The Rock

by Monica McCarty

He gathered her hands in his and gave them a squeeze, undaunted by her continued silence. “I know you, El. You love the excitement of court, being surrounded by educated, accomplished people, the bustle of the cities and big castles, and all the luxuries of wealth because you know what it is like to be without them. Can you see MacGowan at a salon in Paris or sitting at the king’s table during a feast in one of the royal castles? He doesn’t even speak the same language.” French was the language of the nobles. “Being tucked away in a small village somewhere will kill you. Is that what you want?” He let the question linger for a moment. “Randolph will give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of. Do you really want to risk that for an uncertain future with MacGowan?”

  The picture he painted had tapped into her darkest fears. Could she be happy like that? Would his love be enough?

  It might . . .

  Perhaps sensing her hesitation, Jamie dove in for the kill. He wielded the one blade that focused everything into sharp reality. “What about children, El? What kind of life would you want for them?”

  Children? Elizabeth stared at him in horror. She hadn’t thought about children.

  Or maybe she hadn’t wanted to think about them.

  All of a sudden she felt ill. Jamie’s question unknowingly evoked painful memories. Memories of those dark days when no one would help them.

  It must have been so difficult for her stepmother, alone with three children to protect—two of them barely more than babes—but she’d hid it so well. The formidable Lady Eleanor, who throughout their difficulties had never showed a hint of fear or vulnerability, had seemed the strongest person Elizabeth knew.

  But even her seemingly indestructible stepmother had been broken by Hugh’s cries of hunger. Elizabeth would never forget seeing Lady Eleanor’s tears and worse, her helplessness and fear in the face of her baby’s empty stomach. She’d given up, and were it not for the bag of coins provided by the abbess that took them to her uncle at Bonkyl, they would have ended up in an almshouse.

  A baby. Children. How could Elizabeth best protect them? What duty did she have to them?

  She looked up at Jamie wordlessly, her heart feeling as if it was being squeezed in a vise. Tears shimmered in her eyes, but there had only ever been one answer.

  21

  THE NEXT DAY when Randolph came to her with his proposal, Elizabeth accepted. The stark contrast between Thom’s heartfelt offer and Randolph’s businesslike one perhaps made it easier to bear. There was no confusion; she knew exactly what she was doing. This wasn’t romance, this was duty, security, and advancement. The things she’d always wanted.

  Jamie had sent for her just before the midday meal. He was in the abbot’s private solar with Randolph, but as soon as she arrived, he left.

  After offering her a seat on a bench, Randolph began in a formal, no-nonsense tone she’d never heard from him before. “Lady Elizabeth, I am sure it comes as no surprise that your brother and I have been discussing the possibility of an alliance between our families. As you know, my uncle has bestowed many new lands on me of late, and it is well past time that I had a wife to help me run them and to sit beside me at the high table.” He gave her a small smile, as if the concession to the impending doom of his bachelorhood should please her. “Your brother assures me that you have been trained well in your duties, and everything that I have seen bears this out. You are undoubtedly the most beautiful woman at court, charming, and will be an asset to my career and future. I can think of no reason why we will not suit.” She frowned. Had he been looking for one? “With your brother poised to hold much of southern Scotland, and my holdings in the north and midlands, the connection between our families will create a formidable alliance. Your brother has provided a generous tocher, with which I am very pleased. Indeed, all the important details in the betrothal contract have been worked out.”

  All the important details but one, she thought wryly. Namely the minor little matter of her agreement. But why shouldn’t he take that for granted? Only a fool would refuse him, and he knew it.

  “If you are amenable,” he continued, “we can sign the betrothal contract tomorrow.”

  Amenable? For all of the gallantry and emotion in Randolph’s proposal, he might have been discussing the sale of cattle at market. Coming from one of Scotland’s most renowned knights, a man known for his courtly graces and chivalry, the proposal was almost ridiculously unromantic. Shouldn’t he be dropping down on one knee and spouting allusions to the heavens and her beauty?

