The Rogue: A Highland Guard Novella (The Highland Guard) (14 page)

He had to give the lad credit. Richard was intimidated, but he still turned back to confirm with Izzie. She frowned chastisingly at Randolph, clearly not understanding why he was being so rude and foul-tempered.

“I’ll be fine.” She smiled. “Say hello to our friend if you run into him on your way back down the hill.”

The lad made a face. “If he does that again, I’ll find that barber myself.”

She laughed, and Richard was lucky he moved off. Instead Randolph took his fury out on the fair-haired tormentor before him. “What the hell was that about?”

She crossed her arms impatiently, and he swore he could almost hear the sound of a toe tapping. “It’s a private jest.” He didn’t like the sound of that at all and would have told her so, but she didn’t give him a chance. “Whatever is the matter with you? You were quite rude to Richard, and he was doing me a favor.”

“I’m sure he was,” he said snidely.

She drew her chin up and looked down her nose at him as if she were the Queen of bloody England. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’ll be careful if you have care for your reputation—the lad is known for having his way with the lasses.”

She stared—gaped really—at him, clearly dumbfounded. “Surely, you jest? This coming from the biggest rogue in Scotland?”

He bristled. “It’s not the same.”

She laughed—actually it was more of a scoff. “It’s exactly the same. But don’t worry, my lord, not all of us are worried about our reputations.”

Was she referring to his or hers? Although he wasn’t sure either was preferable. He grabbed her arm and hauled her against him. How did she do this? A few minutes in her presence, and he was losing his mind. “What the Devil do you mean by that?”

Very slowly, she unwrapped his fingers from around her arm. “Whatever you wish it to mean. What is wrong with you? You certainly aren’t acting like a man who just performed one of the greatest military feats in history.”

“I didn’t think you noticed.”

He was aware that he sounded more than a little petulant. But damn it, what did it take to impress her?

She looked into his eyes. “I noticed,” she said quietly. “I have never been so terrified in my life.” She paused, and the emotion in her gaze made something in his chest shift. “You could have died.”

And just like that, the jealousy—for even he realized that’s what it was—unwound its tight grip on his muscles and fled. He was an idiot. She cared for him, how could he have doubted it?

“I might have,” he admitted ruefully, “were it not for MacGowan.”

She’d obviously heard what had happened because she did not ask what he meant.

“That is what I wish to speak with you about,” she said. He frowned again. MacGowan? “Is there someplace private we can talk?”

He wasn’t sure that was a good idea. He was already noticing how good she smelled and how velvety soft her skin looked. The lass had the most beautiful skin—it looked unreal. It had felt unreal also. He shook off the memory, which was already leading to a rush of blood in uncomfortable places. “What about?”

“I’d prefer to discuss it with you inside—where we cannot be overheard and where the mist isn’t turning my bones to ice.”

It was obviously important and personal. The Great Hall was crowded with people who’d decided to blend the midday meal with the evening meal with celebrating, and his uncle was using the private solar behind it. There were a few storerooms they might use, but he led her to a nearby guard tower that he knew was presently unoccupied. He could control himself for a few minutes.

He grabbed a torch as he went inside and used it to light the coals in the brazier that he found in what presumably had been the captain’s lodgings. Ignoring the box bed along one side of the room, he pulled up a stool for her to sit on, but she shook her head.

She looked uncomfortable and maybe a little nervous.

He frowned. “What is this about, Izzie?”

He couldn’t help but notice how pretty she looked tonight. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold and her lips were so red it looked as if she’d been biting them.

Christ, not the thing he should be thinking about. Being here like this was dangerous. God, how he wanted her.

What a mess. What the hell was he going to do?

She fished around in the leather purse that she wore tied to her waist and pulled out what appeared to be a folded piece of parchment. “It’s about your betrothal—or rather your former betrothal. I hope you will not be too distressed to hear that my cousin realized she is in love with someone else and can no longer marry you.” He was too shocked to react; he simply stared at her. This only seemed to make her more jittery. Her hands fluttered as she handed him the note. “Here. She wrote you a note to apologize.”

