The Rock

by Monica McCarty

She shook her head. “He wasn’t. He just didn’t want to do it. He said he was leaving in a day or two—I’m not even sure he’s still here.” She paused, taking a deep breath through tight lungs. “He said there is a woman waiting for him. A woman he hopes to marry.”

  If she’d surprised him before, she’d managed to shock her brother dumbstruck now. “Married? You are serious?”

  She nodded.

  “To whom?”

  She shrugged, looking down at her hands. She was gripping her bracelet so tightly, she realized, the imprint would probably be dug into her skin. “He didn’t say. Only that she’s a widow of a baron.”

  Jamie quirked a brow, obviously impressed. “It’s a good match for him.”

  Why did hearing her brother say it only make her feel worse? Marriage had always been about making the best alliance to her—why wasn’t it in this case? “Aye,” she agreed.

  Jamie didn’t say anything, but she could feel his eyes on her. After a moment he said, “The widow will have to wait, and if he’s gone already, he can be brought back.”

  “Nay, you don’t understand. The widow was only an excuse. He doesn’t want to help, Jamie.”

  “What he wants is immaterial. I’m not giving him a choice. MacGowan is a soldier, he will do what he is told.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes widened in horror, thinking about what Thom had said. Jamie forcing him would only reinforce every horrible thought he had about being their “servant.”

  “No! You can’t order him, Jamie.” She thought back to her conversation with Thom. “Maybe if you ask him personally, and explain the situation . . .”

  “So he can have the satisfaction of refusing me?” He made a sharp scoffing sound, and said, “I don’t think so. If he refused you, he sure as hell isn’t going to do it for me.”

  “But—”

  He put up his hand, stopping her. “This is our best way—maybe the only way—of getting Archie back. What’s more important, your brother or MacGowan’s tweaked pride?”

  Both. Nothing Jamie had said was wrong, but Elizabeth knew Thom wouldn’t see it that way. He would be furious.

  She couldn’t let him think the worst of them. What he wanted did matter to her.

  She stilled. Maybe there was a way. Maybe if she asked him again and could convince him to help, Jamie wouldn’t need to order him to do it. She just prayed that he was still here.

  “Report to Douglas at first light. You will be under his command for the entirety of the mission.”

  It took everything Thom had to keep his expression neutral while listening to Carrick, when rage boiled inside him like a pot with a too-tight lid.

  He couldn’t believe it. He was being forced on the very mission for which Elizabeth had come to him the night before last. His answer, and what he’d wanted, hadn’t mattered. Either she or Jamie—or maybe both—had gone directly to Carrick.

  Though this smacked of Jamie’s methods, he knew how desperate Elizabeth must be feeling. Was she not giving him the opportunity to refuse again?

  It didn’t matter who it was. He had anger enough for both of them. Thom was a damned pawn, to be moved about at Douglas’s will. He was the village boy again who had to bite his tongue and not defy his “lord.”

  That he’d been about to volunteer for the mission to which he’d just been assigned only proved what a bloody fool he was. He couldn’t believe he’d actually been feeling guilty for refusing to help.

  He fought to keep his emotions in check as he responded to Carrick. “I should not like to keep Lady Marjorie waiting, my lord. I understood I would be permitted to leave in the morning.”

  The earl frowned. “This mission takes precedence. The lady will have to wait a bit longer.” He smiled wolfishly. “I’m sure you will think of a way to make it up to her.”

  Thom’s jaw clamped. “And if I were to refuse?”

  Carrick’s eyes narrowed. “This is not a request. The king has ordered that Douglas be given whatever he needs to free his brother. Douglas seems to think that you may be of use to him—and I tend to agree based on the rooftop service you performed for Lady Marjorie.” Carrick studied him a little longer, perhaps suspecting the rage that Thom was fighting hard to contain. “I know there is bad blood between you and Douglas, and he would have seen you gone from this army well before now. I haven’t let him interfere because I see a lot of promise in you. Succeed on this mission, and you can prove to both of us that that belief is warranted.”

