The Rogue: A Highland Guard Novella (The Highland Guard) Read online

  He could see it clearly now, but Izzie didn’t seem to believe anything he said. Worse, she didn’t seem all that interested. She was acting as if it were too late. As if she didn’t care how he felt. But that couldn’t possibly be true… could it? Nay. He wasn’t going to give up until he convinced her—even if he suspected that more than once in the next few days he was just going to want to lock her in the tower and ravish her senseless until she agreed.

  Thanks to her, he had a new nickname from Hawk—Brigand—and apparently it fit.

  The long ride with her bottom pressing against his cock—he wasn’t going to give her the chance to escape—certainly wasn’t helping his newly formed barbarian instincts any. He’d been pushed to the edge by both her indifference to his apologies and the constant friction of a very soft bottom. How the lass could rouse his temper and his cock to such extraordinary lengths at the same time, he didn’t know.

  It was a relief when they finally reached the ferry to make the short crossing to the castle. Once on the small island, she looked around, her eyes skimming with disbelief over the burned-out outbuildings and more than half slighted walls.

  She spun on him angrily. “This horrible pile of stones belongs to you?” She paused to add sarcastically. “Do you by chance have a castle that actually has a roof on it?”

  “It has a roof.” Although he wasn’t sure how effective it was. The English had done a pretty thorough job of razing everything made out of wood. The stone hadn’t fared much better. “I thought you would want to see the best. It will be my gift to you when you agree to marry me.”

  She gaped at him as if he were mad. “If this is your best castle, Randy”—he might have to kill Hawk the next time he saw him for calling him that in front of her—“then I wonder about your reputation as one of your uncle’s most important knights. I also wonder about those reputed charm skills if you think to lure me to marriage with the promise of this ruin.”

  “I didn’t say it was my best castle. I said it was the best—for you.”

  Now she didn’t just look outraged, she also looked offended. “So I am worthy of a burned-out, slighted ruin?”

  She was irritating him again. He had to clench his jaw to bite back the flare of temper. He was tempted to let her figure it out herself. “You are worthy of every great palace in the world. But I did not think it was fine towers, gold plate, velvet furnishings, and high ramparts that would please you. I love you, Izzie, and I thought this would show you how much.”

  When she wasn’t busy driving him crazy, she was a clever lass—her quick wit and intelligence were two of the reasons he loved her—it didn’t take her long to figure it out. If he hadn’t been watching her so closely, he wouldn’t have seen the quick intake of breath and the swell of emotion sweep over her features. “You want me to help you rebuild it?”

  The gesture had touched her. For a moment the look in her eyes even gave him hope. It was as if she were a child receiving a gift for the first time.

  “It will be yours. You can rebuild it how you want. If you wish me to help, I should love to, but the decisions will be yours.”

  She didn’t say anything right away. But after a minute, she composed herself and wrestled her emotions back under firm control. “I was wrong,” she said. “You deserve every bit of your reputation for charming women. But it isn’t going to work.” She lifted her chin, her eyes glinting with steel. “You will not bribe me into marriage.”

  That wasn’t what he was doing, damn it. He just wanted to do something that would be meaningful to show her how much she meant to him. He took a threatening step toward her, the tension between them wound so tight he could practically feel it pulsing. Or maybe that was another part of him, damn it. “Perhaps I could think of another way. I did promise your cousin to ravish you again the next time I saw you.”

  The flush that rose to her cheeks told him she was not as immune to the threat as she wanted to be. She lifted her eyes defiantly to his. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “I wouldn’t wager on it, love.”

  The tone of his voice must have impressed her. Her eyes widened a little, and she took a definitive step back. “What happened to you? You are acting like a brigand.”

  Christ, not her, too! Her calling him Randy was bad enough. “I fell in love, that’s what happened.” He paused. “I was scared out of my mind, Izzie. If he’d hurt you, it would have been my fault.”

