Only someone who knew him as well as Thom did would see the hint of wariness that returned to Jamie’s expression. But he needn’t worry; Thom wasn’t looking for confirmation. He didn’t need it. If these men weren’t Bruce’s illustrious Phantoms (and at least two were), then they might as well be.
Perhaps recognizing that, Douglas relaxed. “Aye, they are that.”
“They?” Not Douglas, too?
Jamie lifted a brow. “If I didn’t know you better, I would think that was a compliment.”
“And if I didn’t know you better, I’d think that was you being modest.”
Jamie laughed, and Thom found himself smiling as well. For a moment, it almost felt like old times. The easy exchange, the jests, the prodding—he’d forgotten how it had been. It was probably why despite the danger he’d been enjoying himself so much the past couple of days. These men had a bond not unlike the one he’d had with Jamie all those years ago.
He’d never let himself acknowledge how much he’d missed it.
“What will you do now?” Jamie asked as they started to walk back.
“Nothing as exciting as this. But thankfully not taking down any more castle walls—at least for a while. Although with the weeks of boredom ahead at Stirling during the siege, I might be wishing for an excuse to swing a hammer.”
Jamie frowned. “I thought Ella said that you had something else to do first? Something about an engagement to the widow?”
The reason for the frown became apparent. Undoubtedly, the knowledge of his betrothal had been met with considerable relief by Jamie—which might explain some of the easing of tensions between them—and he wanted to make sure what Elizabeth had told him was the truth.
Thom nodded, allaying his fears. “Lady Marjorie Rutherford.”
Douglas lifted both brows, clearly impressed. “I’ve met her before—you have done well for yourself.”
Thom shrugged. “Nothing has been formalized.”
“But it will be?”
If the question was more intense than the situation warranted, Thom pretended not to notice. “Aye.”
A broad smile spread across Jamie’s face, and once again, he was relaxed. “Well, then you have my congratulations. Jo will be beside herself with two betrothals to celebrate.”
“Two?”
Jamie stopped to stare at him, his expression recovering some of its wariness. “Ella didn’t tell you?”
Thom heard the irritation in his voice. “Tell me what?”
Sensing he wasn’t going to like what Douglas had to say, Thom braced himself.
“My sister is to be betrothed to Randolph.”
No amount of bracing could have prepared him for the blow. For the white-hot ball of pain that had shot into his chest and exploded.
He flinched—maybe even staggered.
Elizabeth was getting married.
Why hadn’t she told him?
Because he had nothing to do with it. She’d never looked at him as a potential suitor. Christ, why should she? She was about to marry one of the most important men in the realm. And he was just a lad from the village.
Damn it, he’d thought he was immune. He thought she’d lost the power to hurt him.
Anger at his own weakness made him stiffen. Pride schooled his features into a hard mask, but he knew Douglas had seen the toll his words had taken.
Forcing the bitterness from his voice, Thom said, “She did not mention it. But when you see her, please give her my congratulations. To you both,” he amended. “An alliance with the new Earl of Moray...” He let his voice fall off. Not even Douglas with his well-known ambition could have reached much higher. “You must be thrilled.”
