Was this the same man who’d told him for years that a future between him and Elizabeth was impossible? “I thought you’d be glad that I was back. I thought you wanted my help at the forge.”
“I was wrong,” his father had said simply. “You don’t belong here any more than Johnny or I belong on the battlefield. You would never be happy here. You were meant for something bigger. Didn’t what you did at Edinburgh convince you of that?”
“Aye, well, that’s no longer an option. So if you don’t want me, I’ll have to find another smith who does.”
His father had given him a long look, shaken his head as if he couldn’t believe a son of his could be so clodheaded, and walked away.
Thom had done what he’d always done when he needed to think. Packed a bag and made the half-day journey to Sandford just outside of Strathaven, where he’d spent two nights climbing the rocks and coming to the realization that his father was right: he was clodheaded. If the king’s men weren’t waiting to arrest him when he returned home, he was going to hop back on the nag that had brought him here and return to Edinburgh. Even if he couldn’t convince MacLeod to let him stay on with the Guard, even if he had to fight Randolph, and the king stripped him of everything, he would find a way to provide for her.
Actually, he already had a way. The sword he’d finished for Douglas and had delivered to Jo the morning he’d left had turned out even better than he’d anticipated. Perhaps more significantly, he’d realized that he’d liked working on it. It had relaxed him—the work was strangely comforting—and had given him something to concentrate on in between the intense and high-stress missions of the Highland Guard.
Smithing was a part of him just as much as being a warrior was. It would always be a part of him, and he didn’t feel the need to hide from that any longer.
His father and Elizabeth had been right, he could make his fortune as a sword maker if he wanted to. He could provide for her.
If she still wanted him, that is.
Clodheaded.
Damn. His step quickened as he drew near the cottage, so that by the time it at last came into view he was practically running. Then, seeing the smoke pouring out of the window, he was running.
Bloody hell, the house had caught fire! He grabbed a bucket, filled it with water from the animal trough outside, and rushed inside.
The bucket dropped at his feet, soaking his boots, but he barely noticed.
His father had his arms around a woman, who was covered in soot. Had she not been wearing a beautiful light-pink gown—reminding him of the first time he’d seen her atop the tower all those years ago—it might have taken him longer to recognize her.
Elizabeth. His chest hitched to somewhere close to his throat. Here.
She and his father had both turned at the sound of the door—or maybe the bucket dropping—and Elizabeth’s devastated expression (his father had obviously been trying to console her) looked perilously close to tears.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his relief at seeing her outweighed by the fear that she might be hurt.
“The lass is fine,” his father said, answering for her. “She was making something to break our fast. The bread just got a little . . . well done.”
“I burned it!” Elizabeth said. “I wanted it to be a surprise, and now it’s ruined.”
Thom had no idea what she was talking about. His father explained. “I mentioned that your mother used to put butter and sugar on the day-old bread and heat it in the bread oven—and that it was your favorite.”
Christ, with all the smoke pouring out of the oven, she must have used a pound of sugar!
“And I forgot about it,” Elizabeth added, “because the porridge started to stick to the pot.”
Thom glanced at the glob of blackened goo in the pot, figured that was the porridge, and didn’t need to wonder why.
Disgusting. He might have made a face had his father not shot him a look of warning. With a few more pats on her slender back, his father said to her, “I’m sure it will be delicious.”
If his father thought Thom was eating that mess, he was the one who was clodheaded. Hell, Thom wouldn’t even give those oats to the nag he’d ridden here that’d snapped at him more than once.
“Why are you here, Elizabeth?”
He meant why was she in his father’s cottage cooking—which to his knowledge she’d never done before—but she obviously took it more generally. “Did you think I would let you get away with treating me so dishonorably?” She looked at his father as if to say “see.” “You left me. Abandoned me after ruining me”—she turned to his father—“quite thoroughly.”
“And more than once, I know,” his father added with a chastising look in Thom’s direction as he took her in his arms to pat her back again.
Christ, was his father really buying this nonsense?
“Don’t worry, lass, I’ll see that he does right by you. Even if I have to drag him to the kirk myself.”
Apparently so.
Elizabeth ventured a look in Thom’s direction, and he could have sworn he saw her smirk.
She was smirking, he realized. “She seduced me!”
His father looked appalled at the suggestion. “You shame me, lad. Look at that face.” He tilted Elizabeth’s soot-stained face to Thom. “A wee innocent lamb like—”
Thom snorted, and they both shot him a look—Elizabeth’s was more of a scowl.
“Don’t believe that perfect little princess act,” Thom said. “She had me fooled for a while. But now I know better. She’s isn’t perfect at all. Did you see that porridge?”
Elizabeth’s gasp of outrage couldn’t hide her joy. She understood: he loved her—not the pretty little poppet he’d seen at the castle all those years ago.
The look in her eyes . . . It was as if all the love she felt for him was staring back at him. It humbled him.
“I’m afraid he’s right,” she said with a charmingly repentant glance at his father. “I did seduce him. But it was very un-gallant of him to point that out, don’t you think?”