  His expression and the pained sound in his voice must have penetrated. It was with some compassion that she assured him, “Don’t be ridiculous. It had nothing to do with you. I should have expected something like that. I knew he would not just give up, but I’d convinced myself he had.”

  “Because you wanted to leave. Because I drove you away. Because you didn’t think I cared about you. But I love you, Izzie.”

  At least she didn’t roll her eyes or pretend she didn’t hear him this time—which was progress, he supposed. “And so you decided to abduct me and lock me in this wreck of a tower on an island until I agree to marry you? This is how you intend to prove it to me?”

  “It was supposed to be romantic. And you’re not a prisoner. Although you might have trouble finding someone who will ferry you across.”

  She gave him a long look. “I wonder about you, Randy. Really, I do.”

  He still didn’t like the nickname, but it was oddly fitting coming from her. She had a way of knocking him down a peg or two, and he conceded that maybe he might need it every now and then.

  “And what am I supposed to do all day while I am not being held prisoner?”

  He lifted a brow and gave her a wickedly suggestive look. “I can think of a few things.”

  Sadly, she didn’t bite. “Not a chance.”

  He shrugged, not surprised but disappointed all the same. “This place is a mess. There is parchment and quills in your room—fix it.” He started to walk toward the sea, needing a cool dip before he did something he regretted like lift her in his arms and carry her up those damned stairs himself. He turned just before he passed beyond the gate. “Don’t make me wait too long, Izzie. I’m not a patient man by nature, and I’m liable to take matters into my own hands.”

  They both knew what he meant, and from the pink that darkened her cheeks, he knew the idea wasn’t as offensive to her as she wanted it to be.

  Izzie knew what it felt like to be a mouse. For two weeks she’d been hunted by a very wicked, very sneaky, very feral cat that seemed ready to pounce on her for the kill. She wanted to say that she was immune to his efforts to convince her that he loved her, but the truth was that the once-vaunted knight turned ravishing, abducting brigand was wearing her down. She didn’t know what was more difficult to believe—that he’d abducted her or that he’d announced it (and her ravishment) to the world. He’d destroyed his perfect knight image for her, and it was hard not to think it meant something.

  Every day he devised some devious method of knocking down the walls she’d erected around her heart. He’d laid siege to her battered emotions with such a powerful show of force, she had new respect for the English garrison at Edinburgh for holding out as long as they did. Sir Thomas Randolph knew how to wage a war—there was a reason he’d become one of the king’s most trusted advisors—and he was putting the full force of those talents at work against her.

  What chance did she have?

  Every morning he joined her to break her fast, after which he planned some morning activity—from fishing in a secluded bay on one side of the island (she’d declined the offer to swim), to long walks along the seaside where they would discuss everything from the war to the future role he hoped to take in his uncle’s government, to what to do after the war to prevent another English king from attempting to assert authority over Scotland, to his views on managing his own lands and farming, to his favorite stories and, of course, music.

  She was entranced by it all. He shared his thoughts without moderation or calculation. He talked freely for what she suspe
cted was a rarity for him.

  After the midday meal when he wasn’t training with his men (which she might have watched more than once from the bench she’d set up in what had been the garden, to read), he would tour her around the castle, telling her what had been where and pointing out different construction methods the previous builder had used. She’d tried to feign disinterest for as long as she could—about a day—and before she realized it, she was asking questions, discussing ideas, the pros and cons of existing modern castles (like Dunstaffnage and Kildrummy), and wondering whether there should be four towers or five. She’d started to sketch different ideas and knew it was only a matter of time before she showed them to him.

  But, of course, the hardest part and most difficult to resist of his tactical assault against her defenses was the way he looked at her, the not-so-accidental touches and grazes, and the daily declaration of love. Every night before she retired for bed, he would stand outside her door (which was separated from his by a very thin wooden partition wall), and bid her good night with a simple “I love you.”

