She opened her eyes and looked into the familiar face of the man who’d brought her to such heights and felt something strange swell in her chest. A warmth of emotion that she’d never felt before. The intimacy—the closeness—of the moment seemed to wrap around her and squeeze.
She would have smiled had the veil of euphoria not lifted enough for her to realize that the sweet tenderness of emotion, the warmth in her chest, and euphoria were not shared by the man leaning over her. Rather he seemed pulled as tight as a bowstring, teetering on the edge of some dark, violent precipice he was fighting not to fall off of.
“Thommy?” she asked uncertainly, forgetting he’d asked her not to call him that. Her hand went to his face, cupping the hard lines of his jaw. The stubble grated against her palm and she could feel the heavy pulse just below his cheek. “What’s wrong?”
His gaze hardened to blue chips of ice, but she yanked her hand back as if scalded. A breath of cool air spread over her skin, and all at once she became aware of her wanton state. She was collapsed on a table, her breasts were half-spilling out of her gown, her skirts were bunched around her waist, and he had his hand between her spread legs with his manhood positioned only a few inches away. Her gaze slid to the thick column of his erection, and she knew that all he had to do was loosen the ties of his breeches and he could be inside her.
She wouldn’t resist. She was pretty sure she would welcome him.
He seemed to know that, too, and for one pulse-stopping moment she thought he was going to do exactly that. Her heart even slammed against her rib cage in anticipation.
But then he pulled back harshly, removing his body and his hand from her in what felt like a cold slap.
A cold slap that was matched by the sting of his words. “Keep your virtue, my lady. It was not part of the bargain.” His eyes skimmed over her. “Although you present a tempting invitation, a kiss was all that was required.”
Elizabeth gasped as a sharp knife of pain slid between her ribs. She sat up and quickly pulled down her gown to hide her nakedness. “I wasn’t . . .”
But they both knew she was. She’d offered him her virtue and he’d refused it.
His gaze held hers unyieldingly, his mouth pulling into a tight smile. “You needn’t worry. The kiss was good enough. I’ll honor your ardent request to help free your brother.” She didn’t understand the snide turn he put on the word. “But in return you will honor mine.”
“What?”
“To leave me the hell alone.”
The harshly uttered words spoken with such vehemence cut off her breath. Her chest squeezed with a pain sharper and deeper than she’d felt before. How could he touch her like that one moment, and then the next act as if he wanted nothing to do with her? She’d just experienced something extraordinary, yet it seemed to be nothing to him at all. And that made her feel oddly vulnerable, confused, and precariously close to tears.
Her eyes scanned his face, looking for any sign of weakness, any crack in the formidable, handsome facade. Finding none, they came to rest on his. “If you are certain that is what you want?”
With her gaze, she argued, pleaded, and begged for him to disagree. But her silent words had no effect.
With one last long look, he gave her a sharp nod and said, “Aye, that’s exactly what I want.”
The words had barely left his mouth before he was gone.
10
THEY’D RIDDEN THROUGH the day—and most of the night—but not thirty-six hours after that disastrous kiss, Thom stood in the shadow of the formidable Bamburgh Castle, listening to Douglas go over the plan that would send Thom 150 feet up a cliff and into one of the most formidable castles in England.
Though his former friend had avoided him over the long, harrowing ride across the dangerous Marches, Thom had felt Douglas’s scrutiny more than once.
Douglas was a suspicious bastard. Thom’s silent acceptance of the order to accompany him—rather than the anger Douglas had undoubtedly been expecting—hadn’t sat well with him. Douglas was probably wondering whether his sister had anything to do with it.
If he only knew.
Douglas would kill him. And it would probably be deserved. Thom had been one thrust away from taking her innocence and destroying them both.
He’d acted dishonorably, and he knew it. For his entire life, Thom had prided himself on always doing the right thing. In a world that only cared about who you were, not what you were, he’d always told himself that it was actions that made a man noble—not blood. But he’d acted as base as the world wanted to make him.
