The Knight (9 page)

Thank God! Relief poured through him. He didn’t realize how much the situation with Jo had been weighing on him until it was gone. He felt like a boulder had been lifted off his chest.

A smile cracked to the surface. The need to touch her was so overwhelming, he barely remembered to pull her deeper into the stairwell—away from curious eyes—before his mouth fell on hers. Although he’d meant it to be a gentle, tender kiss, to show her exactly how much she meant to him, as always seemed to happen the moment their lips touched, something came over him. Something hot and powerful and demanding. A need so intense, he drew back before he found himself swiving her in the stairwell.

Despite the brevity of the kiss, his breathing was still heavy. “I’m so glad you reconsidered.” He drew the back of his finger along her cheek softly. “I promise I will do everything in my power to make you happy.”

Instantly, the haze of the kiss cleared from her eyes. She drew back. “No, James, you misunderstand. I have not reconsidered. Under no circumstances will I be your leman.”

Anger surged through him again, the sharp disappointment on the heels of relief almost making it worse. Why the hell was she being so stubborn? She was supposed to love him, damn it. Not issue ultimatums and make threats. “So I either marry you or it’s over, is that it?”

She bit her lip, hands twisting nervously in her skirts. “Yes, but you should know—”

He didn’t let her finish. He was too damned furious. She wasn’t the only one who could make threats. “Very well, if that’s what you want, consider it over.”

Her eyes widened in shock. She looked like he’d kicked her in the gut. He had to force himself not to reach for her. But he wouldn’t let her use the feelings he had for her against him. He had to stay strong to his purpose.

“You don’t mean that.”

“It’s the last thing I want. It’s you who are doing this, Jo. This is your choice, remember that.”

And before he could take the words back, he spun on his heel and left her standing there.

His chest was on fire. Every instinct clamored to go back—to tell her he didn’t mean it—but he forced his feet forward. She had to learn that she couldn’t threaten and manipulate him into doing her bidding. He loved her, but he couldn’t marry her. She needed to accept that—and what it meant. This was what it would be like. But he felt like he was on the rack and having his limbs slowly torn from his body. If it was hurting her half as much as it was hurting him, she would be ready to jump into his arms when he returned in a few days. It wouldn’t be long. Just long enough for her to realize he meant what he said.

But he felt a vague uneasiness start to grow. He looked back, and his heart lurched. She looked destroyed—and oddly desperate. She’d wanted to tell him something, he remembered. The vague uneasiness turned to full-fledged trepidation. Something was wrong. He couldn’t leave her like this.

He would have gone back to her, but Randolph stopped him. Randolph, who reminded him of everything he was fighting for. Greatness. Restoration of the family honor. His father.

“Who was that woman?” he asked.

“No one,” James said.

“She sure looked like someone.” Randolph gave him a shrewd look. “Have a care, Douglas. My uncle has big plans for you.”

James’s mouth hardened. He didn’t need Randolph to warn him. “She’s only the marshal’s daughter. A lass I’ve known since I was a child. It’s nothing.”

The words tasted like acid in his mouth. His stomach churned uneasily and he felt like some kind of Peter. He needed to get the hell out of there.

No one. Nothing
.

Joanna slumped against the wall of the stairwell in stunned disbelief. If she hadn’t heard him speak the words herself, she never would have believed it. He’d dismissed her as unimportant, refusing to acknowledge her and who she was to him. She was just the marshal’s daughter. Someone beneath him. Someone not worth acknowledging. Someone who didn’t matter.

Never had she felt the differences in their rank as sharply as she did at this moment. She’d been naive; she could see that now. She’d been deceived by the friendship they’d held for so long, by passion, by love.

Her chest felt like someone was standing on it. She couldn’t breathe as the ragged blade of disappointment pressed down on her, crushing in its intensity.
This
was how it would feel to be his leman. She would be by his side but remain unacknowledged—unworthy and relegated to the shadows.

If she hadn’t been certain before, she was now: She would never accept a life like that for herself or for her child.

