The Rock (42 page)

“Should I prove it to you? Should I strip off your clothes, lay you down on that hay over there, and make love to you until the only word you can say is my name over and over as you cry out your release?” He covered her breast with his hand, molding it gently but possessively. As if to prove his point, her nipple peaked at the contact. She arched deeper into his hand and was unable to bite back the little moan of pleasure or the flush of heat that washed over her.

“Would you stop me? Would you tell me no?” He dared her to answer. “And if I took your innocence, what then, Elizabeth? Would Randolph still have you, or would you be forced to marry me?”

She sucked in her breath, staring at him wild-eyed. He wouldn’t do that . . . would he? Thom was too noble to seduce her. She didn’t need to ask herself if he
could
. She knew the answer. She could no more hold back her desire for him than she could hold back the waves from crashing upon the shore.

He must have seen the fear in her eyes and released her. “Don’t worry,” he said with a bitter sneer. “I may not have land or a title, but I am not without honor, nor do I share society’s view of my worth. Good enough to fuck isn’t good enough. I deserve more.”

He was right. He did. More than she could give him.

Without another word, he was gone.

“I, Elizabeth, will take thee Thomas to wed . . .”

Thom flinched inwardly at the name—the irony cruel and biting.
It should be me
.

Though his expression betrayed nothing, MacKay knew.

“You don’t need to be here,” the big Highlander whispered at his side.

The Guard, along with what seemed like half the city, had gathered in the refectory to witness the betrothal ceremony. Although Douglas and Randolph would have signed the contracts this morning in private—probably in the king’s presence due to the importance of the alliance—the betrothal ceremony was being held in public before the abbot. It didn’t need to be, but it added to the significance and solemnity of the occasion. Douglas wasn’t leaving any doubt about the binding nature of the agreement.

“Yes, I do,” Thom said.

MacKay gave him a long look and then nodded. “I understand. I’ve been where you are right now. It won’t help. There is only one thing that will, but that will have to wait.”

Nothing would help, but Thom nodded anyway and forcibly turned back to the ceremony taking place before him.

Elizabeth had never looked more beautiful, and never had that beauty left him so cold. She looked every inch the regal ice princess in her fine silvery light-blue gown (blue being the traditional color of purity), with her hair covered by a silky veil of the same color and secured by a magnificent circlet encrusted with enormous diamonds. No doubt it was a betrothal gift from Randolph. Every time she moved or a streak of sunlight hit her, she glittered. She was that perfect rare jewel again, and he was the little boy looking up into the blinding magnificence of what would never be his.

What now belonged to the equally blindingly magnificent man at her side. Randolph was also outfitted in his finery—his mail gleaming, his surcoat bright and colorful—every inch the faerie-tale knight of bards’ tales. To complete the magnificent picture, the happy couple was flanked by the king on one side and Douglas on the other.

Douglas glanced over his shoulder, his gaze meeting Thom’s for a long pause before turning back.

Both Douglas and Jo had been eyeing Thom uncertainly ever since he’d walked into the building, as if expecting him to do something rash. Jo’s gaze he couldn’t meet—the pity would be too much to bear—but Douglas’s . . . Douglas’s he met full on. Thom had had years of holding his tongue and perfecting stony indifference, and he used it now to pretend none of this mattered. To pretend that every minute he was forced to stand here didn’t feel like his skin was being flayed off and nails were being driven deeper and deeper into his bones.

He’d lost her. He’d fought for her, and it hadn’t made a damned bit of difference.

But their fears were for naught. Thom wasn’t going to do anything rash. He wasn’t going to do a damned thing but sit here and watch.

He’d done everything he could last night.

As hurt and angry as Thom had been after his middle-of-the-night confrontation with Elizabeth, there still had been a part of him that didn’t think she’d actually go through with it. A part that thought she would wake up and suddenly realize that she loved him enough to stand down her demons and jump, trusting that he would always catch her. That she could put her faith in him. That no matter how low his birth or the rank that separated them, he would do whatever it took to give her a good life and make her happy.

But standing there, hearing her say the vows that would bind her to another man, seeing her hold out her hand for him to slip on the betrothal ring, Thom knew he was as much a deluded fool as Lady Marjorie had called him. Worse, a deluded
naive
fool.

He’d thought that once she realized she loved him, everything else would fall into place. He’d thought love would be enough. That it would make up for a few castles, fine jewels, and low birth.

But he’d been wrong. Very wrong. With each damning word, with each torturous moment of this farce that passed, she was showing him exactly what was important to her.

And it wasn’t him.

He held out a flicker of hope until the last minute. But when Randolph lowered his head and touched his lips to hers in yet the second kiss Thom had been forced to witness, a kiss that sealed the bargain between them, it was the final betrayal—the final act that cut her out of his heart forever.

He
would
have given her everything. Maybe it was easy to say when he didn’t have the stake she did, but it didn’t make it any less true.

But it hadn’t been enough.

The flicker was extinguished for the last time. Inside he went cold, dark, and empty. There was nothing left of the love he’d once felt for her. She was no longer his; she belonged to another man.

