Did you not imagine a future between us?”
Those big, beautiful eyes stared at him with confusion and incomprehension. When something finally sparked in her eyes, he felt the first flicker of hope. Hope that was doused the very next moment.
“You mean those games we used to pretend when we were children?” She smiled, as if the memory was a fond one. “Of course, marriage between us is impossible . . .” Her voice drifted off. She gasped, her eyes filling with horror as understanding finally dawned. Her hand covered her mouth. “Oh God, Thommy, you didn’t think you and I could really . . . It was a game. I was only a girl, I didn’t know any better.”
He flinched, as if the words were a whip upon his heart, shredding it apart. Didn’t know any better. He knew she spoke unthinkingly and wasn’t trying to hurt him, but that’s what made it worse. The fact that there could be nothing between them was so obvious, he was the only one stupid enough not to see it. Caring for him in that way had never occurred to her because it was out of the realm of possibility. He was out of the realm of possibility.
The feelings—the friendship—between them did not change what anyone who was not a child or a lovesick fool would know: the blacksmith’s son was so far beneath the Lord of Douglas’s daughter as to be unworthy of consideration.
But of course he had thought. That was the problem. For five years he’d thought the tender looks, the heartfelt smiles, and all those hours of talking meant something. He’d thought the connection between them—the feeling as if she was the other part of his soul—was too powerful to deny. He’d thought that because he was the first one she ran to, that because no one understood him better than she did, it would always be that way. He’d thought what they had was so special it defied normal rules and boundaries like birth and station. He’d thought she saw beyond all that and saw him for who he was.
And never had he felt like such a fool. His father had tried to stop him. Why hadn’t he listened?
Thom’s fists clenched at his sides as he fought the maelstrom of emotion lashing around inside him. But it was too hot, his pain too raw. It filled his chest with a savage heat, wrapping around his throat and squeezing higher. He cursed the pressure building behind his eyes. Cursed the weakness of emotion that a man should be able to control. Elizabeth Douglas had seen him cry once in his life. That was more than enough.
He had to go. He couldn’t stand here another moment, looking at her, wanting her, and knowing he could never have her.
It seemed he’d been looking up since the first day he’d seen her; it was time to look ahead.
Thom turned away, trying to hide the humiliation, hurt, and heartbreak that permeated every corner of his soul.
“Thommy, wait! Oh God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please don’t leave like this.”
He didn’t turn around. Grabbing his bag, he slung it over his shoulder and slid over the closest section of the parapet wall. He heard her voice above him as he climbed down, but not once did he look up.
He had his answer, and now he knew what he had to do.
It took a week longer than he intended, but a fortnight after Thom scaled the tower wall of Park Castle, he was putting the final coat of oil on his new sword.
He was about to slip it into the scabbard when Johnny stopped him. “Can I see it one more time?”
Thom’s mouth curved up on one side as he handed the gleaming blade to his brother. The lad was unusually strong like Thom and their father, and despite its weight, he lifted it easily with one hand to admire it in the beam of sunlight streaming through the small open shutter.
It was Shrove Sunday, and the brothers had returned to their cottage after mass for Thom to finish packing. Their father said he had to attend to some business at the castle.
“She’s a beauty,” Johnny said, taking his eyes off the long blade long enough to glance up at him. “It’s the finest work I’ve ever seen you do. Da was right. You could make swords for kings.”
Thom laughed for what felt like the first time in weeks before rumpling his brother’s shaggy, too-long hair. “I hardly think a king would be content with such a plain hilt of horn without a jewel or bit of gilding to be seen, but ’twill serve for a simple soldier.”
“Not for long,” Johnny replied with all the fierceness of a boy who had looked up to his older brother for fourteen years. “I know you will work your way up in the ranks quickly. It might have been faster if you’d kept enough of the coin to buy a decent horse.”
Thom made a face. Though he’d never trained seriously with a sword, it was riding that might prove the biggest barrier to his goal. He wanted to be a knight, and as had been pointed out to him all those years ago by the Douglases, knights needed to ride. “Aye, well, you know how I feel about horses.”
Johnny grinned—his older brother’s problems with horses (even when shoeing) was a source of great amusement to him—but then sobered. “Da is grateful, Thommy. Even if he doesn’t show it.”
Thom nodded. “I know.”
But his father was like him: stubborn and proud. He’d thought that Thom realizing he didn’t have a future with Lady Elizabeth would keep him here; he didn’t realize it would send him away.
Thom was leaving. He’d taken half the money his mother had left him and used it to purchase a blade blank to make a sword and other armor he would need to join Edward Bruce’s army. Under normal circumstances, he would have offered his sword to his lord, but as he would sooner run his new blade through James Douglas’s black heart, after what he’d done to Joanna—taking her innocence when he had no intention of marrying her and leaving her alone with an unborn child to mourn—Thom hoped to find a place in the king’s brother’s army. Not surprisingly, Douglas had granted him leave to go.
The other half of his coin he’d given to his father to expand the forge. It was enough to replace his tools and hire two new apprentices if he wished. At first Big Thom had refused the money, but Thom could be stubborn, too. Besides, he pointed out that half should rightly belong to Johnny. Had she lived, their mother would have wanted him to have something.
