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

by Monica McCarty

  The threat she’d sensed that had caused her to flee halfway across Scotland to seek refuge with her powerful cousin—what man in his right mind would challenge the Black Douglas?—had never materialized. Sir Stephen Dunbar hadn’t been waiting behind the next tree or shadowy corridor to what…? Capture her? It seemed so silly now. As if she’d heard too many tales of abducted brides.

  But it hadn’t seemed so silly then. Then she’d been terrified of the dashing young knight who at first had swept her off her feet—literally, she recalled, thinking of how he’d insisted on carrying her over every muddy patch of grass on that day they’d walked to the coast—but who had turned into an ogre when she’d learned the truth and refused his offer of marriage.

  When Sir Stephen, who’d fostered with her eldest brother, Alexander, arrived at Bonkyll Castle under the pretense of needing to speak to him, she’d been surprised. He should know that Alexander had been away for months fighting for Bruce under their kinsman and her guardian, Walter Stewart, and wasn’t expected home for a few weeks. She’d believed Sir Stephen when he said he must have misunderstood her brother’s intentions.

  She’d believed him because she wanted to believe him. Because he was handsome and charming and looked at her with a dazed look in his eyes as if he’d been struck by cupid’s arrow the moment he’d seen her. He’d spent two weeks wooing her, making her laugh, and making her feel as if she was the most special woman in the world.

  She was half in love with him by the time he asked her to marry him. She would have accepted, and probably would have run off with him to be married without her cousin Walter’s permission—he held her marriage rights—if her brother hadn’t arrived home early and told her the truth. Sir Stephen had borrowed a great deal of money from him and was having trouble repaying the debt. She—and her tocher—were to be the answer to his troubles.

  If he seems too good to be true, he probably is. Too late, she recalled her mother’s warning.

  She shivered, remembering Sir Stephen’s cold rage when she’d informed him of her decision. There was something hard and calculating in his eyes that had made her think he wasn’t going to accept her refusal. Her brother, too, had been worried enough by what had happened to send her to Jamie and Elizabeth “until things settled down.”

  In other words, until he and Walter could find her a husband. Only marriage would truly protect her from a man of Sir Stephen’s ilk. It was time. As much as she liked her independence, she could not put it off any longer.

  Izzie knew she had been luckier than most to have remained unwed for this long. Women in her position were often promised at a very young age, and certainly betrothed before the “advanced” age of two and twenty. If her father had lived, no doubt she would have been. There had been a few discussions since her mother’s death, but Walter—young himself—had never pressed her.

  But after he’d learned about Sir Stephen’s treachery, the frequency of the topic between them had increased. It seemed to be the first thing he said to her after greeting her. “Hullo, cousin. Any contenders yet?”

  She might have been picking a prized bull at market.

  The thought made her smile as she entered the hospital. The prioress wasn’t ready for her yet, so Izzie decided to look in on Annie, the very sick young girl who’d been so charmed by Randolph the other day.

  Upon entering the second-floor chamber where the most seriously ill patients were housed, Izzie glanced down the line of pallets that seemed to cover every inch of floor space to the one by the window. Her heart stopped. Seeing the empty pallet, she feared the worst. It was Annie’s pallet. She liked to watch the birds who’d made a nest under the roof, and the other occupants—all much older—had insisted the young girl take the prime location.

  The older woman on the pallet beside Annie’s must have guessed her thoughts. “The wee one is fine,” she said. “She has a visitor who took her outside in the garden.”

  Relief turned quickly to alarm—it was a cool morning. “In her condition? She’ll catch a chill.”

  “I don’t think so,” the old woman chortled.

  But Izzie wasn’t listening. She was already halfway down the stairs. What visitor? To her knowledge Annie was an orphan who had been left at the hospital by relatives who could no longer care for her. Izzie hastened across the hall, through the kitchens, and then outside into the—

  Garden. She stopped in her tracks and blinked, her brain refusing to believe the sight beheld by her eyes.

