The Rogue: A Highland Guard Novella (The Highland Guard) (17 page)

She’d had enough. As soon as she could talk to Walter and arrange it, Izzie was going home. It was time to stop playacting in faerie tales and get on with her life.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Randy, Randy, Randy.” The big Norseman—
half
Norseman, but all bloody pirate—shook his head. “With all that experience and supposed charm, do you know
anything
about lasses?”

“Go to hell, Hawk.”

“I think you were the one directed to do that. And by the look on your face the past few days, you are there.” The pain-in-his-arse seafarer and member of the king’s secret fighting force known as the Highland Guard leaned back on the bench against the wall, kicked out his feet, crossed his arms, and shook his head with a broad smile on his face. “I’d nearly given up hope that I’d live to see this day. But damn if it wasn’t worth the wait. For someone who didn’t want to fight like a brigand, you sure as hell look like one.”

Randolph squeezed the pewter goblet in his hand until it almost bent. He’d had years of practice in ignoring Hawk’s jabs—including more than one about Randolph’s unfortunate words to explain why he’d switched allegiance (Christ, he’d been young and pompous!)—but he’d never been closer to slamming his fist through that flashing white grin. Only the knowledge that it would make the bastard think he was right stopped him.

There was nothing wrong with him, damn it. He didn’t care that he’d asked her to marry him. That she’d refused him. That she’d ridden out of the abbey two and a half days ago for Bonkyll Castle with a handful of Walter Stewart’s men without a word to him. She’d just
left
!

But he didn’t care, damn it. She would realize she’d made a mistake and come back soon enough. He’d give her a week. Maybe two. If she hadn’t returned by then, he might just have to ride the forty miles to Bonkyll himself to hear her apology.

Until then, he’d distract himself with the beautiful serving lass who’d been keeping his goblet nice and full, and making her interest clear every time she leaned over to pour and give him a fantastic view of her very sizable breasts. Women were always a good distraction.

At least they used to be. But when he smiled encouragingly at the lass, and she leaned over to fill his goblet again, presenting her hefty bosom for closer inspection—practically right under his nose—all he could see was flawless, creamy white skin and soft round mounds with delicate pink tips that fit right in his hands and tasted like warm honey.

He bit back the curse of disgust, but the lass seemed to pick up on the change of plans. She lifted her eyes questioningly, and he shook his head. She moved off.

Izzie had ruined him, damn it! Randolph knew exactly who he had to blame for this. He was tempted to ride to Bonkyll right now and give her that opportunity to apologize right now.

“It won’t work you know,” the smug bastard watching him said. “Take my word for it, lad, fighting and denying it won’t change a damned thing. And another lass sure as hell isn’t the way—just ask MacGregor.”

Randolph didn’t need to ask MacGregor anything. He’d been there when the greatest archer in Scotland had been doing his penance to his now wife, who also happened to be Bruce’s daughter and Randolph’s kinswoman, after she’d caught him in an unfortunate situation. But this wasn’t the same thing. MacGregor had been out of his mind in love with Cate.

He glanced down the table at the man reputed to be the most handsome in Scotland, who only had eyes for the dainty, dark-haired pixie seated next to him.

“It isn’t the same,” Randolph said.

He’d addressed Hawk but it was the seafarer’s cousin, Lachlan MacRuairi, who answered. “Isn’t it? From where I’m sitting it looks exactly the same.”

“Why don’t you take that poleaxe out of your arse for once, Randy, and just admit you love the lass,” Hawk said. “One bad-tempered brigand around here is enough.”

MacRuairi—the bad-tempered brigand he’d been referring to—called his cousin a vile name and told him to do something that was impossible.

“I’m not in love with her,” Randolph insisted.

He felt the faces of a half-dozen Guardsmen on him. Why the hell was he sitting with them, anyway? Because his uncle had sent him away from the dais and told him not to come back until he stopped sulking.

He wasn’t sulking, damn it. He just didn’t feel like talking. He was the only one. It seemed half of Edinburgh had heard about his broken engagement and the one that had been refused. Strangely, he didn’t give a shite. His pride should be stinging, but instead it was his chest that hurt. Ever since that night when she’d walked away, it had felt as if it was burning. He would have to see Helen MacKay if it didn’t go away soon.