“Must you go tomorrow?” Johnny said. “Can’t you stay for the Shrove Tuesday feast at the castle?” The day before the start of Lent was one of the biggest feasts of the year.
Thom stiffened. Not just because a mention of the castle inevitably conjured up thoughts of Elizabeth, but because it also reminded him that there was only one castle in Douglas now. Shortly after Thom’s fateful rooftop meeting with Elizabeth, Jamie had returned to Douglas for the third time to rid Castle Douglas of Englishmen. He’d succeeded, in the process slaying the captain whose sword Thom had just returned and slighting his own castle to the ground. Only embers and piles of rocks remained of the once great fortress.
Thom shook his head grimly. “I’ve stayed longer than I intended already.”
“Jo is better?” Johnny asked.
Thom nodded. It had been Joanna’s terrible accident after Sir James Douglas’s departure that had kept Thom here for the additional week. She’d nearly been killed after colliding with a horse, following an argument with Jamie that she refused to discuss. But it was the loss of the child that he wasn’t sure she’d ever recover from.
“She’s out of danger,” Thom said, though he suspected it would be a long time before Joanna was “better.” But he’d done what he could for her, and a glimpse of Elizabeth when he’d gone to visit Joanna at Park Castle had told him he’d delayed long enough.
“I understand,” Johnny said, though it was clear that like their father, he did not. Though his brother was excited for him, and wanted to hear all about his adventure, Thom knew Johnny would never follow in his footsteps. His brother had everything he wanted right here.
A knock sounded on the door. Bending over the bed to start putting his extra clothes into his pack, Thom told Johnny to see who it was.
Thom heard the door open and then silence. He glanced over his shoulder and frowned. What in Hades was Johnny doing? He was just standing there with his mouth open. The door blocked Thom from seeing who was on the other side.
Thom stood and was about to ask him who it was, when a familiar voice made his spine stiffen and every nerve ending stand on edge.
“Johnny? Is that you?” She gasped and threw her arms around the stunned lad. “My goodness, you’ve grown so tall, I would hardly recognize you.”
Johnny nodded, seemingly incapable of speech.
Thom’s jaw clenched. What the hell was she doing here? He hadn’t even been sure she knew where he lived. Not once in all the years he’d known her had Elizabeth ever been to his home. He’d always met her at the forge. He’d never thought about why until now. Seeing her here was . . . wrong. She didn’t belong in a place like this. She never had. Only now did he realize it.
The simple two-room cottage had never looked as humble as when Lady Elizabeth Douglas in her white—who the hell wore white to the home of a smith?—velvet gown stepped across their threshold. The room seemed darker, the walls more black with smoke from the peat, the rushes on the hardened dirt floor seemed more in need of freshening. The simple furniture with the pillows and hangings that hadn’t been replaced since his mother died suddenly looked worn and threadbare. No one would ever accuse the MacGowan men of tidiness, and dishes from the previous evening’s meal, as well as dirty clothes, were scattered throughout the room.
“What are you doing here, Elizabeth?”
His voice came out harsher and colder than he intended. Her head jerked in the direction of his voice; she hadn’t seen him until that moment.
Releasing Johnny, she gave him a fond ruffle of the hair and turned to face Thom. “I need to speak with you.”
“Now is not a good time.”
Her gaze fell to the open leather bag on the bed, half-filled with his clothing, before lifting those big blue eyes back to his. “Jo said you are leaving.”
“Tomorrow morning,” Johnny filled in, finally finding his voice.
Elizabeth turned to the awestruck lad. “Would you mind giving your brother and me a few minutes in private? There is something I should like to discuss with him. I think I saw some boys heading down to the river to fish.”
Johnny looked to him. Thom was tempted to shake his head but nodded.
A few moments later the door shut behind him, and they were alone. Someone who didn’t know her might think she was as cool and confident as she appeared, but Thom could see from the way her fingers were gripping the edges of the fur-lined cloak draped around her shoulders and the slight quickness of her breath that she was nervous.
He had no intention of easing it. He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms formidably, waiting.
She looked around. “So this is where you hid yourself all those years. How come you never invited me here?”
As if it weren’t obvious. He hadn’t missed the tentative way she’d moved into the room, as if making sure she didn’t accidentally step in muck or brush her pristine skirts against something dirty. She wasn’t comfortable, and it showed.
His gut twisted. “What do you want, Elizabeth? Say what it is you will and go. As you can see, I’m busy.”
She frowned. Her nose was not much bigger than it had been all those years ago, and it had only a few more crinkles. He’d never spoken to her so brusquely, and she didn’t seem to know how to respond. “We need to talk.”
“There is nothing to talk about.”
She moved toward him. “Why are you being like this? Why are you so angry with me? I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I’m not mad at you.”
What right did he have to be mad at her? How could anyone blame her for not considering him as a suitor? No one would. He was so far beneath her as to make a match between them not only laughable but condemned. Aye, he had no right at all.
