The Rock

by Monica McCarty

  She found him down by the riverbank fishing and took a seat on a rock beside him as if it were yesterday rather than eight years ago that she’d done the same. “Catch anything?”

  He shot her a sidelong look. Of course he’d caught something. He was one of the best fishermen in the village. Goodness, how it used to drive Jamie crazy.

  “How many?”

  He shrugged and nodded to the bucket a few feet away that she hadn’t seen before. “A half-dozen or so.” He paused. “Is it time?”

  “Soon. We’ll just have time to drop those fish off with the cook before Jamie sees them.”

  His mouth quirked, which she supposed was a promising start.

  He pulled the line in, stood, and held his hand down to her. As if it was the most natural thing in the world—and in so many ways it was—she slipped fingers into his. She’d forgotten the strength of his grip, the hardness of the calluses on his palms . . . and the warmth. It flooded her senses as she came to her feet before him.

  They stared at one another for a long heartbeat, the intensity of his gaze making her wobble.

  He had to grab her arms to catch her when her unsteady legs nearly made her slip. “Bloody hell, Elizabeth, be careful. I assure you, that river is every bit as cold as it looks.”

  She didn’t tell him that it wasn’t clumsiness, it was him. “Th-thank you,” she stammered. Good gracious, what was wrong with her? Why was she so nervous? Why was she so . . . fluttery? Why was she so aware of the closeness of his body, the hard lines of his face, the brilliance of his eyes, the softness of the lips that were a short tiptoe-rising distance away from her? Why did she feel so warm—like she was standing too close to the forge and might get burned?

  Apparently she wasn’t the only one affected. He stared down at her. Her eyes. Her mouth. “Elizabeth . . .” he started, half in warning and half in anger.

  He was going to kiss her. She felt the muscles in his arms tighten as he drew her incrementally closer. Felt the heat of his breath as his mouth lowered. Felt the slam of her heart against her ribs in anticipation. And then she felt . . .

  Nothing.

  He drew back, set her carefully away from the slippery edge of the muddy bank, and let her go.

  “We should go,” he said calmly, as if he hadn’t been moments away from putting his mouth on hers.

  As if she hadn’t been moments away from letting him.

  A flush heated her cheeks, but she, too, acted as if nothing had happened—or nearly happened. It was much harder pretending that she wasn’t disappointed it hadn’t. “Yes, Joanna will wonder where we are.”

  He gave her a dry look that was so wonderfully Thommy her chest swelled with happiness. “I doubt she’ll wonder anything, as I suspect that was rather the point.”

  Apparently he’d caught on to Joanna’s little game as well. She gave him a small smile of shared understanding, and they walked back together through camp. They didn’t talk, but their pace was slower than it might have been.

  Thom glanced up as the shadow fell over him. But he’d been aware of her the moment she came into view on the bridge. She was like a damned beacon for his senses. Or maybe it was the other way around—his senses lit up like a damned beacon whenever she was near.

  The men had made camp across the bridge from Newbattle Abbey in a small clearing along the banks of the River Esk. But Douglas had arranged for his handful of women traveling with them to stay in the abbey. Although the traveling party had thus far managed to avoid rain—and therefore the soggy, muddy roads that could have severely delayed their journey—the temperature had dropped to near freezing over the last few hours, and the women would be much more comfortable with the Cistercian monks.

  In other words, Douglas wasn’t taking any chances.

  Joanna’s efforts the past two days to bring Thom and Elizabeth together had not gone unnoticed by her husband—or anyone else for that matter. But Douglas didn’t have anything to worry about. As much as Thom had enjoyed spending time with his old friends—and he had enjoyed himself, perhaps more than he wanted to—no matter how many errands, dinners, and loose horseshoes Joanna arranged, it wouldn’t make a difference. It was too late for him and Elizabeth. They’d both moved on.

