The Rogue: A Highland Guard Novella (The Highland Guard) Page 8

  He sure as hell wasn’t in love with her. Nor did he have any intention of falling over that particular cliff. He shuddered at the thought. He’d seen the signs enough to know. Hell, most of the men he fought with in Bruce’s Guard had succumbed to “love” and the idiocy that went along with it. At least they’d all acted like idiots while they were courting their wives. They stopped looking at other women, they became overprotective and fiercely possessive if anyone looked at their woman, they acted irrationally and crazily—alternatively miserable and overly happy depending on whether the lass looked at them the right way. They forgot their honor by anticipating the wedding night, and once they’d “won” their prize they walked around with a ridiculous “I’m the luckiest bastard in the world” grin on their faces.

  He wasn’t doing any of that. Why he’d looked at another woman just the other day, right before… Izzie and her cousin arrived. His mouth fell in a grim line. That didn’t mean anything. He wasn’t being irrational or possessive—although if that one tart merchant had looked at her chest any longer, he would have felt the edge of Randolph’s sword. It was his duty, that was all. That he didn’t feel the need to defend Elizabeth’s honor—who’d had a good number of looks at her chest as well—didn’t mean anything.

  None of it meant anything. He was just a little distracted, that’s all. He needed to focus on the prize.

  So he’d made his intentions clear with the bracelet.

  But he hadn’t meant to hurt Isabel. And though there was nothing in her eyes—no condemnation, no betrayal, no anything—when their gazes met, he knew he had.

  He wanted to apologize, but when he tried to pull her to the side after he’d been called back to camp—the Highland Guard had returned from a mission—she wouldn’t let him.

  Knowing he had to go, he vowed to try later, while doing his best to prove to everyone—including himself—that the betrothal with Elizabeth was what he wanted.

  Of course it was. Elizabeth was perfect.

  Perfect. “That is what you want, isn’t it?” He could still hear the taunt in Izzie’s voice. Aye, and he would have it. Everything was going to be perfect, damn it. Tomorrow he would get it over— He stopped, correcting himself. Tomorrow he would propose to Elizabeth.

  As much as he wanted to apologize to Izzie, it was probably better for them both if he stayed away.

  But later, when he returned to his tent to wash and saw the package that was waiting for him, he smiled. He’d almost forgotten that he’d sent his squire on a hunt for it. Maybe there was something he could do to apologize, after all.

  Insensitive… unfeeling… lout! How could he buy her cousin such a meaningful gift with her standing right there? Maybe Izzie had been right in her estimation of him from the start. Maybe Randolph was incapable of genuine feelings and emotion, and yesterday was an aberration. She’d felt as if she’d been on a stage all morning with the crowd watching them, and his brilliant performance as the perfect—she was really beginning to hate that word—doting suitor.

  But the purchase of the beautiful bracelet had been just as much for Izzie as it had been for the crowd. He was making a statement—which wasn’t necessary. She’d heard him well enough the first time.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid! Her anger wasn’t just for him; it was directed at herself as well. She knew better, and still she’d let herself think that the passion between them meant something. It meant something all right. It meant that she was a naive fool, and if he hadn’t put a stop to it, she would have been a naive ruined fool. She supposed she had to thank him for that at least. It hadn’t been a complete seduction.

  But it had been enough. The way he’d touched her, the way he’d made her feel, the way he’d looked into her eyes…

  She cursed and forced her thoughts away. She couldn’t think about it. She would never think about it again. She’d seen only what she wanted to see.

  “Did you say something, Izzie?” Elizabeth asked.

  Izzie bit her lip and winced, realizing that she must have muttered her curse aloud. She and her cousin were returning to the guesthouse after the midday meal. They were both unusually quiet and lost in thought, although Izzie could guess what her cousin was thinking about. She’d seen Elizabeth’s face when Thom MacGowan had left the refectory with the newly arrived Lady Marjorie Rutherford, a widowed baroness who’d made it clear she did not object to the son of a blacksmith turned man-at-arms for a husband. If he’d been a bowl of cream, the young widow would have been lapping him up the entire meal.

