The Knight (16 page)

She’d fallen in love with him all over again, if she’d ever stopped, and with every laugh, every spin on the dance floor, every proud “You remember Joanna Dicson, don’t you?” the truth was harder to deny.

But could she trust him enough to marry him?

The excitement of the day was marred only by her growing anxiety, and the sense of building anticipation around her. She couldn’t escape the feeling that something big was going to happen. The question was whether she was ready for it.

It wasn’t until the messenger arrived that she had her answer.

James had just finished leading her back to the dais, when the seneschal approached and whispered something in his ear.

“That’s all right, Roger,” James said. “Let him in. I’ve been expecting him.”

Though James didn’t seem overly worried, something about his words sent a shiver of trepidation whispering up her spine. “Is something wrong?” A horrible thought suddenly occurred to her. “Is it another message from the king?”

He smiled, covering her hand with his. “In a manner of speaking, aye. But don’t worry, there is someone I should like you to meet.”

A moment later, the crowd of revelers parted as a man dressed head to toe in the shiniest mail she’d ever seen—so shiny it seemed to sparkle—wearing a tabard of scarlet and gold strode down the center aisle with all the pomp and arrogance of a king. She’d seen the man before, she realized. It was the same man who James had spoken to that horrible day, the man whom he’d told she was no one.

It wasn’t the memory of those harsh words that chilled her heart, however, but the sight of the dozen soldiers marching in behind him.

She turned to James in horror. “They are coming to take you!”

She started to rise—to what purpose, she didn’t know. She could hardly drag him off. But he held her down. “It’s all right, Jo. Trust me.”

Their eyes met.
Trust me
. Desperately, she wanted to, but could she? She swallowed—or tried to swallow with her suddenly dry throat—and managed a short nod.

The man had removed his helm, and as he approached, Joanna could see that he was actually quite handsome. Probably close to James’s age, he was dark-haired, dark-eyed, with a short, neatly trimmed beard, and the fine, aquiline features of a prince to go along with the regalia. Though a few inches shorter than James, he was just as broad-shouldered and seemingly—although it was hard to tell beneath the mail—as well muscled.

He stopped before the dais and stared at James for a moment before speaking. With a meaningful glance down the long table still overflowing with food and drink, he said dryly, “This is quite a family emergency, Douglas.” He turned to the Douglas ladies who were seated on James’s other side and executed a formal bow. “Lady Eleanor,” he said to James’s stepmother, and then to his sister, “Lady Elizabeth.”

His gaze fell to Joanna appreciatively before he quirked an eyebrow at James.

James’s eyes narrowed. He turned to her. “Joanna Dicson, may I present Sir Thomas Randolph.”

Joanna’s eyes widened. So this was the Bruce’s nephew and James’s infamous rival. She looked at him appraisingly, a look that he returned twofold.

Finally, he took her hand and gave her a gallant bow. “My lady. Beauty such as yours is not easy to forget. I remember seeing you before; I regret that we did not have a chance to meet.” He shot a smug look at James. “Douglas here doesn’t like competition.”

James made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl low in his throat. “Let go of her damned hand. And I like competition fine—assuming I had any.”

Sir Thomas just smiled. “Glad to hear it.”

Taking up the challenge, he plopped down onto the bench next to her and proceeded to flirt so outrageously with her for the next half hour, she thought the vein bulging at James’s temple would burst.

True to the reputed fierce rivalry between them, Sir Thomas seemed to enjoy seeing how far he could push his friend, and when his hand accidentally landed on hers as they both reached for their goblets, James’s uncharacteristic forbearance found its breaking point. “Do that again, Randy, and I’ll put my dagger through it.”

Sir Thomas grinned, the threat seeming only to amuse him. But he did pull his hand away. He took a long sip of wine, casually popped a few more of the handful of precious grapes he’d availed himself of into his mouth, and finally got down to the business that had brought him here. “I hope this feast means that you’ve handled whatever ‘emergency’ has kept you from my uncle’s side.” His gaze flickered to Joanna for just a moment. “He’s growing rather impatient for your return.”

James’s expression hardened. He kept his gaze fixed on Sir Thomas. “I’m afraid he will have to wait a while longer. I cannot return yet.”

