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

by Monica McCarty

  He broke the silence with a heavy sigh of contentment, echoing her thoughts. “I could stay like this forever.”

  But would he? Izzie had to know. She had to find out whether her instincts had been right. Whether he had felt the same things as she.

  She turned her head, propping her chin on her hand to look up at him. The arrogantly refined, handsome features looked so relaxed—almost boyish. Her heart squeezed a little more. Like this he was hers.

  “I love you,” she said and waited.

  She felt his heart stop for a long heartbeat before starting again. She felt like an axe was hanging over her head—or maybe her heart.

  Tell me you love me, too. Tell me I wasn’t wrong. Hold me in your arms and tell me you’ll never let go.

  She honestly thought he might, which made it more crushing when he didn’t.

  “I know.” His eyes were cruelly understanding and tender. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.”

  I know. It wasn’t stated arrogantly but matter-of-factly. Of course, it was hardly a surprise. How could she not? Everyone did. It must be something he’d heard a hundred times. What’s not to love?

  But he had no idea how much his words had hurt. How he was breaking her heart with his gentle smile.

  She turned away so he wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes. She didn’t understand. How could he make love to her like that and not love her?

  But what did she really know? She was an innocent—or had been until a few minutes ago. Maybe there was nothing different or special about what had just happened between them at all.

  “We will be married as soon as the banns are read,” he proclaimed matter-of-factly.

  “I’m not marrying you,” she said quietly, not turning her head to look at him.

  His heart stopped again under her palm. It took longer to restart this time. “Of course you’re going to marry me. You just gave yourself to me.”

  She’d given him everything, but he’d only accepted part.

  “It isn’t enough.” She knew that now.

  He repositioned her so that she was forced to look at him. He didn’t look happy. “What do you mean it’s not enough? It was pretty damned spectacular.”

  “Was it?” She shrugged as if it didn’t matter to her, when it actually meant everything. “I will have to take your word for it as I have nothing in the way of comparison. But spectacular isn’t enough for me.”

  Maybe she was the one who wanted perfect.

  Making love to him had told her what she needed to know. She could never marry him without love. Passion wasn’t enough. Satisfaction in the bedchamber would not make up for the fact that he didn’t love her, nor would it make her heart break any less when he left her for another. She couldn’t share him. She wanted to be enough.

  She’d gambled her innocence and lost. Although maybe it wasn’t a complete loss. At least now she knew the truth. He didn’t love her, or he was determined not to—both amounted to the same thing.

  She’d had enough. She was done trying to make him see. The man was blind and could stay that way for the rest of his life for all she cared. She wasn’t going to waste any more heartache chasing after someone who didn’t want her.

  “What do you mean it’s not enough?” He sounded like he was about ten years old. But she wasn’t in the mood to pacify men who acted like little boys.

  She sat up to make her way off the bed, but he grabbed her wrist to stop her. The handsome features that she’d admired not long ago were dark with anger and frustration. “Is this your way of trying to extract promises from me?”

  She gave him a look of contempt that wasn’t half of what she was feeling. “You don’t know me at all. I told you before, I want nothing from you.” She adjusted her dress as best she could knowing there was nothing she could do about the ties at the back. Removing her cloak from the floor, she pulled it around her shoulders. Her focus was on the door. All she wanted to do was get out of there.

  He’d started to retrieve his clothes as well and was much more efficient at putting them on. When he realized that she meant to leave, he blocked her exit. “You aren’t going anywhere until we settle things. You have to marry me, damn it.”

  His proposals just kept getting better and better. “Why? Because you took my maidenhead and honor demands it? I’m certainly not going to tell anyone, and I hardly think you will tarnish that shiny mail of yours by shouting it from the rooftops. Sir Thomas Randolph divesting virgins of their maidenhead? What would people think? Especially when they learn I’ve refused to marry you, too.”

  The reference to her cousin made his mouth press into a cold white line. “Walter will make you.”

