Of course she did intheory, but it sounded so horrible when put like that. Though Lady Mary wasn’t saying anything that wasn’t accepted belief and something that nearly every person of their acquaintance had probably thought, it made Elizabeth want to cringe and rage at the unfairness. Joanna was perfect for James, why couldn’t everyone else see it? Why did society have to put barriers of rank between them? It was so silly. But it was the way it was. It was the way people thought. And nothing could change it.
Jamie had known what would be said of his marriage, and he’d gone through with it anyway. Because he loved Joanna. But the world had not changed with him. Nor would it during their lifetime.
“The Dicsons have been very important retainers for the Douglases for years. Joanna’s grandfather gave his life for my brother’s cause. My sister-in-law is eminently suitable. Indeed, I can’t think of anyone more suitable for my brother.”
Lady Mary put up her hand. With a wry smile, she said, “I see I have offended you. It was not my intent. It is obvious you are very loyal to your sister-in-law. She is fortunate to have you.”
Elizabeth shook her head. That was where she was very wrong. “We are fortunate to have her.”
After the awkward conversation with Lady Mary, Elizabeth was relieved a short while later to be freed from the confining walls of the carriage—although she did wish her freedom hadn’t come at the expense of Joanna’s stomach.
“Are you sure you are all right?” she asked her sister-in-law, who was riding beside her looking considerably less pale than she had when she’d rushed from the carriage looking as if she might lose the contents of her midday meal.
“I’m fine,” Joanna assured her. “The fresh air is doing wonders.” She looked over her shoulder to make sure Jamie wasn’t listening—he wasn’t—and lowered her voice. “Truth be told, it wasn’t my stomach. But I needed to think of something that James wouldn’t object to so that I might get out of the carriage.”
Elizabeth’s mouth twisted. “I wish I’d thought of it earlier.” Then more earnestly, she added, “But you have nothing to worry about, Jo. I don’t think my brother has even looked at another woman since he was nine.”
Joanna chuckled softly, but then shook her head. “There’s just something about that woman that gets under my skin. Maybe it’s that I know James might have married her, and she would have been the perfect wife for him.”
“You are the only perfect wife for him. Anyone who sees you together knows that.”
He would have been miserable with a woman like Lady Mary.
Joanna smiled. “Thank you for saying that. No matter how many unpleasant carriage rides I must endure, there has never been a day—an hour of a day—that I’ve regretted marrying your brother. Never,” she repeated adamantly as if for Elizabeth’s benefit.
The reason why became immediately apparent. Joanna paused, her gaze flitting momentarily to Thom, who was riding near the front of the group with a few of the Phantoms. Elizabeth had to force herself not to follow her sister-in-law’s gaze. Hers had strayed to the front too many times already. She was doing her best to avoid looking at him, since it caused so manyproblems. But she was discovering that she didn’t need to look at him. Just knowing he was there made her feel funny.
Joanna looked back at her. “I just want the same happiness for you.”
“I shall have it,” Elizabeth said determinedly. “Sir Thomas will make me very happy. Just because we did not start out desperately in love as you and James does not mean it won’t grow that way.”
Joanna held her gaze, clearly wanting to believe her. “I hope so. I just don’t want you to regret—”
“I won’t.”
It wasn’t the same. Elizabeth didn’t love Thom. Well, maybe she loved him, but not in the way Jo loved Jamie. It was the other part that troubled her. The lusting part.
Clearly realizing that she’d said enough on the matter, Joanna let the matter rest.
Elizabeth was more relieved than she wanted to admit. She didn’t want to talk about Thommy with Joanna. She didn’t want to talk about Thommy with anyone. All she wanted to do was reach Edinburgh, where she was sure everything would fall back into place.
She would be back in a city again, with all the entertainment and excitement that had to offer. Even in the midst of a siege, the city would be a buzzing beehive of activity. There would be markets, shops, music, noise, and so much to keep her busy with planning for the wedding she wouldn’t have time to think of anything or anyoneelse.
The incessant awareness—lust, whatever it was—that she felt every time she thought of Thom would disappear.
It would be perfect.
And as the lights of the city came into view on the horizon ahead of them, it seemed to be true. Her heartbeat quickened with excitement. It was so beautiful. The imposing castle perched high on the rock above the twinkling lights of Scotland’s biggest and most important city (at least since the English had taken Berwick-upon-Tweed). It looked magical—like some enchanted kingdom from a child’s faerie tale.
By the time they reached the famous abbey built by King David I after a cross miraculously appeared from the sky and saved him from being gored to death by a hart, Elizabeth could barely sit straight in her saddle she was so excited. Or at least mostly excited. A small twinge of trepidation was to be expected, wasn’t it?
If the stench of the city had perhaps taken some of the enchantment out of the moment, it was soon replaced when not a minute after the king came out of the abbey to greet them, a man came galloping through the gate as if riding straight out of that same faerie tale. He shimmered from head to toe in a magnificent suit of mail that must have cost a king’s ransom. The rich velvet surcoat of gold and yellow bearing the arms of Moray also adorned the most impressive-looking warhorse Elizabeth had ever seen. It was a big, ferocious beast that looked as if it should be pulling Satan’s chariot rather than Apollo’s. But somehow the juxtaposition of dark against all that blazing light worked.
When the man dismounted and tore off his helm, revealing tousled dark waves of thick hair and a face so finely featured and classically handsome, by all rights Elizabeth should have gasped.
Her cousin did. “Good gracious,” Izzie whispered. “Is he for real?”
There was a slight edge of wry amusement to her cousin’s voice that made Elizabeth smile. He was almost too faerie-tale perfect to believe. Lancelot to Bruce’s Arthur without the complication of Guinevere.