He couldn’t even hate her. He understood why she’d done what she did. To just about everyone in this room, she had made the right decision. Choosing him was the “wrong” one. But it didn’t make it any easier to bear.

He thought she would love him enough to defy society’s dictates and her brother’s wishes. He thought she would give up the promise of great wealth for a more modest future. He thought she would fight for him as he would have for her. He thought that the strong, spirited girl he’d fallen in love with would face the demons of her past, not hide from them.

But maybe he’d asked for too much. Maybe it had been unrealistic—
naive
—to expect that she’d give everything up when all he had to offer her was himself. He wasn’t even a knight yet.

But in the ashes of what remained of his heart, a sense of finality emerged. To hell with her. If she didn’t love him enough to fight for him, if she couldn’t see that the worth of a man did not lie in bags of gold, castles, or titles, it was her loss.

MacKay and Sutherland tried to make him leave, but he refused. He would do this, damn it. All of it. So when the Guard finally filed before the high table during the long meal to wish the happy couple congratulations, Thom was among them.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t steel himself, and didn’t avoid meeting her gaze. He bowed before her, and with all sincerity wished her happiness. “I hope you find everything you ever wanted.”

She gazed up at him, pale and stricken, obviously not knowing what to say or do. Finally she stuttered, “Th-th-thank you.”

He would have moved on and left it at that if he hadn’t glanced down and seen the thin edge of brass under her sleeve.

His muscles went so rigid they might have turned to ice. For one maddening heartbeat he wanted to reach down, rip it off her wrist, and throw it into the damned fire behind them.

She must have sensed the danger, because she inhaled a gasp and wrapped her hand around her wrist.

But she needn’t have been alarmed. As quickly as the flash of rage had appeared, it fled. His expression was perfectly impassive as he looked her in the eye and said, “I think you should probably remove that now.”

Before she could respond, MacKay had shuffled him forward.

As soon as they were out of earshot, the big Highlander slapped his hand on Thom’s back and said grimly, “I think that’s enough of a flogging for tonight. It’s time to find that help.”

Help turned out to be amber liquid that burned like fire as it went down his throat. For the first time in his life Thom drank himself to oblivion. MacKay and Sutherland—and maybe a few others (his recollections were hazy)—got him good and drunk.

But he did remember one thing. It had been some kind of contest—the Guardsmen were always challenging each other over something. Thom recalled looking up from his flagon of
uisge beatha
to see a blade flying over his head. It stuck in the waddle-and-daub wall of the alehouse the men had taken him to. Another dagger had followed . . . and another. Apparently they were trying to strike a mark and playing a game of who could get closer. But that wasn’t what mattered, for an idea had penetrated the drunken haze.

MacKay was right. The drink did help—at least until Thom woke up. But by then, he knew what he had to do.

E
VERYTHING WAS PERFECT
.
Elizabeth had to be the most fortunate woman in Christendom. It was the celebration the likes of which she’d always dreamed. She was seated next to the king—who would soon be her uncle by marriage—in a beautiful gown, drinking the finest wine from the royal feasting cup (a jewel-encrusted mazer made of gold!), eating off silver plates, with silver spoons and salt dishes in every direction. Even though it was Lent, her belly would be full. Who in their right mind would refuse a life such as this? Was it so wrong to not want to struggle?

Elizabeth wouldn’t admit she’d made a mistake, not even when a cold sweat broke out over her skin and her heart raced so fast she thought she would pass out during the ceremony, or when she couldn’t meet Joanna’s eyes throughout the feast, or when her nauseous stomach wouldn’t let her take more than a few bites of food, or when no amount of wine drunk from the gilded mazer or heat from the fire would warm the chill inside her, and especially not when her heart squeezed through the vise of her throat as Thom came forward to offer his congratulations.

What had she expected? Understanding? Forgiveness? That things would stay the same? Maybe not, but not this either. The look in his eyes had cut her to the quick, and the first vestiges of true panic fluttered in her chest. It was as if she had looked into the cold, emotionless gaze of a stranger. The man who’d held her in his arms and touched her so tenderly and passionately was gone—as was the love she’d always sensed, maybe at times taken for granted, and finally admitted that she returned.

It was at that moment that the full import of what she’d done hit her. What did it matter if the cup she drank from was gold if everything tasted like ash? She’d wanted to call him back. But what could she say? She’d made her decision.

Wrong
.
Coward.
She wanted to put her hands over her ears to block out the offending voice in her head that wouldn’t quiet.

Instead she donned a mask of happiness and slid off the bracelet, tucking it into the purse at her waist. Thom was right: it was time to put the past behind her.

This marriage was what she wanted.

The smile on her face was so brilliant she almost convinced herself that she was happy.

The meal was barely over before she threw herself into the wedding plans. There was so little time to waste. The wedding was to take place at the abbey in three weeks—a few days after Easter and the end of Lent—and there were many details to which to attend. Every important noble in the country would be there, and Randolph and the king intended to make it the grandest celebration his young reign had yet to see.

Wasn’t it wonderful? How fortunate she was! What little girl didn’t dream of a faerie-tale wedding fit for a . . .