“It isn’t a request.” All jesting fell away as Sir Thomas’s expression turned deadly serious. “I’ve been ordered to bring you back.”

James’s mouth fell in a stubborn line. “I need a while longer.”

Joanna could no longer stay quiet. Her hand went to James’s arm imploringly. “You cannot refuse. You have to go. You do not need to do this to prove anything to me.”

The stubborn glint in his eye suggested differently. “I will not leave until things are settled between us, and I will not force a decision upon you until you are ready.”

Joanna could feel Sir Thomas’s gaze moving back and forth between them. Suddenly, he burst into laughter. “My God, she refused you!” He took her hand and lifted it to his mouth. “Brains as well as beauty. My lady, you are a true prize. I wondered at the woman who could make a man refuse a royal bride, but now I understand. You are a lady of rare taste and discernment. I may just have to fight Douglas for you after all.” He shot a laughing glance at James, who appeared to be struggling to keep his temper in check. “She refused you,” Sir Thomas repeated again. “Just wait until Hawk hears about this.”

Joanna might have wondered at this man named Hawk, but she was too stunned by what Sir Thomas had said. She turned to James in utter disbelief. “A royal bride?”

The temper he’d been fighting to keep in check turned to embarrassment when he met her gaze. “It’s nothing.”

She glanced inquiringly at Sir Thomas, who was only too eager to explain. “My uncle offered him a betrothal to my aunt Margery. Douglas here refused and said there was only one woman he would marry.”

Joanna felt the blood drain from her face. She couldn’t believe it. She alone knew how much an alliance like that would mean to James. It was everything he’d wanted. And he’d refused?

She couldn’t tear her eyes from his face. “Is this true, James?”

He shot an annoyed glare at Sir Thomas. “Aye, but he left out one part. I said, ‘if she’ll have me.’”

“Why did you not tell me?”

He shrugged, genuinely confused. “I did not think it important. It has nothing to do with us.”

Tears of happiness blurred her eyes. If she had any doubts left about his sincerity, they were gone. Bruce’s sister. She couldn’t believe he’d given up that kind of alliance for her. He did love her. He did really want to marry her.

And she wanted to marry him. Her heart swelled as the first tears slid down her cheeks. But they were tears of joy, and it was with a smile that she whispered, “She’ll have you.”

He took her hand, his eyes locking on hers. She could see the intensity of the emotions he was fighting hard to contain. “Do you mean it? I’ll not have you forced by anything he says.” He gestured with his head toward Sir Thomas.

Blinking back tears, she laughed and nodded. “I’m sure.”

He let out a whoop of joy mingled with undeniable relief and gave her a fierce hug before dropping to his knee.

And there, before the entire Hall and the rival who would stand at his side three weeks later after the banns were read as he married her, James Douglas, Lord of Douglas, asked Joanna to marry him for the second time.

This time she said yes.

Park Castle, three weeks later

James was going to do this right if it killed him. But the moment he closed the door behind him and saw his new wife lying in the bed waiting for him, the weeks—months—of torturous restraint caught up to him.

She looked so damned beautiful, her big blue eyes peering over the coverlet clutched to her chin, her golden hair spilled out like a silken veil on the pillow behind her, and he wanted her with a ferocity that was akin to desperation. It had been too damned long. Four and a half months without touching her, without being inside her, without feeling her move under him.

But he had to do this right, damn it. He had to honor the bond they’d just made. She was his wife. She deserved to be made love to on her wedding night, not ravished by some kind of starving beast.

He leaned back against the door, taking a deep breath.
Slow
. He managed a crooked smile. “I know this is not the wedding you hoped for—or the one you deserve—but I promise when this damned war is over I will make it up to you.”

His words seemed to relax her. She released her death grip on the coverlet and inched up in the big bed a little. He tried not to notice the gossamer-thin linen of her chemise or think about all the naked skin underneath. But just the dip of creamy skin revealed at the neck was enough to make him hard.

“I’m surprised the king gave you leave at all. From what Sir Thomas says, you are fortunate Edward has made no move north or Bruce would still have you digging trenches.”