In the smoldering ashes of her love a flash of anger ignited, for herself and for their child. They deserved better. How dare he do this to them—to her. She’d given him everything, and he treated her as if she meant nothing to him.

Whether he would change his mind when he learned about the baby no longer mattered to her. She had changed
her
mind. She wouldn’t marry him now even if the great James Douglas came crawling to her on his hands and knees.

But what was she going to do? The horror of the situation crashed down on her. She slid to the stair, cradling her stomach in her hands, hating him for making her feel this way. Hating him. Yes, God, she hated him.

Vaguely she was aware of the patter of tiny footsteps approaching. The soft scent of roses wafted through the air a moment before she felt the tentative press of a hand on her shoulder.

“Jo—Joanna, are you all right?”

The dulcet sweet tones were of the past but instantly familiar. Joanna lifted her gaze to the woman leaning over her.

She blinked, the magnificence of the beautiful face looking down on her almost rivaled the sun in sheer brilliance. Bright blue eyes, shimmering flaxen hair, skin so snowy-white it almost sparkled, and tiny, delicate features that belonged on a faerie princess, Elizabeth Douglas looked like something that had descended from the heavens.

Was this really her old friend? Gone was the wild urchin with the unkempt braids and torn skirts who used to run across the countryside with her. The lady standing before her was dressed as richly as a queen with every strand of hair perfectly coiffed beneath a diamond-encrusted circlet of gold and veil so thin it might have been spun from the threads of a spider’s web.

The hand that rested on her shoulder looked as if it had never known a moment’s labor. Soft and white, with perfectly oval-shaped nails bereft of a speck of dirt underneath.

Instinctively, Joanna curled her own hands—with her nails bitten almost to the quick—into her
plain
brown woolen skirts.

She sucked in her breath as the cruel truth hit her.
Oh God!
This…
this
was the kind of woman James would think to marry. A lady. A lady who’d traveled to England or France. A lady who wore fine silks and velvets and jewels. Not a provincial girl with ribbons through her hair, muddy skirts, torn nails, and sun-stained cheeks.

Joanna didn’t need to look back and forth between them to see the differences. They were so obvious, she wondered that she could have been so blind.

Perhaps she hadn’t wanted to see them? Perhaps she’d wanted to pretend and be happy for as long as she could. Perhaps she’d hoped the James she knew as a lad would never become the great knight and important lord that he’d wanted to be. Perhaps she’d hoped he would never achieve his ambition and would remain here with her. Was that it?

“Joanna?” Lady Elizabeth Douglas repeated uncertainly, her voice and face showing even more concern.

Joanna tried to wrench herself from the trance of grief, but seeing Elizabeth had sunk her even deeper. She wanted to burst into tears. She wanted to throw her arms around the sweet girl who’d been her friend and pour out her misery. But things had changed.
Everything
had changed. Though still sweet and guileless, the clear blue eyes that met hers were also more reserved. There was an awkwardness between them that had never been there before—the awkwardness of two people who’d been friends when rank didn’t matter and now suddenly realized that it did.

Poor Thommy. Suddenly Joanna understood the mountain he must see in front of him when he looked at Elizabeth Douglas. It must seem insurmountable—even to a man who could climb anything.

Elizabeth was still staring at her. Realizing how she must look, pride gave her the strength to get to her feet. “I’m fine,” she managed.

But barely had the lie left her mouth when she swayed. Elizabeth gasped in alarm and caught her by the shoulders. Reserve forgotten, her expression flushed with anger. “You are not fine. You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What did Jamie say to make you so upset?”

Jamie. Only Beth had ever dared to call him that.

Joanna’s heart twisted a little tighter. “It was nothing,” she responded.

Nothing. It was over.

For him that is, but not for her. The child that she’d been so excited about now felt like a badge of shame as the difficult months ahead loomed in front of her. Alone. Disgraced. How would she manage? What kind of life could her child look forward to? Without a father, without a name—she shuddered—a
bastard.

Suddenly, Thom’s words came back to her. He would help her. He’d said he would marry her. Selfishly, she wanted to take him up on his offer, knowing it would save her and her child.