  “Will he? I wouldn’t be so sure. And no one can make me say vows before God. These are not the days of brigands and barbarians, my lord—women cannot be compelled to marry someone they do not want. And I do not want you. Now get out of my way.”

  He seemed momentarily stunned by her vehemence and let her pass. She was through the door and down the stairs before she realized he was behind her.

  She was about to turn and tell him to go away, when he growled, “You aren’t walking back alone.”

  Realizing it was useless to argue—not to mention foolhardy to walk by herself—she ignored him instead.

  She was the only one to do so. On the mile-long journey down to the abbey, it seemed as though half the town of Edinburgh—still celebrating—stopped him to gush, fawn, and offer their congratulations on his miraculous taking of the castle. He spent most of that mile running afterward to catch up to her.

  An enormous sense of relief came over her when the guesthouse finally came into view. She couldn’t bear to look at him right then; she just wanted him gone. With nothing left to say—thank you hardly seemed appropriate under the circumstances—she started toward the door.

  Before she could make her escape, however, he stopped her. He seemed to have calmed down a little and didn’t look as angry. He had his charming knight smile on. Here was the part where he said whatever he thought she wanted to here. It is all an act. Always. How can I have forgotten?

  “Wait. You can’t just go like this. I didn’t mean to upset you. I don’t want you to overreact and make any hasty decisions. Why don’t you think about it for a few days?”

  “I don’t need to think about anything. I’ve made my decision.”

  His jaw hardened again—this time with a furious tic. “How can you say that after what just happened? I know it was your first time, but you can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it.”

  He actually sounded a little uncertain. She shook her head, dumbfounded. Was that what this was about? Had she wounded his masculine pride by not being overcome by his lovemaking? She had been, but not in the way he meant. “Have no fear, my lord. Your talents in the bedchamber are not exaggerated. I was properly swept away into complete euphoric bliss.”

  He looked so relieved that were her heart not being twisted in a vise, she might have laughed. Had she really made the vaunted rogue worry that he’d left her underwhelmed? He didn’t understand at all. Why should he? For him the bedchamber was enough. To him it was everything.

  “Then why…?” He finished his own question. “You want me to say it, is that it?” His voice had risen with his anger. “Fine. I love you, and I will keep my damned vows. Does that make you happy? Is that what you need to hear?”

  She didn’t think it possible that he could make her pity him. But the great hero of Scotland—the man who seemed to have everything—had just succeeded. And she wasn’t alone. The two massive warriors who’d just come out of the king’s former lodgings with some of his things heard his words as well and both men shook their heads as if they felt sorry for him.

  But it wasn’t just pity that she felt. Randolph had also given her the confirmation that she was doing the right thing. He didn’t want her; he just didn’t want her to refuse him. She looked at him without hesitation, and with remarkable composure for someone who’d ju
st had a knife stuck in her gut. “Sir Thomas?” His gaze met hers, and even through the fury, she sensed that he knew he’d gone too far. That maybe he was a little shamefaced. “Go to hell.”

  She’d had enough. As soon as she could talk to Walter and arrange it, Izzie was going home. It was time to stop playacting in faerie tales and get on with her life.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Randy, Randy, Randy.” The big Norseman—half Norseman, but all bloody pirate—shook his head. “With all that experience and supposed charm, do you know anything about lasses?”

  “Go to hell, Hawk.”

  “I think you were the one directed to do that. And by the look on your face the past few days, you are there.” The pain-in-his-arse seafarer and member of the king’s secret fighting force known as the Highland Guard leaned back on the bench against the wall, kicked out his feet, crossed his arms, and shook his head with a broad smile on his face. “I’d nearly given up hope that I’d live to see this day. But damn if it wasn’t worth the wait. For someone who didn’t want to fight like a brigand, you sure as hell look like one.”