“How are you so sure?” MacRuairi asked.

“She irritates me too much.”

Hawk laughed—as did a few of the others. Even MacRuairi seemed to be smiling, but with him it was always hard to be sure.

Randolph looked around at them and felt his temper spark. It reminded him of when he’d been in school. It was that sense that everyone around him understood except for him.

Magnus MacKay exchanged a look with his brother-in-law Kenneth Sutherland, and then very slowly—not unlike Randolph’s teachers had done—said, “Any other woman ever irritate you like she does?”

“Hell no!” Randolph responded vehemently. “Not even close.”

The men around him waited for him to catch up. He was incredulous when he realized what they meant. “So that’s what love is? Irritation?”

That was absurd.

The men around him shrugged. “Sometimes,” Hawk said. “Especially at first.”

Christ, they were serious. “Why the hell didn’t someone tell me?”

“It’s one of those secrets lasses like to keep to themselves.” MacSorley paused, giving Randolph a look of sympathy. “I’m sorry to say, there’s a lot of them—and you are supposed to instinctively know all of them.”

Randolph swore. He thought back through the list of signs that he’d identified to tell whether someone was in love and felt the noose of inevitability tightening around his neck. He was doomed, damn it. Doomed. Pretty soon he’d be wearing that idiot smile with a handful of children sitting on his lap—and pups!

God, it was already happening. He could feel his mouth curving right now!

“This was a mistake, damn it!” he said, slamming his goblet down. “I told her I had no intention of falling in love with her.”

Was there such a thing as a collective wince? If there was, he’d just seen it.

“You didn’t?” Hawk said.

Randolph nodded and the look of sympathy from the big seafarers face alarmed him.

“I don’t envy you, Randy,” Hawk said. “I hope you know how to grovel.”

“You can always teach him,” MacRuairi said.

“I didn’t grovel,” Hawk snapped.

“That’s not what I hear from Ellie and Domnall,” MacRuairi shot back.

But Randolph was too worried to enjoy Hawk being the one prodded. He told himself not to worry. “Izzie isn’t like that. She will listen to reason.”

He would apologize for his ignorance, tell her that he loved her, and everything would be all right.

“I hope you’re right,” Hawk said. “But if you aren’t, you can always do what I did and abduct her. Take my word for it, lasses find it romantic.”

“Abduct her? Are you mad? I’m not a brigand.”

Randolph ignored Hawk’s “we’ll see” smile as there was a commotion at the dais. He could see Walter Stewart frantically talking to the king.

“Wonder what that’s about,” MacKay said.

Randolph intended to find out. He arrived just in time to hear his uncle say, “Take whomever you need. I hope there is another explanation.”

Walter shook his head. “I don’t think so. Izzie came to live with Douglas because she expected something like this. We all just thought he’d given up. Alexander said he would conscript Langton to help find her—he will have even more reason to find her once my message arrives that she has agreed to marry him.”

Randolph’s heart had stopped at the mention of Izzie, but at the words “marry him,” he knew that he must have been mistaken.

“What is going on here?” he asked in a far calmer voice than he would have otherwise.

Young Walter turned and looked at him with a very worried look on his face. “It’s my cousin, Isabel.” Not realizing his words had stopped Randolph’s heart again, he continued. “She still hasn’t arrived at Bonkyll. The message I sent ahead of her to her brother got there, but she and the men I sent with her are missing.”

Missing? Randolph felt as if every drop of blood had drained from his body. “What do you mean missing? She left two and a half days ago. She should have arrived yesterday.”

Randolph was too agitated to pay mind to the look of confusion on Walter’s face. The lad must be the only one in Edinburgh who hadn’t heard about Randolph’s rejected proposal.

“There was some trouble a few months back,” Walter explained.

Randolph felt like he was trying to contain a volcano that was about to explode within him. “Trouble? What kind of trouble?”

Walter explained about the young knight who’d tried to erase his debts by marrying her and hadn’t been pleased to have his plans foiled. “He’s an unscrupulous sort,” Walter added. “Alexander—Izzie’s eldest brother—had broken with him some time ago, but Izzie didn’t know when she became, um, involved with him.”

