7
THOM HANDED SIR David Lindsay the sword. The important knight, and one of Bruce’s closest companions, held it out in front of him to examine. He turned it over in his hand, sliced through the air a few times, and looked at every angle of the handle as if he were searching for something, while making short exclamations along the way.
“Bloody hell, MacGowan, how did you do this so quickly? It feels like an entirely new sword. The balance is incredible, and the handle feels as if it was made for my hand.”
Thom shrugged. “If I’d had a pair of fullers I could have fixed the blood groove. It could use a little more taken out near the tip to lighten it. But the English armorer wasn’t thoughtful enough to leave all his tools behind.”
The castle forge appeared to have been hastily abandoned after Douglas had taken Roxburgh. Thom had decided to make use of it when he wasn’t attending to his duties for Carrick. God knew, he wasn’t sleeping; he might as well make some extra coin in those wakeful hours.
He had nothing to feel guilty about. But damn it, seeing Elizabeth’s pale, anxious face from across the Hall or courtyard the past couple of days had eaten away at his resolve. Indeed, he’d skipped the midday meal today as much to finish the sword as to avoid seeing her.
Not that it helped. He could still see those big doe eyes right in front of him as she’d looked up at him and pleaded with him to help her.
The pull to go to her aid was so strong it physically hurt not to do so. His chest had been aching for two days.
He cursed inwardly and turned his attention back to Lindsay, who paid him the coin they’d agreed upon and thanked him. “I could send a few more men your way, if you think you’ll have time. I know many of us have had a difficult time finding a good smith with as much time as we spend sleeping on heather.” Thom stiffened. Not noticing, Lindsay laughed. “It seems of late that the only time we are in a castle, it is to destroy it.”
Us, the men who fight, and you, the men who serve. Thom knew the knight didn’t mean anything by it, but it still reverberated. He wasn’t one of them, and maybe he was a fool to try to change that. Damn it, what did he have to do? For three years he’d been killing himself to become one of “us,” and all he had to do was pick up a hammer and once again he was “you.”
But he had to admit there was something about being back in a forge that was oddly comforting. He felt more at home in this unfamiliar building than he had in any of the places he’d stayed in the past three years.
He’d been back to Douglas only once since he left, and it had been horrible. Although it had been good to see Johnny, the short time he’d spent with his father had been awkward, uncomfortable, and filled with pain on both sides. It was as if neither of them knew what to say to one another anymore. His father thought Thom was ashamed of his background, and Thom didn’t know how to explain what drove him to try to do more. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he could explain it to himself. But it was the same thing that drove him when climbing. He liked the element of danger and pushing himself to the extreme. He wanted to see how far he could go.
“I wish I could,” he said truthfully. He needed the money. “But I’m leaving in the morning.”
The additional men had arrived earlier this afternoon and Edward Bruce had given him leave to return to Rutherford to escort Lady Marjorie to Yorkshire. Unfortunately, the escort would be small, as Carrick could only afford to spare a few men. The earl and the rest of his army would be leaving at the end of the week to begin the siege at Stirling Castle.
Out of habit rather than necessity, as the forge would undoubtedly be destroyed by the end of the week, Thom cleaned out the ash and replaced the tools after Lindsay had departed. It was dusk by the time he closed the door of the forge behind him and crossed the yard to the barracks. He was filthy, and despite the chill in the air, he was going to head down to the river to bathe before finding something to eat and trying to get some sleep. He had a long day ahead of him in the saddle tomorrow.
With a grimace, he was about to open the door to the barracks when the sound of a party of horsemen riding through the gate drew his attention.
He recognized Douglas in the lead, as well as a handful of the men who accompanied him. Thom had crossed paths with Boyd, MacKay, Sutherland, MacRuairi, and MacLeod a few times in the past three years; Elizabeth hadn’t exaggerated: the warriors who’d accompanied Douglas were among the best of Bruce’s army. He frowned as something struck him. Both Boyd and MacRuairi were reputed to be members of the king’s secret “Phantoms.” If there was any truth to it, he wouldn’t be surprised that these other men were as well.