But he did blame her. He blamed her for being sweet and kind and so generous and funny that he couldn’t help falling in love with her. He blamed her for being so damned beautiful it hurt just to look at her. He blamed her for deluding him into believing that he was someone worthy not only of friendship but of love. For making him believe that he was her equal in all the ways that mattered. For all the years he’d wasted waiting for something that was never going to happen.
He wasn’t mad at all.
She put her hands on her hips the way she always did when she was angry with him. “I’m more than familiar with your black moods, Thom MacGowan, so don’t try to intimidate me with your scowling. I know when you are mad about something.”
He stood, letting his arms fall to his sides. “As you pointed out, a lot has changed in five years. Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.” He took a step toward her, looming over her in the semi-darkness. “Maybe you should be intimidated. I’m not distracted by silly jokes anymore.”
The deep suggestiveness of his voice hinted at exactly what might distract him now.
Her chin jutted up, but the flutter of a pulse below her jaw told him that she was not as unaware of his meaning as she wanted to be. He felt a surge of distinctly primal satisfaction. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
No doubt she didn’t mean it the way it came out, but her words only fueled his temper, which like the rest of him was already too hot. The soft, subtle scent of her perfume wrapped around him in a sensual haze, stoking—or maybe he should say stroking—the flames of desire that made his body harden.
He stepped back. “Aye, it’s ridiculous, all right. Which is why you should get the hell out of here.”
It took her a moment to realize what he meant. “I didn’t mean . . .” She scowled. “You know what I meant—that you would never hurt me—but you seem determined to misunderstand me. And don’t speak like a churl.”
“Don’t you mean like the son of a smith? I may not speak French—or whatever other languages you converse in now—but I understand you perfectly. Which is why we have nothing to say.”
She pursed her mouth, clearly trying to exercise patience in the face of his rudeness. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings, Thommy.” Hurt feelings? If a hole could have opened in the middle of the floor to swallow him up, he would have welcomed it. Was two weeks ago not humiliating enough? She’d crushed his dreams, made him feel like a fool for thinking he could matter to her, and she acted like he was an overly sensitive schoolboy. “But you caught me off guard. I had no idea you felt . . . like that.”
It embarrassed her even to say it. He suspected his face was as red as hers, and his teeth were gritted so tightly he was surprised he could speak. “That was obvious. But you need not worry that I will trouble you with those feelings again. I was mistaken.”
She instantly brightened. “Then we can forget all about this and get back to normal?” She smiled. “I’ve missed you, Thommy. There is so much I want to tell you about France.”
Years ago, he would have listened happily to her stories—actually, he had. Although he had no desire to see France or any of the other places she spoke of when they were younger, he would have traveled there, lived there, whatever she wanted, if that would have made her happy.
Now he stared at her in disbelief. Did she think his feelings were so shallow and malleable that he could turn them on or off like the wick from an oil lamp?
“How do you propose we get back to normal, Elizabeth? I’ve been waiting for five years for the lass I’ve loved for as long as I can remember—who I thought loved me—to come home.” Her eyes widened at the word “love,” but he didn’t stop. “And when she does come home, it’s to learn that everything I thought was wrong. Not only does she not return those feelings, she considers them ‘impossible’ and a ‘game.’ I may be a fool, but even I can see that it can never go back to the way it was.”
Her eyes flared. It took a lot to rile her temper, but it appeared his fool comment had succeeded. “Nothing has to change, if you wouldn’t be so blastedly stubborn.”
Only years of remembering his place, of forcing himself to remember that she was the laird’s daughter, prevented him from hauling her up against him. Instead he leaned down to look her in the eye. “Open those pretty blue eyes for once, Elizabeth. Everything has changed. Now both of us see that a future is impossible.”
She glared at him mutinously. He wasn’t the only one who could be stubborn. “That doesn’t mean we still can’t be friends.”
“Yes, it does.” They stood glaring at each other angrily for a few moments. His hands flexed at his sides, itching to touch her. To see that anger flare to the passion that he knew was just lurking underneath. But he wasn’t good enough to touch her.
Pain stabbed and he turned away. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish packing.”
It was she who touched him. The feel of her hand on his arm set off flares of awareness racing all over his skin. The anger had fled from her face, and she was looking at him with something like panic in her gaze. For once, he didn’t feel like comforting her.
“But I don’t want you to leave, Thommy. It won’t be the same here without you.” She’d always been able to tease him out of his bad moods, and she did so again. “Besides, who will be there to catch me when I fall?”
Thommy stared at her. Stared at the achingly beautiful young woman who’d haunted his dreams for far too long. It had to stop. He wasn’t the boy who’d saved her from stumbling more times than he could remember, and he sure as hell wasn’t a “knight” who’d saved her from falling out of a tree and was rewarded with the hand of a princess.
But one day he would be. One day Elizabeth Douglas would regret letting him go. One day she would see the man he was and want him with all the longing and desperation that he felt right now, but by then it would be too late.
Their eyes met for the final time, and with all sincerity he said, “You know, Elizabeth, I really don’t give a shite.”
She gasped, and after a stunned moment, finally did what he asked.
When the door slammed behind her, Thom sat down on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands.