She was tempted to stomp over there and berate him for the untruth—and indeed might have done exactly that—if someone else hadn’t beaten her to him.
She stopped in her tracks as a woman, a very beautiful dark-haired woman, rushed forward to greet him. She must have come out of the refectory.
Thom had his back to her, so Elizabeth couldn’t see his expression, but the one on the woman’s face was enough to make her heart seize in an icy hold.
It was the coy, flirtatious look of a lover—or a woman determined to make him so. She looked at Thom as if he belonged to her and she couldn’t wait to get her hands all over him.
“Who is that?” Izzie asked at her side.
Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t know.” But her heart squeezed; she suspected it was his widow.
“Lady Marjorie Rutherford,” Edward Bruce confirmed later at the midday meal. Elizabeth was pretending not to listen to his conversation with Jamie. “She grew tired of waiting for MacGowan so she decided to take matters into her own hands, so to speak. I do admire a woman with determined hands.” He laughed at the ribald jest, ignoring the censorious look from the abbot a few seats away, and took another long drink from his goblet, which from the loudness of his voice—and his jests—Elizabeth suspected contained something stronger than wine.
The jest might be inappropriate, but it was painfully accurate. The beautiful widow did indeed have determined hands. Every time Elizabeth glanced at the table across the aisle, the “lady” had her hands on him. Nothing too overt: a brush of the arm, a graze of his fingers, a “thoughtless” touch of his shoulder when he said something that amused her, which seemed to be often, and one time when her hand had slipped beneath the table to—Elizabeth would swear—rest on his leg.
Something akin to panic had taken hold. A cold sweat broke out on her brow, her pulse spiked, and nausea swam in her stomach.
She didn’t know whether she wanted to throw up or march over there and toss the woman off the bench—probably a little of both. It was the anger—which was both unjust and irrational—that made Elizabeth realize the emotion was jealousy.
If only the woman wasn’t so pretty. But with her dark hair, tilted eyes, and striking red lips, she had a sensuality and exotic appeal with which Elizabeth couldn’t compete.
Her reaction—her distraction—hadn’t gone unnoticed.
“Lady Elizabeth?” Randolph said. “Are you unwell?”
She shook her head. “Perhaps a bit tired.” She smiled. “And maybe all those tarts are catching up to me.” He looked so concerned she regretted the jest. “I was only teasing. Now, you were mentioning something about your new lands in Badenoch?”
In addition to the earldom of Moray, Randolph had been given the old Bruce lordship of Annandale, the Comyn lordship of Badenoch, the lordship of Man, and the lordship of Lochaber. Only the king’s brother had been granted more. The knowledge should please her—thrill her. She couldn’t have hoped for a better marriage.
I can make you happy . . .
“Aye, Lochindorb Castle is quite an impressive structure—Comyn might have chosen the wrong bed to lie in, but he did know how to build a place to put it—but the interiors will need some modernizing. A woman’s touch, if you will. I hoped that you might be willing to help?”
The panicked feeling came over her again and this time it had nothing to do with Lady Marjorie and her wandering hands. She knew what he was asking and knew what she should say. But the response was harder to form than it should be.
Unable to meet his gaze, she looked down. “I would be honored, my lord.” Her voice came out far softer than she intended.
If he noticed her tentativeness, he did not let on. He had the answer he wanted. She had as good as agreed to marry him. She half-feared he might get down on his knee and make some spectacular proposal right in the middle of the meal. Horror washed over her. Good gracious, would he do that?
She was saved from finding out when Joanna asked him a question. “Did I hear some prisoners were freed from Dunbar, my lord?”
“Aye,” Randolph said. “Although I’m not sure you are supposed to know about that. But it seems your friend MacGowan is a highly skilled climber. I’d wager the English think those men flew out of the prison tower.” He explained that the prisoners at Dunbar were kept in the base of a tower on a separate rock from the rest of the castle, accessible only on one side. Unless—that is—you approached from the sea and climbed the rock.