  Elizabeth might want him physically, but Thom did not delude himself that she wanted more from him than pleasure. Not when she could marry one of the most important men in the realm. A man like Randolph could give her something Thom never could: position, wealth, and security. And he maybe better than anyone knew how much those things meant to her.

  Although it would have saved him a whole hell of a lot of heartbreak had he recognized it earlier.

  Elizabeth was too practical, with too much of her brother’s ambition in her to risk a marriage to someone in Thom’s position. She and Jamie had both been scarred by their father’s death. Maybe if those difficult years had never happened, it would be different. But when her father had died in prison after being declared a traitor, his lands and wealth stripped by King Edward, his widow and children had been left with nothing. They’d been “little better than beggars,” Elizabeth had once said.

  Edward’s hatred of Sir William “the Hardy” Douglas had been extreme—even by the king’s notorious Angevin standards. With Edward’s mercurial temper, no one had wanted to chance taking in the “traitor’s” widow and children and risk having his vitriol turned toward them. Finally, half-starved, with little more than the “rags on their shoulders” and “one step away from an almshouse,” Isabel’s family had taken them in. The situation had been both “humbling and humiliating.”

  Elizabeth had laughed when she’d told him that, but now he realized how telling that had been.

  Eventually Edward’s temper had cooled toward the widow (if not the “traitor’s spawn”) and some of Lady Eleanor’s dower lands had been restored. By the time the family had returned to Douglas a couple of years later, the situation wasn’t nearly so dire. But the experience had left a lasting imprint on Elizabeth. From that point on, it seemed she was always looking beyond the little village of Douglas to something bigger.

  Randolph was one of the biggest. She wouldn’t let him go. No matter how much she lusted for Thom.

  All Jo’s machinations had succeeded in doing was make the inevitable parting when they arrived in Edinburgh tomorrow more difficult.

  Fortunately, he’d had a bit of a respite today. He had no doubt Joanna would have found countless pretenses to seek him out, but the Phantoms hadn’t given her a chance. MacLeod had asked him to ride out with Sutherland and MacKay to check on a bridge ahead of them that might need repairing from a storm a few weeks ago (it had), and then he’d ridden ahead to scout with Lamont and MacLean. Finally, on hearing that he was skilled with the making of swords, MacRuairi had asked him to take a look at one of his arming swords—he fought with two that he wore crossed at his back. All of which had taken him well away from the ladies for most of the day.

  But it appeared his respite was over.

  Elizabeth was smiling down at him, so beautiful it almost hurt to look at her. Actually, it did hurt, damn it. The heavy blue wool cloak she wore was trimmed with fur around the hood, framing her fair face like a snow queen—

  He stopped, her earlier accusations coming back to him. Had he made her into something she wasn’t? Holding her up as something “perfect” and unattainable? A pretty porcelain poppet in a shopwindow?

  He had to concede that there might be more truth to her accusation than he wanted to admit. He had always seen her through the window of that little girl he’d first mistaken for a princess. The embodiment of everything he wanted but thought he couldn’t have.

  She wasn’t perfect—he knew that. She could be stubborn, opinionated, and defensive—especially when it came to her family. She sometimes spoke without thinking and could be blind to what was right in front of her—he better than anyone knew that. She sometimes focused so much on the goal that she lost sight of everything else. And God k
new she could watch where she stepped more often.

  But she was also sweet and kind, generous (visiting not just almshouses but also lazar houses), always saw the good in those around her (sometimes naively), strong willed, confident, and despite what she said about sometimes being in a bad mood, almost always happy and cheerful. She had always been able to make him smile—even when he’d slipped into one of his “dark moods,” as she called them. She truly cared about the people around her, including him. Especially him.

  So she might be right, but she was also wrong. He had truly loved her.

  “I thought now that you wielded a sword you didn’t make them anymore,” she teased.

  He paused, putting down the file he’d been using to answer her. “Aye, well, it seems I’ve somehow managed to find myself doing both.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  He frowned, not knowing what to make of her comment. “You’re not?”

