The Rock (31 page)

“Really?” If he was impressed that the man considered the greatest musician of his time had considered a woman worthy of one of his songs, he did not show it.

Elizabeth nodded, while Izzie’s cheeks burned. “She made the nuns weep when we took alms to St. Mary’s Wynd Hospital yesterday and she joined them in a hymn. They asked her to come again tomorrow.” Suddenly she had an idea. “Perhaps you would care to join us after morning prayers to hear for yourself?”

Women were forbidden from singing in church, as they were thought to be unclean and inherently wicked, although nuns were permitted to sing as part of their duties in a convent.

“I will look forward to it,” he said, with only polite enthusiasm.

As soon as she could, Elizabeth excused herself, pleading a headache. When it looked like her cousin would attempt to go with her, Elizabeth stopped her. “Nay, they will be bringing out the confections soon, and you must stay and hear the rest of the earl’s story. He was telling me all about the taking of Perth Castle, and you must tell me every detail when you get back to the chamber.”

Izzie gave her a look that promised retribution, and Randolph looked as if his wine had just turned to vinegar.

Elizabeth smiled back sweetly at them both and tried not to laugh. Clearly they’d gotten off on the wrong foot, but she was going to make them like each other whether they wanted it or not.

At last, Elizabeth was able to make her escape. She just hoped she wasn’t too late.

H
AVE CARE
,” M
AC
K
AY
had warned him as they stood in the entry of the refectory. “Your thoughts are not difficult to read, and I don’t think Bruce would be too pleased if you put a dirk in his nephew’s gut.”

Thom looked away from the dais and schooled the anger from his features, furious that his thoughts had been so transparent. He sure as hell wasn’t going to impress the Guard if he didn’t learn to control himself. Hiding his reaction wasn’t usually a problem. At least it hadn’t been until he’d run into Elizabeth Douglas again. Fortunately, MacKay was the only one who had noticed.

But by the king’s invitation or not, Thom’s joining the others for the midday meal at Holyrood had been a mistake. He’d known that the moment he’d stepped through the door and saw the couple on the dais. For the first time, that is what they’d looked like: a couple. Bloody hell, Randolph seemed to be thinking about kissing her right there in the middle of the damned meal.

Thom had to get away. MacKay had offered to come with him, but he’d declined—wanting to be alone. He’d thought about returning to camp, but the moment he stepped outside on the cool but sunny day and glanced up, he’d changed his mind.

A few hundred yards beyond the gate of the abbey stood the massive formation that dominated the landscape and seemed to watch over the burgh like a stony sentinel. Actually, the shape was more reminiscent of the drawings of the massive Egyptian sphinx carvings that had been brought back from the Holy lands after the Crusades. The locals called the hill Arthur’s Seat; it was purportedly once a place that King Arthur went to watch over the city. From the top there were supposed to be panoramic views for miles.

Thom had been anxious to climb it since they’d arrived, but with the nightly scouting climbs of Castle Rock (so far yielding no feasible path up) and his daily duties with the Phantoms (which mostly consisted of him being tossed around and having the shite beaten out of him while “training”), he hadn’t had time.

It wasn’t a difficult hill to climb. It could be walked fairly easily from the east up a grassy slope. But Thom needed the release of pent-up energy, so he took the more difficult route up the rocky crags from the south.

He’d left most of his armor and weapons with the stable lad, but the climb was more strenuous than he’d expected, and despite the coolness of the day, his leather
cotun
was tied around his waist as he pulled himself up the last stretch of rock.

He stood atop the hill ready to enjoy the fruits of his labor by taking in the magnificent views all around him. Instead, he got one of the biggest shocks of his life.

Sitting about twenty feet away on a small rise was a mirage. A mirage that looked a hell of a lot like Elizabeth—or at least a flushed-cheeked, glowing with perspiration, wrinkled and dirty-hem gown wearing, shimmering blond hair loosed from its plaits and tearing across her face with the wind version of Elizabeth.

She was beautiful. More beautiful than he’d ever seen her before. She didn’t look like a princess at all. Mussed and warm from the walk up the hill, she brimmed with energy and life.

God, how he wanted her.

Why was she torturing him? His already strained and well-worked muscles tensed with a flood of anger. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“I . . .” The question seemed to trouble her—as if she didn’t know the answer. “You didn’t say goodbye.” She sounded pleased to have come up with something.

“When?”

“The night we arrived.”

“You were busy.”

She bit her lip. “Thom, I . . . I had to see you.”

“Why?”

She looked down, embarrassed. “You looked upset.”

Elizabeth had always been able to read him better than anyone, but in this case he hadn’t exactly been hiding his feelings. He’d looked like he wanted to kill someone; like a man who was being dragged through the four corners of hell. His fists clenched at his sides. “So you followed me?”

“Not exactly. You’d already left the abbey by the time I was able to get away.” His mouth hardened, recalling what—or who—she’d been getting away from. “When I stepped into the courtyard and saw the hill”—she shrugged—“it wasn’t hard to figure out where you might go. I took a chance. But it took me longer to walk up here than I anticipated, and I feared I’d missed you.”

He looked around, already knowing what he’d see: nothing. “So you walked all the way up here alone? Christ, El, what in Hades were you thinking? You could have tripped or fallen.”

