The Rock (51 page)

“Do you?” Elizabeth asked.

The question hung in the cold night air. Years of friendship, years of anger and hatred, all coalesced in one important pause.

“No,” he finally admitted.

“I know you want to protect her, James,” Joanna said. “But doesn’t she have just as much right to be happy as we do?”

It was the final blow. They both knew Elizabeth had won. But her brother’s pride had taken a beating tonight, and she would not drive in the stake. She didn’t need to.

Joanna realized it as well. Always the mediator between the hardheaded siblings, she said, “Come inside. Let’s get some rest. We can discuss what is to be done in the morning.”

Unfortunately, the morning proved to be too late. When Joanna brought in the linen-covered sword that had been delivered to the abbey shortly before dawn, Elizabeth knew Thom was gone.

I
T DIDN
’
T TAKE
Thom long to realize that he’d made a mistake. His father had summed it up quite succinctly on hearing the story not long after he arrived in Douglas: “Did you give the lass a chance?” Thom’s mouth had slammed shut. They both knew he hadn’t. “If you love her as much as I think you do, you should have stayed and fought. What the hell are you doing here?”

Was this the same man who’d told him for years that a future between him and Elizabeth was impossible? “I thought you’d be glad that I was back. I thought you wanted my help at the forge.”

“I was wrong,” his father had said simply. “You don’t belong here any more than Johnny or I belong on the battlefield. You would never be happy here. You were meant for something bigger. Didn’t what you did at Edinburgh convince you of that?”

“Aye, well, that’s no longer an option. So if you don’t want me, I’ll have to find another smith who does.”

His father had given him a long look, shaken his head as if he couldn’t believe a son of his could be so clodheaded, and walked away.

Thom had done what he’d always done when he needed to think. Packed a bag and made the half-day journey to Sandford just outside of Strathaven, where he’d spent two nights climbing the rocks and coming to the realization that his father was right: he was clodheaded. If the king’s men weren’t waiting to arrest him when he returned home, he was going to hop back on the nag that had brought him here and return to Edinburgh. Even if he couldn’t convince MacLeod to let him stay on with the Guard, even if he had to fight Randolph, and the king stripped him of everything, he would find a way to provide for her.

Actually, he already had a way. The sword he’d finished for Douglas and had delivered to Jo the morning he’d left had turned out even better than he’d anticipated. Perhaps more significantly, he’d realized that he’d
liked
working on it. It had relaxed him—the work was strangely comforting—and had given him something to concentrate on in between the intense and high-stress missions of the Highland Guard.

Smithing was a part of him just as much as being a warrior was. It would always be a part of him, and he didn’t feel the need to hide from that any longer.

His father and Elizabeth had been right, he could make his fortune as a sword maker if he wanted to. He could provide for her.

If she still wanted him, that is.

Clodheaded
.

Damn. His step quickened as he drew near the cottage, so that by the time it at last came into view he was practically running. Then, seeing the smoke pouring out of the window, he
was
running.

Bloody hell, the house had caught fire! He grabbed a bucket, filled it with water from the animal trough outside, and rushed inside.

The bucket dropped at his feet, soaking his boots, but he barely noticed.

His father had his arms around a woman, who was covered in soot. Had she not been wearing a beautiful light-pink gown—reminding him of the first time he’d seen her atop the tower all those years ago—it might have taken him longer to recognize her.

Elizabeth
. His chest hitched to somewhere close to his throat.
Here
.

She and his father had both turned at the sound of the door—or maybe the bucket dropping—and Elizabeth’s devastated expression (his father had obviously been trying to console her) looked perilously close to tears.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his relief at seeing her outweighed by the fear that she might be hurt.

“The lass is fine,” his father said, answering for her. “She was making something to break our fast. The bread just got a little . . . well done.”

“I burned it!” Elizabeth said. “I wanted it to be a surprise, and now it’s ruined.”

Thom had no idea what she was talking about. His father explained. “I mentioned that your mother used to put butter and sugar on the day-old bread and heat it in the bread oven—and that it was your favorite.”

Christ, with all the smoke pouring out of the oven, she must have used a pound of sugar!

“And I forgot about it,” Elizabeth added, “because the porridge started to stick to the pot.”

Thom glanced at the glob of blackened goo in the pot, figured that was the porridge, and didn’t need to wonder why.

Disgusting. He might have made a face had his father not shot him a look of warning. With a few more pats on her slender back, his father said to her, “I’m sure it will be delicious.”

If his father thought Thom was eating that mess, he was the one who was clodheaded. Hell, Thom wouldn’t even give those oats to the nag he’d ridden here that’d snapped at him more than once.

“Why are you here, Elizabeth?”

He meant why was she in his father’s cottage cooking—which to his knowledge she’d never done before—but she obviously took it more generally. “Did you think I would let you get away with treating me so dishonorably?” She looked at his father as if to say “see.” “You left me. Abandoned me after ruining me”—she turned to his father—“quite thoroughly.”

“And more than once, I know,” his father added with a chastising look in Thom’s direction as he took her in his arms to pat her back again.

Christ, was his father really buying this nonsense?

“Don’t worry, lass, I’ll see that he does right by you. Even if I have to drag him to the kirk myself.”