Elizabeth wasn’t sure she wanted to hear anything else. God in heaven, he could have been killed! Just what Thom considered dangerous she didn’t want to contemplate.
“Too bad he can’t climb Castle Rock,” Randolph added with a wry smile. “Maybe we could finally put an end to this accursed siege.”
Elizabeth had felt the blood leech out of her face at his words, which she prayed were in jest. “But an attempt to climb Castle Rock . . . that would be akin to suicide, my lord. It is unassailable.”
Thom wouldn’t be so foolish, would he? Please tell me that is not why the Guard is recruiting him?
She chanced a glance in his direction, feeling a stab in her chest when she saw the two dark heads bent together, obviously deep in conversation.
Randolph grew at once contrite, offering her a comforting smile. “I didn’t mean to cause you concern. I’m not that eager to best your brother’s recent escapades at Roxburgh. Climbing that rock isn’t an option. We’ll have to take the castle the old-fashioned way—with patience. Though I wish I had more of it.”
He’d obviously mistaken the source of her concern, but he’d eased it all the same.
She smiled back at him. “I’m relieved to hear it, my lord.” She could say something about finding ways to distract him from his boredom, but flirting with him felt . . . wrong. Instead, she said, “I’m sure they will surrender soon enough. From what you’ve said they cannot hold out much longer without being re-provisioned. And I think you have men in place who will see that doesn’t happen?”
Randolph met her gaze, knowing to which men she referred. Men whom no one was supposed to know about. “Aye, I do indeed.”
“After the past few years, I think you deserve a bit of a reprieve from battle. Perhaps you might look at the siege as a rest for what is to come?”
He gave her a long, appreciative look. “That is indeed a good way of looking at it. I shall try to remember that when I’m cursing the mud, endless trenches, and staring at closed gates willing them to open.” He looked down the table. “Where is your cousin today? I hope she is not feeling the ill effects of our morning indulgences?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “She said she had some letters to write and would join us later.” She frowned, realizing the meal was almost over. “I guess she had more to do than she realized.”
“Your cousin writes?”
“Aye, as well as a scribe. My aunt insisted. I was fortunate to share her and her brothers’ tutor for a while, although I’m afraid I never took to learning as well as Izzie. If she had been a lad, my uncle said she could have gone to Oxford.”
He laughed at the very idea. A woman scholar? “Strangely, I can almost see it. She is unusual, your cousin.”
It almost sounded like a compliment.
She would have said as much if she hadn’t caught movement out of the corner of her eye. A corner of her eye that had unconsciously been fixed on the other table.
She sucked in her breath. Thom and his widow were leaving. Together. Alone.
Her lungs felt like they’d been filled with molten lead. She felt the crazy impulse to go after them, and knew her thoughts must have been plain for all to see when Joanna asked her a silly question with a worried look on her face and a quick shake of the head. Don’t. “Do you have any plans for the afternoon, Elizabeth?” her sister-in-law asked.
“Nay.”
“Good, I was hoping you might help me with something.”
Elizabeth took her meaning. She could find Thom later
—at the forge.
But it was small consolation for wondering what he was doing right now.
This was harder than he’d anticipated. Thom had asked to speak to Lady Marjorie privately, but now that they were outside the abbey guesthouse—where the king and others were staying—he didn’t know how to start.
To say that he’d been shocked to see her was an understatement. No doubt Edward Bruce thought he was doing Thom a favor in escorting her here, but it had only made the situation more awkward.
He knew he wasn’t going to be able to marry Lady Marjorie—marrying her for the wrong reasons would be just as bad as Elizabeth marrying Randolph—but he would rather not have had to tell her that after she’d journeyed all this way to see him expecting a proposal.
Bloody hell.
“Perhaps we should sit?” he suggested.
