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

by Monica McCarty

  Christ. Just thinking about it made his face flush. To a man of his experience it was bloody humiliating.

  But he hadn’t felt lust like that in a while. Hell, he couldn’t remember ever feeling lust like that—although he was sure that he must have at some point. He frowned. Of course, he must have.

  Still, the lack of control had been a surprise. As had been that kiss. How had it spun out of control so quickly? One minute he’d been thinking that he had to taste her, and the next he’d been thinking about wrapping her legs around his hips and swiving her senseless.

  She’d been so warm and soft and surprisingly sweet, he’d found himself drowning. Melting. Losing all sense of time and place and right and wrong. He was about to ask her cousin to marry him, for Devil’s sake! What had he been thinking?

  He knew exactly what he’d been thinking. He’d been thinking how good she felt, and how he wanted to feel all that soft warmth surrounding him.

  But it was her passionate response that undid him. That he hadn’t anticipated. Although perhaps he should have. A woman who laughed so freely and with such ease would know how to find pleasure in life.

  Find pleasure. He nearly groaned. An image of her lying in his bed—naked—with her hand stroking between her legs while he watched made him hard all over again.

  Bloody hell, he shouldn’t be thinking things like that. Not when they were seated practically on top of one another. He shifted in his seat, but it didn’t do any good. They were still touching, and his cock was still rock hard and throbbing uncomfortably in his suddenly too-tight braies.

  Damn these benches to hell! It seemed like half the nobles in the city were crammed around the long trestle table on the dais. There was one man in particular he wouldn’t mind knocking off, although until about a half hour ago, he’d considered Sir Gilbert de la Haye a good friend.

  Lady Isabel laughed for what must have been the fifth or sixth time—not that he was counting, blast it!—and Randolph felt the muscles at the back of his neck bunch. What the Devil was de la Haye saying to her? Randolph had never known him to be so bloody amusing. The respected knight in the king’s retinue was about as stoic and serious as they came. But Lady Isabel seemed to find him hilarious.

  Randolph gritted his teeth, but he couldn’t help listening. She had the most entrancing laugh. It was soft and soothing, like the gentle tinkle of water over rocks in a slow running burn. And there was something oddly contagious about it—something that made him want to laugh, too, despite his irritation.

  Why the hell was he so irritated anyway? He should be glad she was trying to make the best of a decidedly awkward situation by shamelessly flirting with de la Haye. It was so obvious that she was trying to make him jealous. Randolph knew she could not be as immune to him as she was pretending—he’d seen that blush earlier.

  Although she certainly wasn’t acting like she was aware of him at all right now. But that’s what it had to be—an act. She couldn’t be pressed up against him and not be thinking about that kiss. Not when he—who had far more experiences in these things—could think of nothing else.

  She leaned over to listen to something de la Haye was saying in a low voice. The sly bastard had done it on purpose! The movement caused her bodice to shift, revealing at least another half inch of the perfect swell of her breasts. Randolph went rigid with rage when de la Haye glanced down into that deep cleft… Bloody hell, the blackguard! Randolph’s fist might have ended up through the other man’s teeth rather than squeezing around his goblet until his knuckles turned white if his aunt hadn’t said something.

  “Is something wrong, nephew?” his aunt Margaret asked with a smile—she loved teasing him about her supposed position of seniority despite their differences in age. “I asked how the siege was going, but I guess you didn’t hear me?” She glanced at Lady Isabel with a little too much understanding.

  The glance acted like a hard shake of sanity. What the hell was he doing? He’d given his word to Douglas that he would ask for his sister. He wouldn’t go back on that. He’d worked too hard to put past mistakes behind him and was careful about everything he did—extremely careful. Besides, Elizabeth Douglas was perfect for him and exactly what he wanted in a wife. She wasn’t just rich, beautiful, and well connected—all of which were important—she loved the excitement of court life as much as he did. She was well versed in many subjects, understood the politics of court, and would be an asset to his plans. He shouldn’t be dallying with her cousin. Admittedly, it wasn’t the first time he’d found himself in an unexpected passionate embrace with a woman, but he sure as hell didn’t go around ravishing virgins. Until today, that is.