Was Douglas?
The very idea of his former friend being a part of something so illustrious grated. But it made sense. Too much damned sense. Whatever Thom’s personal feelings, he could not fault Douglas’s skills as a warrior.
He was about to turn away when he looked closer at the riders. He swore aloud, realizing who was missing: Archie.
One look at her brother’s face, and Elizabeth knew—even before she scanned the men who were walking into the Hall behind him for the gangly auburn-headed youth.
“Archie?”
Jamie shook his head grimly.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Lady Helen’s reunion with her husband. The big Highlander took his son from his wife’s arms as if he weighed nothing and enfolded Lady Helen against his leather-clad chest. The deep affection between them reminded Elizabeth of her brother and Jo. She’d thought their love unusual, but maybe it wasn’t as uncommon as she thought.
“What happened?” she asked her brother.
He shook his head, indicating not here. Jamie conferred for a few minutes with one of the most fearsome, imposing-looking warriors of the Phantoms—which was saying something. Though she’d never met him, Elizabeth knew he was the leader of the impressive band of warriors: Tor MacLeod. All ten members of the Guard had answered Jamie’s call to rescue his young brother; it was out of their respect for Jaime that they’d put aside their other duties. It also said much about the king’s regard for Jamie that he’d let them go with the greatest test of his kingship coming in a few months’ time. The coming of the English host in summer was a specter haunting them all.
“I will send word to the king about our delay and speak with Carrick,” MacLeod said in the native tongue of the Gall-Gaedhil Islanders.
Jamie nodded. “We will reconvene in the morning. Get something to eat, and my steward will direct you to your chambers. We can all use some rest.”
After seeing to the food, Jamie led her into the king’s solar. Seeing his exhaustion, she forced him to sit and fetched him a goblet of wine before taking a seat on the bench next to him to hear what had happened.
He explained how they’d arrived and spent the first day surveying the castle and trying to gather information about the prisoners. They’d learned the Scots were being held in the guardhouse in the tower near the edge of the bluff. MacRuairi had tried to enter the castle with some villagers, but the porter was checking everyone, and he’d had to turn around rather than take a chance at being recognized. Apparently, MacRuairi had a lot of enemies in the Borders. From what she’d heard, the infamous West Island chieftain turned pirate mercenary had a lot of enemies all over.
Jamie had waited until the wee hours of the night to attempt to scale the cliff.
“It should have been easy,” Jamie said, clearly frustrated. “That side of the castle is woefully undefended—I didn’t see one guard in the area the entire night. All we had to do was climb that cliff, toss the scaling ladder over the wall, and we would have been in and out with no one the wiser.” He shook his head. “Even the cliff didn’t look as bad as we thought. It was steep, but there were plenty of foot- and handholds. For the first hundred and twenty feet or so, I thought we would make it.”
“And then?” she asked.
Jamie’s mouth fell in a hard line. “Then we hit thirty feet of sheer rock. I tried, but I could not get more than a few feet up. MacRuairi managed to climb to within a dozen feet, but then slipped and came within a handhold of falling the rest of the way off the cliff.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened in horror.
“You are to keep that information to yourself, by the way. I doubt his wife would appreciate how close she came to becoming a widow.”
She nodded. MacRuairi was married to Bella MacDuff. The former Countess of Buchan was regarded as a great Scottish patriot and hero.
“We don’t think anyone in the castle heard, but we can’t be sure. A handful of our men stayed at Bamburgh to keep watch, while the rest of us returned to Roxburgh to regroup for another attempt.”
Thank God. Elizabeth couldn’t hide her relief. “You are going back?”
“Aye, and this time we will be successful. I probably should have listened to you in the first place.”
Elizabeth was so shocked at first she didn’t understand. “You should have listened to me?”
