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.
23
EVERYTHING 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 . . .
Princess.
Her chest pinched. She had to stop doing this. She had to stop thinking about him. She knew just what to do to take her mind off it.
Jamie had given her an unlimited budget for purchasing new clothes and shoes—what Jo called his guilt money—and Elizabeth didn’t waste any time in spending it. The very next morning she dragged Joanna and her cousin to seemingly every cordwainer, clothier, and haberdasher in Edinburgh. By the time they returned to the abbey they were exhausted, and the merchants on the high street had quite a bit more silver in their purses.
Elizabeth had piles of lace and beaded trim, ribbons of every color, veils, purses, chemises, designs for new slippers to think about, and stacks of colorful fabric for new gowns that were now strewn across her bed.
“What do you think of this?” she asked, holding the long swath of blue to her neck. “Have you ever seen such beautiful silk? The merchant said it was the finest he’s ever seen. It’s all the way from the Far East, not Spain or Sicily.”
“It was certainly priced as if Marco Polo had carried it back along the Silk Road himself,” Izzie said dryly. She’d recovered from her illness, although she did seem a bit more wan than usual. “I think cousin James might have a few regrets when he gets back.”
Jamie had left this morning on a mission to nearby Stirling to help Edward Bruce with the siege.
“I think it’s very beautiful,” Joanna said. “The color matches your eyes. And I suspect for once Jamie will have very little to say about your merchants’ bills.”
Elizabeth ignored the subtle reference to Jamie’s supposed guilt—he had nothing to feel guilty about, he had not forced her into this, it had been Elizabeth’s decision—but Joanna wouldn’t listen. “Do you think it is right for a bridal gown? Perhaps if we have the cloth
ier add some pearls on the bodice and on the part of the underskirt visible beneath the front slit of the surcotte?”
Discussing designs for new gowns was one of their favorite ways of passing the time. Normally, they could spend hours going over just the right placement for a particular piece of trim, embroidery, or beading. That this was for her wedding should make it even more enjoyable.
But no matter how much enthusiasm she tried to muster, it wasn’t working. No amount of finery could mask the false happiness and panic churning inside her. The truth that could not stay buried beneath piles of pretty fabrics.
Wrong. Coward.
“God, won’t you just shut up?”
Elizabeth didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until both Joanna and her cousin gasped and stared at her in shock.
I must be losing my mind.
Elizabeth quickly apologized. She was so exhausted she was talking to herself, she claimed with a high-pitched laugh.
But she wasn’t fooling anyone—least of all herself. The most spectacular wedding, the most gorgeous dress, the most fantastic pair of shoes . . . none of it could change what should be the most important part of the wedding: the groom.
Everything was not perfect after all.
The carefully constructed wall of false bravado crumbled, and Elizabeth could no longer deny what she’d known from the moment she’d stood before the abbot and recited her vows: she’d made a horrible mistake.
And God help her, it was too late to do anything about it.
“Are you sure?” the king asked.
Thom shook his head. “Nay, but it is worth a try.”
They were gathered in Randolph’s tent—all ten members of the Highland Guard, Thom, Randolph, the king, and the king’s closest advisor, Neil Campbell. Douglas probably would have been included had he been there, but Thom knew he wasn’t the only one who was glad he was not. If they were successful, Randolph wouldn’t want to share the credit with his rival. Was that why he’d been sent to Stirling for a few days?
“If the spikes don’t hold, you will fall to your death,” MacLeod said.
“They’ll hold,” Thom said with more certainty than he felt.
“And if they don’t?” MacLeod challenged.
Thom didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. They all knew the risk involved; risk he was willing to accept. His role in Bruce’s army had become his sole focus. He was determined to win his knighthood and a place in the Guard.
It was the game of tossing daggers at the wall that had inspired him, though it wasn’t until he’d woken up that next morning with his stomach turning and head splitting apart that he’d figured out how it could be applied to the Rock of Edinburgh Castle.
He’d gone to the forge first thing that morning, and instead of working on Douglas’s sword (which was almost done but which he didn’t want to look at), he’d modified a few small steel spikes. Each was about six inches in length and tapered from about an inch in diameter below the head to a point. They needed to be strong enough to hold his weight, but thin and sharp enough to be hammered into a small crack in the rock face. A few of them, strategically spaced, should allow Thom to climb the sheer section of wall that he’d been unable to get past before. Once clear of that section, he hoped to be able to drop one of Bruce’s ingenious rope scaling ladders fixed with grappling hooks to the rest of the men, enabling them to climb up after him, and—if fortune was with them—surprise and take the castle.
MacRuairi wanted to go up the spikes after him to help with the ladders, but Thom told him it would be an unnecessary risk.
To this, the king agreed. “I have no interest in telling your wife that I let you fall off a cliff.”
Bruce shuddered and the rest of the men laughed, though Thom was pretty sure the king wasn’t jesting. From what he heard, Bella MacDuff was a formidable opponent. He supposed she had to be to take on Lachlan MacRuairi as a husband.
“Will you be able to secure the spikes without alerting the garrison?” Randolph asked.
It was a good question. No matter what Thom’s personal feelings were toward the man, Randolph had not become one of Robert the Bruce’s most valued commanders from his familial link alone. He might be an overly arrogant arse at times, but he was a wily one who knew how to wield a sword and wasn’t afraid to get a little dirt on all of that shiny armor.