  He had to put a stop to this. If his aunt was noticing something between them, anyone could. At the first opportunity, he would talk to Lady Isabel and apologize. As young and inexperienced as she was, she was probably confused, and he didn’t want her to get the wrong idea about what had happened.

  For now, however, he turned his full attention to his aunt, answering her questions about the siege, which frankly wasn’t progressing at all. The English didn’t seem inclined to surrender any time soon, and Randolph knew that if the Scots were going to take the castle before Edward of England marched next summer, they’d have to think of something inventive. He wasn’t going to let Douglas get the better of him, damn it.

  When he’d heard about Thom MacGowan’s climbing skills in rescuing Douglas’s brother, Randolph had gone to his uncle with an idea about putting those skills to use in Edinburgh. But apparently Castle Rock, as the cliff upon which Edinburgh Castle sat was known, was even too dangerous for MacGowan’s extraordinary climbing skills. But Randolph wasn’t giving up completely on the idea of finding a route up through the cliff. It was too tantalizing a prospect. Climbing a cliff no one had ever climbed before to take a castle? It would make him a legend.

  The evening meal wasn’t the prolonged affair of the usual midday meal, and given the Lenten season and that they were in an abbey, it was also fairly subdued. It wasn’t long before the king stood, signaling the unofficial end to the meal, and the others began to follow.

  As soon as Randolph heard Lady Isabel start to thank de la Haye for “such an enjoyable meal,” he was ready.

  “A moment, my lady. If you don’t mind, there is something I would like to talk to you about before you retire.”

  She frowned. If he wasn’t so certain that her indifference was an act, he might think that his request was an imposition.

  “I’m quite tired, my lord. Do you mind if we wait until tomorrow? Sir Gilbert has offered to escort me to the guesthouse.”

  It certainly sounded as if it were an imposition as well. It was his turn to frown. “I am happy to escort you. I’m sure Sir Gilbert won’t mind.”

  He gave his longtime companion-in-arms a look of warning, which the other man heeded with a speculative lift of his brow. “Not at all,” de la Haye said gamely. He wasn’t a fool. He wouldn’t challenge a warrior of Randolph’s skill. But de la Haye also wouldn’t back down completely, and added provocatively to Isabel, “As long as you promise I may do so another night this week.”

  If he was trying to anger Randolph—which he probably was—it worked. Randolph’s eyes narrowed, and the other man smiled as if he’d just made an interesting discovery. Whatever de la Haye thought he knew, he was wrong. Randolph wasn’t jealous. He didn’t get jealous. It was a wasted emotion—as so many emotions were. He liked women, they liked him. Why did it need to be any more complicated than that? Keep it simple. He’d seen too many of his friends act like idiots over women. But he was fortunate to be immune to those kinds of feelings. And he had no intention of letting that change. His focus was on one thing and one thing only: winning the war and cementing his position as Robert the Bruce’s greatest knight.

  Douglas might disagree with that title—especially after his dramatic taking of Roxburgh Castle—but Randolph had no doubt that he would come out on top. If he could just figure out a way to
take the damn castle. Preferably by something dramatic. He needed a little excitement. More than two months of sieging was wearing on him.

  “Of course,” Lady Isabel said, looking back and forth between the two men as if understanding that something was going on, but not sure what. Finally, her gaze rested on de la Haye. “Whenever you can tear yourself away from the siege again. Besides you did promise to show me those drawings.”

  Randolph didn’t like the sound of that. “What drawings?”

  Lady Isabel smiled conspiratorially at de la Haye before turning to Randolph. The smile fell from her face. “Nothing that would interest you, my lord.” She stood. “If you are ready?” Without waiting for him, she gave de la Haye a nod and started off.

  Randolph had to hurry to catch up to her, which he did just as she exited the refectory and started down the steps to the yard.

