He could tell something was bothering her, but it wasn’t until she stopped at the bottom of the stairs that he knew what it was.
“I owe you an apology.”
Randolph stiffened, guessing what she wanted to apologize for. “It isn’t necessary.”
He had dismissed her accusations as soon as she’d made them—or at least as soon as his initial anger had a chance to cool down.
He knew how to laugh, damn it. He didn’t take himself too seriously. And he sure as hell didn’t always say what he thought people wanted to hear. She’d made him sound like a fraud—anuptightfraud, blast it.
It was only because her words were reminiscent of old accusations Erik “Hawk” MacSorley used to make that it had angered him at all. He’d been the butt of too many “poleaxes up the arse” jests from Hawk when they’d first fought together nearly eight years ago—right before Randolph made the biggest mistake of his life.
He’d given his vow of loyalty to his uncle Robert the Bruce, but after the English had found Randolph and some of Hawk’s men on an island where they’d taken refuge, Randolph had switched allegiance. He’d been taken prisoner and hadn’t had much choice in the matter—indeed, he’d escaped execution only because of his friendship with the Earl of Pembroke—but expedient or not, he’d broken his word.
The switch had been only temporary—and Hawk and the other members of the Highland Guard had made him pay for it ten times over in “training” when he’d returned—but the shame of the disloyalty to his uncle still haunted him.
But no one would ever question his word again. He was going to be the most loyal, most indispensable, most highly regarded knight in his uncle’s retinue if it killed him. Everything was focused on that goal.
That’s why her criticism had stung. Anger was the only reason why he’d been halfway up the stairs after Isabel to demand she retract what she’d said before he stopped himself.
Why would he care what Isabel Stewart thought? It wasn’therapproval he needed, it was her cousin’s.Elizabethwas the one he was going to marry. Good thing, too, he thought. From what she’d said last night, Isabel was the type of woman who would make unrealistic demands, such as…
Loyalty.He frowned. Marriage was different. A certain freedom for men was expected. Elizabeth Douglas understood that, but instinctively he knew Isabel wouldn’t.
One woman for the rest of his life? That wasn’t for him. He knew some men did it, but they claimed to be “in love,” which was as foreign a state as Randolph could imagine. He didn’t get that attached. Incapable of feeling, she’d accused him? If she meant love—and in his experience, women always meant love—then she was right. That wasn’t for him. He had no interest in those kinds of feelings. He was too focused on his goal: to be his uncle’s greatest knight, lieutenant, and chief advisor. Randolph had let Bruce down once; he wasn’t going to do it again. It was the only thing that mattered—nothing and no one would get in the way of that.
He started to turn away, but Isabel grabbed his arm to stop him. Christ, just the feel of her hand on him made his body jump.
“Yes, it is. I said some things…” She removed her hand from his arm, and he wasn’t sure whether the self-conscious twisting of her hands and blush to her cheeks was for touching him, or for what she’d said last night. “I said some things that were wrong. I… I misjudged you, and I’m sorry. What you did in coming here was very kind.” She gave him one of those wry smiles that he was beginning to find himself anticipating, almost looking forward to. He liked the way it made her eyes sparkle, her lips pull mischievously to one side, and a small dent appear in her cheek like a dimple. “I thought you were a little too good to be true.”
He arched a brow. “And now?”
She laughed, batting long, thick eyelashes as if the light was too bright. “I’m properly dazzled right along with the rest of your admirers.”
She was teasing him and didn’t mean it, of course. She would never be like the others. She was different. Why the hell did that realization bother him so much?
“Are you ready, my lady?” The prioress had come into the hall behind them, and when they turned, she started. “I’m sorry, my lord, I did not realize you were helping us.”
“He’s not,” Isabel interjected quickly. “The earl came to see Annie. He was just leaving.”
“Helping with what?” he asked Isabel.
“A little work in the garden.”
“I’m not as young as I once was,” the prioress said. “It is hard work, and even with six of us, I was very grateful for Lady Isabel’s help.”
The prioress was seventy if she was a day. “Perhaps you could use another hand?” Randolph offered.
Before the prioress could respond, Isabel jumped in with something akin to alarm on her face. “That isn’t necessary, my lord. I’m sure you are busy at the castle with the siege. We will manage fine.” Then in a low voice that the aging prioress surely could not hear, she added, “Trust me, this is not something you will… uh… enjoy. The work is messy.”
Did she think he’d never gotten dirty before? Or objected to a little manual labor every now and then? He wasn’t uptight, damn it. She should have seen him digging pits and trenches for Hawk when he’d come back from England. The famed seafarer descended from Viking pirates had made Randolph eat his comment about not wanting to fight like a brigand in dirt.
He’d been lucky to be forgiven at all. His youth and the fact that he’d been taken prisoner had worked in his favor. Alex Seton, the former member of the Guard who’d turned traitor a couple of years ago, didn’t have that excuse. Randolph pitied him if Hawk and the others ever got ahold of him.
Both his smile and spine were stiff as he turned to the prioress. “I insist. What do you need me to do?”
The prioress told him, and it took everything Randolph had not to mutter the curse that sprang to his lips.
The old nun had to be kidding! But she wasn’t; he could tell by the way the woman at his side was trying not to laugh.