  Unable to resist, she found herself asking, “And what am I to receive in this bargain, my lord?”

  She was mostly teasing, but he answered matter-of-factly, clearly appreciating her businesslike attitude. “You will become one of the wealthiest women in the kingdom, and gain a royal connection—as will your children. You will be chatelaine of five castles—at current count—and act in my stead when I am away. You will receive five hundred merks as part of your terce on our marriage, and on my death, you will receive the rest: one-third of our property at that time.”

  Elizabeth was glad she was sitting or she might have slid to the floor. All thoughts of teasing fled. She stared at Randolph in white-faced shock. Five hundred merks was a small fortune, and one-third of their property? It was the maximum a widow might be provided, and well beyond what she could have anticipated given his vast wealth. Whether Randolph was alive or dead, she would be a very wealthy woman.

  She had what she wanted: her future and that of her children’s was secure.

  Seeing her expression, he gave her a wry smile. “Aye, your brother was a tough negotiator. He made sure you were well provided for—no matter what happens.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” she said, still reeling.

  “Yes seems somehow fitting,” he said with another half smile.

  She stared up at him, the simple word sticking in her throat. She thought of Thom as she’d last seen him working at the forge, a little sweaty, face streaked with soot, wearing a simple leather apron and breeches, and more sinfully attractive than any man had a right to be. She thought of his expression as he’d cradled her face in his hand, and the way her chest had swelled until her dress felt too tight. She thought of his mouth on hers as he’d kissed her, and how her body had melted against his as if they belonged together.

  I love you. I will always love you.

  She pushed the memories away, reminding herself as she’d told Jo not so long ago that she wasn’t a romantic. Love alone wasn’t reason enough to marry. Duty, security, family, power, and alliances—those were what was important. She’d always seen the bigger picture. People like her just didn’t marry whomever they wanted. Her marriage had to have a purpose, and personal happiness wasn’t it.

  Taking a deep breath, she looked up to face Randolph. “Yes. What else can I say, but yes.”

  If he noticed the odd wording of her response, he gave no indication. He nodded. “I will inform your brother. He will be pleased. I know he is anxious to have this matter settled.”

  Elizabeth was sure Jamie was. But what of Randolph, was he pleased?

  She couldn’t tell from his expression—which seemed unusually unreadable—but she thought he must have something else on his mind. The siege perhaps?

  With the matter decided there was nothing left to do but celebrate. The betrothal was announced at the midday meal to a resounding cheer and a steady stream of congratulations from the well-wishers who passed by the high table throughout the meal.

  If the mood seemed a little subdued, Elizabeth attributed it to the season. There were only so many toasts that could be raised before the abbot during Lent—not that the king and James were letting it stop them. They, and many of the men from Randolph’s retinue, seemed intent on extending the celebration well into the evening.

  Sitting at the high table between the king and her soon-to-be husband, Elizabeth plastered a brilliant smile on her face and did her best to appear as she should: happy, excited, and honored by h
er good fortune.

  It was harder than it should have been. It would have been impossible had Thom been there. The thought of him watching her—watching this—made her feel like squirming.

  But apparently he and the Phantoms were off somewhere again. She’d wanted to find him after she’d accepted Randolph’s proposal to tell him her decision in person before he heard it from someone else—no matter how much she dreaded hurting him again, she owed him that—but Jo said he had left the night before.

  His wasn’t the only absence from the day’s festivities. Her cousin had also begged off. Izzie had claimed to be coming down with something and wanted to rest to be ready for tomorrow’s betrothal ceremony. Elizabeth hoped she was all right.

  At least Joanna was here, seated beside Jamie. But Jo’s forced cheer almost made Elizabeth wish she wasn’t. Her sister-in-law’s reaction upon Elizabeth telling her the news had been a congratulatory hug that was perhaps a tad too tight and a heartfelt wish for happiness. She was clearly disappointed but not surprised. Elizabeth didn’t know whether that made her feel better or worse.