There was a bench looking over the side garden where he led her, and they both took a seat. He’d put some space between them, but she eased up next to him and put her hand on his arm—the lass seemed to have a dozen of them. He had to force himself not to shift out of her hold.
“There is no reason to be nervous,” she said coyly. “I think we both know why we are here.”
He smothered another curse, his mouth falling in a grim line. This was only getting worse. He had to put a stop to it before she said something that would cause her embarrassment.
Perhaps something in his expression alerted her. A hard glint appeared in her eye. “If I didn’t know better, I might think that you aren’t happy to see me.”
“I was surprised,” he hedged. “But I’m always pleased to see a friend.”
She leaned closer to him, putting her hand on his thigh. High on his thigh. “I would have thought we were rather more than friends.”
The invitation was clear. But he wasn’t going to take it. Instead, he removed her hand. “I’m afraid all we can be is friends.”
She drew back, her eyes narrowing. She was a beautiful woman, but again the feline resemblance struck him. If she’d hissed and arched her back, he wouldn’t have been surprised.
“I don’t understand. I thought we had an understanding.”
“I’d hoped that something more might be possible, but I’m afraid that is no longer the case. I apologize if I led you to believe otherwise.”
“You apologize?” she practically spat, her face tight with outrage as she sprang up from the bench and turned on him. “I cannot believe I’m hearing this. You no longer think anything more with me is possible? Do you have any idea the honor I was doing you to even consider such a match? If anyone should be doing the refusing it is me. You should be on your knees thanking God for your good fortune.”
Thom felt his face flush and jaw clench, but he took her verbal lashing and didn’t try to defend himself. She had a right to her anger, and by most standards she was probably correct.
A cold, calculated gleam appeared in her slitted eyes. “Am I to be told the reason for this sudden change of heart?”
“It would not be fair to you. I do not care for you in the way that you deserve.”
She looked at him as if waiting for him to finish a joke. After a long pause, she laughed. “By God, you are serious? Love isn’t what I wanted from you.” Her eyes slid over his body in a way that could not be misunderstood. She wanted him in her bed. He flushed again in anger, feeling not unlike a stallion at market. “You really are a peasant, aren’t you? Only peasants think of love as a reason for marriage.”
The disparagement struck surprisingly hard. Thom stood, his jaw as hard as a block of ice. “Again, I apologize for any trouble I might have caused you. But I think it better if I take my leave now.”
Before he said something they both regretted.
She stepped to the side to block him. “You are a fool. She’ll never marry you.” His gaze shot to hers. “Aye, you didn’t think I noticed the way you stared at James Douglas’s precious little sister every time she turned away? I noticed, but I didn’t give it a second thought. Do you know why? Because there was no reason. There is no way in Hades the illustrious Lady Elizabeth Douglas would consider marrying someone so beneath her—and even if she was inclined to lower herself, her ambitious brother would never allow it. By God, she’s rumored to be almost betrothed to the Earl of Moray!”
He felt the muscle below his jaw start to tic. “You are wrong.”
He didn’t specify about what, hoping she would take his answer and let it go.
Instead it only seemed to increase her amusement. “I almost feel sorry for you. When you realize what you gave up . . . all for nothing.” She shook her head, her smile telling him she was relishing the thought. “You could have been a knight, living in a castle, ruling over substantial lands, and instead you will be lucky to still be carrying that sword if Sir James gets wind of your intentions. He’ll probably see that Bruce kicks you out of his army and sends you right back where you came from.”
Thom wished he could say she was wrong about that, too. But she wasn’t. Douglas’s reaction wasn’t something he hadn’t considered—he just hoped to be in a better position with the Guard and have help from Jo and Elizabeth when the time came.
Finally, she stood back to let him pass. “Go. We are done here. And do not bother coming to find me when you realize she will not have you. I wouldn’t take you if you came crawling on your knees naked and begging—not that I wouldn’t appreciate the view.” Her eyes scanned him again. “What a waste.”