  Randolph squeezed the pewter goblet in his hand until it almost bent. He’d had years of practice in ignoring Hawk’s jabs—including more than one about Randolph’s unfortunate words to explain why he’d switched allegiance (Christ, he’d been young and pompous!)—but he’d never been closer to slamming his fist through that flashing white grin. Only the knowledge that it would make the bastard think he was right stopped him.

  There was nothing wrong with him, damn it. He didn’t care that he’d asked her to marry him. That she’d refused him. That she’d ridden out of the abbey two and a half days ago for Bonkyll Castle with a handful of Walter Stewart’s men without a word to him. She’d just left!

  But he didn’t care, damn it. She would realize she’d made a mistake and come back soon enough. He’d give her a week. Maybe two. If she hadn’t returned by then, he might just have to ride the forty miles to Bonkyll himself to hear her apology.

  Until then, he’d distract himself with the beautiful serving lass who’d been keeping his goblet nice and full, and making her interest clear every time she leaned over to pour and give him a fantastic view of her very sizable breasts. Women were always a good distraction.

  At least they used to be. But when he smiled encouragingly at the lass, and she leaned over to fill his goblet again, presenting her hefty bosom for closer inspection—practically right under his nose—all he could see was flawless, creamy white skin and soft round mounds with delicate pink tips that fit right in his hands and tasted like warm honey.

  He bit back the curse of disgust, but the lass seemed to pick up on the change of plans. She lifted her eyes questioningly, and he shook his head. She moved off.

  Izzie had ruined him, damn it! Randolph knew exactly who he had to blame for this. He was tempted to ride to Bonkyll right now and give her that opportunity to apologize right now.

  “It won’t work you know,” the smug bastard watching him said. “Take my word for it, lad, fighting and denying it won’t change a damned thing. And another lass sure as hell isn’t the way—just ask MacGregor.”

  Randolph didn’t need to ask MacGregor anything. He’d been there when the greatest archer in Scotland had been doing his penance to his now wife, who also happened to be Bruce’s daughter and Randolph’s kinswoman, after she’d caught him in an unfortunate situation. But this wasn’t the same thing. MacGregor had been out of his mind in love with Cate.

  He glanced down the table at the man reputed to be the most handsome in Scotland, who only had eyes for the dainty, dark-haired pixie seated next to him.

  “It isn’t the same,” Randolph said.

  He’d addressed Hawk but it was the seafarer’s cousin, Lachlan MacRuairi, who answered. “Isn’t it? From where I’m sitting it looks exactly the same.”

  “Why don’t you take that poleaxe out of your arse for once, Randy, and just admit you love the lass,” Hawk said. “One bad-tempered brigand around here is enough.”

  MacRuairi—the bad-tempered brigand he’d been referring to—called his cousin a vile name and told him to do something that was impossible.

  “I’m not in love with her,” Randolph insisted.

  He felt the faces of a half-dozen Guardsmen on him. Why the hell was he sitting with them, anyway? Because his uncle had sent him away from the dais and told him not to come back until he stopped sulking.

  He wasn’t sulking, damn it. He just didn’t feel like talking. He was the only one. It seemed half of Edinburgh had heard about his broken engagement and the one that had been refused. Strangely, he didn’t give a shite. His pride should be stinging, but instead it was his chest that hurt. Ever since that night when she’d walked away, it had felt as if it was burning. He would have to see Helen MacKay if it didn’t go away soon.

  “How are you so sure?” MacRuairi asked.

  “She irritates me too much.”

  Hawk laughed—as did a few of the others. Even MacRuairi seemed to be smiling, but with him it was always hard to be sure.

  Randolph looked around at them and felt his temper spark. It reminded him of when he’d been in school. It was that sense that everyone around him understood except for him.

  Magnus MacKay exchanged a look with his brother-in-law Kenneth Sutherland, and then very slowly—not unlike Randolph’s teachers had done—said, “Any other woman ever irritate you like she does?”

  “Hell no!” Randolph responded vehemently. “Not even close.”

