“All alone, Izzie?” Jamie asked. “Where’s my sister?”
It was sometimes hard to believe that her cousin Jamie had become one of the most feared men in England. But the dark frown on his face reminded her why the English called him “the Black” Douglas.
It was clear he was suspicious of something. Probably exactly what Izzie was suspicious of—that something was going on between his sister and Thom MacGowan. From what Izzie could tell, Thom and Jamie didn’t like one another, though supposedly they had once been the best of friends.
Izzie caught Joanna’s gaze, but the gentle pleading there wasn’t necessary. She wasn’t going to get between the two siblings on this one—she’d learned her lesson a long time ago not to try to mediate Jamie and Elizabeth’s many battles.
“She wasn’t hungry and said she was going to read a book and try to get to bed early,” Izzie said.
Jamie’s frown only deepened, and Izzie realized her mistake. She’d thought the same thing when Elizabeth had made the excuse.
“Ella, stay in her room to read and avoid a meal and entertainment? That sounds more like you, Izzie. We always had to pull your nose out of a book to do anything.” He tweaked that nose fondly. “Maybe I should have Helen MacKay check in on her.” Helen was a gifted healer. “Ella has a big week ahead of her, I do not want her to be fighting sickness.”
Izzie felt a strange twist in her stomach, realizing to what he referred: the betrothal that seemed all but preordained. Though Randolph and Jamie were known for their fierce rivalry, Izzie knew that Jamie was just as eager for this engagement as Elizabeth—perhaps more so. Allying himself with the king’s nephew would be a gold spur on her ambitious cousin’s boot.
“She’s fine, Jamie,” Izzie assured him. “Just tired, that’s all.”
Suddenly, he seemed to remember something and smiled. “Ah, that’s right. She was to go riding with Randolph today, wasn’t she?” He chuckled. “I’ll have to have a word with him about tiring her out.”
Izzie tried to hide her alarm, but Joanna wasn’t quite as successful. Her eyes widened. Clearly she didn’t want her husband to learn about his sister’s change of plans. Joanna had made no secret of her hope that Elizabeth would choose Thom MacGowan over Randolph.
“You promised you’d stay out of it, James,” Joanna admonished. “If this betrothal is meant to be, it will happen without your forcing it.” Before he could argue, which he looked about to, Joanna shifted his attention back to the room. “Come, I’m hungry, and the king is calling for you.”
Realizing that there was no turning back now, Izzie squared her shoulders and marched forward behind them. She would have to face Randolph at some point; she might as well get it over with.
Really, she was making too much of this. They’d shared a kiss—so what? She certainly wasn’t going to start writing his name in the margins of her portfolios or on the pages of her precious parchment. The thought made her smile. Lady Isabel Randolph, Countess of Moray…thatwould be about as likely as snow falling in hell or Randolph declaring his love for her—and her believing him.
Nowshe was laughing. Which turned out to be the perfect or perfectly wrong thing, depending on how you looked at it, as it was at that moment that their eyes met.
She’d done it again. Once again he’d assumed he was the reason for her amusement—which in this case he admittedly was—and his expression grew as dark as a thundercloud.
She quickly sobered and looked around for a seat on the far side of the dais—preferably as far away from Randolph as she could get. Unfortunately, the benches were all full. The king motioned Jamie and Joanna to sit by him, and all that was left was a small space beside Randolph that he had probably been saving for Elizabeth.
With a sigh of inevitability—why wouldn’t the only available seat be next to him?—Izzie waited for him to stand (which with atypicalungallantry took him a few seconds too long) and slid in beside him on the bench. It was a tight squeeze, and she was embarrassingly conscious of the strong, abundantly muscled body pressed against hers. Again.Don’t think of that.
“I’m afraid my cousin is not joining us tonight,” she explained with a twist of her mouth that told him she had guessed his thoughts. “She decided to retire early.” Her smile deepened. “I would have done the same, but it turns out I’m quite hungry after missing the midday meal.”
She’d only meant it as a gentle teasing—a way to hopefully prevent any awkwardness over what had happened earlier—but he, of course, seemed to take it the wrong way. He looked either horrified or as if he’d just eaten a bad piece of beef, she couldn’t decide which. In any event, apparently, she’d brought up a subject that wasn’t supposed to be mentioned or alluded to at all. Well, if he wanted to pretend it never happened, that was fine by her.
She felt his impressive shoulders stiffen, which was unfortunate, as it reminded her of how wonderful all those muscles had felt wrapped around her, and made her want to do something silly like put her hands on either side of his neck and knead all the tension from those taut shoulders and arms.
“I apologize,” he started stiffly.
But she cut him off. “No apologies are necessary, my lord. I meant nothing by it. Truly, it was not a criticism, a reprimand, or a reminder—just a poor attempt to make a jest.” Her mouth quirked. “I forgot that you do not find my jests amusing.”
She was rewarded by an easing of the tension in his shoulders and the barest hint of a smile hovering around the edge of his mouth.
Mouth.Not the thing to think about. If she did, she would remember…
Her body flushed with heat and she quickly averted her gaze away from the wicked and embarrassingly visceral memories.
“I do believe they are beginning to grow on me,” he said dryly.
“Like the plague?”
“Nay, nothing so deadly. I was thinking more in line of a wart or a mole.”
She laughed. Dear lord, this was becoming a regular occurrence. Pretty soon, she would have to admit that he actually was amusing. At least when he was like this, dry, blunt, and honest. She doubted there were many women he would say such a thing to.