“You were right.” Her brother grinned at her expression and tweaked her nose the way he’d done when she was a girl. “Aye, I do know how to say those words. It would have saved me a long journey back and forth, if I’d taken him in the first place.”
All of a sudden, she realized what he meant. “Thom?”
Jamie nodded. “Aye. Those rocks would have been nothing for him. I’ve seen him climb far more difficult cliffs with ease.”
Elizabeth shook her head dumbly. “It’s too late. You’ll have to think of another way.”
“There is no other way.” He frowned, studying her. “What do you mean it’s too late?”
Elizabeth bit her lip and made a sheepish face. “I already asked him.”
He exploded off the bench. “You did what?” Well over six feet of angry warrior loomed over her intimidatingly. She combated it by sitting there serenely with her hands folded in her lap. Thom had taught her that. “Damn it, Ella, I told you to stay away from him.”
Her eyes narrowed right back at him. “You are my brother, not my father. Thom is my friend, and I will see him if I want.”
“Until you are married, I might as well be your father. It is your duty to obey me, and you will do as I say.” They stared at one another for a few minutes, angry gazes crossing like swords, waging a silent war of wills. Jamie was right, but he also must have realized that if he forced the issue, it would change the relationship between them forever. He was the first to stand down. “I should send you back to Blackhouse right now, as I promised.”
Her heart clenched. He couldn’t send her away—not until Archie was safe. “But you won’t,” she said with more certainty than she felt.
He held her gaze for a long pause before relenting. “Damn it, Ella. You don’t understand.”
“Then why don’t you explain it to me?” she said quietly.
“MacGowan doesn’t want to be your friend. He hasn’t for a long time. He wants you.”
She shook her head. “He might have at one time, but not anymore.”
Jamie’s expression hardened. “Do not argue with me about this, Elizabeth. No matter what he’s told you, he wants you, and he’d do anything to have you. Hell, why do you think he’s here?”
“He wants to be a knight. He’s wanted to be a knight for as long as I can remember.”
“Because of you, damn it. He’s under some misguided belief that if he raises himself high enough he’ll be worthy of you. But he’ll never be worthy of you. I didn’t realize his feelings at first, but it became clear that night I found you on the tower. God knows what would have happened had I not put a stop to it. He took advantage of both of us, Ella. Me for our friendship, and you for your innocence. He thought that because we were friends I wouldn’t object to the son of the smith courting my sister.” His eyes blazed with anger. “Can you imagine? Christ, he would have made a laughingstock of us both—and ruined you in the process.”
Elizabeth winced at the harshness of it, though she knew it was the reality. “He wasn’t taking advantage of me, Jamie. Thom is one of the most noble men I’ve ever known. You know him. He would have never done anything to dishonor me.”
“I know from experience what passion can do to an honorable man.” Elizabeth realized he was referring to himself and that the memory pained him. “Aye, I know the kind of man Thom was,” he admitted grudgingly. “And I would have trusted him with my life. But trusting him to be able to control himself with my sixteen-year-old sister when I saw the way he looked at you?” He shook his head. “No way in hell. I wasn’t going to take any chances. I’m still not, which is why I want you to stay away from him. I will see to the situation with Archie.”
She shook her head. “You don’t understand. I already asked him to help, and he refused.”
She’d managed to surprise him. “He refused you?”
She nodded.
He frowned. “Was it his arm? I didn’t think he was seriously injured.”
She shook her head. “He wasn’t. He just didn’t want to do it. He said he was leaving in a day or two—I’m not even sure he’s still here.” She paused, taking a deep breath through tight lungs. “He said there is a woman waiting for him. A woman he hopes to marry.”
If she’d surprised him before, she’d managed to shock her brother dumbstruck now. “Married? You are serious?”
She nodded.
“To whom?”
She shrugged, looking down at her hands. She was gripping her bracelet so tightly, she realized, the imprint would probably be dug into her skin. “He didn’t say. Only that she’s a widow of a baron.”