And all for what? To prove a point? To make her see what was between them? To make her realize what she’d forsaken?
Well, he’d succeeded. He’d proved that there was a hell of a lot more than friendship between them. He’d proved just how incredible it would be between them. He’d proved that she wanted him just as badly as he wanted her.
But at what cost? The hard-wrought peace he’d found, and the new life he’d built for himself, had been shattered. He would hear the cries of her release in his dreams for the rest of his life. He would hold the memory of her kiss, the sweetness of her mouth, the softness of her skin, and the perfection of her breasts forever. Any woman he took to his bed in the future would suffer by comparison.
For a few precious minutes he’d had everything he’d ever wanted, and it had been better than he’d ever imagined.
He never should have touched her. He still couldn’t believe he’d lost himself like that. But he’d had plenty of hours over the long journey to recall in vivid detail exactly how close he’d come to giving Douglas a reason to stick that blade in his gut.
But Thom didn’t give a shite about what Douglas thought or suspected. He was here to do a job. The sooner the better, which was one of the reasons why Douglas’s decision to wait until the following night to make their ascent didn’t sit well.
“There is no reason to wait. I’m ready now,” Thom insisted. “There are still three or four hours before dawn.” He had already inspected the cliff below the castle. “It won’t take me longer than three-quarters of an hour to climb. Even with the additional time to secure the rope, have you and the rest of the men climb that last section, and hoist the rope ladder to climb the wall, we will have Archie out of there well before the sky begins to lighten. Besides, the mist is thick tonight and will shield us from any soldiers who happen to pass.”
Douglas’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t used to being contradicted—especially by someone in Thom’s position. But it was bad enough that he’d been forced under his former friend’s authority again, he would be damned if he’d keep his mouth shut when he didn’t agree with something—especially when that something involved his life and area of expertise. He and Douglas would never be equals, but they were both warriors, and the field of battle had a way of leveling.
“The rocks are damp from the rain earlier,” Douglas pointed out.
“As it rains almost every night this time of year, they’ll likely be wet tomorrow as well. At least today it is relatively warm. Tomorrow it could be colder and the wet could turn to ice.”
Ice would make that last section of the cliff impassable—too dangerous for even him to attempt.
“I thought you would need time to recover after the ride.”
Thom’s jaw tightened. “I’m fine.”
He’d had to work hard to keep up with the rest of the men, but his struggle with riding—usually a source of amusement—wasn’t when it came from Douglas.
“MacGowan’s right,” MacLeod said. Thom was more pleased by the support than he wanted to let on. Over the past day and a half he’d been impressed—maybe even awed—by the warriors who rode beside him, and none more so than by the man who appeared to be their leader. “If MacGowan says he can do it, we should let him try. The lad has already been in there for six days.”
Jamie’s expression darkened, and despite the bad blood between them, Thom felt a twinge of compassion for his fo
rmer friend. He could well imagine the dark thoughts that must be racing through his head. Christ, if Johnny were in Archie’s place Thom would be going half-crazed wondering what kind of tortures and hardships he was suffering. Actually, he had to admire Douglas’s clearheadedness and ability to prevent his personal demons from interfering with his decisions.
Thom’s tone lost some of its combativeness. “Let me try, Jamie. If it looks like it will take longer or the conditions worsen, I’ll turn around. You know I can do this.”
Jamie held his gaze and eventually gave a terse nod. “Don’t take any unnecessary chances. We can’t afford anything to go wrong. If we lose the element of surprise . . .”
He didn’t need to finish. They all knew that without surprise they had virtually no chance of rescue. The only way to get Archie out of there would be a direct attack on the castle or a siege—neither of which was going to happen. Bruce was focused on taking Scotland’s castles, not England’s.
“We won’t,” Thom replied, the decisiveness of his voice adding assurance. “We’ll be long gone before the English realize we were there.”