  Thom didn’t need to prove anything to the “Lord” of Douglas, but he nodded, only too aware that he didn’t have a choice. Douglas had seen to that.

  “Good,” Carrick said. “I will look forward to hearing of your exploits when you get back. You can return to the barracks or wherever it was that you were heading when Henry found you.”

  “The river, my lord.” He was still covered in soot from his work in the forge earlier.

  “To wash?”

  Thom nodded.

  “It’s as cold as a witch’s teat out there,” Carrick said with a shiver.

  Thom would take his word for it.

  Carrick waved his hand, signaling for Henry to come forward. “Have a bath prepared for MacGowan in the kitchens. If one cannot be found, have them use mine.”

  The squire’s eyes rounded, but he nodded.

  Carrick’s generosity surprised Thom as well. He supposed it was meant to ease the sting of being forced not just on the mission but also under Douglas’s command.

  It didn’t, but he wasn’t fool enough to refuse the rarity of heated water. “Thank you, my lord,” Thom said, taking his leave.

  He retrieved the drying cloth, soap, and fresh clothes that he’d left outside Carrick’s chamber in the dungeon after Henry had chased him down, and followed the squire to the kitchens.

  While the water heated in big iron pots over the fire, he tried to ease the tempest swirling inside him with drink. Lots of it. He downed cup after cup from the jug one of the serving maids had brought him. It was uisge beatha, and from the raw, throat-searing taste of it, he better not put his cup too close to the fire or it would combust.

  The liquor did its job, however, taking the violent edge off his anger so that when the same serving maid offered to help him remove his clothes—with a look that promised more—he agreed. A lass was exactly what he needed to take the rest of the edge off.

  Carrick’s squire returned to his duties and left them alone in the corner alcove of the kitchens where the bath had been set up.

  The lass was probably a few years older than him, buxom, dark haired, and pretty enough with a wide mouth that spoke of experience and pleasure. He’d wager this wasn’t the first time she’d made a similar offer to a man in this castle.

  Thom let her undress him. Let himself slink into the warm water. Let her hands roam all over his body with the soap, scrubbing the dirt and grime from his skin as she made little sounds of pleasure and anticipation at all she found.

  He wanted to like it. He wanted to harden in her hand. He wanted to lie back, close his eyes, and let her stroke some of the lust and anger from his body.

  He sure as hell wasn’t the untried lad he’d been three years ago. He’d stopped waiting for Elizabeth the moment he’d left Douglas. None of which explained why he gently unfurled the serving girl’s hand from around him and shook his head. “Just the bath, lass. I think I’ve had too much of the cook’s spirits.”

  The lass didn’t concede defeat easily, but when it became clear she wasn’t going to change his mind, she helped him wash his hair, and then fetched the linen drying cloth to wrap around his waist as he stepped out of the tub.

  The drink had been helped along by the warm water, and she had to steady him when he nearly slipped by putting her hands around him.

  At first he thought she was the one who’d gasped. It wasn’t until he’d peeled her now damp chest (and impressively hard nipples) from his that he looked over and saw they were no longer alone.

  El
izabeth stood in the entryway, blocking the view of the rest of the kitchens, staring at him.

  Stricken was the best description of her expression. From her quickness of breath, the hooded cloak, and rosy cheeks, he guessed she’d just run in from outside, but her eyes were wide and glassy, and her skin underneath the chill was pale.

  He wasn’t doing anything wrong, damn it—though in that one look she managed to make him feel as if he were.

  How long had she been standing there? Had she seen him emerge from the tub? And why did the idea of her eyes on his body suddenly make the part of him that had been indifferent to the serving maid’s attention suddenly feel very heavy and very thick?

  The dangerous tempest of emotions simmering inside him came roaring back. Rage, resentment, and something else. Something far more dangerous right now. Lust.

  “What do you want?” he said sharply. “As you can see, I’m busy.”

  He kept his arm around the serving woman. She was blocking his mostly naked body from Elizabeth’s view. The now damp drying cloth didn’t hide much. One glance of those big blue eyes on his cock, and he’d be hard as a rock.

