The Rogue: A Highland Guard Novella (The Highland Guard) (13 page)

Fortunately, Randolph didn’t have long to dwell on it. His attention was diverted elsewhere. On Wednesday, the day after the betrothal ceremony, the king had called him in for a special council meeting. It seemed that MacGowan had figured out a way to implement Randolph’s idea to climb Castle Rock after all. He’d somehow got the idea to modify a few steel spikes that he would hammer into the rock and use to span the twenty-five foot stretch of sheer cliff face that had made climbing the cliff impossible.

At least it
had
been impossible—until now. Randolph knew that if MacGowan could pull this off and lead him up the rocky cliff to take the castle, it would be the kind of miraculous feat that would equal, if not surpass, Douglas’s recent taking of Roxburgh and ensure Randolph’s place in history. His name would be uttered in the hallowed echelons of other great military heroes, men renowned as great tacticians. English leaders such as Richard the Lionheart, William Marshal, and their old enemy Edward Longshanks; and Scotsmen like William Wallace, Sir Andrew Murray, James Douglas—blast it—and Robert the Bruce.

The king agreed to let them try, and the plan was set in motion. On Thursday night (or Friday morning, depending on how you looked at it), Bruce and a group of men would stage a diversionary attack at the south gate of the castle to draw the garrison away from the wall, while Randolph led a small group of climbers up after MacGowan to scale the north face of Castle Rock and surprise the soldiers defending the gate from behind.

No one overestimated their chances. Even with MacGowan’s spikes, they didn’t have much of one. The climb could fail.

Or worse.

That they could die, Randolph understood, but with military immortality on the line (not to mention putting an end to the cursed siege), the risk was worth it.

At least that’s what he thought until he
did
nearly die.

When the night in question came around, miraculously MacGowan’s spikes had held. After hammering them into cracks in the rock at three-foot intervals, the skilled climber had been able to make it past the twenty-five-foot span of sheer cliff side to a plateau near the base of the castle’s rock wall. From there, he’d tossed down a rope ladder fitted with wooden boards to the rest of the men waiting below. Randolph was the first man up the ladder. He’d been about halfway up when disaster—or near disaster—struck. A soldier on patrol from the castle above tossed a stone over the wall. Whether it was because he thought he’d heard something or because he was just bored, they would never know. But the stone found a target—him. It struck Randolph in the helm with enough force to make him see black for a moment—a very important moment, as he’d been in the process of climbing and lost his footing and hold on the rope ladder. He fell backward and would have fallen to his death if MacGowan hadn’t dove off the side of the cliff toward him and managed to get a few fingers on the neck of his leather
cotun
. The blacksmith’s son-turned-warrior and soon-to-be latest member of the Highland Guard had saved Randolph’s life.

It had happened so fast Randolph hadn’t had time to panic. He had, however, had time to see someone’s face. Why he should think of Izzie as he was about to fall to his death, he didn’t know.

But he suspected, damn it. And he wasn’t happy about it. The lass had obviously bewitched him.

Even now, as he celebrated what was the greatest accomplishment of his life so far—the ploy at the gate had worked and they had indeed taken the castle—he couldn’t stop looking at her.

She looked a little pale. Was she still not feeling well? His heart raced. What the hell was the matter with her?

And why hadn’t she looked at him? She was seated at a trestle table with Joanna Douglas only a few feet away, but not once had her eyes strayed to his position on the dais. Shouldn’t she at least offer her congratulations? God knows the lass wasn’t easily impressed, but surely
this
warranted something. He’d taken a castle that no one thought could be taken and almost died in the taking. Didn’t she care?

Their eyes met for the first time in five days, and he felt the shock of it like a bolt of lightning down his spine. It wasn’t a pleasant experience. It hurt. A lot.

Aye, she did care. That was the problem. A big one, as it turned out, because so did he. More than he wanted to.

His chest was still burning when she turned away. He did the same, returning his attention to the celebration. This was the happiest day of his life. He was going to bloody well enjoy it.

With the help of quite a bit of wine, he did. Mostly. But when some of the men left to begin slighting some of the castle walls, Randolph didn’t mind leaving to supervise.