Douglas’s mouth quirked. It was probably the first time he’d smiled at Thom in eight years. “Aye, well, I wish I shared your confidence. But I’ve been doing this too long and have learned that if something can go wrong, it will. Just ask MacGregor about the dog at Berwick,” he added dryly.
The famed archer overheard him and told Douglas to do something to himself that was physically impossible.
The rest of the men laughed, and Thom was already looking forward to hearing the story on the return journey to Roxburgh.
He took Douglas’s words of caution to heart. His former friend might be an arse, but he was an experienced, battle-hardened one who’d been on God knew how many dangerous missions. This was Thom’s first, and no matter how it had come about, he was determined to prove himself among his companions. If that meant casting himself in the role of pupil to Douglas’s teacher, he would do so gladly. Whatever his personal feelings, Douglas was one of the greatest knights in Scotland; Thom would be a fool not to heed his advice.
Fortunately, Douglas’s trepidation proved unwarranted. The plan proceeded without a hitch—or a barking dog, as Thom was to hear about over the campfire the next evening.
Thom climbed the cliff and scaled the last thirty feet of sheer rock without any trouble. Jamie and Elizabeth had been correct in their estimation of his skills. He wouldn’t characterize it as easy, but neither had it been difficult. Had he not ridden almost nonstop for the last twenty hours or so, and had a sore shoulder, he would have climbed it in even less time than the forty minutes it took him.
The most difficult part of the mission turned out to be finding somewhere to tie the rope that he dropped to Douglas and the six others who’d accompanied them into the castle—MacRuairi (who supposedly would be able to open the gate), Sutherland (who apparently had some knowledge of black powder that might give them extra time if they needed it), MacKay (who like Thom didn’t have any fondness for riding and also like Thom apparently possessed some skill with working iron), Boyd (who didn’t need to tell him what he was there for—his physical strength was obvious), MacSorley (whose easygoing presence and seafaring skill were put to use throwing the grappling hooks of the specially made wooden ladder they used to scale the wall), and MacLeod (whose unrivaled skill with the sword would be needed if they stumbled on any trouble). Campbell, MacGregor, Lamont, and MacLean had remained outside the gate to keep watch and alert them from below if anything appeared amiss.
Eventually Thom decided to secure the rope by winding it around a large rock and using his own body to provide extra leverage as the men climbed the last sheer section of the cliff.
MacSorley threw the grappling hooks over the wall with barely a sound, and to Thom’s surprise, after Douglas, he was the next man sent up the ladder. It was an unexpected honor, and Thom knew it was MacLeod’s way of letting him know it was a job well done.
Once in the castle, they encountered no resistance in their search for Archie. He was exactly where he was supposed to be: in the prison tower at the edge of the cliff. The two soldiers in the adjoining guardroom had been dispensed with quickly, and within a matter of seconds MacRuairi had the iron bar of the door unlocked.
It was pitch-black in the small chamber, and MacSorley had fetched a torch from the guardroom. Three filthy, bloodied faces stared back at them from a corner of the room; one of them was Archie’s. Thom’s stomach rolled, and bile rose up the back of his throat.
Douglas didn’t say anything, but Thom knew what he was feeling because he felt it, too: rage. Archie was only sixteen, damn it, but the lad had obviously suffered a vicious beating. He was covered in bruises and cuts, and the eyes that looked back at them were white with terror.
But with no time to take inventory of the wrongs committed against his brother—wrongs that Thom had no doubt would be accounted for in the not-so-distant future—Douglas simply gave the lad a quick embrace and helped him out of the hellhole in which he’d been trapped. They’d taken the other two men (who weren’t much older than Archie) with them as well.
Though in bad shape—weak from hunger and the beatings they’d suffered—the former prisoners nonetheless found a boon of strength to aid in their escape. They managed to climb the ladder and descend on their own, albeit with some help and the support of the ropes.