  If Izzie hadn’t been sure before, watching Elizabeth trying to hide her panic and jealousy during the long meal had made it absolutely clear: her cousin loved Thom MacGowan. Not that it would change anything. The public censure from such an unequal match—even if Randolph weren’t involved—would be horrible. Izzie wasn’t sure she would have the strength to withstand it, and she hadn’t had the difficult past that Elizabeth had.

  With Randolph involved, it would be even worse: there would also be a scandal. Setting aside a “prince” for a “peasant”… it would be the talk for years—and not the kind of talk Randolph was eager for. She could just imagine his reaction. She’d see some real emotion from him then. But anger, rage, and humiliation weren’t what she wanted.

  She wanted…

  Her chest squeezed, and she pushed it away. Stupid.

  “Sorry,” Izzie apologized, shaking it off. “I was just talking to myself again.”

  “Is something upsetting you, cousin? You’ve been quiet since we returned from the market.” Elizabeth frowned. “Did Randolph say something to irritate you again? I heard him trying to apologize for something before he left. I’d hoped that you would grow to like him better once you got to know him.”

  Izzie felt another tug. Mission accomplished. “What’s not to love,” she said with an attempt at lightheartedness, repeating her cousin’s much-loved jest about Randolph. But it didn’t sound very funny to her anymore. “He stepped on my foot,” she added quickly. “And was apologizing for crushing my toes with his boot.”

  Toes… heart, what was the difference?

  Elizabeth smiled, but Izzie could tell she was still upset.

  Joanna was waiting for them when they arrived back at the guesthouse. When she asked Elizabeth if she could take care of an errand for her, from the way her cousin suddenly perked up, Izzie didn’t need to guess who that errand involved.

  Elizabeth looked so happy that for one selfish moment, Izzie was tempted to say something about Randolph. Undoubtedly Izzie’s feelings would be the excuse Elizabeth needed to follow her heart. But as Izzie wasn’t even sure that was what she thought her cousin should do, she kept her mouth shut.

  But that wasn’t the only reason. Izzie had her pride. She didn’t want to be second choice. If Randolph wanted her—if he did care about her—he would pick her first. It was silly and unrealistic to expect maybe, but she wouldn’t settle for less.

  Still, she couldn’t help warning her cousin as she left with Joanna. “Have care, El.” She paused. “Be sure what you want before you do something you can’t take back.”

  Izzie didn’t know whether she meant doing something irreversible with Thom (like Izzie had nearly done yesterday with Randolph) or irreversible with Randolph by accepting his proposal. Maybe she meant both.

  Elizabeth caught her gaze and didn’t pretend to not understand. She nodded soberly and went after Joanna. It was Joanna who turned just as they were out the door. “Oh Izzie, I forgot to tell you. One of the monks brought a package for you. I had the maid leave it in your room.”

  Izzie’s surprise showed. “A package?”

  Jo smiled and waggled her brows. “Perhaps you have a secret admirer you haven’t told us about?”

  With a wry grin, Izzie shook her head. “I’m afraid nothing so exciting. It’s probably the woolen hose I ordered from the haberdasher.”

  They were both wrong.

  When Izzie unwrapped the leather bound codex a few min
utes later, she thought her heart would squeeze out of her chest, as she ran her fingers slowly—longingly—over the gold embossed letters: Naturalis Historia.

  Randolph had found the book for her.

  She felt the emotion rising in her chest to her throat and pushed it back. Why was he doing this? Why was he torturing her? Was he trying to make her fall in love with him or hate him? She didn’t want thoughtfulness and kindness—not if he was going to marry her cousin. But how could he give her something like this and claim it didn’t mean anything? Was it some kind of apology? Some kind of gift to allay his guilt?

  Neither was acceptable. She wasn’t going to let him off that easily.

  But before she could think exactly how to return the book to him—she could hardly go marching into a siege camp… or could she?—a message arrived from St. Mary’s.