  But, of course, it wasn’t simple at all. It was the most important thing in the world to her—if she could believe him.

  He hadn’t tried to kiss her, which was worse than if he had. She was dreaming about it, anticipating it, and—silly lustful fool that she was—hoping for it. Last night, he’d leaned down to sweep a strand of hair from her cheek, and thinking he finally meant to kiss her, she’d sucked in her breath so loudly she knew he must have heard. His eyes had fallen to her mouth, and she knew all she had to do was lean toward him and his mouth would have been on hers. She would have been in his arms again, and probably—definitely—in his bed again.

  She’d lain awake most of the night cursing herself for not doing so. Her body was on fire as she remembered all the pleasure he had given her. She wanted to feel him inside her again. She wanted to skim her hands over every inch of that incredible body and feel his heart beating against hers again. She wanted to look into his eyes when he was sliding in and out of her and feel that powerful connection once more.

  She wanted him.

  The truth was that his two-week long seduction was working, and she didn’t know how much longer she was going to be able to hold out. The question was whether she still wanted to. He’d broken her heart—could she trust him not to do so again? Could she believe him or was he still just saying what he thought she wanted to hear?

  It was time to find out. That night when he escorted her to her door and told her he loved her, she didn’t immediately turn to go inside her room. “Why should I believe you?” she asked. “How do I know you are not just saying the words because you think they are what I want to hear?”

  He seemed momentarily stunned that they were finally talking about this, but quickly recovered. “I hoped the last two weeks would prove it to you. We belong together, Izzie. Surely you can see that?”

  “My seeing it is not the problem.”

  “I was an idiot.” She didn’t disagree. “The signs were there but I didn’t want to see them.”

  She arched a brow, intrigued in spite of herself. This ought to be good. “Signs?”

  He nodded. “Aye, I stopped looking at other women, I became overprotective and possessive if anyone looked at you—Christ, I nearly punched a merchant for looking down your dress that day in the market—I forgot my honor by taking you to bed before we said our vows, and I was alternatively miserable and irrational, doing ridiculous things.”

  “You mean like abducting me?”

  He frowned. “Nay. As I said, that was supposed to be romantic.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “MacSorley.”

  “I think you had better find some new friends.”

  Randolph made a face. “It did seem a little, uh, unorthodox.”

  “That’s an understatement.” She gave him a long look. “So am I to understand that you now profess to love me because you took me to bed and didn’t jump into another woman’s, because you were a little worried about me and didn’t appreciate when my bodice was the recipient of glances from other men?” She gave a half roll of her eyes. “That hardly seems enough to build a life upon.”

  He didn’t seem to appreciate the eye roll or her flippant tone. His gaze sharpened. “You are also the most irritating woman I have ever met.”

  He looked so wonderfully frustrated, she wondered if it might be time to have some pity on him. She couldn’t fully hide her smile. “I am? Why didn’t you say that in the first place.”

  He looked at her as if he couldn’t believe it. “Christ, Hawk was right.”

  “Who?”

  He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Do you believe me?”

  Amazingly, she did. “Let’s just say I’m not completely opposed to the idea. It’s quite a list.”

  He didn’t seem to mind her sarcasm. “Just wait until I start walking around with a stupid grin on my face.” He gave a brief shudder before continuing in earnest. “I know I acted unforgivably, but I am sorry. I’ve never fallen in love before, and I didn’t realize what was happening to me until you left, and I thought I’d lost you.” His expression grew pained—almost devastated. “I let you walk away thinking I didn’t care about you, and I was out of my mind with regret and fear. Nothing else mattered but finding you and doing whatever it took to convince you that you are the most important person in the world to me. That I would be honored to have you by my side as my wife. That you are the first, second, third, and only choice. That I could never marry anyone else after being with you.” He reached out to caress the curve of her cheek with his thumb. “You ruined me, sweetheart.”