“Randolph exaggerates. It wasn’t that bad.”

“Did you really offer to dig the cesspits?”

He moved across the room to sit on the edge of the bed. His mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Not exactly. I said I would marry you in three weeks even if I had to dig cesspits for the remainder of the war. The king appreciated the irony and it must have convinced him that I was in earnest. He said that wouldn’t be necessary, but I was put in charge of laying some of the ‘groundwork’ for Edward’s arrival.”

As before, Bruce had no intention of meeting Edward on the battlefield, but they would mount plenty of the quick, surprise pirate attacks that Bruce and his phantom guard were becoming famous for. The trenches were used both to wreak havoc on the cavalry and to hide their presence.

But there were rumors that Edward was going to be forced to abandon his second campaign to Scotland and return to London to deal with yet more trouble from his barons.

Joanna sat up, the coverlet falling to her waist. James sucked in his breath, seeing the unmistakable shadow of her pointed nipples beneath the linen.

“Considering the circumstances, I’m happy to have a wedding night at all.”

When he didn’t respond, she followed the direction of his gaze and blushed.

She tried to pull up the silk bed linens to cover herself, but he stopped her. “Don’t,” he choked. His eyes burned into hers. “You are so beautiful.” Her cheeks fired even hotter, and he let out a sharp laugh. “God, don’t tell me you are embarrassed. I’ve seen every inch of you naked in the sunlight.”

She bit her lip, fighting a smile. “Aye, but this feels different.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” he admitted, having just had the same thoughts. “I’m feeling a little nervous myself.”

“You are?”

She looked so shocked he had to laugh. “Aye, I want it to be perfect.”

A broad smile lit every corner of her beautiful face. “How can it not be, James? Every time you touch me it is perfect.”

She was right, and he couldn’t wait another minute to prove it. Sliding his hand around the back of her neck, he pulled her mouth to his and kissed her.

He groaned at the contact, at the heady sensation of heat and softness. His lips moved over hers gently at first and then more insistently as her mouth opened to take his tongue.

Oh God, it had been too long since he’d kissed her like this. The hot, wicked strokes of their tongues ignited a wildfire in him that he couldn’t hope to contain. His hands were everywhere, touching every inch of the lush body that drove him wild. He forgot the fact that this was his wedding night, that he’d vowed to take it slow, that she was his wife. What was important had never changed. He loved her, and when he touched her everything felt right. Everything felt perfect.

He concentrated on the only thing that mattered: bringing her pleasure.

Nervousness and embarrassment forgotten, he broke the kiss long enough to divest himself of his clothes and lift the chemise over her head. Nothing separated them when he slid on top of her—and then inside her—skin to skin, heat to heat.

She took him in with a gasp and a moan, her hands gripping the flexed muscles of his shoulders and arms.

“James!”

He answered her cry with a hard thrust, and then another. It felt so damned good, he had to fight the urge to come with every stroke. Her body gripped him tightly, holding him in, deeper and deeper, as she lifted her hips to meet his powerful thrusts.

And it was powerful, not just in force but in import. With every hard stroke, with every loving tilt of her hips, they forged a bond that would never be broken. With his body, he made her a promise. He vowed to love, honor, and cherish her for the rest of his life.

Only when she cried out for the second time did he let himself go. Sensation shot through him in bolt after bolt of pleasure so intense, he thought he’d died and gone to heaven. A short while later, when Joanna cuddled up against him, pressed her soft cheek against his chest, and fell asleep, he was sure of it.

He was damned lucky, and he knew it. He’d come so close to losing her. His ambition had nearly cost him everything. He could achieve greatness and raise his clan to dizzying heights, but none of it would mean a damn thing without Joanna by his side.

Perhaps no one benefitted from Bruce’s succession to the throne of Scotland more than James Douglas. Along with Thomas Randolph, the future Earl of Moray, the “Good Sir James” would become one of Bruce’s most vaunted and trusted commanders.

As the story goes, a young James waylaid the would-be king on the way to his coronation in 1306 and pledged his loyalty, which never wavered. Douglas was said to be among the handful of close supporters who followed Bruce into exile from 1306 to 1307 and was again at his side when Bruce made his improbable comeback.