  It was almost time for the evening meal when Izzie returned to Holyrood from the hospital, but she didn’t feel much like eating. Nor did she feel much like talking to anyone, so she sought out her favorite corner in the small garden, where she could just sit and stare at the plants and flowers and let the sense of peace enfold her.

  It didn’t work. She could not seem to stop the occasional tear from slipping beneath her red-rimmed eyes.

  “Izzie.”

  Her breath caught at the sound of his voice. She turned to see Randolph standing at the gate with his helm tucked under his arm, looking as if he’d run straight from the battlefield. Both his mail and surcoat were stained with mud, and streaks of sweat were still visible on his face in the sandy light of dusk.

  He must have seen the tears in her eyes because he said, “You know.”

  “That Annie died?” She nodded. “Aye, I just returned from the hospital a few minutes ago.” Her throat was thick, and a fresh stream of tears threatened, but she held them back. It seemed silly that she was this upset by someone she barely knew. But something about the young girl had touched her—touched them both.

  Randolph took a seat beside her and took her icy hand in his. She let him, too numb to protest or ascribe meaning.

  “There was a message from the prioress when I returned to my tent,” he explained. “I’d hoped it had just arrived so that I could be the one to tell you.”

  “You didn’t go to the hospital?”

  He frowned. “Nay, I came here first.”

  His first instinct had been to find her. That had to mean something. “How did you find me in the garden?”

  He shrugged. “You mentioned you liked to come out here to read sometimes. I took a chance on my way to the guesthouse when I didn’t see you in the Hall.”

  She’d mentioned it once—only briefly—but he’d remembered. “My cousin prefers the south garden—it is larger with more trees.”

  Elizabeth had mentioned it in the same conversation.

  “Does she? You said you liked the flowers.”

  Don’t read too much into it. But how could she not?

  “You shouldn’t be out here alone; it will be dark soon,” Randolph said.

  A slight rueful smile broke through the sadness. “It’s an abbey, my lord, I think any threat to my safety is small.”

  His face darkened ever so slightly. “There are still soldiers about.”

  Apparently, he was serious. She’d never thought of him as the overprotective type.

  She shifted her gaze to her lap. To the big hand still wrapped so tenderly around hers. “I shall endeavor to be more careful in the future.”

  If he heard her sarcasm, he chose to ignore it. “I’m sorry, Izzie.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “I know you cared for the lass. Even though Helen had prepared me, it still came as a shock.”

  Izzie nodded. “She seemed so happy yesterday.” So alive.

  “Surely that is a good thing. Her last day on earth was a happy one to prepare her for a better future.”

  Izzie wanted to believe that, but tears filled her eyes. “It just feels so wrong.”

  Perhaps he realized how close to tears she was because he drew her into his arms to comfort her. And it did—he did. The peace that had eluded her before settled over her like a soft, warm plaid. A soft warm plaid that held the faint hint of cinnamon and leather.

  “It is wrong,” he said gravely. “It feels like that whenever someone so young passes.”

  There was something in his voice that made her look up at him, as if she knew there was more.

  He wiped a tear from her eye, the thumb callused from years of sword fighting achingly gentle. Their eyes met and the pull was nearly overwhelming. Her chest squeezed with something akin to longing. I could love him. It would be so easy to let herself succumb to what felt so right.

  What he saw in her gaze must have encouraged him. His voice cracked as if the words were hard to get out. “My older sister died when she was thirteen.”

  She hadn’t realized… she’d thought he was an only child. “How old were you?”

  “Eight. It was right before I was sent out to be fostered. I remember being grateful that I’d had the time with her, and that it hadn’t happened when I was gone.”

  Izzie had seven brothers. They drove her crazy with their antics most of the time, but she loved them dearly and couldn’t imagine losing any one of them. She knew she was lucky—it was rare to have so many of them escape the cruel reaper of childhood.

  Her heart went out to him. “I’m sorry,” she said and put her hand on his arm.

