The Rogue: A Highland Guard Novella (The Highland Guard) (12 page)

From the way Elizabeth jumped every time the door to Joanna’s solar opened and closed, Izzie guessed the “but” would be imminent. Thus, it was a surprise when the knock came that the call was for Izzie and not Elizabeth. Walter wished to see her to discuss something “important.”

If her heart was pounding a little fast as she hurried across the yard to the abbot’s house—which had largely been taken over by the king—she told herself not to be foolish. Walter might wish to see her for any number of reasons. It probably didn’t have anything to do with Randolph. But the tiniest part of her wondered if it could. Had she somehow gotten through to him?

She paused when she reached the entry. Walter’s squire hadn’t said where he’d be waiting. She took a few steps toward the small outer vestibule, which she knew was being used as a receiving chamber for the king, not wanting to disturb anyone. The room was empty, but a few moments later, the door leading to the king’s chamber opened and her tall, gangly cousin strode out.

A little younger than herself, the Sixth High Steward of Scotland still looked more youth than man. Freckled, with brown hair tinged with a great deal of red, Walter had the ruddy good looks that would grow more pronounced with age. His seemingly perpetual good cheer and broad smile brought a twinkle to his blue eyes that never ceased to make her smile in return.

“That was fast, cousin. I’m sorry not to be here when you arrived. I hope you were not waiting long?”

Embarrassed by her obvious eagerness, Izzie tried not to flush—unsuccessfully. “Your squire said I should come right away.”

“Aye,” Walter said with another smile. “I have some good news.”

“You do?”

“I’ve had a request for your hand that I have been led to believe will be agreeable to you.”

Surprise—shock—stole her breath. Her already pounding heart started to hammer with anticipation as the realization surged through her in a giddy wave. She knew it wasn’t just her! Randolph had seen what she had and changed his mind. He’d chosen her.

“I am,” she said, unable to contain the eagerness in her voice.

The enthusiasm of her reaction seemed to take Walter aback. “I’m thrilled to hear that, Izzie. It’s a fine match—an excellent one. Your brother can’t speak highly enough of him. He said in his missive that you’d gotten to know one another recently and seemed to enjoy one another’s company.” Missive? Izzie’s heart plummeted before her head caught up. “I know he’s a bit older than you and has been married before, but maturity and patience can be great benefits in a bridegroom, I’ve been told.”

His face reddened, and she would have wondered what he’d been told if her heart wasn’t shattering all over the floor.

Not Randolph then. Had she really thought it might be? She felt… God, she felt like such a fool.

“With the lands in your tocher abutting his, you will have the largest baronies in Berwickshire.”

“Sir William de Vipont,” she said, understanding. “The Lord of Langton has asked for my hand.”

“Did you think it was someone else?” Walter asked with more perceptiveness than she would have wished. “If there is someone else who interests you, I can—”

“Nay,” Izzie cut him off, barely hiding her horror at the idea of him finding out the truth. Her foolishness was bad enough without anyone else discovering the level of her stupidity. “There is no one.”

Walter beamed. “Good. Shall I write him back and tell him you accept?”

She had no reason not to. It was indeed a good match. Sir William was a highly respected baron of vast lands in the Borders. He had been closely aligned to the Earl of March—and thus the English—until about a year ago. But Izzie’s eldest brother, Alexander, had fought with Sir William when he’d made his peace with Bruce and had come to look at him as something of a mentor.

The last time Alexander had been home—before the most recent time with Sir Stephen, that is—he’d introduced them. She’d liked the older warrior, who was probably in his midthirties, very much. He had the refined manners that came from spending so many years in England with the sturdy, no-nonsense battle-hard look of a Scot.

Her heart had immediately gone out to him when he’d spoken of the loss of his young wife the year before in childbirth. A son who hadn’t survived. The unapologetic emotion in his voice had moved her greatly.

It hadn’t been difficult to guess what her brother was hoping for, and she might have been amendable to the idea had Sir Stephen not arrived in the interim and swept her off her feet.

And now there was Randolph. Or was there? Was it all in her head?

Seeing her hesitate, Walter added, “He can protect you, Izzie.”

