Is sentiment what she wanted? Was it fair to expect from him what she was not demanding from herself?
They visited a few more booths, laughed, and continued to enjoy the bustle of activity around them, but a strange pall had been cast over the day. Indeed, Izzie had grown noticeably quiet.
Elizabeth couldn’t claim to be disappointed when one of Randolph’s men found him to say he was needed back at camp.
It seemed Edward Bruce, the Earl of Carrick, had arrived from Roxburgh to meet with his brother the king on the way to begin the siege at Stirling.
Making his apologies, Randolph left without delay, promising to see them at the abbey later. “If I know my uncle Edward, he’ll expect a feast.”
“Good thing it’s a Sunday,” she replied with a teasing smile.
A smile he returned, recalling their earlier conversation. “I hope we shall have more to celebrate in the next few days?”
She did not miss his meaning. He was going to formally propose the betrothal. Oh God. “Perhaps,” she managed in what she hoped he mistook for shy rather than uncomfortable.
The two women visited a few more booths—with Elizabeth purchasing some fabric for a new veil—before deciding to return to the abbey. It would be time to get ready for the midday meal soon.
“Is something wrong?” she asked Izzie as they walked down the hill, two of Jamie’s men following discreetly behind them.
“Of course not.”
“You seem upset.”
Her cousin shook her head. “Surprised perhaps. I thought you might be reconsidering.”
“I know you do not like him.”
“I like Sir Perfect well enough. What’s not to like?” she teased, repeating Elizabeth’s words from Blackhouse with an added note of dry amusement. Elizabeth tried not to laugh at Sir Perfect, not wanting to encourage her sobriquets—no matter how funny they were. “I merely thought you might be interested in someone else.”
Elizabeth sighed deeply in almost a groan. “Is it that obvious?”
Izzie’s mouth turned wryly. “To me and Joanna, perhaps.”
“Please do not tell me I will be hearing it from you as well.”
Izzie laughed and shook her head. “No.” But then she sobered. “Do you love him?”
That was a question she wouldn’t ask herself. Shecouldn’tlove him; it was as simple as that.
Izzie would understand. She wasn’t like Joanna—she was practical like Elizabeth. “That’s an unusually sentimental question from you, cousin.”
“Maybe I’m feeling unusually sentimental.”
Elizabeth gave her a challenging look. “Does it matter?”
“I suppose not,” Izzie admitted. “The match with Randolph is a good one—an excellent one. The one with your smithy’s son is not just a bad match, it’s a horrible one. There would be consequences.” She gave a sharp laugh as if something had just occurred to her. “To refuse Randolph for a smithy’s son? Lud, I almost wish you could do it just to see Sir No-One-Has-Ever-Refused-Me’s face. I can’t say that I wouldn’t enjoy seeing him knocked down a peg or two.”
They stopped talking as they walked through the gate, noticing a commotion in the yard. A group of riders had just ridden in.
Elizabeth’s heart jumped, realizing who they were.She’d suspected Thommy’s mission was with the Guard, but it wasn’t until she saw him standing to the side with a couple of the men laughing that her suspicions were confirmed. But a quick glance at the group and a longer study of Thom told her much more. It was just the members of the Guard—no other men had gone with them. And the close camaraderie among the group that had always struck her... it extended to Thom.
Theyarerecruiting him, she realized. And she had to admit the realization awed her a little. Was Thom really good enough to fight beside some of the best warriors in Christendom?
It seemed so.
She was proud of him. Immensely proud of him. But she frowned, suddenly realizing something else. He’d lied to her! If he was on a mission with the Guard, she could be sure it was dangerous.
She was tempted to stomp over there and berate him for the untruth—and indeed might have done exactly that—if someone else hadn’t beaten her to him.