  My God. The rush of emotion at the scene before her was surprisingly strong, bringing an odd tightness to her chest and heat to her throat. It was a little hard to breathe, and her heart was beating funny.

  A man knelt beside a stone bench that had been stacked high with pillows—probably most of the feather pillows in the hospital—and cradled in the middle of that fluffy makeshift bed, bundled from head to toe in blankets, was a tiny figure. Annie. The man was pointing to something in the small pond, which the girl had obviously been positioned to enjoy.

  Although the man had his back to Izzie, and he was dressed in simple soldier’s garb of black leather breaches and a matching cotun, she recognized him instantly. Randolph. Here. Alone. Without his retinue or crowd of admiring spectators, to visit a little girl whom most noblemen wouldn’t notice, let alone take time to see. She couldn’t believe it.

  I’ve misjudged him. The truth hit her hard. It wasn’t all an act; not everything was about appearances and image. He wasn’t without feelings at all. For the first time she felt like she was seeing the real man. A man who was being kind for kindness’s sake, not because of how it would look. There was no one here to see him, and by the looks of his understated attire—not a glint of shining mail or colorful, emblazoned with arms tabard in sight—he was trying not to attract attention. But to her, he’d never looked more heroic. Maybe he wasn’t too good to be true. Maybe he was just… good.

  Izzie drew a little closer, curious to hear what they were talking about.

  “I wish that I could see it,” Annie said. “I’m sure there will be a great celebration when you take the castle from the English, my lord.”

  Izzie realized Randolph hadn’t been pointing to the pond but to the castle poised on the giant black rock that hovered over the city of Edinburgh like a sentinel. The church was higher on the hill that separated the abbey from the castle, and the view from this prospect was even more dramatic.

  “And you shall,” Randolph said, something catching in his voice. Izzie felt the same thing happening in her chest, suspiciously near her heart. They both knew how unlikely it would be for the girl to outlive the siege. “I will see to it myself.”

  Annie gazed up at him; a soulful, too-wise expression on the face of one so young. “Thank you for sending your healer, my lord. But I know Lady Helen told you there was nothing that could be done.”

  Randolph didn’t say anything, but the sadness and pity in his expression said it all.

  He’d brought Lady Helen to see the girl? Izzie had traveled with the vaunted healer and her husband Magnus MacKay from Roxburgh to Edinburgh. Why hadn’t she thought of it herself? She felt as though she was seeing him through different eyes. She was still attracted to him, but that attraction went far deeper than his too-handsome face.

  “You are very kind,” Annie said. “But you do not need to worry. I am going to a better place.”

  Izzie felt her heart tug again, hearing what the young girl hadn’t said. The life of an impoverished orphan was a difficult one. Most of what she’d known must have been misery and hardship. Heaven would seem an escape from hunger, squalor, and illness that had dominated her earthly life.

  Randolph seemed to understand as well. He squeezed Annie’s hand. “You are indeed.”

  “There was another girl about my age here not long ago. She said that in heaven she would be a princess.” She looked up at Randolph with hope shimmering in her eyes. “Do you think that is true, my lord?”

  Randolph’s
voice was perilously low and thick as if he were fighting the same feelings burning Izzie’s throat and eyes. It was emotion, she realized. Genuine emotion. He wasn’t incapable after all. “I’m certain of it.”

  “What do you think, my lady?” Annie asked, glancing over her shoulder at Izzie with a wan smile, the effort alone an exertion.

  Both Izzie and Randolph started—Izzie for not realizing she’d been seen, and Randolph for not realizing she was there. Randolph immediately jumped to his feet.

  Izzie walked toward them. “I am certain of it as well. Besides, Sir Thomas would know. He’s an earl, and the nephew of the king, which is almost like a prince.”

