The Rogue: A Highland Guard Novella (The Highland Guard) (11 page)

Her heart went out to him. “I’m sorry,” she said and put her hand on his arm.

He looked down on it for a long moment—as if her touch meant something—before meeting her gaze again. His mouth curved on one side. “It was a long time ago.”

“But you loved her very much.”

His arms squeezed around her a little tighter. She wondered if he even noticed?

“Aye. I did.”

Strangely, in the midst of tragedy, the easy admission filled her with hope. If he’d had the capacity to love before, he could do so again. Indeed, she wondered if he did a little already. She wasn’t alone in this—whatever
this
was—she wasn’t.

“Why did you really come here, Thomas?”

She’d never called him by his given name before, but she didn’t think he noticed. He drew back and let her fall out of the comfort of his embrace. “I already told you. I heard the wee lass had passed on.”

“Then why didn’t you go to the hospital?”

He stared at her mutely, not understanding the implication. She wondered if it might be intentional.

“Why did you send me the book?” she persisted, willing him to see it.

“I wanted to apologize for earlier at the market.”

The bracelet. It was what she had initially thought, but now she wondered. “Did you find it in one of the shops on high street at the market today?”

His gaze turned slightly askew. “Nay, I had my squire hunting for it the past few days. He found it at a local priory.”

“I see. So it wasn’t an apology then. Or did you anticipate doing something cruel and needing to apologize for it a few days ago?”

He stiffened. “I didn’t do anything cruel.”

“Didn’t you?”

“It was just a bracelet,” he said defensively. “It didn’t mean anything.”

They both knew that wasn’t quite true. He’d known what it would mean to Izzie.

“You don’t owe me any explanations, my lord.”

“We are back to my lord? You called me Thomas before.”

He
had
noticed. She didn’t say anything. But maybe the way she looked at him said enough.

He tore his gaze from hers, made a sound of frustration, and stood from the bench as he raked his fingers through his hair. Even crimped from the helm and clumped with sweat, it fell in dark shimmery waves to his chiseled jawline. Did he ever look less than stomach-droppingly gorgeous? When she probably had puffy, red eyes and blotchy skin. Truly, it wasn’t fair.

“I told you how it is.”

“Aye, you gave your word to Jamie and won’t go back on it.”

Again.
That was what he’d said before. Had he given his word in the past and broken it? Was that what this was about?

His next words seemed to suggest so. “Do you know what people would say? How it would look? I won’t have my honor—my loyalty—brought into question.”

Loyalty? It was an odd word choice for a proposed betrothal, but suddenly why this was so important to him made sense. “You don’t want to remind anyone of what you did by switching sides to fight with the English.”

His lips pressed together until the muscle in his jaw began to tic. She wasn’t sure whether his anger was at being reminded of his dishonorable past or the fact that she’d guessed his reasons. Maybe it was both.

Though his stony expression looked impenetrable, she had to try. There wasn’t time to wait for him to see the truth. By then he could be engaged, and breaking a betrothal
was
a serious matter. In a strange way Annie’s death gave her the courage to be bold. To reach for what she wanted. God knew, life could be preciously short.

“You’ve made up for what you did back then tenfold since you’ve returned. No one questions your loyalty. You are one of the king’s most important and respected knights.”

His eyes seemed to shine as dark as onyx in the fading light. “Because I’ve kept my word—and I intend to keep it that way. But people remember.
I
remember, damn it.”

The fierceness of his response took her aback. She could practically feel it radiating from him and hear the lingering shame in his voice. This was what drove him. This was what had made him so intent on becoming the perfect knight who could do no wrong and who everyone admired.

It made an odd kind of sense. “You don’t need to be perfect; no one is going to criticize you.”

She didn’t think it possible, but his mouth hardened even more. “That’s right. They aren’t. Because I will not give them a reason to.”

Izzie felt her frustration—and not an insignificant amount of anger—rise inside her. He was being ridiculous! Not to mention stubborn. If he’d ever needed to prove himself to anyone, he didn’t any longer. He was a hero already and on his way to becoming a legend. But men and their honor—
Highlanders
and their honor, she corrected—could be as intractable as mules and as dogmatic as inquisitors.

