The Rock (38 page)

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 with 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.

His hand was still holding her chin, but one thumb had moved over to caress her lower lip. “I want you, sweetheart. Only you. And my marrying Lady Marjorie for the wrong reasons when I love someone else would be just as wrong as you marrying Randolph. Besides, in case I wasn’t clear the other night, I’ve already asked you to marry me.”

“Thom, I . . .”
Can’t
. But before she could get the word out to refuse, his mouth was on hers, and all she could think was that nothing had ever felt more right.

Their first two kisses had been an explosion of passion, their third a tender expression of love, and this one . . . this was a lesson in seduction.

He wooed her with his lips and enticed her with his tongue, the long, slow strokes licking deep into her mouth, hinting and promising so much more.

He teased, he tempted, he gave her a taste of the carnal pleasures that awaited her if she succumbed before slowly retreating.

It was a masterful dance calculated to drive her mad with wanting.

It worked.

She couldn’t get enough of him. His heat. His taste. She wanted to sink into the warmth of his embrace and never let go.

She gripped him harder, sliding her arms around his neck to press her body more fully against his.

She moaned.

He groaned.

The kiss intensified. She could feel his control slipping away. Feel the gentle seduction take on a harder, more purposeful edge.

He cupped her bottom, lifting her against him, and the feel of him big and hard, pounding between her legs and against her stomach, turned her warm and melty and filled her with a wicked craving. A craving for more.

Aye, this is what she wanted. All she wanted.

Whether he would have given her what she desired, she would never know.

The door opened. “MacGowan, I . . . ah, hell, sorry.”

They’d jumped apart at the sound of the door, but it was obvious from Lachlan MacRuairi’s expression that it had been too late. He’d seen more than enough to know what he’d interrupted.

Thom had instinctively moved around to shield her from the other man’s view, but there was no hope of him not recognizing her.

“I’ll come back,” MacRuairi offered.

“Just give me a few minutes,” Thom said.

But the discovery, like a bucket of icy water, had brought Elizabeth harshly back to reality. Perhaps for the first time, she realized exactly what she was risking by being with him.

Everything
.

If MacRuairi told anyone . . .

The flames in her cheeks were doused in icy sheets of panic.

“No!” Elizabeth exclaimed, and then less adamantly explained, “I was just leaving. Joanna is waiting for me. I was running an errand for her. It’s a secret. From James.”

She realized she was babbling and snapped her mouth closed.

“I’m sure it is,” MacRuairi said wryly, an amused quirk twisting his lips. When her cheeks flamed again, he added, “Don’t worry. Douglas won’t hear about your secret from me.”

Understanding what he meant, she breathed a sigh of relief. He wouldn’t say anything.

Disaster had been averted . . . but for how long? She couldn’t keep doing this. Why couldn’t she stay away from him? Were her feelings deeper than she realized? Were they making her lose sight of what was important?

She felt the sudden urge to run.

Thom caught her arm before she could flee. “We aren’t done here, El.”

She looked up at him, feeling her heart squeeze with a fierce jumble of emotions—the biggest of them longing. She longed for him with every fiber of her being. “I know.”

He would find her later, and they would settle this. Once and for all.

Apparently satisfied, he dropped her arm and let her go.

Thom muttered a curse as the door closed behind her. That wasn’t the way he’d hoped the afternoon would end.

He’d almost had her, damn it. She’d been so close to admitting her feelings for him. Hell, if he’d known all it would take was seeing him with another woman, he would have tried that a long time ago.

He still couldn’t believe it: she’d been jealous. Didn’t she realize the only woman he’d ever had eyes for was her?

But he hadn’t been able to resist teasing her. God knows, she’d been torturing him enough the past week with Randolph, and letting her think he might be considering marrying someone else for a few minutes seemed a pittance by comparison—especially as it forced her to confront her own feelings. They’d been right there on the edge. A little push was all she needed.

Although he had to admit he’d gotten a little off track with that kiss. Maybe he should be glad MacRuairi had interrupted them.

“Sorry about that,” MacRuairi said. “But here’s a suggestion. Next time you think about putting your life and future on the line by touching Douglas’s sister, you might want to latch the door. Christ, anyone could have walked in here.”

Thom winced, knowing he was right. “Aye, I’ll try to remember that.”