Apparently so.

Elizabeth ventured a look in Thom’s direction, and he could have sworn he saw her smirk.

She
was
smirking, he realized. “She seduced me!”

His father looked appalled at the suggestion. “You shame me, lad. Look at that face.” He tilted Elizabeth’s soot-stained face to Thom. “A wee innocent lamb like—”

Thom snorted, and they both shot him a look—Elizabeth’s was more of a scowl.

“Don’t believe that perfect little princess act,” Thom said. “She had me fooled for a while. But now I know better. She’s isn’t perfect at all. Did you see that porridge?”

Elizabeth’s gasp of outrage couldn’t hide her joy. She understood: he loved
her
—not the pretty little poppet he’d seen at the castle all those years ago.

The look in her eyes . . . It was as if all the love she felt for him was staring back at him. It humbled him.

“I’m afraid he’s right,” she said with a charmingly repentant glance at his father. “I did seduce him. But it was very un-gallant of him to point that out, don’t you think?”

Thom could see his father fighting laughter. His eyes were twinkling as he looked at her. “Very un-gallant, indeed, lass.” He kissed her on the head and let her go. “Let me know if you need my help—he’s not so big that I can’t carry him if I need to—but I don’t think you are going to have much trouble in getting him to that kirk.”

A moment later his father was gone. Without his presence, she seemed to have lost a lot of her certainty, and the gaze that met Thom’s was hesitant and vulnerable. “I like your father.”

“I do, too.” He’d forgotten how much. The awkwardness that had been between them didn’t seem to be there anymore. Maybe they both understood each other a little better now.

“You left,” she said softly.

“I was coming back.”

“You were?”

He nodded, and she ran into his open arms. A moment later he was kissing her, and a shockingly few moments after that, he was carrying her to his bed. The fear of the past few days in thinking he’d lost her seemed to catch up with him all at once. Clearly he wasn’t as honorable as he liked to think, because he didn’t even hesitate. They might not be married or even officially betrothed, but she belonged to him in every way that mattered. And he needed the connection, needed to feel himself moving in and out of her body, needed to hear her cries of pleasure mingling with his own as they climbed the greatest peak together and soared.

It was later—much later—when he finally found his voice. She was nestled against him, her soot-stained skirts still tangled around her legs. He’d been in too much of a hurry to even remove their clothes—not that she’d seemed to mind. She’d been in a hurry, too.

“You would really give it all up for me, El? The castles, the fine gowns, the jewels, your position in society, to live in a small cottage like this and learn to cook and clean?”

She stopped doodling with her finger on his chest to look up at him. “I don’t think I’d have to learn much in the way of cleaning”—her nose wrinkled in the way he loved as she glanced around at the bed he hadn’t bothered to tidy before he left or the clothes he’d left strewn around—“and I’m sure my cooking will improve.”

As he doubted it could get much worse, she was probably right. “We’ll have to buy you some black gowns,” he said wryly, which earned him a surprisingly hard punch in the ribs.

“Ouch,” he said, putting a hand over the area.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be such a bairn. You’ll have to be a lot tougher than that if you are going to make it through . . . what do they call it? Hell? Perdition? Something like that.”

He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

She bit her lip, which he suspected was more for effect than out of any real contrition. “I might not have been completely forthcoming about our future circumstances.”

He quirked a brow. “Is that right?”

She shook her head. “I would give it all up, but it turns out that won’t be necessary. Jamie explained everything.”

“I’m sure he did,” he said bitterly.

She shook her head. “He didn’t say anything about what he . . . uh, walked in on. I meant that he explained to the king and Tor MacLeod why you left so suddenly and without word—you can’t do that, you know.” She gave him a pointed look, and then shrugged. “An emergency at home, I believe.” She grinned. “If anyone asks we can say it was a fire.”

Thom couldn’t believe it. Douglas hadn’t said anything? He hadn’t destroyed him? He’d
covered
for him?

His gaze leveled on hers. “What did you do?”

She bristled with a dainty huff. “Really, Thom, I’m quite offended. I didn’t do anything other than reason with him.”

Douglas didn’t reason. Thom studied her a little longer. “You told Jo.”

She laughed. “I didn’t, but I would have. Nay, truly. I didn’t do anything. I just told him I loved you and would marry you whether he destroyed you or not, and that if I had to choose between you, I would choose you.” He hadn’t thought his heart capable of squeezing that hard. “James is waiting for you at Park Castle right now.”

All those good feelings immediately evaporated. “What the hell for?”

“For your formal request to marry me.” She held his gaze. “Which I have on very good authority that he means to accept.”

“Randolph?”

“Taken care of.”

Thom grimaced, not liking the thought of being indebted to Douglas any more than he already was. Christ, at this rate he’d likely be having to name his firstborn James. “How much?”

She shrugged. “Not as much as you would think. We had help. But we will have to put off the news of the engagement for a while. When you are done with your training next month will be soon enough.”

“You seem to have it all planned out. Am I to have no say in this?”

“You had your say.”

“I did?”

“I told you I was going to marry you when I was six. If you wanted to object you’ve had eighteen years to do so.”

But he had no intention of objecting. He would marry her and cherish her for the rest of his life.