She stood to face him; her hands fisted into tight balls at her side. “So you will marry my cousin and you will both be miserable, but it won’t matter because you didn’t break your word to Jamie, is that it?”

Her voice made it clear how asinine she thought that was—which he just as clearly did not appreciate. God, she hated when he retracted into the stiff, arrogant, I-can-do-no-wrong knight.

His eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. “What makes you think we will be miserable?”

She wasn’t going to be the one to tell him about Elizabeth. “You would see it if you stopped worrying about what everyone else thinks and look at what is right in front of you.”

He took her by an arm and hauled her against him. The heat of his body was like a spark of wildfire to her senses setting them aflame.

“What the Devil is that supposed to mean?” he growled.

She lifted her chin, refusing to be intimidated or put off by his anger. “It means that I think you are too stubborn and convinced that you aren’t capable of caring about someone to see that you do.”

“Who?” He dragged her closer with a sneer. “You?”

But he wasn’t as unaffected as he wanted her to think. His nostrils flared when the contact made her nipples harden against him. She could practically feel the attraction firing in the air between them. She gave him a look that dared him to deny this. “Aye, me.”

Choose me.

He made another growl of frustration and pulled her in even closer. He wanted to kiss her. She could see it. Feel it. Every muscle in his body seemed to be straining with the effort of holding himself back.

Her heart squeezed. For a moment she thought he would break. That he would give in to this… in to them.

But he didn’t. Instead, he set her purposefully away from him. “You are wrong. I have no intention of falling in love with you—or anyone else for that matter.”

Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she was just seeing what she wanted to see.

But when he walked away, Izzie realized that whether she was right or wrong no longer mattered. He was going to choose her cousin, and the door that had opened in her heart would slam closed. Although if the heavy darkness that weighed upon her chest was any indication, it might already have.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Randolph could see just fine. He knew exactly what he was doing.
“Both be miserable…”
He scoffed. Whatever the hell Izzie thought she knew, she was wrong. His fists clenched as he stormed through the abbey gate in search of Douglas. He was perfectly content, damn it.

The fact that he’d been up most of the night pacing the very small floor space of his tent—nearly tripping over his page and squire a dozen times—and wanting to put his fist through a wall, didn’t mean anything. He was angry, that was all.
Irritated.

She
was the one who was being ridiculous. He was supposed to put aside his plans and break his word because she claimed to see something he couldn’t? After a handful of days, Isabel Stewart knew him better than he knew himself? And why was she so certain that he cared about her? Because they shared a few unusual interests? Because the passion between them was explosive and made him do things—nearly taking her innocence for one—that he’d never done before? Because every time he looked at her, he thought about how she’d looked coming apart in his arms, and he wanted to see it again and again? Because she made him laugh a few times and relax more than he had in… ever? Because they’d shared a few intimate conversations, and he found himself telling her things—personal things—that he’d never spoken of before?

That didn’t mean he “cared” about her—which he damned well knew was lass-talk for love. He liked her, of course—and wanted to swive her something fierce—but he was hardly the type to fall in love after a few days. The idea was laughable—ludicrous really. He was much too practical and clearheaded for romantic drivel like “love at first sight.” He didn’t have a romantic bone in his body. He knew the ladies at court thought him romantic because he espoused the gallantry and courtly gestures of a knight, but that was what was expected. It was all part of the dance. He didn’t really believe any of it.

Izzie would probably say it was a performance—another act. Even if it was, so what? The ladies liked it, and there was no harm. It was what was expected of him as one of Bruce’s greatest knights.