  He looked down on it for a long moment—as if her touch meant something—before meeting her gaze again. His mouth curved on one side. “It was a long time ago.”

  “But you loved her very much.”

  His arms squeezed around her a little tighter. She wondered if he even noticed?

  “Aye. I did.”

  Strangely, in the midst of tragedy, the easy admission filled her with hope. If he’d had the capacity to love before, he could do so again. Indeed, she wondered if he did a little already. She wasn’t alone in this—whatever this was—she wasn’t.

  “Why did you really come here, Thomas?”

  She’d never called him by his given name before, but she didn’t think he noticed. He drew back and let her fall out of the comfort of his embrace. “I already told you. I heard the wee lass had passed on.”

  “Then why didn’t you go to the hospital?”

  He stared at her mutely, not understanding the implication. She wondered if it might be intentional.

  “Why did you send me the book?” she persisted, willing him to see it.

  “I wanted to apologize for earlier at the market.”

  The bracelet. It was what she had initially thought, but now she wondered. “Did you find it in one of the shops on high street at the market today?”

  His gaze turned slightly askew. “Nay, I had my squire hunting for it the past few days. He found it at a local priory.”

  “I see. So it wasn’t an apology then. Or did you anticipate doing something cruel and needing to apologize for it a few days ago?”

  He stiffened. “I didn’t do anything cruel.”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “It was just a bracelet,” he said defensively. “It didn’t mean anything.”

  They both knew that wasn’t quite true. He’d known what it would mean to Izzie.

  “You don’t owe me any explanations, my lord.”

  “We are back to my lord? You called me Thomas before.”

  He had noticed. She didn’t say anything. But maybe the way she looked at him said enough.

  He tore his gaze from hers, made a sound of frustration, and stood from the bench as he raked his fingers through his hair. Even crimped from the helm and clumped with sweat, it fell in dark shimmery waves to his chiseled jawline. Did he ever look less than stomach-droppingly gorgeous? When she probably had puffy, red eyes and blotchy skin. Truly, it wasn’t fair.

  “I told you how it is.”

  “Aye, you gave your word to Jamie and won’t go back on it.”

/>   Again. That was what he’d said before. Had he given his word in the past and broken it? Was that what this was about?

  His next words seemed to suggest so. “Do you know what people would say? How it would look? I won’t have my honor—my loyalty—brought into question.”

  Loyalty? It was an odd word choice for a proposed betrothal, but suddenly why this was so important to him made sense. “You don’t want to remind anyone of what you did by switching sides to fight with the English.”

  His lips pressed together until the muscle in his jaw began to tic. She wasn’t sure whether his anger was at being reminded of his dishonorable past or the fact that she’d guessed his reasons. Maybe it was both.

  Though his stony expression looked impenetrable, she had to try. There wasn’t time to wait for him to see the truth. By then he could be engaged, and breaking a betrothal was a serious matter. In a strange way Annie’s death gave her the courage to be bold. To reach for what she wanted. God knew, life could be preciously short.

  “You’ve made up for what you did back then tenfold since you’ve returned. No one questions your loyalty. You are one of the king’s most important and respected knights.”

  His eyes seemed to shine as dark as onyx in the fading light. “Because I’ve kept my word—and I intend to keep it that way. But people remember. I remember, damn it.”

  The fierceness of his response took her aback. She could practically feel it radiating from him and hear the lingering shame in his voice. This was what drove him. This was what had made him so intent on becoming the perfect knight who could do no wrong and who everyone admired.

  It made an odd kind of sense. “You don’t need to be perfect; no one is going to criticize you.”

  She didn’t think it possible, but his mouth hardened even more. “That’s right. They aren’t. Because I will not give them a reason to.”

  Izzie felt her frustration—and not an insignificant amount of anger—rise inside her. He was being ridiculous! Not to mention stubborn. If he’d ever needed to prove himself to anyone, he didn’t any longer. He was a hero already and on his way to becoming a legend. But men and their honor—Highlanders and their honor, she corrected—could be as intractable as mules and as dogmatic as inquisitors.