He glanced once more at Izzie, but her head was again fixed in the opposite direction.

He was about to stand up and make his excuses when Elizabeth stopped him. She’d been oddly distracted throughout the meal, which he hadn’t thought too much about as it enabled him not to worry about her picking up on his own distraction.

“My lord, might we speak in private for a moment.”

I can’t marry you.
Randolph paled in horror. Christ, for a moment he thought he’d said the words aloud. Whatever he was thinking, it was too late.
Too late,
damn it.

He forced a smile to his face. “I should like nothing more, but might it wait?” Presumably until he pulled his head out of his arse and trusted himself enough not to do or say anything stupid. “My uncle has put me in charge of the destruction of the castle, and the men are waiting for me.”

“Of course.”

He almost changed his mind when he saw her disappointment. Something clearly was bothering her. But it probably had to do with the wedding, and frankly that was a subject he just couldn’t discuss right now. She would see right through his lack of enthusiasm.

After thanking her for her understanding, Randolph left to join his men. But he wasn’t just going to supervise. He was looking forward to wielding a hammer to take down the blasted wall himself. Anything to take his mind off thinking that he’d made a mistake.

The last twenty-four hours had alternated between the darkest most miserable lows and the brightest most joyous highs. The realization of what the men intended to do brought all their secrets to light. The thought of Thom MacGowan dying had forced Elizabeth to admit that she’d been lying to herself—she could not go through with the betrothal no matter how horrible the scandal. Izzie, too, upon learning that Randolph intended to join MacGowan on his suicide mission, betrayed her horror and, in turn, her feelings.

The harrowing, gut-wrenching hours while the women waited for news from the castle were not some Izzie cared to repeat—ever. When the bell from the castle rang out in the middle of the night, and they realized the men had done it, she’d cried tears of relief and happiness and celebrated along with everyone else.

But even knowing that Elizabeth intended to break the engagement didn’t make the celebration feast any easier. For days Izzie had been blaming the betrothal and Randolph’s refusal to break his word for keeping them apart, but what if that wasn’t it? What if even with the impediment between them removed, he still wouldn’t admit his feelings for her?

Izzie was painfully conscious that the reprieve from the betrothal had come from Ella. Randolph hadn’t chosen her.

The thought was sobering and heart twisting. And watching him didn’t make it any better. Randolph always had that aura of hero around him, but now it was worse. Now he wasn’t just a hero, he’d become a legend. She watched him glitter like a star beside her cousin and the king from the corner of her eye. Watched the women fawning over him—even with Elizabeth sitting right there!

How could Izzie fit into that world?

She didn’t. But the one time their gazes had caught gave her hope. She’d seen something there.
Felt
something even from her position below the dais. He did care about her. She knew it.

So when her cousin left to find Thom MacGowan, Izzie volunteered to take her cousin’s note and find Randolph to explain that her cousin was breaking the betrothal.

Though the midday feast had ended hours ago, the air of celebration still hung about the city as she made her way up the mile-long high street that separated Holyrood Abbey from the castle with her escort. Joanna’s brother Richard had offered to walk with her as he was heading up to the castle himself. The king and most of his men had removed to the castle, but the ladies—and their husbands in the case of Jamie—would stay in the abbey for now.

Even if she no longer needed to worry about Sir Stephen, Izzie was grateful for Richard’s presence as men—drunken soldiers mostly—spilled out of alehouses on more than one occasion. Richard proved to be a good roadblock, as he put himself between her and the path of more than one staggering drunk.

It was nearing twilight, and with the fading light, Izzie was grateful for the fur-lined cloak that she’d donned as the mild almost-spring day gave way to the cold winter hours of night. By the time they’d reached the castle, the sun was a delicate wisp of pinkish orange on the horizon. With all the thick, dark gray stone walls, it seemed even colder.

It was hard to believe that less than twenty-four hours ago this castle was filled with a garrison of Englishmen. Elizabeth had told her that those who had not died in the fighting had already been sent back to England after vowing not to return. Her cousin had also mentioned that Randolph had been put in charge of supervising the destruction of the castle walls, which was why she was here and not at the siege camp.

