Realizing it was useless to argue—not to mention foolhardy to walk by herself—she ignored him instead.
She was the only one to do so. On the mile-long journey down to the abbey, it seemed as though half the town of Edinburgh—still celebrating—stopped him to gush, fawn, and offer their congratulations on his miraculous taking of the castle. He spent most of that mile running afterward to catch up to her.
An enormous sense of relief came over her when the guesthouse finally came into view. She couldn’t bear to look at him right then; she just wanted him gone. With nothing left to say—thank you hardly seemed appropriate under the circumstances—she started toward the door.
Before she could make her escape, however, he stopped her. He seemed to have calmed down a little and didn’t look as angry. He had his charming knight smile on. Here was the part where he said whatever he thought she wanted to here.It is all an act. Always. How can I have forgotten?
“Wait. You can’t just go like this. I didn’t mean to upset you. I don’t want you to overreact and make any hasty decisions. Why don’t you think about it for a few days?”
“I don’t need to think about anything. I’ve made my decision.”
His jaw hardened again—this time with a furious tic. “How can you say that after what just happened? I know it was your first time, but you can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it.”
He actually sounded a little uncertain. She shook her head, dumbfounded. Was that what this was about? Had she wounded his masculine pride by not being overcome by his lovemaking? She had been, but not in the way he meant. “Have no fear, my lord. Your talents in the bedchamber are not exaggerated. I was properly swept away into complete euphoric bliss.”
He looked so relieved that were her heart not being twisted in a vise, she might have laughed. Had she really made the vaunted rogue worry that he’d left her underwhelmed? He didn’t understand at all. Why should he? For him the bedchamber was enough. To him it was everything.
“Then why…?” He finished his own question. “You want me to say it, is that it?” His voice had risen with his anger. “Fine. I love you, and I will keep my damned vows. Does that make you happy? Is that what you need to hear?”
She didn’t think it possible that he could make her pity him. But the great hero of Scotland—the man who seemed to have everything—had just succeeded. And she wasn’t alone. The two massive warriors who’d just come out of the king’s former lodgings with some of his things heard his words as well and both men shook their heads as if they felt sorry for him.
But it wasn’t just pity that she felt. Randolph had also given her the confirmation that she was doing the right thing. He didn’t want her; he just didn’t want her to refuse him. She looked at him without hesitation, and with remarkable composure for someone who’d just had a knife stuck in her gut. “Sir Thomas?” His gaze met hers, and even through the fury, she sensed that he knew he’d gone too far. That maybe he was a little shamefaced. “Go to hell.”
She’d had enough. As soon as she could talk to Walter and arrange it, Izzie was going home. It was time to stop playacting in faerie tales and get on with her life.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Randy, Randy, Randy.” The big Norseman—halfNorseman, but all bloody pirate—shook his head. “With all that experience and supposed charm, do you knowanythingabout lasses?”
“Go to hell, Hawk.”
“I think you were the one directed to do that. And by the look on your face the past few days, you are there.” The pain-in-his-arse seafarer and member of the king’s secret fighting force known as the Highland Guard leaned back on the bench against the wall, kicked out his feet, crossed his arms, and shook his head with a broad smile on his face. “I’d nearly given up hope that I’d live to see this day. But damn if it wasn’t worth the wait. For someone who didn’t want to fight like a brigand, you sure as hell look like one.”
Randolph squeezed the pewter goblet in his hand until it almost bent. He’d had years of practice in ignoring Hawk’s jabs—including more than one about Randolph’s unfortunate words to explain why he’d switched allegiance (Christ, he’d been young and pompous!)—but he’d never been closer to slamming his fist through that flashing white grin. Only the knowledge that it would make the bastard think he was right stopped him.
There was nothing wrong with him, damn it. He didn’t care that he’d asked her to marry him. That she’d refused him. That she’d ridden out of the abbey two and a half days ago for Bonkyll Castle with a handful of Walter Stewart’s men without a word to him. She’d justleft!
But he didn’t care, damn it. She would realize she’d made a mistake and come back soon enough. He’d give her a week. Maybe two. If she hadn’t returned by then, he might just have to ride the forty miles to Bonkyll himself to hear her apology.
Until then, he’d distract himself with the beautiful serving lass who’d been keeping his goblet nice and full, and making her interest clear every time she leaned over to pour and give him a fantastic view of her very sizable breasts. Women were always a good distraction.
At least they used to be. But when he smiled encouragingly at the lass, and she leaned over to fill his goblet again, presenting her hefty bosom for closer inspection—practically right under his nose—all he could see was flawless, creamy white skin and soft round mounds with delicate pink tips that fit right in his hands and tasted like warm honey.
He bit back the curse of disgust, but the lass seemed to pick up on the change of plans. She lifted her eyes questioningly, and he shook his head. She moved off.
Izzie had ruined him, damn it! Randolph knew exactly who he had to blame for this. He was tempted to ride to Bonkyll right now and give her that opportunity to apologize right now.
“It won’t work you know,” the smug bastard watching him said. “Take my word for it, lad, fighting and denying it won’t change a damned thing. And another lass sure as hell isn’t the way—just ask MacGregor.”
Randolph didn’t need to ask MacGregor anything. He’d been there when the greatest archer in Scotland had been doing his penance to his now wife, who also happened to be Bruce’s daughter and Randolph’s kinswoman, after she’d caught him in an unfortunate situation. But this wasn’t the same thing. MacGregor had been out of his mind in love with Cate.
He glanced down the table at the man reputed to be the most handsome in Scotland, who only had eyes for the dainty, dark-haired pixie seated next to him.
“It isn’t the same,” Randolph said.
He’d addressed Hawk but it was the seafarer’s cousin, Lachlan MacRuairi, who answered. “Isn’t it? From where I’m sitting it looks exactly the same.”
“Why don’t you take that poleaxe out of your arse for once, Randy, and just admit you love the lass,” Hawk said. “One bad-tempered brigand around here is enough.”