From Sir Stephen and men of his ilk. Walter didn’t need to say it; she understood. And she didn’t doubt it. Sir William was the kind of man built to make women feel safe. Formidable in size and strength, he would hold fast to what was his with a ferocity that few men would dare challenge.

She nodded. “I know. It is an excellent offer, and one I’m sure I would be hard-pressed to refuse.”

“But,” Walter said with a frown, anticipating her next word. “You are refusing him?”

Izzie shook her head. Her heart wanted to, but her heart had already been proven a fool once—maybe twice. She didn’t know why she was hesitating, but she couldn’t believe she’d been so wrong. “Nay, I would just ask for a few days to consider it.”

Walter grinned, obviously relieved. “Of course. Take all the time you need. I know lasses do not to like to appear too eager. It won’t hurt to keep him guessing for a few days,” he added with a wink.

She wished she could return it, but it was taking all her effort to hold back the tears that suddenly seemed to be prickling behind her eyes. Instead she nodded.

“It’s better to let the excitement die down anyway. You don’t want your news to get lost.”

Izzie paused, everything inside her having suddenly grown very still and very cold. “What excitement?”

“I’ve just heard from Jamie that Randolph is asking Ella to marry him. The king has ordered a feast for the midday meal today with an even bigger one tomorrow after the betrothal ceremony.”

The blood slid from her face, and her eyes widened with shock. “The what?”

Walter laughed at her reaction, not seeing the pain that had provoked it. “Aye, I know it’s fast, but Jamie doesn’t want to waste any time with the English preparing to march in a few months. With everyone of import already here, he said there was no reason to wait.” Walter leaned down. “Between us, I think they are planning something with the castle. Knowing Randolph, it will be dramatic.”

But Izzie wasn’t listening. All she could think of was that it couldn’t be true.

CHAPTER EIGHT

It
was
true. He’d done it. Izzie couldn’t believe it. But not long after she returned to the guesthouse after meeting with Walter, Elizabeth came bursting into the room with a smile so exaggerated and forced it seemed in danger of shattering like a piece of overblown glass.

She and Randolph were to marry, she said. She was “thrilled” (which didn’t explain why her eyes were sparkling with tears) and hoped they would be happy for her. Izzie managed a long hug (mostly so her cousin wouldn’t see the tears in her own eyes), but Joanna was so disappointed, she could barely murmur a choked, emotion-filled congratulations. There would be a feast to celebrate at the midday meal, Elizabeth continued with enough brightness to light the city at night, an even bigger celebration tomorrow after the betrothal ceremony, and a wedding to plan for in three weeks.

Three weeks?

Izzie’s knees buckled. She felt as though she’d been kicked in the stomach. She hoped no one had seen her stagger.

“Is something wrong, Izzie?” Elizabeth asked. Izzie cursed, realizing her cousin
had
been watching her. “You look a little pale.”

“I’m not feeling very well,” Izzie answered truthfully.

She felt ill. She must have looked it, too. Both Elizabeth and Joanna became immediately concerned.

“Perhaps you should go lie down for a while,” Joanna suggested. The sympathy in Jamie’s wife’s gaze made Izzie wonder if the other woman suspected something of the truth. “Elizabeth and I will discuss all the details and fill you in on everything when you feel better.”
Or never,
Joanna seemed to add silently.

Izzie nodded gratefully.

Elizabeth looked so worried, Izzie almost felt guilty for misleading her as to the source of her illness. “I do hope you aren’t coming down with something serious. I don’t want you to miss the ceremony tomorrow. I need you there.”

Izzie’s stomach lurched at the thought; she feared her paleness had turned a little green. “Me, too,” she said with halfheartedness that she hoped her cousin would attribute to her illness.

An illness that, as it turned out, did last through the betrothal ceremony.

Elizabeth pretended to understand, but Izzie knew her cousin was hurt by her absence. Izzie wanted to be there for her—truly she did—but she just couldn’t do it. Maybe she was a coward, maybe she was selfish, maybe she wasn’t ready to accept the truth and wanted to delude herself a little longer, she didn’t know. But she couldn’t stand witness to Randolph binding himself to her cousin and pretend it didn’t matter. Pretend it didn’t hurt. Pretend that she didn’t want him for herself.

So she stayed away, tending her wounds in private, while her cousin tried to convince them that she hadn’t made the biggest mistake of her life. Izzie and Joanna weren’t fooled; the only question was how long Elizabeth could continue to fool herself.