  But he was just angry enough—egged on by the drink—to actually think about setting the woman aside. He wanted to shock her. Wanted her unbalanced. Wanted her to see a man’s lust—a man’s desire. His lust, damn it. His desire.

  “I-I,” she stuttered. “I need to speak with you. It’s important and cannot wait. Please . . .”

  He should have sent her away right then. He should have realized that he was playing with fire.

  But he didn’t.

  8

  ELIZABETH WAS REELING. The relief she’d felt on learning from Carrick’s squire where Thom was fled the moment she entered the kitchens and saw . . .

  Everything. Her mouth went dry. Heat flooded her cheeks and spread over her skin in a prickly swath. He’d been naked. For one mind-numbing, breath-stealing, blood-heating moment she’d seen every inch of his body, and it had been incredible. The rock-hard muscles of his arms and chest had continued down past his narrow waist to his flanks and legs. There didn’t seem to be a spare ounce of flesh on him; he was lean, chiseled, and honed to a razor-sharp blade of masculine power and strength.

  Good gracious, how could he have been hiding all this from her? For a moment she felt a spark of anger, feeling as if she’d been duped.

  And then there had been that other part of masculine strength and power. The long, thick proof of his manhood that she’d glimpsed for only an instant before the drying cloth had been wrapped around his waist.

  She’d felt something strange low in her belly. A flutter of awareness. A tiny contraction that made her body quiver.

  With little privacy in a castle, she’d seen a number of backsides and male parts and never given it much thought. But she was thinking now, and she didn’t think she’d ever forget the sight of him. Just as she would never forget the lash of pain that had splayed through her chest when she saw the woman plastered to his chest and realized what she’d interrupted.

  Were they . . . ?

  Panic rose in her chest. Panic that put to shame the fear she’d felt on thinking that she wouldn’t be able to find him before Jamie did.

  But her brother was still in the Hall eating; she still had time to convince Thom to help before he was ordered to do so. Trying to ignore the arm he had looped around the woman’s waist, she repeated, “Please, Thom.”

  She stared into his eyes and felt a strange shiver run through her. There was something different about him. Something dangerous. Something hot and edgy that she didn’t understand. He wasn’t calm and indifferent anymore.

  Their eyes held, and she almost backed away. Something wasn’t right. There was a strange energy crackling between them that instinctively she knew she could not handle. It was like trying to harness a maelstrom, trying to capture lightning, or trying to silence thunder.

  “Very well,” he said.

  She detected a slight slur in his voice and frowned. Was he drunk? Thom didn’t drink to excess. At least the Thom she’d known didn’t, but how much did she know about the man before her?

  If she thought too much about that question, she might be more nervous than she already was. She was nervous, she realized. Which was ridiculous. This was Thom, she reminded herself. She’d known him for most of her life. He was like a brother to her.

  The rejection of that thought was instant and visceral. He wasn’t like a brother to her at all. Not anymore, at least—if he ever had been.

  He removed his arm from the woman’s waist. “Thank you, lass. But I think I can manage from here.”

  The serving maid looked like she wanted to argue, but glanced in Elizabeth’s direction and seemed to think better of it.

  Elizabeth stepped to the side to let the woman pass. A moment later, she and Thom were alone. Or virtually alone, as there were still a few people in the kitchens. But this corner was fairly secluded. No one would bother them. Why did that knowledge suddenly make the air between them fire even hotter?

  She turned away to give him some privacy while he dressed, although she knew it was as much to stop herself from looking at him again.

  When he’d donned a linen shirt and breeches, she crossed the room to stand before him. The heat and smell of soap from the tub infused her senses. At least that’s what she told herself. But she knew it probably had more to do with his heat and the fresh scent of soap that emanated from his skin. He smelled good. Really good.

  She still couldn’t get used to how big he was. Standing this close to him, his chest a broad steely shield before her, it made her want to reach out and . . .

  She cleared her throat, trying to shake off her errant thoughts. She had to focus on why she was here. “Jamie is back.”