But he loved this ethereal, oblivious young woman before her, and if there was any chance…

Her eyes went to Elizabeth, to the woman who looked more like a princess than the possible bride of a blacksmith’s son. Was there a chance?

“I’m sorry, my lady,” Joanna said. “It was lovely to see you, but I have to go. I have to find Thom before he leaves.”

Had she not been watching carefully, she might have missed it, but there was an unmistakable flicker in Lady Elizabeth’s gaze. It was too fleeting, however, to decipher.

Her childhood friend stiffened, looking every inch the noblewoman. “Leaves?” she repeated.

Joanna kept her gaze plastered on Elizabeth’s face. “Aye, did he not tell you? He’s leaving the village to pledge his service to Edward Bruce.”

“As a blacksmith?”

Joanna shook her head. “As a man-at-arms.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “He is?”

Joanna nodded, waiting for some kind of telltale reaction.

She didn’t get one. Elizabeth simply looked befuddled. “Why would he do that?” she said finally. “Thommy’s going to be a blacksmith like his father.”

That was the way of it. Men didn’t just choose to be something different. They were what they were.

“I thought you might know why,” Joanna said gently.

Elizabeth held her gaze and beneath the confusion, Joanna saw the shadow of something else. Something of which Elizabeth didn’t even seem aware. Something that was too vague and unformed to put a name on but that was clearly
not
indifference.

Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment and she nodded. “I never meant…” She bit her lip. “I never realized…” Her expression hardened, her mouth screwed up the way it had done when she was a child. “Thom was my friend. Why did he have to ruin everything? Why couldn’t he leave it like that?”

Joanna’s hope sank. Although clearly, Elizabeth didn’t know what to make of Thom’s declaration, she was not immune. It might be nothing more than the flicker of possibility, but Joanna would not take that from him. She could not marry him. She was on her own. She would have to face the consequences of her actions by herself.

How long did she have? A month, maybe a few weeks more? Time for James to change his mind—

She stopped herself and a wave of hot tears pressed behind her eyes. Fool! He didn’t deserve her tears. Even if he changed his mind, she wouldn’t change hers. James Douglas could take his ambition and go straight to the Devil. He’d shown what he thought of her today, and she would never forget it. She also knew she would never be the noble wife to bring him the fame and fortune that drove him.

“I… I.” Her voice shook. “I have to go.”

Without waiting for the other woman to respond, Joanna pushed past her and raced toward the door.

Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she stumbled down the stairs into the yard. Only a handful of men remained. James and the gold-and-scarlet-clad men were gone.

The hopelessness of the situation hit her full force. She heard Elizabeth shouting her name, but she didn’t stop running. She just wanted to get away—far away from anything that reminded her of James Douglas.

She wished none of this had ever happened. She wished she’d never fallen in love with him, never let him make love to her, never gotten herself with his child.
That
she wished most of all. She didn’t want this baby.

She tore down the hill, trying to quiet the cacophony of disturbing emotions with the wind rushing over her ears.

It was dusk, the light already dim when she entered the forest.

She heard a scream of warning from behind her—Elizabeth’s, she realized—in the fraction of an instant before an enormous shadow sprang out of the trees ahead of her.

A man swore, and a horse squealed like a pig as it reared to avoid her.

A bludgeoning burst of pain kicked her chest, as she was sent reeling over the edge of the bank. Her head slammed against the ground, and dirt, rock, and brush assailed her from every direction as the ground slid past her in a rush. Tumbling down the hill, all she could think about was pain.

Then, blissfully, the world went black.

By the end of the week, Linlithgow Castle was theirs. A local farmer, a man named William Binnock, known as Binny, had indeed proved invaluable. They’d executed a Scottish version of a Trojan horse. While delivering hay to the garrison at Linlithgow, the farmer concealed eight of James’s men in his cart. Binny was familiar to the English and the portcullis was raised to allow him to enter. Once under the gate, the farmer cut the oxen free and blocked the gate with his cart while James and Randolph led the attack. This time the garrison did not surrender, and James was not troubled by promises—or his conscience.