He knew why she was fighting him so hard. She was scared. Scared of what admitting her love for him might mean. Scared of what she would have to give up. And she was resisting her feelings for him with everything she had. “You don’t need to be scared, El.”
She pulled back as if he’d uttered a horrible slur. “I’m not!”
“Then why are you trying to deny what is between us?”
“Are you sure it isn’t you who are doing that?”
Realizing what she meant, he released her and stepped back. “There is more to what is between us than lust, Elizabeth. Lie to me if you want, but don’t lie to yourself.”
One kiss might not have proved it to her, but he wasn’t going to give up. He would make her see it whether she wanted to or not. Elizabeth Douglas loved him. She had for a long time, and soon they would both know it.
17
I’D WAGER IThas been some time since the nuns and the residents of St. Mary’s have been treated to such a beautiful recital,” Elizabeth said as she left the almshouse with her cousin and Randolph. “I can’t say I’ve ever enjoyed the Lenten hymns as much. But I didn’t know who to listen to; it seemed that as soon as Izzie took a breath, you filled it right in, my lord.” She tried not to smile, pretending that she didn’t know what they’d been doing. But after Izzie forced him to sing upon mentioning how good he was to their audience, it had been obvious that they were waging some sort of battle. “Perhaps you might consider singing a chanson together sometime for a feast?”
Izzie’s eyes narrowed, aware that her cousin was needling her. “What an extraordinary idea, Elizabeth.” She smiled sweetly at Randolph. “But I would never think to compete with such prodigious talent as the earl’s.”
The ever-chivalrous knight gave a short bow of his head. “It is I who would be honored, Lady Isabel. Your cousin did not exaggerate your talent, you have a beautiful voice.”
It was simply stated without his usual grandiosity.
Izzie seemed taken aback, whether from the compliment or from the sincerity with which it was given, Elizabeth couldn’t tell.
Truth be told, Elizabeth had been grateful for the distraction they provided. Though her visits to almshouses and lazar houses were important to her, they could sometimes be difficult, evoking memories that she would rather forget of how close she came to one herself. She’d felt the cold shadow of memory before Randolph and Izzie’s war of song had reminded her of where she was.
They continued down the wynd, proceeding down the high street to the abbey located at the bottom end. The morning mist had yet to lift off the hills to the east, and although the day was off to a cool start (she and Isabel had both worn their warmest fur-lined cloaks), she sensed it was going to be another beautiful day. At this time of year, anything that didn’t involve ice, snow, or rain was reason for celebration.
Once through the gate, they paused opposite the massive facade of the abbey entrance. She turned to Randolph. “Will you be able to join us in the refectory to break your fast, my lord?”
The first meal of the day was eliminated during Lent except for on Sundays.
He shook his head. “I wish I could, but I must return to the castle to see whether any progress has been made.”
“Progress?” Izzie repeated with a frown. “At night? Do the English like to parley in the dark, my lord?”
Randolph’s smile turned brittle. The détente between them was apparently already at an end. “I meant in general,” he said dismissively. But Elizabeth sensed rather the opposite. Did they have something planned at night? An attack on the castle perhaps? But given what he’d said before, it didn’t seem likely. “My uncle will be waiting—” He stopped suddenly, frowning. “That’s strange.”
“What’s strange?” Elizabeth asked.
“He should be at camp. Excuse me for a moment.”
Both women turned as Randolph started off in the direction of the gate. It was then that Elizabeth saw the man who’d caught his attention: Thom.
Her heart jumped, obviously having not quite recovered from yesterday’s overworking.
She hadn’t thought to see him so soon. He’d seemed eager to be rid of her, marching her down the hill and watching stoically from the trees as she made her way safely through the gate. He hadn’t even waved; she’d looked.
They’d said little on the way back down the hill. Thom once again wore that blank look he’d perfected in his youth when facing an angry Jamie, and Elizabeth had been, well, angry. At herself, at him, maybe it didn’t matter.
When she thought about how she’d touched him...
She didn’t think about that—couldn’tthink about that—especially standing outside an abbey with her soon-to-be betrothed only a few feet away.
Don’t lie to yourself...
Her mouth pursed at the memory of the challenge he’d tossed down at her feet like a gauntlet. He had a lot of nerve, thinking he knew her better than she knew herself. Elizabeth knew exactly how she felt. She cared for him—deeply—and wanted him—irrationally—but she did not love him. At least not in the way he meant.
She wasn’t Joanna. She didn’t think with her heart. She was far too practical to fall in love with someone she could never marry. She’d been exiled from society and treated like a leper once before; she would not go through that again—at least not willingly. She had a secure future in her grasp, she wasn’t about to let it go.