  Laughter lit Annie’s face and for a moment Isabel could see the girl she might have been had life not treated her so cruelly. “Does that mean you shall be a princess when you and Sir Thomas wed, my lady?” Annie mistook the sudden shocked silence that had suddenly filled the garden and explained, “I overheard some of the nuns after you left last time. They said Sir Thomas was to marry one of the ladies, and I knew it had to be you.”

  Izzie hoped her expression didn’t show her horror and embarrassment. How could Annie think she and Randolph…? No one who saw them would put them together, especially with her gorgeous cousin around. So why then was she suddenly eager to ask her why she’d thought that?

  She glanced at Randolph who seemed to have recovered faster than she. He gave a slight shake of his head, which Izzie understood: don’t make her feel badly.

  Izzie forced a smile to her face. “Aye, I suppose I shall—or as close to one as anyone could ever dream to be.” Anyone such as her cousin. Eager to switch the subject, Izzie added, “How long have you been out here?”

  “Not very long,” Annie answered quickly.

  Randolph gave the young girl a pointed look with an arched brow. “About a quarter of an hour longer than you talked me into. I said a half hour. You shouldn’t be out here much longer than that.”

  Annie started to protest. “But I’m plenty warm—”

  Randolph stopped her by sweeping her up in his arms. “No arguing, little one. You don’t want to see the lady become angry with me, do you?” He leaned down to say in a low voice that Izzie could still hear. “She’s quite fierce when she’s angry, you know.”

  Annie glanced over his shoulder to Izzie, looking skeptical. “I can’t imagine the lady would ever be angry with you, Sir Thomas. You are the most wonderful knight in the kingdom.”

  Randolph grinned and looked right at Izzie, daring her to argue. “Did you hear that, Lady Isabel?”

  Izzie sighed and shook her head. “I heard it.”

  He grinned, and she felt the force of that roguish, I-dare-you-not-to-fall-in-love-with-me smile hit her like a fist in her chest.

  Realizing that she didn’t want to take that dare, she followed the famous knight carrying the bundled up young peasant girl back into the building.

  Randolph sensed Lady Isabel watching him, but she didn’t say anything until they were leaving the room.

  “You gave her your cloak, didn’t you? I saw her try to hand it back to you.”

  He shrugged. “I have others. She needs it more than me. The fur will keep her warm.”

  “It must have cost a fortune.”

  He didn’t say anything. It had, but he could afford another.

  “I’m sure she will treasure it for…” Her voice dropped off.

  For as long as she lives.

  They walked down the stairs together in silence. There was no need to say anything. What could they say? It was sad, horrible, wrong, and far too common an occurrence. Randolph had been visiting poor houses and hospitals since he was a child. His mother had insisted that he be raised to have compassion for those less fortunate than himself. It was his duty.

  But today hadn’t been just about duty. Something about the very sick young girl had touched him in a way that he hadn’t experienced in a very long time.

  Maybe it was her stoic acceptance of death, and her strength in the face of all the hardship and injustices life had handed her. Or maybe it was because she was being struck down right on the cusp of womanhood—a time when she should be flirting and laughing with the village lads.

  Or maybe it was because she reminded him of the older sister he’d lost to a fever a long time ago.

  The two looked nothing alike—Annie was skinny, pale, and fair-haired, while Agnes had been dark, round, and brimming with vitality. But she’d been thirteen—probably a year or two younger than Annie—close enough to the same age to remind him.

  Even after all these years, he still didn’t like to think about it. He’d cared for his sister with a fierceness he’d never felt since—for anyone. So he pushed the memory aside, returning his attention to the woman beside him.

  He could tell something was bothering her, but it wasn’t until she stopped at the bottom of the stairs that he knew what it was.

  “I owe you an apology.”

  Randolph stiffened, guessing what she wanted to apologize for. “It isn’t necessary.”

  He had dismissed her accusations as soon as she’d made them—or at least as soon as his initial anger had a chance to cool down.

  He knew how to laugh, damn it. He didn’t take himself too seriously. And he sure as hell didn’t always say what he thought people wanted to hear. She’d made him sound like a fraud—an uptight fraud, blast it.

