The Knight (13 page)

“No!” she murmured against his pillaging mouth. Putting two hands on his shoulders, she gave him a hard shove. “No!”

This time the word was formed enough to be heard. He released her, stepping back to give her a few inches of space, but still looming over her.

“How dare you!” she seethed, her chest heaving as she fought to take in air.

He met her anger full on, returning it with a fierce glare. “You are mine, Jo.
Mine
.”

“So that’s what that was? Some primitive show of possession? Why don’t you just grab a fist full of dirt, toss it at my feet, and claim seisin.”

“If I thought it would work, I would.”

Her mouth fell in a hard line. “I do not belong to you, James. You have no right to touch me like that.”

“I have every right. Your body doesn’t lie, Jo. You want me, just as badly as you did before.”

She wouldn’t argue, not when she was still shaking from the effort to pull away from him. “Lust isn’t love, James, and without the latter, I will not succumb to the former. You can corner me in dimly lit alcoves all you want, but it won’t change anything. I have learned the cost of unfettered passion, and no matter how good you make my body feel, I will not forget it. You will not win me by passion.”

“How can I win you?”

The soft plea in his voice nearly broke her.
Don’t look at him. Don’t waver
. She turned her head, refusing to meet the gaze that she knew would pierce her defenses and her heart. “You can’t.”

He took her arm and turned her back to him, his face a mask of anger, jealousy, and something else. Something that if she didn’t know better she would think was fear. “What are you doing with Lindsay? You can’t marry him!”

She knew that, but he had no right to say it. “Why not? Am I not good enough for him? He has never made me feel that way, James. He doesn’t care that I am ‘only the marshal’s daughter.’”

Shame swept over his darkly handsome features. “I’m sorry, Jo. I didn’t mean it that way. I was angry. I wasn’t thinking. You have always been everything to me.”

“But not everything enough to honor with your name or even warrant an introduction to your friends.” Emotion strangled her, closing her throat and piercing her eyes. Damn him for doing this to her. She’d sworn not to talk about this, not to think about this. It was over. Done. But that kiss had brought it all back to the surface, the pain as raw and clawing as if it had been yesterday. “I deserve better, do not blame me for trying to find it. Now let me go. I do not hate you, James, but keep forcing yourself on me like this and I will.”

Knowing she was seconds away from bursting into tears and ruining everything, she took advantage of his shock and shot past him.

But she wasn’t quick enough. She’d barely slid around the partition wall back into the Hall when he caught her arm.

“Let go of me!”

Oblivious to anyone around her, she struggled to detach herself from his hold before her tears betrayed her. She flailed wildly like some kind of madwoman, but he held her firm.

“Stop it, Joanna! Damn it, stop it!” His grip tightened on her arm, as he drew her up to face him. His expression was just as wild and furious as she suspected hers must be. “Fine. If you are going to be stubborn about this, I’ll put it all aside. I’ll ignore my duty, my father’s wishes, and give up the chance to advance my clan and marry you.” He shook her again. “I’ll marry you, damn it. Is that what you want?”

James wasn’t thinking. He didn’t hear that the music had stopped; he didn’t feel the curious gazes upon them, or notice that they’d become the center of attention; he was oblivious to everything but the woman who was trying to walk out of his life.

She meant it. Every word, and he knew if he didn’t do something to hold on to her, Joanna would be lost to him forever. So he’d blurted out the hastily—awkwardly—constructed proposal without realizing what he was saying. Or rather, how badly he was saying it.

But the look of horror, followed quickly by anger so piercing it could skewer as deeply as any knife, alerted him that he’d made a mistake. An egregious one.

She lifted her chin, stood straight and proud as any princess, and threw him a look of such scorn, he felt about as big as a bug under her tiny slipper. “That isn’t what I want. Actually it’s the last thing I want. You were wrong, James Douglas. It is you who are not good enough for me. I would sooner marry the lad who cleans the garderobe than I would you.”

She stopped suddenly, as if she realized what she’d just said. Her eyes widened with horror—and perhaps even silent apology.