Jamie quirked a brow, obviously impressed. “It’s a good match for him.”
Why did hearing her brother say it only make her feel worse? Marriage had always been about making the best alliance to her—why wasn’t it in this case? “Aye,” she agreed.
Jamie didn’t say anything, but she could feel his eyes on her. After a moment he said, “The widow will have to wait, and if he’s gone already, he can be brought back.”
“Nay, you don’t understand. The widow was only an excuse. He doesn’t want to help, Jamie.”
“What he wants is immaterial. I’m not giving him a choice. MacGowan is a soldier, he will do what he is told.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened in horror, thinking about what Thom had said. Jamie forcing him would only reinforce every horrible thought he had about being their “servant.”
“No! You can’t order him, Jamie.” She thought back to her conversation with Thom. “Maybe if you ask him personally, and explain the situation . . .”
“So he can have the satisfaction of refusing me?” He made a sharp scoffing sound, and said, “I don’t think so. If he refused you, he sure as hell isn’t going to do it for me.”
“But—”
He put up his hand, stopping her. “This is our best way—maybe the only way—of getting Archie back. What’s more important, your brother or MacGowan’s tweaked pride?”
Both. Nothing Jamie had said was wrong, but Elizabeth knew Thom wouldn’t see it that way. He would be furious.
She couldn’t let him think the worst of them. What he wanted did matter to her.
She stilled. Maybe there was a way. Maybe if she asked him again and could convince him to help, Jamie wouldn’t need to order him to do it. She just prayed that he was still here.
“Report to Douglas at first light. You will be under his command for the entirety of the mission.”
It took everything Thom had to keep his expression neutral while listening to Carrick, when rage boiled inside him like a pot with a too-tight lid.
He couldn’t believe it. He was being forced on the very mission for which Elizabeth had come to him the night before last. His answer, and what he’d wanted, hadn’t mattered. Either she or Jamie—or maybe both—had gone directly to Carrick.
Though this smacked of Jamie’s methods, he knew how desperate Elizabeth must be feeling. Was she not giving him the opportunity to refuse again?
It didn’t matter who it was. He had anger enough for both of them. Thom was a damned pawn, to be moved about at Douglas’s will. He was the village boy again who had to bite his tongue and not defy his “lord.”
That he’d been about to volunteer for the mission to which he’d just been assigned only proved what a bloody fool he was. He couldn’t believe he’d actually been feeling guilty for refusing to help.
He fought to keep his emotions in check as he responded to Carrick. “I should not like to keep Lady Marjorie waiting, my lord. I understood I would be permitted to leave in the morning.”
The earl frowned. “This mission takes precedence. The lady will have to wait a bit longer.” He smiled wolfishly. “I’m sure you will think of a way to make it up to her.”
Thom’s jaw clamped. “And if I were to refuse?”
Carrick’s eyes narrowed. “This is not a request. The king has ordered that Douglas be given whatever he needs to free his brother. Douglas seems to think that you may be of use to him—and I tend to agree based on the rooftop service you performed for Lady Marjorie.” Carrick studied him a little longer, perhaps suspecting the rage that Thom was fighting hard to contain. “I know there is bad blood between you and Douglas, and he would have seen you gone from this army well before now. I haven’t let him interfere because I see a lot of promise in you. Succeed on this mission, and you can prove to both of us that that belief is warranted.”
Thom didn’t need to prove anything to the “Lord” of Douglas, but he nodded, only too aware that he didn’t have a choice. Douglas had seen to that.
“Good,” Carrick said. “I will look forward to hearing of your exploits when you get back. You can return to the barracks or wherever it was that you were heading when Henry found you.”
“The river, my lord.” He was still covered in soot from his work in the forge earlier.
“To wash?”
Thom nodded.
“It’s as cold as a witch’s teat out there,” Carrick said with a shiver.