  Only once had she tried to say something, but Elizabeth had quickly cut her off. “Please, Jo, this isn’t easy for me. Don’t make it harder to do what I must.”

  Joanna had looked at her, no doubt read the truth in her eyes, and nodded. But Elizabeth could feel her sadness.

  As the meal dragged on, she noticed that Randolph seemed unusually quiet. Their polite small talk had petered out after the third course. He smiled and laughed at the jests directed his way from the men at the table—which grew increasingly bawdy as the afternoon wore on—and raised his glass along with the others, but she couldn’t help noticing that he didn’t seem to be drinking much.

  She’d assumed he wanted this match as much as her brother did. When she’d first arrived in Edinburgh, she was certain he did. But in the past week there had been a subtle shift, and for the first time it occurred to her that she might not be the only one who had needed persuading.

  It was a disconcerting thought.

  When she finally excused herself, pleading a need to prepare for the betrothal ceremony tomorrow morning, she knew she wasn’t imagining his relief. His insistence on walking her to the guesthouse, however, instigated a fair number of ribald remarks, which she pretended not to hear.

  But her heart started to beat nervously. Was that what he intended? She thought he was merely looking for a way of escape, too. But they were as good as betrothed now, and there was one thing he’d yet to do.

  Why did the thought of kissing him fill her with dread?

  Conscious of the eyes upon them as they left the refectory, she couldn’t prevent the blush that stained her cheeks.

  The blast of cool air upon exiting seemed a welcome relief. The meal had indeed gone long; it was already dusk. Other than a few monks moving about, and a handful of guards patrolling the gate and yard, the abbey was quiet—and peaceful.

  They walked in silence to the guesthouse. Elizabeth was beginning to relax, thinking that he truly was just intending to escort her back, when he stopped suddenly. “This is ridiculous.”

  “It is?” she asked.

  “Aye. There is no reason for this awkwardness between us. We are friends, and that does not have to change because we will be married.”

  Not sure what he was getting at, she said, “My lord?”

  He raked his fingers through his hair. “I’m not doing a very good job of this. All I want to say is that I think we understand one another. We know where we stand. This match is a good one for both of us; we do not need to pretend anything else just because we will be sharing a bed.”

  Her eyes might have rounded at his blunt speech, if it didn’t occur to her that he was flustered. There was something oddly charming about one of the most vaunted rogues in Scotland being flustered. And even though it was awkwardly put, she understood what he meant. It actually relieved her to hear him say it—there were no expectations on either side. “I agree, my lord.”

  “You do?” He immediately brightened and heaved a sigh of relief. “I’m so glad to hear you say that. I worried you might be one of those lasses whose head was filled with romance and faerie tales.”

  When I get old I’m going to marry you.

  She pushed aside the memory—she’d only been six, for goodness’ sake. She hadn’t known any better. “Far from it,” she assured him.

  “I knew you weren’t the type of woman to make unreasonable demands.” It almost sounded as if he was referring to someone in particular. He smiled. “Perhaps it is best if we just get it out of the way.”

  Now her eyes did widen. “My lord?”

  He laughed. “I did not mean the bedding, I meant a kiss.” He reached down to cup her chin. Every instinct cried out to pull away. To tell him no. To tell him she couldn’t do this.

  But she had to. She stood there frozen as he lowered his mouth to hers. Just before his lips touched hers, he said, “And don’t you think it’s time you called me Thomas?”

  Light was already falling by the time Thom and the Highland Guard rode into camp. After spending most of the last twenty-four hours in the saddle, all he wanted to do was wash the dirt off him in the river and crawl under his plaid for a few hours of sleep.

  “Where is everyone?” MacLeod asked the captain in charge—one of Randolph’s lesser household men.

  “Still at the abbey celebrating. I imagine they’ll be there some time yet.”

  “Celebrating?”

