The king must have been standing closer than they realized. “My nephew certainly does know how to make an entrance,” he added dryly. “He will never be accused of modesty or meekness.”
Elizabeth smiled at the man who’d defied the odds and wrested the throne of Scotland from the iron grip of the most powerful king in Christendom, Edward of England. “Perhaps not, sire, although perhaps he has no cause for either.”
The king laughed. “I suspect you are right.” James had gone forward to greet him. They’d exchanged a cross grip of the forearm, and Randolph said something that sounded like “Where is she?”
James pointed in her direction, and through the crowd Randolph’s gaze found hers. Their eyes met and held. It was a significant moment—and undeniably a romantic one—and she forced herself to feel something. But her heart didn’t stop, her breath didn’t catch, and her chest didn’t squeeze. The most she could manage was a tentative smile.
He broke out into a broad grin in return and crossed the distance between them, the men falling back out of his way to create a path like the sea parting before Moses.
All except one. He had his back to her, but she didn’t need to see his face. It was etched on every inch of her memory.
Nowall those things happened: her heart stopped, her breath caught, and her chest squeezed; she feared that he would not move at all. That he would stand there like a dark sentinel and block Randolph’s path to her. That he would confront or challenge the man she meant to marry. One of the most powerful men in the country.
Oh God, Thom, don’t...
At the last minute, he moved out of the way, taking a deliberate step back.
Elizabeth exhaled, finally releasing the breath she’d been unconsciously holding. She hoped no one else had noticed, but from the look of worry on Joanna’s face, she knew she’d seen it as well.
The smile fell from Randolph’s face long enough to frown in Thom’s direction, but it quickly returned to hers with a smile.
What he did next was the kind of thing that wee lasses dreamed of—the kind of thing that when she had been married for years she would tell her grandchildren. Instead of taking her hand or bowing, he stopped before her and dropped to his knee.
Izzie muttered something that sounded distinctly like “Good grief.”
Elizabeth could almost hear her eye roll. She would have shot her a glance, but Randolph did it for her. Her cousin simply met his frown with an innocent smile. Frowning harder, he turned back to Elizabeth and held out his hand.
Realizing she’d forgotten her part, Elizabeth placed her hand in his. He bowed over it and said, “My lady. I’d hoped to be here when you arrived.” Standing, he did not release her hand right away as he looked into her eyes. “I hope your journey was uneventful?”
Elizabeth thought of the ravine and her eyes unconsciously sought Thom’s. Their gazes held for only a fraction of an instant; she felt seared by the contact, the flash of heat was so intense.
All of a sudden, he turned and left without saying a word. He didn’t need to. The look of pain on his face said everything. He’d lied. Thom did still care about her, and unintentionally she’d hurt him again.
“My lady?” Randolph inquired.
Elizabeth jolted, brought sharply back to reality.Uneventful. “Aye, my lord, perfectly uneventful. Although we did get stuck in the carriage, and I managed to fall down a ravine.”
His brows lifted for a moment in surprise before he laughed and shook his head. “I’d hate to think about what warrants eventful. But come, we shall hear all about it.”
With that the king led them all into the Hall. But Elizabeth was painfully aware of the man who was absent. The man whose tortured expression would haunt her sleep for too many nights to come.
15
WHAT DO YOU THINK?”
It took Thom a moment to respond. It wasn’t only the “did I just fall down a faerie hole?” daze brought on by the identity of the man posing the question (the king of Scotland was askinghisopinion?), or that he was surrounded by five of the most powerful men in the country (the king’s oldest and most trusted advisor, Neil Campbell, Randolph, Douglas, MacLeod, and MacRuairi), it was also that he was trying to figure out whether the king was jesting. But from the serious expressions of the men watching him, he realized the king was very serious.
Jesus.
“Can it be done?” the king added, obviously impatient for his response.
Thom was glad he hadn’t laughed or blurted out “by a dead man” as had been his initial reaction. Instead, he gave the question the respect due the questioner.
Bloody hell.
Nudging his mount forward, and then back and forth to the left and right, he looked over the infamous “Castle Rock” of Edinburgh Castle from every possible angle from where they were positioned at the base of the steep rock face. He pushed aside the knowledge that climbing the Rock had never been done, pushed aside the words “impossible” and “suicide,” and tried to look at it objectively. But almost three hundred feet of nearly-sheer basalt cliffs didn’t give quarter.
Thom had never contemplated climbing anything of the like. It made the cliffs at Bamburgh look like child’s play. He followed cracks and crevices in the rock up the face, but they all disappeared into dead ends of solid, unyielding, impenetrable rock. There were handholds and footholds, but they were few and far between. Short distances could be managed, perhaps, but almost three hundred feet?