She stood, shook out her dusty skirts, and walked toward him. “You sound like Jamie. It’s not as if I haven’t climbed a hill before—you know that as well as anyone—and I was careful.”

He made a sharp sound of disbelief, and she glared at him.

“You forget,” he said. “I’ve seen what happens when you are ‘careful.’ ”

She sniffed haughtily and looked past him down the cliff. “Was it a difficult climb?”

Taking her by the shoulders, he forcibly moved her back a few feet from the edge. Christ, was she trying to kill him? “No.”

Shaking off his hold, she put her hands on her waist. “I wasn’t going to fall.”

He crossed his arms before him. “Let’s just say I was making sure of it.” Elizabeth and edges of cliffs didn’t mix. She rolled her eyes, and he put a hand on one of her bent elbows. “Come, I’ll walk you back down.”

She spun on him. “I’m not ready to go back.”

His grip tightened along with his mouth. “Yes, you are. You shouldn’t even be here. If anyone learns you followed me . . .” He swore, realizing what would happen if MacLeod found out. “What would your betrothed think?”

“He’s not my betrothed, and I doubt he’d care overmuch. Sir Thomas doesn’t strike me as the jealous sort.”

Then he was a fool. Because if he had any inkling what Thom was thinking about right now, he’d have cause to be very jealous indeed.

“Maybe not,” Thom agreed. “But Randolph doesn’t strike me as a man who would like the rumors and innuendo that would follow from the woman he’s chosen for his bride being discovered alone with another man.”

Her chin took that stubborn tilt that he knew so well. “We aren’t doing anything wrong. We’re friends.”

That was all it took. He snapped, hauling her up against him. “That is shite, and you know it. There is a hell of a lot more between us than friendship. Do you need me to remind you of exactly how much more?”

Her eyes widened. “No.”

“Say it,” he practically growled. “I want to hear you say it.”

She stared up at him wide-eyed. “There is more between us than friendship.”

He let her go, realizing how close he was to losing control. How close he was to crushing her in his embrace and making her his the easy way. It took a moment for the fierce beating of his heart to slow and the lust that had curled its way through his limbs start to ebb.

She’d said it. He had his admission. Now what?

He dragged his fingers back through his hair. “Why are you really here, Elizabeth?”

She studied his face, her gaze deep and probing as it met his. “You still care for me.”

Thom felt like he was being raked over the coals all over again. Like he’d been flogged until the skin had been stripped away from his bones. Months—years—of suffering and he was right back where he started.

“I
love
you. I’ve probably never stopped loving you. I will probably always love you. Is that what you need to hear? Does that make it better? Do you have the answers you need now?”

She looked stricken. “No . . . I . . . I don’t know.” Tears glistened in the corners of her eyes. “Why are you trying to confuse me and make this so difficult?”

Seeing the torment and struggle taking place inside her, Thom felt some of his anger and frustration dissipate. This wasn’t easy on her either. Admitting she had feelings for him would force her to contemplate things that would be scary for her. But marrying a man she didn’t love only to realize she loved another would be far worse.

In his heart he knew she loved him. He just had to make her see it. He had to make her realize that whatever difficulties they faced, whatever scorn, censure, and condemnation, wouldn’t matter if they loved each other.

Is that what he thought? He realized he did. Seeing her with Randolph had made him realize that he couldn’t stand down. He was going to fight for her—for them. No matter what the risks.

Thom wasn’t Randolph, but if all went well with the Phantoms and Bruce made him a knight she would be able to hold her head up high. He might never be “worthy” of her in society’s eyes, but he would be able to provide for her and give her the security she craved. She just needed to give him a chance.

A wave of tenderness rose inside him. He took her chin between his fingers and gently tilted her face to his. “If you are confused, it is only because you are not listening.”

“To what?”

Thom had made his decision. He wasn’t going to step back again. He was going to fight and reach for the damned stars. He was going to show her that he was the right—the
only
—man for her.

“To this.” He lowered his mouth and kissed her.

Elizabeth didn’t want to hear what he was trying to tell her, but the moment his lips touched hers she felt it. The aching tenderness. The heartfelt emotion. The sweet, invisible pull that reached inside, grabbed hold, and wouldn’t let go.

This wasn’t a kiss of possession, a kiss of unfettered passion, or a kiss of mindless abandon. It was not about anger, or loss of control, or lust. It was controlled, gentle, and intended to show her exactly how he felt about her.

With each soft caress of his lips, with each slow stroke of his tongue, she felt the wave of emotion growing inside her surge higher and higher. It wrapped around her chest, coiling tighter and tighter until it almost hurt.

It did hurt. It was sharp, poignant, and so beautiful and sweet she couldn’t bear it. It made her feel things she didn’t want to feel—face feelings she wanted to escape. Feelings that overwhelmed her.

He
overwhelmed her. The softness of his lips, the faint taste of clove on his breath, the warmth of his body radiating through the linen of his tunic. He smelled of sun and heat, which, mixed with the heather of his soap, was an intoxicating combination to her senses, lulling her deeper and deeper into his tender embrace. He cradled her against him as if she was the most precious thing in the world to him. As if this were meant to be.

You are not listening
 . . .

She didn’t want to listen. She didn’t want to feel. She didn’t want tenderness and emotion. She wanted him to do what he’d done before. To bring her more pleasure, not more confusion.