Thom could see his father fighting laughter. His eyes were twinkling as he looked at her. “Very un-gallant, indeed, lass.” He kissed her on the head and let her go. “Let me know if you need my help—he’s not so big that I can’t carry him if I need to—but I don’t think you are going to have much trouble in getting him to that kirk.”
A moment later his father was gone. Without his presence, she seemed to have lost a lot of her certainty, and the gaze that met Thom’s was hesitant and vulnerable. “I like your father.”
“I do, too.” He’d forgotten how much. The awkwardness that had been between them didn’t seem to be there anymore. Maybe they both understood each other a little better now.
“You left,” she said softly.
“I was coming back.”
“You were?”
He nodded, and she ran into his open arms. A moment later he was kissing her, and a shockingly few moments after that, he was carrying her to his bed. The fear of the past few days in thinking he’d lost her seemed to catch up with him all at once. Clearly he wasn’t as honorable as he liked to think, because he didn’t even hesitate. They might not be married or even officially betrothed, but she belonged to him in every way that mattered. And he needed the connection, needed to feel himself moving in and out of her body, needed to hear her cries of pleasure mingling with his own as they climbed the greatest peak together and soared.
It was later—much later—when he finally found his voice. She was nestled against him, her soot-stained skirts still tangled around her legs. He’d been in too much of a hurry to even remove their clothes—not that she’d seemed to mind. She’d been in a hurry, too.
“You would really give it all up for me, El? The castles, the fine gowns, the jewels, your position in society, to live in a small cottage like this and learn to cook and clean?”
She stopped doodling with her finger on his chest to look up at him. “I don’t think I�
�d have to learn much in the way of cleaning”—her nose wrinkled in the way he loved as she glanced around at the bed he hadn’t bothered to tidy before he left or the clothes he’d left strewn around—“and I’m sure my cooking will improve.”
As he doubted it could get much worse, she was probably right. “We’ll have to buy you some black gowns,” he said wryly, which earned him a surprisingly hard punch in the ribs.
“Ouch,” he said, putting a hand over the area.
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be such a bairn. You’ll have to be a lot tougher than that if you are going to make it through . . . what do they call it? Hell? Perdition? Something like that.”
He frowned. “What are you talking about?”
She bit her lip, which he suspected was more for effect than out of any real contrition. “I might not have been completely forthcoming about our future circumstances.”
He quirked a brow. “Is that right?”
She shook her head. “I would give it all up, but it turns out that won’t be necessary. Jamie explained everything.”
“I’m sure he did,” he said bitterly.
She shook her head. “He didn’t say anything about what he . . . uh, walked in on. I meant that he explained to the king and Tor MacLeod why you left so suddenly and without word—you can’t do that, you know.” She gave him a pointed look, and then shrugged. “An emergency at home, I believe.” She grinned. “If anyone asks we can say it was a fire.”
Thom couldn’t believe it. Douglas hadn’t said anything? He hadn’t destroyed him? He’d covered for him?
His gaze leveled on hers. “What did you do?”
She bristled with a dainty huff. “Really, Thom, I’m quite offended. I didn’t do anything other than reason with him.”
Douglas didn’t reason. Thom studied her a little longer. “You told Jo.”
She laughed. “I didn’t, but I would have. Nay, truly. I didn’t do anything. I just told him I loved you and would marry you whether he destroyed you or not, and that if I had to choose between you, I would choose you.” He hadn’t thought his heart capable of squeezing that hard. “James is waiting for you at Park Castle right now.”
All those good feelings immediately evaporated. “What the hell for?”
“For your formal request to marry me.” She held his gaze. “Which I have on very good authority that he means to accept.”
“Randolph?”
“Taken care of.”
Thom grimaced, not liking the thought of being indebted to Douglas any more than he already was. Christ, at this rate he’d likely be having to name his firstborn James. “How much?”
She shrugged. “Not as much as you would think. We had help. But we will have to put off the news of the engagement for a while. When you are done with your training next month will be soon enough.”
“You seem to have it all planned out. Am I to have no say in this?”
“You had your say.”
“I did?”
“I told you I was going to marry you when I was six. If you wanted to object you’ve had eighteen years to do so.”
But he had no intention of objecting. He would marry her and cherish her for the rest of his life.
EPILOGUE
Park Castle, one month later
ELIZABETH WAS STARING out the tower window again, but this time she knew exactly what she was looking for—or rather whom.
She turned to Jo, who was seated by the fire working on a cap for the baby. “Jamie said they would be here by now. Do you think something has happened?”
“You have to calm down, Ella, it’s not good for—” She stopped suddenly as if remembering something. “You have to learn patience if you are going to be married to a warrior. These things never go as planned.”
Elizabeth plopped down in a chair, not hiding her frustration. “But I’m not patient. I hate waiting and not knowing. I never realized how hard it must be for you. How do you do it?”
“I try not to think about it. I realized it wasn’t doing either of us any good for me to worry myself to death. Uilleam helps keep my mind off things.”