Thom would take his word for it.
Carrick waved his hand, signaling for Henry to come forward. “Have a bath prepared for MacGowan in the kitchens. If one cannot be found, have them use mine.”
The squire’s eyes rounded, but he nodded.
Carrick’s generosity surprised Thom as well. He supposed it was meant to ease the sting of being forced not just on the mission but also under Douglas’s command.
It didn’t, but he wasn’t fool enough to refuse the rarity of heated water. “Thank you, my lord,” Thom said, taking his leave.
He retrieved the drying cloth, soap, and fresh clothes that he’d left outside Carrick’s chamber in the dungeon after Henry had chased him down, and followed the squire to the kitchens.
While the water heated in big iron pots over the fire, he tried to ease the tempest swirling inside him with drink. Lots of it. He downed cup after cup from the jug one of the serving maids had brought him. It was uisge beatha, and from the raw, throat-searing taste of it, he better not put his cup too close to the fire or it would combust.
The liquor did its job, however, taking the violent edge off his anger so that when the same serving maid offered to help him remove his clothes—with a look that promised more—he agreed. A lass was exactly what he needed to take the rest of the edge off.
Carrick’s squire returned to his duties and left them alone in the corner alcove of the kitchens where the bath had been set up.
The lass was probably a few years older than him, buxom, dark haired, and pretty enough with a wide mouth that spoke of experience and pleasure. He’d wager this wasn’t the first time she’d made a similar offer to a man in this castle.
Thom let her undress him. Let himself slink into the warm water. Let her hands roam all over his body with the soap, scrubbing the dirt and grime from his skin as she made little sounds of pleasure and anticipation at all she found.
He wanted to like it. He wanted to harden in her hand. He wanted to lie back, close his eyes, and let her stroke some of the lust and anger from his body.
He sure as hell wasn’t the untried lad he’d been three years ago. He’d stopped waiting for Elizabeth the moment he’d left Douglas. None of which explained why he gently unfurled the serving girl’s hand from around him and shook his head. “Just the bath, lass. I think I’ve had too much of the cook’s spirits.”
The lass didn’t concede defeat easily, but when it became clear she wasn’t going to change his mind, she helped him wash his hair, and then fetched the linen drying cloth to wrap around his waist as he stepped out of the tub.
The drink had been helped along by the warm water, and she had to steady him when he nearly slipped by putting her hands around him.
At first he thought she was the one who’d gasped. It wasn’t until he’d peeled her now damp chest (and impressively hard nipples) from his that he looked over and saw they were no longer alone.
Elizabeth stood in the entryway, blocking the view of the rest of the kitchens, staring at him.
Stricken was the best description of her expression. From her quickness of breath, the hooded cloak, and rosy cheeks, he guessed she’d just run in from outside, but her eyes were wide and glassy, and her skin underneath the chill was pale.
He wasn’t doing anything wrong, damn it—though in that one look she managed to make him feel as if he were.
How long had she been standing there? Had she seen him emerge from the tub? And why did the idea of her eyes on his body suddenly make the part of him that had been indifferent to the serving maid’s attention suddenly feel very heavy and very thick?
The dangerous tempest of emotions simmering inside him came roaring back. Rage, resentment, and something else. Something far more dangerous right now. Lust.
“What do you want?” he said sharply. “As you can see, I’m busy.”
He kept his arm around the serving woman. She was blocking his mostly naked body from Elizabeth’s view. The now damp drying cloth didn’t hide much. One glance of those big blue eyes on his cock, and he’d be hard as a rock.
But he was just angry enough—egged on by the drink—to actually think about setting the woman aside. He wanted to shock her. Wanted her unbalanced. Wanted her to see a man’s lust—a man’s desire. His lust, damn it. His desire.
“I-I,” she stuttered. “I need to speak with you. It’s important and cannot wait. Please . . .”
He should have sent her away right then. He should have realized that he was playing with fire.
But he didn’t.