But it was too late. He heard the gasps. The uncomfortable twittering. The snickers that were not quite muffled behind the coughs.

Blood roared in his head. Heat crawled over his skin. The humiliation as sharp and cutting as the one that had come six years before.

Lord of the Garderobe
. His ears blared. His eyes saw only red.

Releasing her, he took a harsh step back. His back was as rigid as a poleaxe.

“James, I’m sorry. That’s not what I—”

“I believe I’ve had your answer, my lady. I will not trouble you again.”

Jaw locked, he strode past her without another glance. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself not to show the humiliation he was feeling, forced the heat from his face by sheer strength of will. He even managed to bow to his host as he left. Lindsay’s expression was grim but otherwise unreadable. If the other man was pleased by the turn of events, he did not show it.

Not even when the sunlight hit James’s face as he exited the tower and called for his mount did he release the tight mask of control that held his emotions in check. He kept that mask in place until it hardened into stone and he couldn’t feel anything.

By the time he rode back into camp in the forest of Galloway the next evening, the dead feeling inside him had turned to anger. To hell with her. She’d made her choice. He wouldn’t beg. Joanna Dicson had embarrassed him enough.

But strangely, as he lay in bed later than night, staring up at the thick coated wool walls of the tent, it wasn’t his hurt pride that kept him awake. It was the feeling of loss so painful that it felt as if it were tearing open a big, gaping wound across his chest.

The next morning he was ordered to the king’s tent to explain his actions. As James had anticipated, the king wasn’t pleased by his sudden disappearance.

Robert the Bruce sat behind the table that served as his desk while on campaign, studying him with far more scrutiny than was comfortable. “Aye, well next time you have an emergency, I would prefer that you advise me before leaving.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “Unless you intend to challenge me for this chair, I’m still king.”

James usually enjoyed the jests about his ambition as much as the king did, but today he had to force a smile to his lips. Was he that bad? Had his quest to achieve his family’s greatness become too focused?

James or Douglas?
Joanna’s words echoed in his head. Was she right? Was his ambition for himself or for his family? How high did he have to climb before he would be satisfied?

“I have no wish to sit in that particular chair, my lord.” He meant it. God knew, he had no wish to be king. Practically every member of Bruce’s family and every person he’d ever loved had been killed or imprisoned. He met the king’s gaze, all signs of jesting gone. “I will be proud to sit by your side, at your feet, or anywhere else you have need of me for as long as we both live. Hell, I’ll follow you into the grave if you ask it of me.”

Bruce smiled wryly. “I do not think it will come to that, at least not—I hope—for many years to come. But I am glad to hear it, especially with what I’m about to offer you.”

James frowned. “Sire?”

“You are almost five and twenty.” He was right; James’s Saint’s Day was next month. “High time, do you not think, that you took a wife?”

James stilled. His heart seemed to stop beating. This was it, what he’d been waiting for. But now that it was here, he felt the unmistakable weight of dread sinking in his gut. “I have had some thoughts on the matter recently, sire.”

As recently as yesterday, though God, what a disaster that had turned out to be.

“I’m glad to hear it. If you do not have a bride in mind, I should like to propose one. My youngest sister Margery is just three and ten, but old enough to wed. How would you like to call a king brother?”

“I…”

A cold sweat gathered on his brow. James stared at the king and felt the tent walls start to spin around him, as if he were being sucked into a vortex of darkness.

He didn’t understand his reaction. It was everything he wanted. He should be ecstatic. He should be falling on his knees and thanking the king for the honor he was giving him. He should be shouting his joy from the parapets. He’d achieved what his father had asked, raising the name Douglas to the highest levels. James’s children would have royal blood and be the nieces and nephews of a king.

But those were not the children—the child—he thought of. His stomach turned. For the first time, the extent of just what he’d lost hit him.

It was only at the moment when he’d achieved everything he’d thought he wanted that James realized what he wanted most of all.