  “Aye. The earl has announced his betrothal.”

  As Thom was busy trying to avoid his horse’s teeth as he dismounted and untied the bag from his saddle, at first he didn’t think he’d heard him right. It wasn’t until he felt everyone’s eyes on him that he realized what had been said.

  “Betrothal?” he repeated with surprising evenness for a man who felt like a poleaxe had just clobbered him across the chest. His expression gave no hint to the devastation that was taking place inside him.

  “Aye,” the young captain said, not picking up on the sudden tension in the air. “To Douglas’s sister.”

  It took everything Thom had not to cross the distance between them, lift the man up by the throat, and call him a liar. Had he truly believed what he’d said, he might have done just that.

  But he didn’t believe it. Not until he stood at the entry of the refectory, looked over the sea of celebrating occupants, and met Jo’s pitying gaze did he know it was true.

  He staggered, feeling as if the world had just tilted and everything he knew was sliding away from him.

  There had to be some explanation. She wouldn’t marry someone else. She loved him.

  He had to find her. But from the two empty seats beside the king, he realized that both she and Randolph had already left.

  It didn’t mean anything necessarily, but his heart began to pound like a sword banging on a targe anyway.

  He started to leave, but Jo stopped him. “Thom, wait!”

  He turned, his spine as rigid as a steel rod, and said through clenched teeth, “Tell me it isn’t true. Tell me she hasn’t agreed to marry Randolph.”

  Jo flushed; it was clear she couldn’t do that. “She tried to find you, but you were gone.”

  “Is that supposed to make it all right?”

  She bit her lip and shook her head.

  “Where is she?”

  Jo hesitated. “She was tired and retired a little while ago.”

  “At her own party?”

  “She had some things she wanted to do for tomorrow.”

  She seemed to be preparing him for something. “Tomorrow?”

  “The betrothal ceremony.”

  For the second time in the space of a few minutes he staggered. Once those vows were uttered she’d be lost to him. He didn’t know why he was surprised, but he was. “Your husband isn’t wasting any time, is he?”

  Joanna winced but didn’t bother trying to deny it; they both knew it was true. Now that she’
d agreed, James Douglas wasn’t going to take any chance of letting his sister change her mind.

  Thom swore and turned to leave again.

  “Wait, where are you going?”

  He looked down at the arm she’d latched onto. “To find Elizabeth so that she can tell me herself.”

  “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. Why don’t you wait a little while—maybe have something to drink?”

  He knew why she was stalling him. “She’s with Randolph, isn’t she?”

  She nodded, and he swore again.

  Joanna tried to stop him, but he wasn’t capable of listening to reason. He left her standing in the entry as he stormed off across the yard toward the abbey guesthouse.

  It was nearly dark when he caught sight of the shadowed figures in the garden. He slipped behind the pillar of the arched walkway, watching from the shadows. But hiding wasn’t necessary, the fine lord and lady facing each other in the beckoning moonlight seemed to only have eyes for one another.

  He stilled, every muscle in his body tensing as if preparing for battle. He sensed what was going to happen even before Randolph’s hand moved to her face. Thom’s moved to the hilt of the sword at his side. He’d never felt the urge to kill so powerfully.

  But something stayed his hand. The need to torture himself? The urge to see if she could go through with it?

  Push him away. Tell him no.

  She did neither. She let Randolph tilt her face to his and then his mouth touched hers.

  Thom flinched, the stab of pain as hot and searing as a blade straight from the forge. But he couldn’t turn away. He forced himself to watch even as rage exploded through his body and a red haze dropped like a thick curtain over his vision. But it was the fire in his chest that hurt the most.

  It didn’t matter that there was not a hint of passion in the chaste brush of lips, or that it was over as soon as it began. The betrayal cut deep and hard.

  She’d let another man touch her—a man she had agreed to marry—and Thom felt like he was being ripped to shreds all over again. He felt like that young boy looking up at what he couldn’t have.