He took the note, quickly scanned it, and slowly crumpled it in his hand. He could feel the anger rising inside him, mixing with the unfamiliar taste of humiliation. “And she thought a quick note of apology would suffice to break a betrothal that has been negotiated for months between two of the most important families in Scotland?”

His voice was deceptively calm as the storm of emotion unleashed inside him. The piece of parchment in his fist had become a tight ball. He threw it into the fire of the brazier where it quickly caught flame and disintegrated into black.

Izzie was having second thoughts about the wisdom of her being the one to break the news to him. Too late she remembered that the messenger was sometimes killed.

She’d known he would be angry, but she’d thought that he would also be… what? Relieved? Happy because he could marry her? Aye, maybe both those things, foolish though they were.

Realizing it was too late to back out now, she stood her ground and told herself to be patient. It was the shock. “Ella wanted to speak to you in person. She said she tried at the feast.”

“And tonight?”

Heat rose to her cheeks. “She had something else to do.” Elizabeth had gone to see Thom MacGowan. She intended to force him to listen to her, and Izzie was fairly sure how she intended to do that. “I told her I would tell you.”

“Which I’m sure you were happy to do,” he said caustically. “No doubt this is exactly what you wanted. Did you tell her something? Is that it?”

What
you
wanted, he’d said. Not him.

The heat in her cheeks grew hotter. Did he think her that desperate to run to her cousin when he wouldn’t put a stop to it? She looked down—well up—at him with not a small amount of rebuke. “If you are referring to what has happened between us, I didn’t say a word before Ella made her decision. As I said, my cousin is in love with someone else. I tried to warn you, but you didn’t want to see it.”

All of a sudden he did see it. His face drained. “MacGowan? God’s blood, could this be any worse? Is that who she thinks she is in love with?” He uttered a very crude curse. “She has broken a betrothal to me to run off with a blacksmith’s son? She has made laughingstocks of us both.” He took her arm. “Tell me you are jesting. God, please, tell me this is a joke.”

Izzie told herself not to overreact—he was speaking out of anger—but was his image the only thing he was thinking about?

What about me?

“It is not a joke,” she replied. “Ella loves him—she has for a long time, although she only realized it recently. There will be talk, but she is strong enough to weather it.” He was, too. “It is your pride speaking right now,” she said. “I know you don’t love her.”

“What the hell does that have to do with it? She has brought humiliation and dishonor down upon us both.” He cringed. “God, I can just hear it now.”

Izzie stared at him. She knew it was her own disappointment at her unrealistic expectations of what his reaction would be at work, but she wasn’t sure she liked him very much right now. The arrogant, self-important knight who took himself too seriously and was cold beneath a layer of surface charm had returned.

Maybe he had never left. But then why did it feel as if her heart were breaking?

“I am sorry you are disappointed,” she said quietly. “I will leave you now. I’m sure my cousin and Jamie can answer any other questions you might have.”

Through the haze of anger Randolph caught something in her voice—something was wrong. Very wrong.

Ah hell. What was he doing? He shouldn’t be lashing out at her. None of this was Izzie’s fault.

“Wait,” he said, grabbing her wrist. “I’m sorry. Your cousin deserves my anger—not you.”

“I hoped she might deserve something else. Something like your gratitude.”

It took him a moment to realize what she meant. “My God, you are right.” He didn’t have to break his word to have Izzie. “It is not a complete disaster. When we marry, it won’t be so bad.”

He thought she’d be happy, but for some reason she looked like he’d just kicked her. “So I am the consolation? The way to improve your image? By marrying me, people will think
you
wanted out of it so it won’t look as if the great Sir Thomas Randolph has been thrown over for a blacksmith’s son, is that it?”

Randolph was completely taken aback. What was she talking about? She wasn’t a consolation. He
did
want to marry her. Now he would be able to. “Of course not. That isn’t it at all.”

“Then why do you want to marry me?”

