Except for one. He avoided Pagie Hill. Their hill, and the place where they’d made love that first time—and the second—under the trees. She wasn’t ready for that memory, and truthfully, neither was he.
If only his body understood. The most difficult thing about spending so much time with Joanna the past few days was the persistent flush of desire and painful hardness that accompanied it. But he’d vowed not to touch her again until she was his wife, and it was a vow he meant to keep. He would honor her this time, even if it killed him—which it just might.
Who in Hades had thought it was a good idea to go swimming?
He had, but damn it, he hadn’t been thinking about wet chemises and cold water. Nor had he remembered how beautiful she was with her hair slicked back, her long lashes clumped with dampness, and her eyes sparkling with laughter as she darted away from him.
He’d taught her to swim years ago, in this exact spot—a small pool in one of the streams off the Douglas Water river that wound through the village. But over the years, she’d perfected her skills, and the pupil had quickly outpaced the master. Hell, the lass could rival Erik MacSorley for fluidity in the water, and the West Highland chieftain and member of Bruce’s secret Highland Guard was more shark than man in the water.
Fortunately, James’s size gave him a long reach across the shallow pool, and he managed to snag a slim ankle before she dove away. She laughed and kicked, nearly twisting away from him again, before he slid his hand around her waist and pulled her against him.
Bad idea. His groan was muffled by her laughter. But it had been too long since he’d held her like this, and the feel of her soft, feminine body against his felt incredible. She was still too skinny, but her curves hadn’t disappeared as much as he’d thought, and he could feel every one of them plastered against him. “I think I regret teaching you to swim.”
She grinned, lifting her gaze to his, but whatever cheeky response she’d intended to make vanished in the sudden blast of awareness.
She sucked in her breath, and his arm instinctively tightened around her waist, drawing her even closer.
Their eyes met, and the soft haze of arousal in her gaze nearly sliced all of his good intentions to shreds.
“James,” she gasped huskily. Too huskily.
Her lips parted.
He could kiss her and the knowledge raced through his blood with all the subtlety of wildfire. His heart pounded. Desire fisted hard around his cock and pumped. But he didn’t lower his mouth to hers. He didn’t slide his tongue deep into her mouth and stroke her the way he knew she liked. He just held her to him and savored the moment of connection that he’d feared he might never have again.
It was enough.
At least for him. But when it became clear he wasn’t going to kiss her, her eyes blinked with confusion.
He smiled and let her go. “This is a wooing, Jo, not a seduction. I’m doing things in the right order this time.” Her frown nearly made him laugh. “Careful, or you might make me think you want me to kiss you.”
She lifted her chin and met his gaze with a confidence he’d never seen before. She’d changed, and as much as he mourned the loss of the girl who’d looked at him with stars in her eyes, he had to admit that the bold woman who met his gaze now was even more entrancing.
“What if I want you to kiss me?”
His breath felt caught in his lungs. “Do you?”
She nodded, and he reached for her again. But this time, he cradled her against him, tipped her chin back with his fingers and swept a soft kiss over her lips. It was the barest brush, but it was enough to make him groan. It was enough to taste the faint hint of mint from the paste she used to clean her teeth, and it was enough to feel as if a thick blanket of heat was dragging him down.
Everything about it felt perfect and right, but he forced himself to let her go.
She blinked up at him. “That is all?”
Then he did laugh. “Aye, for now. If you want more, you’ll have to have my ring on your finger.”
This time her frown didn’t please him. “What if I’m not sure I want that?”
Disappointment bit into his chest. For a moment, he thought she was ready to love him again, but she wasn’t. A few days wouldn’t make up for what had happened. He had to be patient. But it wasn’t easy. He managed to smile. “Then I hope to be able to change your mind. Because I want that very much. I want you to be my wife. I know I can never replace the child we lost, but God willing, you will be the mother of my children and be by my side until my dying breath.”
She looked up into his eyes. The tremble of her lip was the first sign and then she broke. Tears coursed down her damp cheeks.
With a curse he swept her up into his arms and carried her out of the water. He sat on a rock and wrapped a warm plaid around them both as she buried her head against his chest, and the emotion tore out of her in hard, shoulder-wracking sobs. He felt his own emotions hot and tight in his throat, as he murmured soothing words against her head.
She cried until she could cry no more, and when the last sobs had ebbed, she looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes and tears on her lashes. “Oh, James, it was horrible.”
“Tell me,” he said gently.
And she did. She told him of the joy at discovering she was carrying their child, and how she meant to tell him first that day on the hill, and then the next when she’d caught him just as he was about to leave. She told him how scared she’d been, how she had wished the babe away right before she’d fallen. And then she confessed her guilt, the fear that her prayers had been answered. “I hadn’t even felt the baby move yet,” she said. “I know I was only a few months along, but it felt so real to me.”
“Of course, it was,” he said, stroking her hair. “It was real to me, too.”
She gazed up at him uncertainly. “It was?”
He nodded. “I was stunned when MacGowan told me, but so damned happy—for a moment at least.”
“Thommy told you?”