  It was only because her words were reminiscent of old accusations Erik “Hawk” MacSorley used to make that it had angered him at all. He’d been the butt of too many “poleaxes up the arse” jests from Hawk when they’d first fought together nearly eight years ago—right before Randolph made the biggest mistake of his life.

  He’d given his vow of loyalty to his uncle Robert the Bruce, but after the English had found Randolph and some of Hawk’s men on an island where they’d taken refuge, Randolph had switched allegiance. He’d been taken prisoner and hadn’t had much choice in the matter—indeed, he’d escaped execution only because of his friendship with the Earl of Pembroke—but expedient or not, he’d broken his word.

  The switch had been only temporary—and Hawk and the other members of the Highland Guard had made him pay for it ten times over in “training” when he’d returned—but the shame of the disloyalty to his uncle still haunted him.

  But no one would ever question his word again. He was going to be the most loyal, most indispensable, most highly regarded knight in his uncle’s retinue if it killed him. Everything was focused on that goal.

  That’s why her criticism had stung. Anger was the only reason why he’d been halfway up the stairs after Isabel to demand she retract what she’d said before he stopped himself.

  Why would he care what Isabel Stewart thought? It wasn’t her approval he needed, it was her cousin’s. Elizabeth was the one he was going to marry. Good thing, too, he thought. From what she’d said last night, Isabel was the type of woman who would make unrealistic demands, such as…

  Loyalty. He frowned. Marriage was different. A certain freedom for men was expected. Elizabeth Douglas understood that, but instinctively he knew Isabel wouldn’t.

  One woman for the rest of his life? That wasn’t for him. He knew some men did it, but they claimed to be “in love,” which was as foreign a state as Randolph could imagine. He didn’t get that attached. Incapable of feeling, she’d accused him? If she meant love—and in his experience, women always meant love—then she was right. That wasn’t for him. He had no interest in those kinds of feelings. He was too focused on his goal: to be his uncle’s greatest knight, lieutenant, and chief advisor. Randolph had let Bruce down once; he wasn’t going to do it again. It was the only thing that mattered—nothing and no one would get in the way of that.

  He started to turn away, but Isabel grabbed his arm to stop him. Christ, just the feel of her hand on him made his body jump.

  “Yes, it is. I said some things…” She removed her hand from his arm, and he wasn’t sure whether the
self-conscious twisting of her hands and blush to her cheeks was for touching him, or for what she’d said last night. “I said some things that were wrong. I… I misjudged you, and I’m sorry. What you did in coming here was very kind.” She gave him one of those wry smiles that he was beginning to find himself anticipating, almost looking forward to. He liked the way it made her eyes sparkle, her lips pull mischievously to one side, and a small dent appear in her cheek like a dimple. “I thought you were a little too good to be true.”

  He arched a brow. “And now?”

  She laughed, batting long, thick eyelashes as if the light was too bright. “I’m properly dazzled right along with the rest of your admirers.”

  She was teasing him and didn’t mean it, of course. She would never be like the others. She was different. Why the hell did that realization bother him so much?

  “Are you ready, my lady?” The prioress had come into the hall behind them, and when they turned, she started. “I’m sorry, my lord, I did not realize you were helping us.”

  “He’s not,” Isabel interjected quickly. “The earl came to see Annie. He was just leaving.”

  “Helping with what?” he asked Isabel.

  “A little work in the garden.”

  “I’m not as young as I once was,” the prioress said. “It is hard work, and even with six of us, I was very grateful for Lady Isabel’s help.”

  The prioress was seventy if she was a day. “Perhaps you could use another hand?” Randolph offered.

  Before the prioress could respond, Isabel jumped in with something akin to alarm on her face. “That isn’t necessary, my lord. I’m sure you are busy at the castle with the siege. We will manage fine.” Then in a low voice that the aging prioress surely could not hear, she added, “Trust me, this is not something you will… uh… enjoy. The work is messy.”