  She shook her head. “You are too talented. Someone was bound to notice at some point.” The matter-of-factness of her tone was oddly flattering. “Johnny said you only got better after I left and had developed a following not just in Douglas but in the rest of South Lanarkshire as well.”

  He quirked a brow. “Asking after me, El?”

  A pretty dusting of pink appeared on her snowy cheeks, and she quickly changed topics. “Is something wrong with the handle?”

  He wasn’t surprised that she’d guessed. God knew she’d watched him do something similar dozens of times. “It shifts a little with a hard blow.”

  She looked down at what he was doing. “Are the guards too flat or are they uneven?”

  He smiled and shook his head. He wondered how many highborn ladies knew so much about swords. He’d venture a very few. “A little of both. I don’t like the shape of the tang either.”

  “But you can’t fix that without a forge.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Whose sword is it?”

  “MacRuairi’s.”

  She lifted a brow. “I’m impressed. He keeps limited company—to say the least. I knew him for two years before I swallowed my fear enough to talk to him. Meeting his wife helped.” She shook her head. “Who would have ever thought Scotland’s most famous heroine would wed one of Scotland’s most infamous pirates?”

  He, too, had been surprised to learn that Bella MacDuff had married Lachlan MacRuairi, the notorious bastard-born West Highland chieftain. Thom shrugged. “He heard I might be able to fix it, and asked me to look at it. We aren’t exactly blood brothers.”

  She gave him an odd look, as if something was just occurring to her. “You spent a lot of time with them today.”

  “Who?”

  “MacLeod and the others. I wonder . . .”

  She shook off whatever it was she’d been about to say, but he could guess. He’d been wondering the same thing. Were the Phantoms singling him out for a reason? MacLeod had asked him a few questions about his training and battle experience, but had not been forthcoming about why he’d asked Carrick to send Thom to Edinburgh. He’d been watching him though—closely.

  “No matter,” she said. “I’m afraid I have an errand I must attend to for Joanna.” Seeing his expression, she laughed. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing to do with you. Have you seen Jamie?”

  “Awhile ago. I think he went hunting with some of his men.”

  “Ah, well, then Joanna’s favorite blue gown will have to wait.” At his look of incomprehension, she explained. “She needs one of her trunks.”

  “So that she can impress the monks?”

  She giggled. “Hardly. I think it rather has to do with the other travelers who arrived. Lady Mary of Strathearn—the earl’s daughter. Joanna never liked her. She thought she had designs on James before she married Sir John Moray of Drumsagard.”

  Thom shook his head. Women. “If I see him, I’ll let him know.”

  “Thanks.” She stood there staring at him as if she wanted to say more, but after a moment she left, and he resumed his filing.

  But he was distracted, and the work wasn’t as satisfying as it had been.

  There had been nothing particularly remarkable about the conversation with Elizabeth, but each time he was with her, it was becoming more and more difficult to keep his heart hardened against her.

  Christ, he’d nearly kissed her the other day by the river, and God only knew how that could have ended. If it was anything like last time, there was a good chance it would have been with her pushed up against a tree and him deep inside her.

  Honor and nobility had once meant something to him. They were qualities he’d always prided himself on because of his actions, not because of some “sir” or “lord” in front of his name. Elizabeth had made him forget once, but he would not do so again.

  “What is between you and Douglas’s sister?”

  Thom turned, not realizing MacLeod had come up behind him. Christ, no wonder they were known as Phantoms; the man moved like a ghost. With his strength and build it was especially impressive. “Nothing,” he said automatically.

  The fierce Island chief studied him intently. Thom wasn’t easily intimidated, but he had to admit it was damned unsettling.

  “It didn’t look that way to me,” MacLeod said.

  He had obviously been watching him again. Thom’s gaze hardened. “However it looked, I’m not sure why it is any business of yours.”

  MacLeod arched a brow as if Thom’s bold reply had surprised him. Perhaps it should have. Given MacLeod’s reputation, Thom probably should have responded with quite a bit less hostility in his tone. Rather than MacLeod being offended, however, Thom sensed he’d impressed him again.

