Randolph didn’t say anything; he didn’t need to. He understood well enough. The lass had managed to make him smile while shoveling shi—dung, hadn’t she? Not to mention pushing him into a damned pond. He forced his mind away before he started remembering what else had happened at that pond.
Damn. He adjusted his braies. Too late.
This was crazy, damn it. He shouldn’t be thinking about her. He was going to marry her cousin.
Randolph tugged at the neck of his surcoat, having that can’t breathe feeling again. A cold sweat broke out across his forehead and his heart started to race. He grabbed his goblet and took a long drink of wine. He hadn’t made a mistake, damn it. And even if he had—which he hadn’t—it was too late to do anything about it.
Fortunately, Randolph didn’t have long to dwell on it. His attention was diverted elsewhere. On Wednesday, the day after the betrothal ceremony, the king had called him in for a special council meeting. It seemed that MacGowan had figured out a way to implement Randolph’s idea to climb Castle Rock after all. He’d somehow got the idea to modify a few steel spikes that he would hammer into the rock and use to span the twenty-five foot stretch of sheer cliff face that had made climbing the cliff impossible.
At least ithadbeen impossible—until now. Randolph knew that if MacGowan could pull this off and lead him up the rocky cliff to take the castle, it would be the kind of miraculous feat that would equal, if not surpass, Douglas’s recent taking of Roxburgh and ensure Randolph’s place in history. His name would be uttered in the hallowed echelons of other great military heroes, men renowned as great tacticians. English leaders such as Richard the Lionheart, William Marshal, and their old enemy Edward Longshanks; and Scotsmen like William Wallace, Sir Andrew Murray, James Douglas—blast it—and Robert the Bruce.
The king agreed to let them try, and the plan was set in motion. On Thursday night (or Friday morning, depending on how you looked at it), Bruce and a group of men would stage a diversionary attack at the south gate of the castle to draw the garrison away from the wall, while Randolph led a small group of climbers up after MacGowan to scale the north face of Castle Rock and surprise the soldiers defending the gate from behind.
No one overestimated their chances. Even with MacGowan’s spikes, they didn’t have much of one. The climb could fail.
Or worse.
That they could die, Randolph understood, but with military immortality on the line (not to mention putting an end to the cursed siege), the risk was worth it.
At least that’s what he thought until hedidnearly die.
When the night in question came around, miraculously MacGowan’s spikes had held. After hammering them into cracks in the rock at three-foot intervals, the skilled climber had been able to make it past the twenty-five-foot span of sheer cliff side to a plateau near the base of the castle’s rock wall. From there, he’d tossed down a rope ladder fitted with wooden boards to the rest of the men waiting below. Randolph was the first man up the ladder. He’d been about halfway up when disaster—or near disaster—struck. A soldier on patrol from the castle above tossed a stone over the wall. Whether it was because he thought he’d heard something or because he was just bored, they would never know. But the stone found a target—him. It struck Randolph in the helm with enough force to make him see black for a moment—a very important moment, as he’d been in the process of climbing and lost his footing and hold on the rope ladder. He fell backward and would have fallen to his death if MacGowan hadn’t dove off the side of the cliff toward him and managed to get a few fingers on the neck of his leathercotun. The blacksmith’s son-turned-warrior and soon-to-be latest member of the Highland Guard had saved Randolph’s life.
It had happened so fast Randolph hadn’t had time to panic. He had, however, had time to see someone’s face. Why he should think of Izzie as he was about to fall to his death, he didn’t know.
But he suspected, damn it. And he wasn’t happy about it. The lass had obviously bewitched him.
Even now, as he celebrated what was the greatest accomplishment of his life so far—the ploy at the gate had worked and they had indeed taken the castle—he couldn’t stop looking at her.
She looked a little pale. Was she still not feeling well? His heart raced. What the hell was the matter with her?
And why hadn’t she looked at him? She was seated at a trestle table with Joanna Douglas only a few feet away, but not once had her eyes strayed to his position on the dais. Shouldn’t she at least offer her congratulations? God knows the lass wasn’t easily impressed, but surelythiswarranted something. He’d taken a castle that no one thought could be taken and almost died in the taking. Didn’t she care?
Their eyes met for the first time in five days, and he felt the shock of it like a bolt of lightning down his spine. It wasn’t a pleasant experience. It hurt. A lot.
Aye, she did care. That was the problem. A big one, as it turned out, because so did he. More than he wanted to.
His chest was still burning when she turned away. He did the same, returning his attention to the celebration. This was the happiest day of his life. He was going to bloody well enjoy it.
With the help of quite a bit of wine, he did. Mostly. But when some of the men left to begin slighting some of the castle walls, Randolph didn’t mind leaving to supervise.
He glanced once more at Izzie, but her head was again fixed in the opposite direction.
He was about to stand up and make his excuses when Elizabeth stopped him. She’d been oddly distracted throughout the meal, which he hadn’t thought too much about as it enabled him not to worry about her picking up on his own distraction.
“My lord, might we speak in private for a moment.”
I can’t marry you.Randolph paled in horror. Christ, for a moment he thought he’d said the words aloud. Whatever he was thinking, it was too late.Too late,damn it.
He forced a smile to his face. “I should like nothing more, but might it wait?” Presumably until he pulled his head out of his arse and trusted himself enough not to do or say anything stupid. “My uncle has put me in charge of the destruction of the castle, and the men are waiting for me.”
“Of course.”
He almost changed his mind when he saw her disappointment. Something clearly was bothering her. But it probably had to do with the wedding, and frankly that was a subject he just couldn’t discuss right now. She would see right through his lack of enthusiasm.
After thanking her for her understanding, Randolph left to join his men. But he wasn’t just going to supervise. He was looking forward to wielding a hammer to take down the blasted wall himself. Anything to take his mind off thinking that he’d made a mistake.
The last twenty-four hours had alternated between the darkest most miserable lows and the brightest most joyous highs. The realization of what the men intended to do brought all their secrets to light. The thought of Thom MacGowan dying had forced Elizabeth to admit that she’d been lying to herself—she could not go through with the betrothal no matter how horrible the scandal. Izzie, too, upon learning that Randolph intended to join MacGowan on his suicide mission, betrayed her horror and, in turn, her feelings.