MacRuairi gave him a hard look, although with MacRuairi there wasn’t really anything else. “I won’t ask what the hell you are doing.”

“Good.”

“It isn’t any of my business,” he finished as if Thom hadn’t spoken. “But I hope you realize what’s at stake. You fit in well—and God knows we need that after Seton. But if Douglas or MacLeod finds out . . .”

Thom’s jaw hardened. “You don’t need to say anything else. I understand.”

“Do you? I hope to hell she’s worth it.”

She was, but that wasn’t any concern of MacRuairi’s.

He was surprised how much it meant to hear MacRuairi say that he fit in well. He did, he realized. No matter how unlikely that seemed. He was the only lowborn among them, but in the Guard it mattered what you did, not who you were. They were chiefs, chieftains—even an heir to an earldom—but there was no rank among them, no retinues to follow them, and no pretense. If Chief asked one of them to dig in a cesspit, they would without hesitating.

This is what he’d been searching for, Thom realized. Being a part of something that mattered. Something he would achieve on his own merit. Somewhere along the line winning a place in the Guard had become the most important thing to him—even more important than earning his knighthood.

“I assume you are here for a reason?” he asked.

“Two, actually. I wanted to talk to you about a bracelet Helen mentioned that she’d seen Lady Elizabeth wearing. I believe you made it for her.”

Not knowing what he was getting at, Thom nodded. “It was a gift a long time ago.”

“Helen said the cuff design was unique, and I was hoping you might be able to make something similar for me.”

“For your wife?”

MacRuairi smiled. “Not exactly.” When he described what he wanted, Thom had an inkling of who it might be for. He’d both seen the tattoos the Guardsmen had on their arms and heard mention of the Ghost—a spy they had in the English court. But he hadn’t realized the spy was a woman.

“Can you do it?” MacRuairi asked.

“As soon as you get me the materials. It shouldn’t take me long.”

“Good, but take as long as you need. I want this to be . . . it’s special.”

Thom nodded; he understood. “You said there were two reasons?”

“Aye, it seems we won’t have the night off after all. The king has a mission for us.”

They’d only just returned from their last mission earlier today, but Thom wasn’t complaining. Every mission gave him a chance to prove himself and brought him closer to a place in the Guard. It seemed as if everything he’d ever wanted was in his reach. But at times he felt like he was walking on a razor’s edge—one wrong move and everything would come tumbling down. “When do we leave?”

“You have a few hours, but you might want to pack an extra apple or two for whatever horse you end up using—we’ve a long ride ahead of us.”

Thom muttered a foul curse, and MacRuairi shook his head. “I didn’t think anyone was as unnatural as Saint on a horse. But you put him to shame.”

Thom told him to bugger off, and then shook his head. “How the hell did an Islander become such a good rider anyway? Aren’t you supposed to travel in ships?”

A flash of white suggested MacRuairi was actually grinning. “I’m good with those, too. Just wait until we go out west for your training. I hope you know how to swim.”

Thom looked at him, realized he was serious, and cursed again.

MacRuairi wasn’t just smiling now, he was laughing. “You are going to have a fun two weeks. MacLeod calls it Perdition, but for you it might be worse than hell.”

Thom wasn’t even going to ask. He was sure he didn’t want to know but would find out soon enough. The Guardsmen seemed to be assuming his place on the team. But until MacLeod came to him, he wasn’t going to take anything for granted.

After MacRuairi left, Thom finished working the tang of the sword and cleaned up. He’d hoped to finish his conversation with Elizabeth tonight, but maybe this was better. He’d give her the night to think. But it was time to put this uncertainty between them to rest. For all their sakes, she needed to make a decision.

Elizabeth practically ran back to the abbey—Simon had to hustle to keep up with her—but she couldn’t escape the truth. It was the only thing that explained her inability to let Thom go, her seeking him out, her sinful conduct, and the jealousy and panic she’d felt over Lady Marjorie. Her love for Thom wasn’t just friendship. Nor was it just lust.

She
loved
him.

But as she had said to Izzie this morning on their way back from the market, what did it matter? Did her grand epiphany really change anything? Was the realization that she loved Thom enough reason for her to refuse Randolph, or did it just make the whole thing more difficult and painful?