It might have been cute if he wasn’t so irritated. Had his interruption annoyed her? Too bloody bad! His hands fisted at his side.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
It certainly wasn’t his most gallant moment. But she just lifted that perfectly arched brow of hers in a way that only added to that burr under the plaid feeling. If she rolled her eyes or started to laugh, he wasn’t going to be responsible for what happened next.
“Looking for you, actually.” She turned to the lad and gave him a brilliant smile, which only made Randolph’s fists squeeze harder. She’d never smiled at him like that, damn it. “Thanks for accompanying me, Richard. I will have one of the earl’s men see me back.”
Izzie might not have any idea of the kind of torment she was giving Randolph, but the lad—Richard—apparently did. He looked at Randolph, frowned, and then looked back to her. “Are you sure? I don’t mind sticking around awhile in case you need me.”
Insolent pup! Randolph made a sound suspiciously like a growl and took a step forward. The two men were of size, but Randolph had years of experience on him—they both knew there would be no contest.
“She won’t,” Randolph snapped with a sharp edge to his voice that could not be mistaken for anything other than a threat.
He had to give the lad credit. Richard was intimidated, but he still turned back to confirm with Izzie. She frowned chastisingly at Randolph, clearly not understanding why he was being so rude and foul-tempered.
“I’ll be fine.” She smiled. “Say hello to our friend if you run into him on your way back down the hill.”
The lad made a face. “If he does that again, I’ll find that barber myself.”
She laughed, and Richard was lucky he moved off. Instead Randolph took his fury out on the fair-haired tormentor before him. “What the hell was that about?”
She crossed her arms impatiently, and he swore he could almost hear the sound of a toe tapping. “It’s a private jest.” He didn’t like the sound of that at all and would have told her so, but she didn’t give him a chance. “Whatever is the matter with you? You were quite rude to Richard, and he was doing me a favor.”
“I’m sure he was,” he said snidely.
She drew her chin up and looked down her nose at him as if she were the Queen of bloody England. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’ll be careful if you have care for your reputation—the lad is known for having his way with the lasses.”
She stared—gaped really—at him, clearly dumbfounded. “Surely, you jest? This coming from the biggest rogue in Scotland?”
He bristled. “It’s not the same.”
She laughed—actually it was more of a scoff. “It’s exactly the same. But don’t worry, my lord, not all of us are worried about our reputations.”
Was she referring to his or hers? Although he wasn’t sure either was preferable. He grabbed her arm and hauled her against him. How did she do this? A few minutes in her presence, and he was losing his mind. “What the Devil do you mean by that?”
Very slowly, she unwrapped his fingers from around her arm. “Whatever you wish it to mean. What is wrong with you? You certainly aren’t acting like a man who just performed one of the greatest military feats in history.”
“I didn’t think you noticed.”
He was aware that he sounded more than a little petulant. But damn it, what did it take to impress her?
She looked into his eyes. “I noticed,” she said quietly. “I have never been so terrified in my life.” She paused, and the emotion in her gaze made something in his chest shift. “You could have died.”
And just like that, the jealousy—for even he realized that’s what it was—unwound its tight grip on his muscles and fled. He was an idiot. She cared for him, how could he have doubted it?
“I might have,” he admitted ruefully, “were it not for MacGowan.”
She’d obviously heard what had happened because she did not ask what he meant.
“That is what I wish to speak with you about,” she said. He frowned again. MacGowan? “Is there someplace private we can talk?”
He wasn’t sure that was a good idea. He was already noticing how good she smelled and how velvety soft her skin looked. The lass had the most beautiful skin—it looked unreal. It had felt unreal also. He shook off the memory, which was already leading to a rush of blood in uncomfortable places. “What about?”
“I’d prefer to discuss it with you inside—where we cannot be overheard and where the mist isn’t turning my bones to ice.”
It was obviously important and personal. The Great Hall was crowded with people who’d decided to blend the midday meal with the evening meal with celebrating, and his uncle was using the private solar behind it. There were a few storerooms they might use, but he led her to a nearby guard tower that he knew was presently unoccupied. He could control himself for a few minutes.