  “Depending on what happens in Edinburgh, it might be very much my business. Douglas is an important man in the Bruce’s army—and someone I respect. We often work together. I lost a man last year to discord; I won’t lose another. And that lass, I suspect, would cause quite a lot of discord.”

  To put it mildly. Thom and Douglas had reached a tentative truce, but Thom did not delude himself that that truce wouldn’t turn back into full-fledged war again if Douglas suspected anything between Thom and his sister.

  “We?”

  MacLeod gave him a look that made him feel stupid for asking.

  “Elizabeth and I are old friends,” Thom said, answering MacLeod’s original question. “We’ve known each other since we were children.”

  “Douglas said she is to marry Randolph.”

  “Aye.”

  “Good,” MacLeod said. “Keep it that way, and there won’t be a problem.”

  The man who Thom suspected was the leader of the band of Phantom warriors—who’d struck fear in the heart of their enemies and become the fodder of legend—walked away, leaving Thom certain of two things. One, he was possibly being recruited by the most elite guard in the army, and two, whatever chance he had to be part of the Phantoms was contingent on him not angering Douglas.

  In other words, if Thom wanted a chance to fight among the best warriors in the kingdom, Elizabeth Douglas was off-limits.

  The Phantoms? Thom still couldn’t believe it. Even after a long night of thinking about little else—while trying to repress the building excitement—he wondered if he’d misunderstood.

  But he hadn’t. MacLeod was considering him for the Phantoms.

  Christ, if Thom needed any more incentive to stay away from Elizabeth—which he didn’t—he had it. That wasn’t to say that he wasn’t damned glad their journey and forced togetherness was almost over. Powerful incentive or not, he wasn’t exactly rational when it came to her.

  Unfortunately, their early morning departure had been delayed by a heavy downpour of rain that had started at dawn and now, two hours later, was still going strong. When it was discovered that one of the travelers taking respite at the abbey was also traveling to Edinburgh in a carriage—which was rare due to their impracticality on Scottish roads—Douglas decided, over his wife’s objections to the proposed compa
ny, to wait so that the ladies might join her and avoid a very cold and uncomfortable ride.

  After another hour of waiting for Lady Mary and her carriage, they traveled barely a mile before the “road” narrowed, one of the wheels slid on the uneven ground, and the blasted thing became stuck in the mud—thus proving the impractical nature of carriages in Scotland. Fortunately, the rain had waned a bit by then, so the women were not soaked while the men labored to fix it. When they had, it was time for the midday meal, and the group spread out to eat. Thom lost sight of the ladies, until Joanna came rushing up to him as he was packing his saddlebag.

  “Have you seen Ella?”

  She looked mildly worried, but suspecting another of her ploys, he didn’t pay too much attention. “Not for a while.”

  Joanna frowned. “Neither have I. She wandered off after the meal and hasn’t returned.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes.”

  Realizing this wasn’t a game, Thom frowned. “She went by herself?”

  “Aye, I thought . . .” Joanna blushed. “She might need privacy.”

  “She isn’t likely to get lost around here. Which way did she go?”

  She pointed in the direction of the river. “Downstream a little.”

  “I’ll fetch her,” Thom said.

  When Joanna smiled, he wondered if he’d been tricked again.

  It didn’t take him long to realize that he hadn’t. He called her name a few times as he picked his way through the dense trees and brush. But he’d only gone about fifty yards when he noticed that the bank of trees along this side of the river hid the edge of a ravine. The kind of ravine that it would be easy for someone to slip down.

  Ah, hell. His stomach dropped, but his pulse took off in the opposite direction. Dread twisted in his gut as he retraced his steps and walked back and forth along the edge shouting her name, looking down into the abyss of foliage with his heart in his throat and fearing what other tangled limbs he might see among the branches and vines.

  Finally, he heard a soft cry. “Here. I’m here.”