What a narrow escape.
Wanting to put the unpleasant exchange behind him, Thom was only too eager to do as she bade. But her words stayed with him longer than he wanted them to.
20
IT WAS LATE afternoon before the opportunity arose for Elizabeth to sneak away. Jamie had been uncharacteristically slow in leaving them to return to his duties after the midday meal. He was supposed to accompany the king on a hunt, and for a while, she feared he might beg off to stay at the abbey with them.
“Go,” Joanna said a few minutes after he finally left. “Take this.” She handed her a small but heavy bag containing the stones and gold that could be melted down to use on the sword. “I will cover for you if James returns while you are gone.”
Elizabeth looked at her uneasily. “Are you sure? I don’t want to cause any trouble between you.”
Jamie had been asking a lot of questions about their plans for later today. It could be nothing, or it could be he suspected something. Elizabeth didn’t want to put Joanna in an awkward position or force her to lie to her husband.
“Let me worry about James. I know you are anxious to see that Thom has everything he needs.”
They both knew that wasn’t the reason for her anxiousness, but Elizabeth appreciated the pretense.
After leaving the guesthouse, she met Simon, the same young warrior who’d taken her last time, in the stables and made the short walk to the forge.
This time Thom heard her when she entered. He looked up but didn’t stop what he was doing right away, finishing hammering out the metal while it was hot before sticking it in a barrel of sand to cool. He was already working on the tang.
He stared at her, obviously waiting. Remembering the reason for her visit, she pulled the bag with the gold and jewels and handed it to him. “Here. Jo was able to purchase everything that you requested.”
He didn’t bother looking inside, but nodded and put the bag on the workbench. “Thanks.” They stared at each other in silence for a few moments. “If there is nothing else, I should get back to work.”
That was all he had to say? He wasn’t going to explain . . . anything? Her hands fisted in the wool fold of her cloak. In her flustered state, she blurted, “I saw you with Lady Marjorie.”
One brow arched in mild surprise. “Aye.”
Elizabeth gaped at him. “Aye? That is all you have to say?”
“What else am I supposed to say?”
She marched across the room toward him, stopping a few feet away wi
th her hands on her hips. “She’s the widow you were planning to marry.”
“Is that a question?”
She gritted her teeth, feeling the distinct urge to stomp her foot. How could he be so nonchalant? Was he being purposefully obtuse? He was acting as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t spent a couple of hours with another woman practically on his lap—as if he hadn’t left with her . . . alone.
“No, it is not a question.” Her foot might have indeed moved up and down. “Yes, it’s a question. Are you marrying her?”
He wasn’t kind enough to betray any of his thoughts with his expression. God knew, he probably thought she was a crazy woman—she was certainly acting like it.
“Is there any reason I shouldn’t?”
“I thought . . .” Marry me. She flushed. “You don’t love her.”
There was more of a question in her voice than she intended. This time both brows shot up in surprise. “I wasn’t aware that was a prerequisite for marriage. Indeed, I seem to recall you telling me differently.”
The challenge in his eyes never let up. Only when she shifted her gaze to the floor did it release her. She stood there miserable, wanting to cry, but unable to deny his words.
He was right, and she had no right to interfere. Lady Marjorie would make him a good wife. She didn’t want him to change his plans for her, did she? What about Randolph?
His accusations at Roxburgh came back to her. Was she still thinking of him as hers? Still assuming he would always be there for her?
He wasn’t hers, and she shouldn’t be here.
He crossed the distance between them, lifting her face to his with the back of his finger under her chin. His voice was husky and tender. “I’m not marrying her, Elizabeth.”
She scanned his face, blinking back tears. “You’re not?”
He shook his head. “I told her circumstances had changed, and it was no longer possible.”
“Oh.”
“Aye, oh.”
The sense of relief that she had no right to feel was overwhelming. She stared into his eyes, not knowing what to say.