Randolph felt those hackles rising again. Bloody hell, why did she always have to push him into making some kind of declaration he didn’t want to make. He told her he had no intention of falling in love. Couldn’t she just be happy and leave it at that? Although she didn’t look happy at all right now; she looked as if he’d stepped on her puppy. He tugged at his surcoat again, feeling that uncomfortable pressure in his chest that cut off his breath. “You know why. I want you.”

“And fidelity? Is that a vow you intend to keep or will that interfere with your reputation? The perfect knight who everyone loves, but who loves no one.”

Randolph didn’t like the way this conversation was going at all. The anger that had disappeared on the realization that he could marry her was back full force. She was being unreasonable—unrealistic—trying to pin him down. The fact that he hadn’t so much as looked at another woman since she arrived didn’t mean he was a horse to be led around by the bit. He wasn’t like those poor sod friends of his that had allowed themselves to be trapped with one woman forever. He was sure he would shudder at the thought later.

But he sure as hell wasn’t going to make any promises he couldn’t keep, so instead he said nothing. Maybe that was answer enough.

“I didn’t think so.” She pulled her wrist away from his hold. “I thank you for the offer, my lord—assuming that was a proposal—but I’m afraid I must decline.”

Randolph swore, realizing his second proposal had been even worse than the first. He told himself she didn’t mean it. She was upset and had every right to be. But how she managed to turn him into someone who was about as gallant and charming as Ewen Lamont—the tracker of the Highland Guard was well known for his blunt manner and lack of social niceties—he didn’t know. Somehow he seemed to always say the wrong thing with her; he didn’t have the words to adequately convey what he felt.

“Damn it, I’m sorry,” he said, raking his fingers back through his still-damp hair. “I bungled that pretty egregiously, didn’t I? But you caught me off guard.”

“Aye,” she said. “I suppose I did. But I think that might have been a good thing. I see things clearly now.”

He frowned, not liking the sound of that. “What do you mean?”

She straightened her spine and pushed up her chin. He might have thought her indifferent had he not seen it quivering. “I mean we would not suit.”

He didn’t like how she was trying to move away from him so he brought her closer. Aye, that felt better; now he could relax. “I think we would suit quite well.”

“You mean in bed?”

Christ, the things she said. Of course he meant in bed, but there were other things as well. “That is more than most husbands and wives can say, but we also share similar interests. I did promise to write you a chanson, didn’t I?” The reference to the wart and moles didn’t get the barest twitch of a smile. “And you did say that you wanted to come see the drawings I have of the changes I’d like to make to some of my castles,” he added teasingly.

But clearly she wasn’t in the mood to laugh or remember his warning about men and drawings—or of the interests they shared.

“That isn’t enough for me.”

It was simply stated, which somehow made it worse. He hated when she was like this. Too self-possessed. Too confident. Too bloody sure of herself. Why it was almost as if she didn’t need him! As if she could walk away and never look back. The thought made his heart pound fast again. “Damn it, Izzie. What more do you want from me?”

He wasn’t the only one getting angry. Her icy demeanor cracked a little to reveal some of the hurt and anger simmering underneath. “I want someone who doesn’t care what people think and hasn’t confused image with substance. Who isn’t afraid to make a mistake and doesn’t think that greatness means perfection. Someone whose first thought on hearing that he is no longer bound by a betrothal he doesn’t want is relief and happiness that he can marry
me
. I want someone who wants my love more than he wants the love of everyone around him. I want someone who will be loyal to me both in and out of the bedchamber because nothing else would ever occur to him. I want someone who would choose me first even if I don’t glitter like a diamond or look like a princess from a faerie tale. I have no wish to live in faerie tale, my lord. I want something real—someone real.”

Randolph had no idea what she was talking about—she was so beautiful she made his chest hurt every time he looked at her. And as for the other accusations… “Are you sure it isn’t you living in the faerie tale? I’m surprised that anyone would meet those requirements.”

“You did—or I thought you did—for a while.”

There it was, that certainty again. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit. She had that obstinate, dig-in-her-heels look on her face that told him he was losing control of the situation.