MacRuairi—the bad-tempered brigand he’d been referring to—called his cousin a vile name and told him to do something that was impossible.
“I’m not in love with her,” Randolph insisted.
He felt the faces of a half-dozen Guardsmen on him. Why the hell was he sitting with them, anyway? Because his uncle had sent him away from the dais and told him not to come back until he stopped sulking.
He wasn’t sulking, damn it. He just didn’t feel like talking. He was the only one. It seemed half of Edinburgh had heard about his broken engagement and the one that had been refused. Strangely, he didn’t give a shite. His pride should be stinging, but instead it was his chest that hurt. Ever since that night when she’d walked away, it had felt as if it was burning. He would have to see Helen MacKay if it didn’t go away soon.
“How are you so sure?” MacRuairi asked.
“She irritates me too much.”
Hawk laughed—as did a few of the others. Even MacRuairi seemed to be smiling, but with him it was always hard to be sure.
Randolph looked around at them and felt his temper spark. It reminded him of when he’d been in school. It was that sense that everyone around him understood except for him.
Magnus MacKay exchanged a look with his brother-in-law Kenneth Sutherland, and then very slowly—not unlike Randolph’s teachers had done—said, “Any other woman ever irritate you like she does?”
“Hell no!” Randolph responded vehemently. “Not even close.”
The men around him waited for him to catch up. He was incredulous when he realized what they meant. “So that’s what love is? Irritation?”
That was absurd.
The men around him shrugged. “Sometimes,” Hawk said. “Especially at first.”
Christ, they were serious. “Why the hell didn’t someone tell me?”
“It’s one of those secrets lasses like to keep to themselves.” MacSorley paused, giving Randolph a look of sympathy. “I’m sorry to say, there’s a lot of them—and you are supposed to instinctively know all of them.”
Randolph swore. He thought back through the list of signs that he’d identified to tell whether someone was in love and felt the noose of inevitability tightening around his neck. He was doomed, damn it. Doomed. Pretty soon he’d be wearing that idiot smile with a handful of children sitting on his lap—and pups!
God, it was already happening. He could feel his mouth curving right now!
“This was a mistake, damn it!” he said, slamming his goblet down. “I told her I had no intention of falling in love with her.”
Was there such a thing as a collective wince? If there was, he’d just seen it.
“You didn’t?” Hawk said.
Randolph nodded and the look of sympathy from the big seafarers face alarmed him.
“I don’t envy you, Randy,” Hawk said. “I hope you know how to grovel.”
“You can always teach him,” MacRuairi said.
“I didn’t grovel,” Hawk snapped.
“That’s not what I hear from Ellie and Domnall,” MacRuairi shot back.
But Randolph was too worried to enjoy Hawk being the one prodded. He told himself not to worry. “Izzie isn’t like that. She will listen to reason.”
He would apologize for his ignorance, tell her that he loved her, and everything would be all right.
“I hope you’re right,” Hawk said. “But if you aren’t, you can always do what I did and abduct her. Take my word for it, lasses find it romantic.”
“Abduct her? Are you mad? I’m not a brigand.”
Randolph ignored Hawk’s “we’ll see” smile as there was a commotion at the dais. He could see Walter Stewart frantically talking to the king.