  She was bloody wrong. He was very interested. Didn’t she know drawings were a euphemism men used to lure unsuspecting innocents to their chambers?

  He put his hand on her arm, turned her toward him, and told her so—along with an admonishment to stay away from de la Haye.

  She looked at him as if he were crazed—which wasn’t that far from how he was feeling—and burst out laughing. He sensed a few eyes on them as more people flooded out of the refectory and dispersed across the yard. “Are you serious?” She laughed some more. “I can assure you Sir Gilbert has no nefarious purpose in mind. He is a kind and honorable man.”

  De la Haye was a fierce and ruthless warrior who has had an eye for pretty ladies since the death of his wife a few years back. Feeling conspicuous standing there in the middle of the yard, and aware that they were attracting attention, Randolph pulled her into a small walled garden. “And you’ve made this determination after knowing him what, an hour?”

  She shrugged and crossed her arms. “Some men are easy to figure out.”

  Now why did he feel as if that were directed at someone other than de la Haye?

  With a deep sigh, as if the conversation was wearying her and she just wanted it done, she added, “I hardly think he was trying to lure me with drawings done by his five-year-old daughter that featured the last nursemaid he’d hired to look after her, whom she’d turned into a dragon, and then a gorgon. Apparently, the child is having some difficulty after losing her mother and thinks that any woman in the household is a threat. But the drawings were very good, and he wondered if I might know someone who could encourage her to use her talents in a more productive way.”

  Pop. Just like that the bubble of anger and indignation burst, leaving him feeling rather silly. Perhaps he’d overreacted just a little. “Oh.”

  She gave him an amused look as if reading his thoughts. “As I recall you asked me to look at some drawings as well?”

  Damn, she was right. She laughed at his chagrined expression. “Besides, I think you are hardly in any position to be casting stones, my lord.”

  He stiffened at the jab that was not unwarranted. “That is what I should like to talk to you about.”

  Izzie regretted bringing the subject up. That was the last thing she wanted to talk about. She was doing her best to forget it ever happened, but he wasn’t making it easy. Just sitting next to him at the meal had brought back all sorts of unwanted memories.

  “There is no need, my lord,” she protested, wrapping her cloak around her shoulders. The wind had picked up a little and although they were protected in the monk’s herb garden—she could smell the rosemary and thyme with each gust—it was still a cool evening.

  Randolph wasn’t inclined to listen to her wishes. He was a man on a mission and would not be turned from his course. “Yes, there is. I owe you an apology.”

  Izzie squirmed a little. Dear Lord this was awkward. Did they really need to talk about this? “You don’t owe me—”

  “I make no excuse. I don’t know what came over me, but I apologize and can assure you it will never happen again.”

  He stood there so stiffly and awkwardly, something about the situation was so ridiculous, she couldn’t resist saying, “If you don’t know what came over you, how can you be sure it won’t happen again?”

  He seemed taken aback by the question and didn’t realize that she hadn’t meant it seriously. “Because it can’t… for obvious reasons.”

  “Because you intend to marry my cousin?”

  “Aye, among other reasons. Surely you can see...” He seemed unusually lost for words. “You… me… It isn’t possible.”

  Surely. It was obvious. As there could be no objection to her family or tocher—she was nearly her cousin’s equal in both—there was only one thing left: her. Obviously she wasn’t dazzling enough for him, and the wife of a great hero had to dazzle.

  Suddenly, she didn’t feel like jesting anymore; she just wanted the conversation over. “Of course.” She took a few steps toward the yard. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Wait,” he said, stopping her by taking her arm. “I don’t mean to upset you. I just didn’t want you to be confused or jump to any conclusions.”

  She turned around slowly, her tone deceptively even. “What kind of conclusions might those be?”

  Clearly, he wasn’t prepared for her question as it had him flustered. “You are young and innocent. I was trying to have care for your tender feelings.”

  She stared at him incredulously, trying not to laugh, but his arrogance was truly too much to be borne. “My what?”