But he wanted to be
the
greatest and having Elizabeth Douglas by his side would help him achieve that… wouldn’t it? Of course it would. She was his perfect complement and would be an asset to him at court. Izzie, on the other hand, didn’t even seem to like court that much; she would probably just make him laugh all the time by whispering wry observations in his ear while he was trying to be serious. Elizabeth was rich, landed, connected—all things Izzie was as well, he couldn’t help thinking—
and
the most beautiful woman at court. At least that’s what people said—and what he’d thought. But that was before he’d noticed Izzie’s delicate, timeless, more modest beauty, which was much more…

Ah hell. He had to stop this. He wasn’t going to fall in love with anyone. It was a distraction he didn’t need. Just because he couldn’t forget how she’d looked at him yesterday—all hurt and imploring—and how it had felt as if a boulder was on his chest, didn’t mean he should do something rash. He’d given his word, damn it. And for the past six years since he’d returned to the Scottish fold, that had meant something. He wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize what he’d achieved because he was a little confused, and some irritating lass who thought she could see things he couldn’t had him all twisted up in knots.

He sure as hell wasn’t looking for a way to get out of it. That wasn’t why he was here. He’d entered the abbey rectory and now stood in the private chamber used by the abbot (and the king while he was in the city) waiting—pacing, what the hell was the difference?—while one of the monks fetched Douglas. He’d only sought him out because of what Izzie had hinted at. Aye, it was for Elizabeth’s sake that he was here. She wanted this marriage just as much as he did, didn’t she? She’d seemed amenable enough when they’d discussed the matter. Perhaps a bit subdued, but he thought that she was just being modest and reserved. He’d never heard her name linked with another man’s and she certainly hadn’t singled out any men for her attention that he’d noticed.

He’d seen her looking at MacGowan a few times, but he knew that wasn’t anything. MacGowan was a childhood friend from her village, but the blacksmith’s son was hardly suitable as a prospective suitor.

He turned at the sound of the door opening as his friend and rival strode into the room.

Douglas gave him the black scowl that had helped earn him his epithet and came to a stop, squaring off in front of him as if preparing for a fight. It was an odd tact to take—even for the always-confrontational Douglas—and made Randolph’s eyes narrow. Was Douglas anticipating some last-minute objections?

“What’s this about, Randy? I thought today was the big day. Isn’t it my sister you should be asking to see?”

Randolph ignored the diminutive, which he had Hawk to thank for (he was irritating, too), and answered. “I will, but I wanted to speak to you first.”

“I thought we discussed everything yesterday. We’ve agreed on the tocher, and if you are trying to get more land out of me—”

“It’s not that.”

His friend’s face darkened. Randolph thought he muttered a curse. “Is it Elizabeth? Has she said something?”

Douglas was a little too anxious. Randolph’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “About what?”

“Nothing,” Douglas said hastily. Either Randolph’s ignorance as to what he might be talking about, or his own realization that he’d given away too much seemed to relax him. Angry and confrontational gave way to gregarious and smiling. “I thought you’d spoken to her and made your intentions clear.”

“Aye, but I just wanted to make sure that the lass is not being pressured.” They both knew by whom. “I want to make sure that this is what she wants.”

“Of course it is.”

“She has told you as much?”

“I spoke with her on the very subject last night.”

“So there isn’t a reason to think she would be… uh, unhappy?” He’d been about to say miserable.

It was Douglas’s turn to narrow his eyes suspiciously. “What’s this about, Randolph? Where is this coming from? You aren’t having second thoughts and trying to get out of it, are you? The contracts have already been drawn up. You gave me your word.”

Randolph stiffened. “I know, and I’m not.”

“Good,” Douglas said with a hard slap on his back. “Then hadn’t you better send for my sister?”

That’s exactly what he should do. He’d given his word. But for one moment, Randolph felt paralyzed with something akin to panic.

The stay of the executioner’s axe would not be coming from Elizabeth. Izzie could tell from her cousin’s distress when she’d returned from her “errand” last night that she would not be the one to put a stop to the betrothal. Indeed, after a talk with her brother, Elizabeth seemed to be resolved to going forward with it. Joanna was obviously furious with her husband for interfering and tried to broach the subject a few times with Elizabeth—“You do not need to rush…”—but her cousin made it clear she did not wish to talk about it. It was all but decided.