Not one week after the horrible confrontation with James at the May Day celebration, Joanna was back at Hazelside with her family.

Her cousin no longer needed her, and there was no longer a reason for Joanna to hide. There was nothing she could have done that would better guarantee a definitive end to her relationship with James than to humiliate him like that, although God knew that hadn’t been her intention. The word had slipped out before she’d realized what she’d said.

Garderobe.
She cringed, her stomach still turning with horror and guilt. She could still see the look of betrayal in his eyes, still see the shock and the hideous flush of shame on the cheeks of his proud, handsome face like the handprints of a slap. Her slap. It had taken everything she had to not go after him and try to apologize. To let him walk out of that Hall hating her. But she told herself it was for the best.

It was over—really over. It was hard to believe let alone accept. For as long as she could remember, James Douglas had been the most important thing in her life. Now that he was gone, she felt a vast emptiness inside her, as if something vital was missing. One of her father’s men had lost a leg in the war, and when he was recovering, he said he would often feel pain in the place his leg used to be. She’d never understood it until now.

In time she would fill the emptiness in her heart again. She hoped. Though it wouldn’t be with Sir David. After James had left they’d talked, and she knew she couldn’t continue to encourage him in a future beyond friendship. Apparently, whatever it was he’d seen on her face had convinced him of her sincerity. Or maybe it was the horrible scene he’d witnessed in the Hall. He tried to change her mind, and made her promise to send for him if she did, but they both knew she would not.

The man she married deserved to have her whole heart, and until she could pry the last fingers of James’s grasp away, it was not hers to give.

Time, she told herself. Time was the great healer. Time would cure the misery in her heart and give her the separation and clarity of mind she needed.

Until then, she had her family. She was seated in the Hall with her mother, helping her with the intricate embroidery of a new cloth she was making for the dais. Normally Joanna avoided needlework, preferring activities that would take her outdoors, but she had not yet completely regained her strength and tended to tire easily.

She’d just about reached the point that the pleasant quiet monotony turned to boring, however, when her sister Constance came bursting through the door. “He’s here!” she exclaimed excitedly. “He’s returned!”

Her mother furrowed her brows. “Calm down, child. Take a deep breath and try again. Who is here and returned from where?”

Constance did as their mother bid—albeit with an impatient huff—and tried again with only slightly less exuberance. “Sir James.” Joanna’s heart dropped. “Returned from wherever he was serving the king.”

Her mother frowned as she always did now whenever James’s name was mentioned, her eyes flickering to Joanna with concern. “And how do you know this?”

“Because he just rode in to see Father, and Father told me to tell you to have the servants ready some refreshments for his private solar. Apparently they have something to discuss.” Constance’s brows furrowed together. “It must be important, although I don’t think Father is very pleased.”

Joanna didn’t think her heart had beat or a breath had left her lungs since her sister’s pronouncement. Her blood seemed to have frozen solid in her veins.

“Why do you say that?” their mother asked.

Constance lowered her voice. “He was glowering at Sir James, and Father told him they didn’t have anything to talk about.” She shrugged with all the carelessness of an innocent thirteen-year-old. “But Sir James said something to convince him.” She sighed. “Just wait until you see him, Jo, he looks magnificent. I’ve never seen him look so fine. He’s wearing a surcoat with the Douglas arms.”

But Joanna had no intention of seeing him. James had come to speak to her father about business, and probably didn’t even know she was here.

Her gaze shot to her mother. She nodded and Joanna hurried out of the Hall, racing up to her room while her formerly stagnant heart now beat thunderously in her chest.

The next two hours passed in agonizing slowness, as Joanna tried to control her anxiousness, while she waited for the knock upon her door that would tell her he was gone.

She was being ridiculous. When she’d decided to return home, she’d done so with the knowledge that she would not be able to avoid seeing him in the future. She just hadn’t anticipated the future being so soon.

Why was he here? It seemed an odd time to take a break from war with the English king supposedly readying to lead another campaign in the summer. She couldn’t believe King Robert would let one of his most important knights leave at a time like this.