  “It was just a kiss. I know the feelings can be overwhelming and confusing to young ladies and…” He shrugged uncomfortably. “I just don’t want you to read too much into it.”

  She couldn’t hold it back this time; she laughed in his face. After one kiss—admittedly a spectacular one—the arrogant swine thought she was half in love with him!

  “You need not worry on my account, Sir Thomas.” She dismissed his concerns with a smile. “I’m not likely to read too much into something so little. What happened earlier was nothing more than a reaction to the danger of the situation. It might have happened with anyone.”

  “Little?” he growled angrily, clearly not appreciating her cavalier take on things. He’d put himself in the role of the one to do the letting down easily and didn’t like that she wasn’t playing her part. “I don’t know how many times you’ve been kissed, my lady, but nothing about that kiss was little.”

  She lifted a brow, lazily, though inside she could feel anger begin to overtake amusement. Did he have any idea how offensive he was being? How he’d just assumed someone like her—someone so obviously out of his realm of spectacular—would be unable to resist his vaunted charms?

  Someone needed to knock the arrogant prig down a peg or two. Why shouldn’t she have the pleasure? “Enough times to know the difference between meaningful and meaningless—or to not confuse sentiment with lust.” The hand holding her arm tightened and his expression turned so fierce she almost reconsidered. But he needed to hear this. “I know this might come as a shock to you, my lord, but not every woman whom you kiss is going to fall in love with you—especially me. When I fall in love, it will be with someone who knows how to laugh at himself, who doesn’t mind making a few mistakes, who doesn’t think the world is his personal stage, and who has something meaningful to say beyond what he thinks I want to hear. I want someone who values loyalty”—he seemed to flinch, but it didn’t stop her—“and fidelity, not someone who thinks his manhood lies beneath his belt. But most of all I want someone who is capable of feeling—true feeling—and that, my lord, is not you.”

  His face had gone white with anger, which, it turned out, was actually more intimidating than dark. He looked as though he couldn’t decide whether to shake her or pull her into his arms and kiss her.

  She blanched. Knowing she couldn’t let that happen—the kiss, not the shake, not if she wanted her words to mean anything—she jerked away. “I think we’ve both said more than enough on the subject. If you will excuse me, I will bid you good
night.”

  She didn’t give him a chance to respond. She turned and fled into the safety of the darkness, where he wouldn’t be able to see the glistening of tears that she couldn’t explain—even to herself.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Dawn came too quickly. It seemed as if Izzie had just fallen asleep when the first piercing rays of sunlight poked through the cracks of the shutters in the small third-floor chamber that she shared with her cousin.

  She rolled onto her back and heaved a heavy sigh. She hadn’t had enough sleep to make everything that had happened the evening before seem inconsequential on reflection. She was still embarrassed by her outburst and by her reaction. Despite the fact that she’d meant every word she’d said, somehow Randolph with his assumptions and arrogance had slipped under her defenses. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, he’d hurt her. It was one thing to know they would never suit and another to have it pointed out—by assuming it was obvious.

  At least neither of them would be suffering under any illusions now. After what she’d said, he would probably be just as eager to avoid her as she was him.

  Careful not to wake her cousin and the maidservant who slept in the mural chamber, Izzie donned her oldest, plainest gown—one of the Cistercian nuns at the hospital would have an old apron she could borrow to put over it—ran a comb through her hair before weaving it in a plait, washed her face, rubbed her teeth with a cloth before rinsing her mouth with her favorite mint and wine mixture, and tiptoed out of the room.

  With what she’d offered to help the nuns with at the hospital today, she hardly needed to look her best. She smiled, thinking that the day’s hard labor in the garden would be a good way to keep her mind off of… everything.

  Although it was a short walk from the abbey up the high street to the hospital, she found one of her cousin Jamie’s men to escort her. When she’d first gone to stay with her Douglas kin at Blackhouse Tower, she wouldn’t have dreamed of leaving without a handful of men to protect her. But with the passing three months, having heard nothing from Sir Stephen, she’d gradually relaxed her guard and come to the realization that she had overreacted.