She looked at Elizabeth meaningfully, as if she should be understanding something. Elizabeth frowned. “Aye, I can see why. He’s as much of a handful as Hugh and Archie were.” She shuddered. “When I have children, I’m going to be much more firm with them.”
Joanna looked like she was choking on something before she managed, “I shall look forward to seeing that.”
Elizabeth sighed. “I wish Thom had been able to come back from training on Skye before he’d been called away on a mission with James. He’s been gone over three weeks now.”
“They’ll be back soon enough.”
Jo was right. When the call rang out from the yard below a few minutes later, Elizabeth was already halfway down the stairs.
“Careful!” Jo yelled from behind her, but Elizabeth wasn’t listening. All she could think about was . . .
The moment she ran into the yard she saw him. The impact of emotion that hit her was like a physical blow. It landed across her chest with the force of a hammer. He was here. Dirty, tired, a little grizzled. His hair was longer than she’d ever seen it and his jaw looked like it hadn’t seen a razor in a week, yet he was even more handsome than she remembered. But none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was that he was safe—and by the looks of it in fine form. Very fine form. If possible, he seemed even more physically imposing. He looked every inch an elite warrior of the Highland Guard.
The relief was so overwhelming it almost brought her to her knees.
She made a sound, and he looked over from his conversation with Jamie—a surprisingly un-tension-ridden conversation, she noticed—to see her standing there. When he grinned, her legs seemed to finally remember how to move. She tore across the yard and threw herself into his arms.
The moment they closed around her the emotion that she’d been trying to control came bursting out in a flood of tears.
He held her for a minute, squeezing her tight and whispering soothing words into her hair as he kissed the top of her head. He smelled of horse, and leather, and wind, and nothing had ever smelled so good. She wanted to hold on to him forever.
It took her a moment, but eventually she felt the shaking in his chest and realized he was laughing.
When she scowled up at him, he took the opportunity to drop a too-quick kiss on her mouth, when all she wanted to do was melt into him (he was no doubt aware of her blasted brother standing right next to him).
“Aren’t you happy to see me?” he said, his eyes twinkling.
She felt the strange urge to stomp on his foot. “I am, you wretch!”
“I thought you didn’t cry.”
“I don’t.” She wiped her eyes furiously. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m crying all the time of late.”
“You’ll be fine soon enough,” Jo said, coming up behind her. “The mission with the Earl of Carrick went well?” she asked her husband.
All the women knew was that it had been a raid in England.
“Well enough,” Jamie said with an odd look in Boyd’s direction. “We had some help from Randolph and his men.”
Elizabeth’s gaze shot to Thom’s, but he shook his head, telling her it had been fine. Apparently, according to James, there weren’t any hard feelings between Randolph and Thom. Randolph apparently considered his graciousness toward the man who was now marrying his former betrothed as recompense for Thom saving his life.
“Now I saved his,” Randolph had said.
Thom had disagreed that a battle between them would be so one-sided, but Elizabeth had just been relieved that Randolph hadn’t dropped his gauntlet at Thom’s feet and demanded a joust or some other knightly form of satisfaction and forced her to find out.
She suspected she had Izzie to thank for that. If she hadn’t wrangled the lauded knight yet, she would soon.
Elizabeth was glad not to have Randolph to worry about; pre
venting Thom and Jamie from coming to blows had been difficult enough. Although she was relieved to see that no longer seemed the case. Elizabeth didn’t fully understand the bond men seemed to form in war, but if it helped restore some measure of the former friendship between them she was grateful for it.
Jo had arranged a feast for the men when they arrived, and Elizabeth stopped crying and let go of Thom long enough to greet some of the others as they walked into the Great Hall. Most of the Guard had already gone on to Dunstaffnage to give their report to the king before returning to their own families for a few days, but Boyd and Lamont had accompanied Thom as far as Douglas and would continue on to their families tomorrow.
Elizabeth was looking forward to meeting them all in a couple of weeks for their wedding, which would take place—fittingly—in Edinburgh at the abbey under the shadow of the great castle Thom had helped restore to Scotland.
Jamie would have put it off for even longer to avoid the taint of scandal after the broken betrothal, but with the English planning to march north in June, he knew the men would be called away at any time. Elizabeth didn’t care about what people said. She would have married Thom the day he’d asked for her, if Jamie would have let her.
Once they were seated, she finally had an opportunity to talk to him. “You are well?” she said, searching for any sign of injury.
“Very well,” he said, sweeping a few strands of hair from her cheek to tuck behind her ear. His thumb lingered long enough to caress her cheek. “But I missed you.”
Her chest squeezed at the loving look in his eyes. It squeezed with something else as well, but thanks to Jamie that would have to wait. He’d made Thom agree that he wouldn’t have cause to walk in on them again before the wedding, and Thom was now honor-bound to keep his word.
Her argument that the horse had already trotted out of the stable was met with extremely chastising frowns from both of them.
The next few weeks were going to be torture.
“I missed you, too. Training was not too difficult?” she asked.