  Her heart squeezed; it wasn’t so cold anymore. “I think you’ve got it the wrong way around,” she said wryly, instinctively burrowing her face deeper into his hand. “I was the ravished virgin.”

  He shook his head. “I found perfection. How could I ever settle for anything else?” He took a deep breath and looked down into her eyes. “Marry me, mo ghrá. I swear on my honor that I will never give you cause to regret it.”

  Her mouth twisted. “I don’t know. Your honor has taken rather a severe beating of late. Now that you’ve sullied your reputation, I’m not so sure—I rather fancied marrying a great hero.” She tilted her head. “Any more impossible castles for you to take by chance?”

  Realizing she was teasing—and what it meant—his eyes warmed with happiness that filled her own heart.

  “I’m afraid not,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “Now that my uncle Edward Bruce has made the truce with England over Stirling Castle, the last one has been taken.”

  She shrugged. “Oh well. I’m sure you will think of something.”

  He grinned. “I’m sure I will.” He slid his arm around her waist and drew her to him. “Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

  She nodded.

  That was all he needed. He covered her mouth with a groan and pulled her deeper into his arms. He kissed her like a man who’d just found his life’s reward. Like a man who would love her for the rest of his life. With every stroke of his tongue, with every touch and caress, he showed her exactly how much she meant to him. And a very few minutes later, when he’d divested them both of their clothing and carried her to bed, he showed her the perfection that would be theirs for a lifetime.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Sir Thomas Randolph, Earl of Moray, and his rival James “the Black” Douglas have gone down in history as Robert the Bruce’s two most vaunted and trusted commanders. Randolph is thought to have been a nephew of the king’s, but the exact genealogy is not known. I went with what seems to be the favored ancestry of Randolph’s mother, possibly named Isabel, being the daughter of Bruce’s father, Niall’s, second wife, whom Niall marries after Marjorie, Countess of Carrick—Bruce’s mother—dies. In other words, Randolph is the son of Bruce’s mother’s half sister.

  Although the taking of Edinburgh Castle in 1314 (also featured in The Rock) is undo
ubtedly Randolph’s most famous feat, he has a long and illustrious career in his uncle’s service, fighting along his side during the Wars of Independence—reputedly leading one of the divisions at the seminal Battle of Bannockburn (which features in The Ghost, the next book in the series,)—and serving the king in the important years that followed, culminating in the signing of the Declaration of Arbroath in 1320, where Randolph’s signature appears prominently. Bruce also named him as regent to the young heir to the throne, David, a position that Randolph serves after the death of Bruce in 1329, for three years until his own death in 1332.

  Randolph is rewarded well for his loyalty. In addition to the earldom of Moray, he is given the old Bruce lordship of Annandale, the lordship of Man, and the lordship of Badenoch to go along with his lands in Nithsdale, where he was born, and Lochaber.

  Notwithstanding all his accomplishments and the faithful years of service to his uncle, the accounts of Randolph always mention the one exception: the early years of the war where he briefly turns to fight with the English. I imagine it must have dogged him and couldn’t resist using it in my story.

  Randolph is reputedly taken prisoner by the English after the disastrous defeat at the Battle of Methven in 1306. I have it a little later in The Hawk, in February 1307, when Bruce’s men are trying to avoid the English navy. Famously, Randolph is said to have explained his change of allegiance by saying that “the King made war like a brigand instead of fighting a pitched battle as a gentleman should.” (Ronald McNair Scott, Robert the Bruce: King of Scots, Barnes & Noble Books, New York, 1993, pg. 111.) Although the words definitely have the feel of a later attributor, they sum up the overriding conflict in the Highland Guard series between the old “chivalric” fighting and my “pirate” warfare perfectly. While in England, Randolph was said to have been under the keeping of our old friend Sir Adam Gordon (The Recruit and The Ghost), and when he is captured yet again two years later—this time by the Scots—who do you think is in command? Why who else but Douglas! Irony, that.