  She could almost feel him stiffen as every muscle in his body seemed to flex. Good gracious, why did she suddenly feel the urge to trace the chiseled contours with her fingertips and see if they were as steely as they looked?

  “I know; I saw him ride in.”

  “Then you must have seen that Archie wasn’t with him? It didn’t work, Thom. Jamie couldn’t climb the cliff. There was a sheer section near the top and he couldn’t do it. But you could. He said it would be easy for you. That you’ve climbed far more difficult before. I know it’s asking a lot, I know it could be dangerous, but he said there weren’t any soldiers guarding that section, and the other warriors will follow . . .” He wasn’t saying anything. Indeed, she couldn’t help noticing how eerily quiet he was while she rambled on. Something is wrong. But she didn’t listen to that little voice and pressed on. “I know you refused. I know you have no reason to help, but please, I’m begging you to reconsider.”

  She had to convince him. After what he’d told her about feeling like a servant and being at their “command,” she couldn’t let him think he didn’t have a choice. He’d worked so hard to make a new life, and if Jamie forced him to do this, it would be a blow to his pride that he might never forgive.

  She hadn’t realized her hand had fallen on his arm as she’d spoken until she noticed him staring at it. She tried to pull it back self-consciously, but he wouldn’t let her. He circled her wrist and drew her closer.

  Their bodies were almost touching. Good Lord, it felt like she’d walked into the forge. Heat bellowed over her, weakening her knees. She felt strange. Light-headed—as if she might faint.

  What was happening to her? This was Thommy.

  “How badly do you want it, Elizabeth?” His voice was low and husky, and so ripe with meaning, she wondered if they were still talking about Archie. “What are you willing to bargain?”

  Bargain? Suddenly, she understood. Money! Why hadn’t she thought of that before? If it seemed unusually mercenary for Thom, she reminded herself that things were different now. For a man to be a knight, it took coin. “Name your price, and you shall have it. I do not have much silver of my own, but I’m sure Jamie will pay you whatever—”


  “I don’t want your brother’s blasted money!”

  “But I told you, I have little of my own that is not in my tocher—” She stopped, looking at him in shock.

  Was that what he was proposing? Marriage?

  He laughed harshly. “Don’t look so horrified, that will not be required of you. As I said, I have other plans.”

  She frowned, not just at the reminder of his betrothal, but at how quick he was to assume he knew what she was thinking. She’d been surprised—not horrified. “Then I don’t understand.”

  “Don’t you?” His voice was husky again as his gaze slid down her body. Slowly. Intently. Leaving an imprint in its wake. “Can you think of nothing else with which to bargain?”

  She gasped. The heat in his gaze left no doubt as to his meaning.

  Jamie was right. Thom was not the noble boy with the fierce sense of right and wrong whom she remembered. He’d been prone to brooding moods at times, but this was a dark, angry side that she’d never seen before. “You would force me to give you my virtue?”

  His eyes found hers. The hot flash of blue sent a blast of heat all the way to her toes. But it was the sultry smile that made her limbs start to melt. “Force?” He pulled her body snugly against his. “I won’t need to force anything.”

  The fierce sensations that shuddered through her made her wonder if he might be right.

  As a man who’d been around fire his whole life, Thom knew better than to play with it. But he wasn’t just playing with it, he was fueling it, stoking it, daring it to burn him. But he couldn’t stop. He finally had Lady Elizabeth Douglas where he wanted her. Seeing him—really seeing him—and the burgeoning awareness shuddering through her was irresistible.

  He’d only sought to bargain with a kiss, but when she’d assumed more . . . well, he was not exactly in the right state of mind to set her right.

  But why her assuming he wanted money angered him more than her thinking he was bargaining with her virtue he didn’t know.

  He never should have touched her, and he especially never should have brought her body against his. The feel of her breasts crushed against his chest, the dart of her nipples, the flush of desire on her cheeks, and the sweet gasp and parting of her lips drove him out of his mind with lust. It took him to a place that was dark and deep and impossible to find his way out of. It was the place of erotic dreams and fantasies. The place where he finally tasted her. Finally touched her. Finally had her flush with desire and weak with surrender.