She and Richard were still laughing about the last drunk who’d mistaken Richard for his wife and tried to kiss him, as they strode through the gate.

There were a number of people milling about the courtyard—soldiers and villagers who seemed reluctant to leave the celebration. She stood on her tiptoes and pretended to look around. “Should we find the barber?” she teased with a playful tug on one of Richard’s shoulder-length blond locks. “Perhaps it’s time for a trim?”

The young warrior shook his head with disgust. “If he mistook me for his wife, perhaps we should give her a sword.”

Izzie laughed again. He was right. Richard was at least a few inches over six feet and although young, already thick with the imposing muscle typical of his Norse forbearers. The woman would have to be formidable indeed to be confused with him.

“Besides,” he added with a wink. “The lasses like my hair long.”

Izzie couldn’t help smiling as she shook her head. He was incorrigible and a horrible flirt, but she’d grown fond of both Joanna’s brothers. “I’m sure they do. And which poor unsuspecting lass is to have her heart broken tonight?”

“You can save them all if you just say the word.” He took her hand and clasped it to his chest. “Put me out of my misery, dearest Isabel, and run away with me.”

She laughed again and gave him a hard shove. “Go spin your silken tongue to someone who doesn’t know you so well. But you should have care, one of these days I may take you up on one of your proposals just to teach you a lesson.”

He grinned unrepentantly. “And why do I think you actually could?”

Isabel would have given him another shove and told him to get if a dark shadow hadn’t fallen across them both.

“What the Devil is going on here?”

She looked up onto the familiar darkened features. It appeared she didn’t need to find Randolph; he’d found her.

CHAPTER NINE

Not five minutes after leaving the relaxing, steam-filled kitchen where his sore muscles had found relief in the hot water of a wooden tub, those same muscles were tight and knotted again.

At first Randolph thought he’d imagined her. He’d been thinking about Izzie—and what in Hades he was going to do about Elizabeth—when he’d caught a glimpse of the laughing couple as he left the kitchen on his way to the Great Hall. That was when he’d known he wasn’t imagining her because he sure as hell wouldn’t be imagining Izzie with a big Viking. It was only as he drew closer—stormed across the yard, actually—that he realized the Viking was Douglas’s young brother-in-law, which didn’t necessarily improve his temper any. The lad already had something of a reputation around camp for his prowess both on and off the battlefield.

Christ, Randolph was considering breaking his word for her—she was right, he’d proved himself many times over, and even if he hadn’t before, the taking of Edinburgh Castle should have put his past to rest for good—and she was flirting and carrying on with the lad as if she had no care in the world?

Wasn’t she supposed to care about
him
? Well, it certainly wasn’t looking like it. And unless he’d been mistaken, the lad had just propositioned her, and she hadn’t exactly discouraged him.

“My lord,” the lad said with a bow of his head.

“Sir Thomas,” Izzie said at the same time, not with a bow but with a small frown wrinkling her nose.

It might have been cute if he wasn’t so irritated. Had his interruption annoyed her? Too bloody bad! His hands fisted at his side.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

It certainly wasn’t his most gallant moment. But she just lifted that perfectly arched brow of hers in a way that only added to that burr under the plaid feeling. If she rolled her eyes or started to laugh, he wasn’t going to be responsible for what happened next.

“Looking for you, actually.” She turned to the lad and gave him a brilliant smile, which only made Randolph’s fists squeeze harder. She’d never smiled at him like that, damn it. “Thanks for accompanying me, Richard. I will have one of the earl’s men see me back.”

Izzie might not have any idea of the kind of torment she was giving Randolph, but the lad—Richard—apparently did. He looked at Randolph, frowned, and then looked back to her. “Are you sure? I don’t mind sticking around awhile in case you need me.”

Insolent pup! Randolph made a sound suspiciously like a growl and took a step forward. The two men were of size, but Randolph had years of experience on him—they both knew there would be no contest.

“She won’t,” Randolph snapped with a sharp edge to his voice that could not be mistaken for anything other than a threat.