“I will try to muffle most of the sound with a piece of leather or cloth, but preventing the garrison from hearing the hammering will be the trickiest part of the mission,” Thom answered. Well, except for the possibly falling to his death part. “But I was thinking that maybe you and your men could create some kind of diversion at the gate.”
The men discussed it for a while and agreed that it might work.
But there was one part Randolph would not agree to. He insisted on being part of the team that went up the cliff. If this went down in history, he wanted the accolades. That Thom was helping the man who’d won the woman he loved win battle immortality, he tried not to think about. He would win his own, though he did not doubt Randolph would be the man whom history would remember.
They decided to take thirty men. In addition to the Guard, Thom, and Randolph, they added eighteen of Randolph’s Highlanders from Moray, all of whom had some climbing experience. Thom had handpicked the best of the lot earlier today.
The king would command the rest of the army responsible for the diversionary attack at the gate. They hoped to draw most of the garrison to the south gate and away from the men trying to climb the north face of the Rock.
Anxious to take the castle and end the nearly two-and-a-half-month-long siege, the king told them to proceed as soon as they were ready. After a reconnaissance mission tonight, they would make their attempt on immortality tomorrow night.
If this worked, Thom knew he would secure his knighthood and his place in the Guard. They were the only things that mattered to him now.
Elizabeth was going out of her mind. Even with all the entertainment and activities that Edinburgh had to offer, she could not relax. All the restlessness that she’d experienced at Blackhouse and attributed to the boredom of the countryside had never come close to what she was experiencing right now.
At least she was not forced to feign happiness with her bridegroom. Randolph and the king had been conspicuously absent from both the evening meal last night and today’s midday meal.
Had there finally been some progress with the siege? For Randolph’s sake she hoped so, but for her own she wasn’t so sure. Without the distraction of the siege, she might see far more of him, and she wondered how long she’d be able to hide her frayed and frazzled emotions.
On Thursday, two days after the betrothal, when Lady Helen mentioned that she was going to camp again to tend to the soldiers, Elizabeth practically jumped at the opportunity to accompany her. It was just what she needed to take her mind off . . . everything.
The thought that she might see Thom only occurred to her afterward. She thought she would be able to handle it.
She was wrong.
No sooner had she and Lady Helen entered camp than she came face-to-face with him. Actually, as fate would have it, she ran right into him as he exited a tent—the king’s tent, she realized from the banners outside.
At the slam of contact, Thom instinctively reached for her. But the moment he recognized her, he stiffened and jerked his hand back. She would have stumbled had Lady Helen not been by her side to steady her. For the first time since she’d known him, he would have let her fall.
Startled from the bump—and more startled that it was him—she took one look at his icy expression and felt her emotions shatter. The connection was gone. “I’m sorry,” she practically sobbed.
They both knew she wasn’t apologizing for knocking into him. But the stony look in his eyes left no doubt that her apology was not welcomed. “The fault was mine,” he said blandly. “If you will excuse me. My lady,” he said, acknowledging Lady Helen, and then walked away.
The lash of pain was hard and deep, flaying, tearing, ripping her apart in strips. Never had she felt so helpless. She hadn’t realized how horrible it would be to not have him. And worse, to have him hate her.
In a state of utter devastation, Elizabeth stared at his back as he disappeared into the maze of tents and trees. Her chest burned. Her throat squeezed. She wanted to crawl into a ball and sob. She would have burst into tears had Randolph not walked out after him. “Lady Elizabeth, what a delightful surprise!”
She turned to him with a watery smile. “My lord.”
He frowned, perhaps noticing the shine in her eyes. “Is everything all right?”
She was saved from having to make up an excuse when Lady Helen interceded on her behalf. “I’m afraid I’ve been making Lady Elizabeth laugh a little too hard with my stories of young William’s antics.”
It was the truth—at least it had been until she’d slammed headlong into Thom.
The explanation appeared to satisfy Randolph, although he did give Elizabeth a small frown before taking her hand in his. “Was there something you needed? I’m sorry for not sending word today or last night. We’ve been . . . busy.”
“Lady Elizabeth has graciously offered to help me tend the men today,” Lady Helen said.
“Ah.” Randolph smiled. “Then it is not me you have come to see. I would be disappointed if it were not such an important cause.”
Elizabeth finally found her voice. “Is something happening with the siege, my lord?”
Though he smiled, Elizabeth sensed an evasiveness in his manner and expression. “Alas, no. The siege is exactly the same.”
She would have questioned him further if Lady Helen had not put a hand on her arm. “We should go,” she said meaningfully. “I’m sure the earl is very busy.”
Randolph seemed grateful for the interruption—making Elizabeth even more certain that he was up to something.
But for the next few hours, Elizabeth didn’t have time to think about Randolph or Thom. She was fully occupied with the steady stream of soldiers who visited the tent. Fortunately, there were no serious injuries. It was a hodgepodge of sore and strained limbs, bruised ribs, a cut that had festered, another that needed stitching, “digestive” problems, and a few fevers only one of which was serious enough for Helen to order him sequestered until it came down. Fever, like the bloody flux, could spread through camp like wildfire. That more men had not come down with sickness in the harsh misery of a winter siege was a blessing.