By the time the group was riding away from the castle, there was still nearly an hour of darkness remaining. Lamont and MacLean had found additional horses, but Archie and the two others were too weak to manage them on their own. Douglas took his brother, and Campbell and MacGregor took the other two behind them for the first few hours of hard riding.
Once they’d crossed the border near the English-occupied Berwick Castle, Douglas slowed the pace. After the first break, where the prisoners had washed, had their wounds tended by MacKay, eaten, and drank a good draught of uisge-beatha, they were able to ride on their own.
But rest is what they most needed, and by early afternoon, Douglas halted for the night. Unlike the ride the day before, they had no cause to press. With the rain, sodden ground, and taking to the hills whenever possible to avoid the main roads and running into any English patrols, the ride was slow-going and treacherous to say the least.
They’d stopped somewhere in the Cheviot Hills, near what appeared to be an old hill fort. Archie and the other two lads were asleep on bedrolls in the canopy of the forest, while Thom relaxed with a skin of ale and some of the other warriors around the fire. MacLean and Lamont were on guard duty, and MacLeod and Douglas had gone somewhere—probably to hunt for food—but the other men were enjoying their well-earned rest. Thom was content just to listen to the conversation (most of which consisted of pointed barbs and needling), but he found himself drawn in more than once.
He’d already heard the story of how a dog had foiled the taking of Berwick Castle (when MacGregor hesitated to shoot it), and how they’d narrowly escaped capture afterward due to a resourceful young girl from the family who was hiding them deciding to sell tickets to see “the most handsome man in Scotland,” when the conversation turned to the most recent—and more successful—mission.
MacSorley, whose wicked smile was matched by his sense of humor, clearly liked to needle the others. His current target, however, was surprising. From everything Thom had heard of Lachlan MacRuairi, he was not a man to prod. His reputation as a black-hearted scourge and the most feared pirate in a Western Isles kingdom of pirates was well known. Thom had been shocked when MacRuairi had been unmasked as one of Bruce’s Phantoms and assumed he had been paid a fortune for his sword. But after watching him for the past couple of days, Thom was no longer certain his loyalty had been bought. Still, MacRuairi wasn’t a man Thom would want to cross swords with in a dark wynd or close.
MacSorley, however, seemed undaunted by the infamous mercenary’s reputation. “I think that pretty wife of yours and all those bairns
you were never going to have made you soft, cousin.” They were kinsmen? Thom couldn’t hide his shock. The two couldn’t have been more different in appearance and temperament. “I thought you said climbing that cliff was ‘impossible.’ ” The big, fair-haired seafarer who would have made his Viking ancestors proud grinned. “MacGowan here didn’t seem to have any problems.”
“Sod off, Hawk. I think you are confused. I’m built like a rock, but that doesn’t mean I am one.”
MacSorley—Thom wondered where the name Hawk came from—chuckled and turned his gaze to Thom assessingly. “Interesting theory. Rock. I like it. It fits.”
Thom had no idea what he was talking about, but the others seemed to, as he saw more than one man smile.
MacRuairi wasn’t finished. “Anytime you want to show me how it’s done, cousin, be my guest. But I didn’t hear you volunteering to lead the way.”
MacSorley gave a dramatic shudder. “Nor will you. Christ, I didn’t even like being up that high with a rope. Be it good old terra firma or the wooden planks of a ship, I need something under my feet.”
MacRuairi leaned back, kicked his legs out, and crossed his arms, eyeing his cousin slyly. “I didn’t think you were scared of anything, cousin—other than your wife.”
A few of the men laughed, and MacSorley grinned. “And people say you have no sense of humor.” He shook his head. “Let’s just say I have a healthy respect for both.” He turned to Thom. “So, Rock, how the hell did you learn to climb like that? I’ve never seen anyone scale a cliff so high or sheer.”
Thom smiled at the name—understanding the others’ amusement earlier—and shrugged. “I don’t know. It was just something I enjoyed, so I kept doing it. I like the challenge, I suppose, and the satisfaction of doing something no one else has before.”
The Rock Page 14