How could no one have told him, damn it? The thought of her in danger made everything inside him turn upside down. It shattered whatever last doubts he might have had about his true feelings. He tried to stay calm, but inside he was a mad rush of twisting, terrifying emotions—foremost among them panic. “And you think he is the reason she has not arrived?”

Walter nodded. “I hope not, but it seems likely.”

“I’ll kill him.” Randolph’s voice left no doubt that he meant it. “I’ll find her,” he told Walter. To his uncle, he added, “I’m taking Lamont.” It wasn’t a question, but Bruce nodded as if it had been. Ewen “Hunter” Lamont was the best tracker in the Highlands. If anyone could find her, he could.

I will find her, damn it.

“That is gracious of you to offer, Randolph, but it isn’t necessary. I can—”

Randolph took the lad by the arm and held him up almost off the ground. “I’m going.”

Wisely, Walter just nodded.

Randolph started to move off before something niggled. He turned back. “You mentioned a betrothal.”

“Aye. With Sir William de Vipont, Lord of Langton. She told me to accept him right before she left. I just sent the missive yesterday.”

It was strange how a body that was burning could turn instantly to ice. She’d agreed to marry someone else? Randolph’s chest twisted for one long painful moment before he turned to his uncle. “I’ll need MacRuairi, too.” The former pirate was nearly as good at tracking as Lamont, and despite being from the Isles, he was one of their best riders. Then he explained to a clearly confused Walter, “She isn’t going to marry him.”

Walter frowned. “Yes, she is.”

“No, she’s not. She’s going to marry me.”

Randolph didn’t realize Hawk had come up behind him. He could practically hear the bastard laughing. “I thought the lass rejected you, Randy.”

Keenly aware that everyone in the Great Hall was watching, Randolph spoke loudly so that they would all hear. “She has to marry me. I ravished her, and I have every bloody intention of doing so again when I find her.”

The shocked hush that descended over the Hall was almost comical. The reputation that Randolph had so carefully built since his return to his uncle’s fold had just been shattered.

But for the first time in eight years, Hawk smiled and gave him a nod of unmistakable approval.

Izzie didn’t die of heartbreak. Although for a few days it felt as if she might. By the time Walter had arranged for men to escort her home, she was glad to leave Edinburgh Castle—and Sir Thomas Randolph—behind. His angry declaration of love had been the final nail through her heart. That he could utter the words she so longed to hear as if they meant nothing and with such obvious insincerity was proof of his lack of feeling. He would tell her whatever she wanted to hear to prevent her from refusing him and save his pride and reputation.

Still, she wouldn’t have embarrassed him by making her refusal public. She’d said nothing of the incident, but the men who’d overheard their argument had obviously not been so closemouthed. It had been the talk of Edinburgh—which is also why she’d left. She grew tired of the stares and whispers and hoped that with her gone, the talk would die down.

“
That
is the woman who refused Randolph?”

With Elizabeth having run off after Thomas MacGowan, who’d left the same night that she and Randolph had made… She shook off the memory. Joanna had been the one she confided in. Izzie knew that Joanna’s advice to be patient—that Randolph would figure it out—was kindly meant, but Joanna hadn’t been there. It was too late. He’d hurt her too badly and proved to her that he would never be able to give her what she wanted.

As much as she loved him, Izzie knew it would be infinitely worse to be married to him and forced to confront that unrequited love every day for the rest of her life. She’d been right in the beginning. Respect, loyalty, and affection were the most she could hope for in a marriage—to want anything more was impractical and would only lead to heartache. She would have that kind of marriage with Sir William, and with no reason to refuse him, she told Walter to send her acceptance before she’d ridden out with the handful of men he’d conscripted to escort her.

If her heart had ached and she’d had to force herself not to look back over her shoulder at the castle on the rock that would make Randolph a legend, she told herself it would get easier.

It did for a while. Of course that was because she’d been abducted. When Stephen Dunbar—she refused to refer to him as “Sir” after his barbarous actions—surrounded her handful of men with a dozen of his own, and she’d guessed his intention, she’d been too terrified to think of anything but how she was going to escape. Well, maybe that wasn’t exactly true. She might have experienced a heart-clenching moment of wishing Randolph was there before pushing it aside. The hero wasn’t going to come to her rescue this time. If anyone was going to get her out of this, it was she.