“Aye.” James explained how he’d run into his old friend at camp. He left out their fight, but he could tell from the worried pinch of her brows that she guessed what had happened.
“He didn’t do anything foolish, did he?”
James’s mouth hardened. “Nothing that wasn’t deserved.”
She sat up a little in his lap. “You didn’t hurt him?”
He eased her back down against his chest with a gentle rub of her back. “I didn’t touch him.” She frowned up at him, and his mouth twisted. She knew him too well. James had never backed down from a fight. “It’s the truth, Jo—I swear it.”
She made a sharp harrumph sound, clearly not sure whether to believe him. “Thommy acts like an overprotective brother sometimes, but I love him and wouldn’t want to see him hurt on my account.”
I love him. Though James knew she didn’t mean anything by it, hearing the words he so longed to hear fall so easily from her lips provoked a rather unpleasant spark of jealousy. “Aye, well your champion is perfectly hale. And I don’t think you need to worry about him.” Unconsciously, he rubbed his jaw where MacGowan had hit him. “With some training, he’ll be able to take care of himself quite well.” Too well, probably. But next time his old friend threw a punch at him, James wouldn’t just sit there.
He cupped her chin and tipped her face back to meet his gaze. “MacGowan was right, Jo. I was an arse. Your honor should never have needed defending. And he shouldn’t have been the one to tell me about the babe. I should have been there, and you don’t know how much I wish I’d done it differently.”
She held his gaze and something twisted in his chest. A longing so acute it stole his breath. God, he loved her. How could he have been such a fool? He would never have been happy living two lives, and what he’d proposed would have destroyed them both.
After a long moment, she nodded and snuggled back against his chest.
There in the sunshine, bundled up in the plaid and seated on a rock by the edge
of the pool, they mourned the loss of the child who should have been theirs together. It was months later than it should have been, but James knew they’d just taken the first step toward the future.
Something had changed. They both sensed it. After her breakdown by the pool with James, Joanna didn’t feel quite as empty. The darkness that had enfolded her heart was not quite as black. She could feel herself opening again, like the petals of a flower with the first rays of spring sunshine after a long, bitter winter. She felt the warmth of hope—and possibility.
The love she’d felt for James as a girl was gone, but in its place something new and stronger had grown. Their shared memories and the love they’d once had became their new foundation to build upon—a foundation based not on blind, girlish illusions but on reality. A foundation not between the vassal’s daughter and the young lord but between a woman and a man.
James Douglas was not the perfect demigod she’d once revered with a love akin to worship. He was all too human. A man who made mistakes—sometimes egregious ones. Yet somehow she loved him all the more for it. His fallibility made him real and put them on equal footing.
But that was here, in this false world he’d created for them. This temporary paradise of gallivanting across the countryside—laughing, swimming, riding—as the drums of war banged on around them. She was all too aware that it would have to end soon. Every day she expected banners to appear on the horizon with a messenger, or worse, soldiers to take him back to Bruce.
She probably should have sent him away, knowing what he was risking, but the thought of him leaving again tore her apart. How could she be sure he would return and feel the same way? What if his duty called to him again? Though she might think of him as her equal, the rest of the world would not. Would ambition rear its ugly head again, cut off once only to grow back like the mythical hydra?
“You have no reason to be anxious. My stepmother does not bite.”
James had obviously mistaken her silence as they rode toward Park Castle for nervousness at the impending meeting.
She made a face. The formidable Eleanor de Lovaine was an intimidating woman who could make the most stalwart of women shake in her slippers at the prospect of being presented to her.
Of course, Joanna had met Lady Douglas countless times before—including during the week or more she’d spent at Park Castle after her accident—but James had insisted on the formality, and as it seemed important to him, she’d agreed to join them for the midday meal.
“Are you sure about that? She’s never liked me, James, and I suspect she likes me even less now.”
Though he had not repeated his proposal, James had made it clear in everything he did that he meant to marry her.
He shook his head. “You are wrong. She might have been surprised at first, but she has come around to the idea. You’ll recall she and my father did not exactly have a typical courtship.” That was an understatement. It had been quite a scandal at the time when the lord of Douglas had abducted the wealthy widow and forced her into marriage. Given the reputed love between them, however, Joanna suspected that the “force” was mainly to appease a furious king. Speaking of furious kings, she wondered what the Bruce would have to say about James’s marital plans. “She’s quite a romantic at heart,” James added.
A sharp laugh escaped from between her lips. “Are we talking about the same woman? I suspect she would not be satisfied with a queen for you as a wife. Aye, the king could parade all of his sisters before you, and she would probably send them all back until he brought his wife.”
A mysterious smile curled one corner of his mouth. “It isn’t her choice to make. But as I said, she’s come around.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she would have asked him to explain the smile, but they’d arrived and one of the stable lads had come around to help her from her horse.
The moment they entered the hall, Joanna knew she’d been tricked. From the sounds of revelry inside, this was no intimate family meal. She arched a brow. “I didn’t realize you were planning a feast.”
He feigned innocence—and not very well. “Did I not mention that?”
“You did not. What’s the celebration?”