  The men around him waited for him to catch up. He was incredulous when he realized what they meant. “So that’s what love is? Irritation?”

  That was absurd.

  The men around him shrugged. “Sometimes,” Hawk said. “Especially at first.”

  Christ, they were serious. “Why the hell didn’t someone tell me?”

  “It’s one of those secrets lasses like to keep to themselves.” MacSorley paused, giving Randolph a look of sympathy. “I’m sorry to say, there’s a lot of them—and you are supposed to instinctively know all of them.”

  Randolph swore. He thought back through the list of signs that he’d identified to tell whether someone was in love and felt the noose of inevitability tightening around his neck. He was doomed, damn it. Doomed. Pretty soon he’d be wearing that idiot smile with a handful of children sitting on his lap—and pups!

  God, it was already happening. He could feel his mouth curving right now!

  “This was a mistake, damn it!” he said, slamming his goblet down. “I told her I had no intention of falling in love with her.”

  Was there such a thing as a collective wince? If there was, he’d just seen it.

  “You didn’t?” Hawk said.

  Randolph nodded and the look of sympathy from the big seafarers face alarmed him.

  “I don’t envy you, Randy,” Hawk said. “I hope you know how to grovel.”

  “You can always teach him,” MacRuairi said.

  “I didn’t grovel,” Hawk snapped.

  “That’s not what I hear from Ellie and Domnall,” MacRuairi shot back.

  But Randolph was too worried to enjoy Hawk being the one prodded. He told himself not to worry. “Izzie isn’t like that. She will listen to reason.”

  He would apologize for his ignorance, tell her that he loved her, and everything would be all right.

  “I hope you’re right,” Hawk said. “But if you aren’t, you can always do what I did and abduct her. Take my word for it, lasses find it romantic.”

  “Abduct her? Are you mad? I’m not a brigand.”

  Randolph ignored Hawk’s “we’ll see” smile as there was a commotion at the dais. He could see Walter Stewart frantically talking to the king.

  “Wonder what that’s about,” MacKay said.

  Randolph intended to find out. He arrived just in time to hear his uncle say, “Take whomever you need. I hope there is another explanation.”

  Walter shook his h
ead. “I don’t think so. Izzie came to live with Douglas because she expected something like this. We all just thought he’d given up. Alexander said he would conscript Langton to help find her—he will have even more reason to find her once my message arrives that she has agreed to marry him.”

  Randolph’s heart had stopped at the mention of Izzie, but at the words “marry him,” he knew that he must have been mistaken.

  “What is going on here?” he asked in a far calmer voice than he would have otherwise.

  Young Walter turned and looked at him with a very worried look on his face. “It’s my cousin, Isabel.” Not realizing his words had stopped Randolph’s heart again, he continued. “She still hasn’t arrived at Bonkyll. The message I sent ahead of her to her brother got there, but she and the men I sent with her are missing.”

  Missing? Randolph felt as if every drop of blood had drained from his body. “What do you mean missing? She left two and a half days ago. She should have arrived yesterday.”

  Randolph was too agitated to pay mind to the look of confusion on Walter’s face. The lad must be the only one in Edinburgh who hadn’t heard about Randolph’s rejected proposal.

  “There was some trouble a few months back,” Walter explained.

  Randolph felt like he was trying to contain a volcano that was about to explode within him. “Trouble? What kind of trouble?”

  Walter explained about the young knight who’d tried to erase his debts by marrying her and hadn’t been pleased to have his plans foiled. “He’s an unscrupulous sort,” Walter added. “Alexander—Izzie’s eldest brother—had broken with him some time ago, but Izzie didn’t know when she became, um, involved with him.”

  How could no one have told him, damn it? The thought of her in danger made everything inside him turn upside down. It shattered whatever last doubts he might have had about his true feelings. He tried to stay calm, but inside he was a mad rush of twisting, terrifying emotions—foremost among them panic. “And you think he is the reason she has not arrived?”