The day after the betrothal ceremony, Izzie had “recovered” enough to join her cousin and Joanna on a prewedding shopping trip up and down the high street of Edinburgh.

She even managed to enjoy herself and feel no more than a tiny prick of jealousy when Elizabeth started picking out fabrics for her wedding gown. Izzie was back to her wry, good-natured, lighthearted self and firmly back in her supportive cousin position.

She’d made too much of it, Izzie told herself. She’d been swept up by passion and confused into thinking it might be something more. Randolph was a real-life hero, for goodness’ sake. What woman wouldn’t be a little overcome by his attentions?

She was like Annie. He’d made a woman who didn’t think she’d ever have a faerie tale feel like a princess for a few days, but it hadn’t been real. And it certainly wasn’t anything to build a future on. Even if they had more in common than she realized, even if he’d surprised her that day at the pond with his kindness and playfulness, even if he wasn’t as unfeeling as she’d thought, and even if there was more to him than the “perfect” knight, he still wasn’t for her.

She didn’t want to live her life on stage as the wife of a legend in the making. She didn’t want to always have to dress perfectly, with no hairs out of place, and be worried about what she said. She liked the quiet of the countryside and the calm of hearth and home. She liked to read before the fire and sit by candlelight dreaming up ways of improving the castle. She liked to make wry observations from tables below the salt, not sit at the high table and have to glitter and entertain.

She had almost succeeded in convincing herself it was for the best. But then, two days after the betrothal and four since Izzie had last seen Randolph (not that she was counting), Elizabeth came bursting into her room in tears and told her what Randolph and Thom MacGowan intended to do.

It changed everything.

After the meeting with Douglas on Monday morning, Randolph had kept his word and sent for Elizabeth. When he stumbled awkwardly through the proposal (he was glad he didn’t need to feign romance with Elizabeth because his mind had gone blank with anything lighthearted and charming to say), and managed an only slightly less awkward kiss that evening, which was possibly the most chaste one he’d ever given and felt like he was kissing his sister (thankfully he’d managed not to shudder), he told himself it wasn’t anything to worry about. It was just the lingering irritation toward Izzie.

Aye, he knew
exactly
who he had to blame for the way his heart started to race at the oddest times, how his mind felt as if some of Sutherland’s black powder had gone off inside, why he broke out into a cold sweat when he’d said his vows, and the way his stomach seemed to be constantly twisted in knots.

He was furious with her for putting him in this position. She’d made him feel as if he was doing something wrong—as if he’d made some kind of
mistake
. But Izzie expected too much, damn it. What else could he have done?

She would see; it would be better for her this way. It would only hurt her more when he couldn’t give her what she wanted.

He would tell her exactly that, but… Where the hell was she?

He finally had asked Elizabeth while they were seated at the dais for the betrothal celebration feast.

Sick? Was she all right? He hoped Elizabeth hadn’t noticed that he’d nearly jumped up from the bench when she’d told him.

If she did, she didn’t comment. But she seemed to sense his concern; she put her hand on his arm with a smile. “I do not think it is anything serious. But it is kind of you to ask. I know you and Izzie didn’t get off to the best start, but I hope that you will be friends. She is very dear to me, and I think once you get to know her, you will like her. I’m hoping she will come stay with us for a while after we are married.” Good thing she wasn’t looking at him so she didn’t see him blanch.
Good God! Not a chance in Hades.
“She is very smart and witty. Even at a very dark time in my life she could always make me laugh and see the ridiculous in things.”

Randolph didn’t say anything; he didn’t need to. He understood well enough. The lass had managed to make him smile while shoveling shi—dung, hadn’t she? Not to mention pushing him into a damned pond. He forced his mind away before he started remembering what else had happened at that pond.

Damn. He adjusted his braies. Too late.

This was crazy, damn it. He shouldn’t be thinking about her. He was going to marry her cousin.

Randolph tugged at the neck of his surcoat, having that can’t breathe feeling again. A cold sweat broke out across his forehead and his heart started to race. He grabbed his goblet and took a long drink of wine. He hadn’t made a mistake, damn it. And even if he had—which he hadn’t—it was too late to do anything about it.