“Nothing.” He gave her a measured look. “Yet.”
Her heart started to pound. Fear and anxiety rushed over her in a cold sweat. James had made no secret of his intentions, and she’d maybe even gotten used to the idea, but that didn’t mean she was ready to make an announcement—or hear another public proposal. “James, I…” Her voice fell off helplessly.
He seemed to understand and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “It will be all right, Jo. I want today to be special for you, that’s all.”
She looked up at him uncertainly, but seeing his sincerity, she nodded.
And it was special. More special than she could have ever dreamed. It seemed every person of consequence in the area had been invited, including her family, who’d somehow managed to keep the feast a secret from her.
There was dancing, pipe playing, and more food and drink than she’d seen since the beginning of the war. The French wine alone must have cost him a fortune. Although trade with other countries like France and Ireland had resumed, it wasn’t without difficulty, and foreign goods—whether French wines, exotic spices, weapons, or cloth—were still rare and expensive.
And at the center of all this celebration and largess was her. James hadn’t left her side since the moment they’d arrived, leading her first to the dais to sit next to him (and be formally presented to his stepmother), and then leading her around the room to greet the rest of the guests. He was making no secret of his intentions. He might have hung a sign around her neck that said
THIS IS THE WOMAN I INTEND TO MARRY.
She felt like a princess, and it would have taken a heart of stone not to be swept away by the romance of it all, at least a little. Maybe more than a little. The past few days of wooing had melted so much of the ice already.
She’d fallen in love with him all over again, if she’d ever stopped, and with every laugh, every spin on the dance floor, every proud “You remember Joanna Dicson, don’t you?” the truth was harder to deny.
But could she trust him enough to marry him?
The excitement of the day was marred only by her growing anxiety, and the sense of building anticipation around her. She couldn’t escape the feeling that something big was going to happen. The question was whether she was ready for it.
It wasn’t until the messenger arrived that she had her answer.
James had just finished leading her back to the dais, when the seneschal approached and whispered something in his ear.
“That’s all right, Roger,” James said. “Let him in. I’ve been expecting him.”
Though James didn’t seem overly worried, something about his words sent a shiver of trepidation whispering up her spine. “Is something wrong?” A horrible thought suddenly occurred to her. “Is it another message from the king?”
He smiled, covering her hand with his. “In a manner of speaking, aye. But don’t worry, there is someone I should like you to meet.”
A moment later, the crowd of revelers parted as a man dressed head to toe in the shiniest mail she’d ever seen—so shiny it seemed to sparkle—wearing a tabard of scarlet and gold strode down the center aisle with all the pomp and arrogance of a king. She’d seen the man before, she realized. It was the same man who James had spoken to that horrible day, the man whom he’d told she was no one.
It wasn’t the memory of those harsh words that chilled her heart, however, but the sight of the dozen soldiers marching in behind him.
She turned to James in horror. “They are coming to take you!”
She started to rise—to what purpose, she didn’t know. She could hardly drag him off. But he held her down. “It’s all right, Jo. Trust me.”
Their eyes met. Trust me. Desperately, she wanted to, but could she? She swallowed—or tried to swallow with her suddenly dry throat—and manag
ed a short nod.
The man had removed his helm, and as he approached, Joanna could see that he was actually quite handsome. Probably close to James’s age, he was dark-haired, dark-eyed, with a short, neatly trimmed beard, and the fine, aquiline features of a prince to go along with the regalia. Though a few inches shorter than James, he was just as broad-shouldered and seemingly—although it was hard to tell beneath the mail—as well muscled.
He stopped before the dais and stared at James for a moment before speaking. With a meaningful glance down the long table still overflowing with food and drink, he said dryly, “This is quite a family emergency, Douglas.” He turned to the Douglas ladies who were seated on James’s other side and executed a formal bow. “Lady Eleanor,” he said to James’s stepmother, and then to his sister, “Lady Elizabeth.”
His gaze fell to Joanna appreciatively before he quirked an eyebrow at James.
James’s eyes narrowed. He turned to her. “Joanna Dicson, may I present Sir Thomas Randolph.”
Joanna’s eyes widened. So this was the Bruce’s nephew and James’s infamous rival. She looked at him appraisingly, a look that he returned twofold.
Finally, he took her hand and gave her a gallant bow. “My lady. Beauty such as yours is not easy to forget. I remember seeing you before; I regret that we did not have a chance to meet.” He shot a smug look at James. “Douglas here doesn’t like competition.”
James made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl low in his throat. “Let go of her damned hand. And I like competition fine—assuming I had any.”
Sir Thomas just smiled. “Glad to hear it.”
Taking up the challenge, he plopped down onto the bench next to her and proceeded to flirt so outrageously with her for the next half hour, she thought the vein bulging at James’s temple would burst.
True to the reputed fierce rivalry between them, Sir Thomas seemed to enjoy seeing how far he could push his friend, and when his hand accidentally landed on hers as they both reached for their goblets, James’s uncharacteristic forbearance found its breaking point. “Do that again, Randy, and I’ll put my dagger through it.”