“You try to throw me off or bite me tomorrow, and the next time I need you, it will be for the fellmonger. Do we understand each other?”
The horse—to which she now realized he was speaking—made a loud snorting sound, apparently not too worried about its hide.
Elizabeth couldn’t hold back her laughter. “I see you haven’t lost your charm around horses. I don’t think he believes you. Rather than issuing threats, you might try a lump of sugar.”
Thom scowled at her, whether for the interruption or for simply being there, she didn’t know. Probably both. “I tried that. The demonic beast nearly took off my hand.”
Elizabeth stepped forward, moving around him, having care not to let their bodies brush. The warm, sultry air of the stables was not conducive to forgetting what had happened in the kitchens. Concentrate on the smell, she told herself. But the pungent earthy aroma of animals wasn’t distracting her flaring nerve endings.
“He probably senses that you don’t like him,” she said. “I’ve told you a hundred times horses are sensitive creatures.”
Thom made a sharp sound. “Sensitive my ars—” He stopped, remembering his company. “Not this one. He’s stubborn, pigheaded, ornery, and foul tempered.”
Elizabeth shot him a look that said the horse might have something in common with someone else she knew.
Making a cooing sound as if she was gentling her nephew, she reached out her hand—palm turned up—and let the horse sniff her for a moment. Telling him that he was a good boy, she stroked his neck and muzzle. The horse showed his pleasure in the stroking by lowering his ears and giving a soft nicker.
“Aye, I can see what you mean,” she said, her mouth twitching. “He’s a real black-hearted devil, isn’t he?”
Thom stood back, watching her with glaring eyes and crossed arms. “Do you charm snakes as well?”
She grinned. “I’ll let you know.”
His eyes narrowed, and she laughed again. God, she’d missed this. She’d missed him.
Elizabeth held the horse’s mouth down with the lead rope and continued petting him, while Thom grumbled (something about the horse being a traitor), finished putting out some fresh hay (peppered with a few carrots and apples, she noticed), and checked the saddle and reins for the following day. He obviously took his riding seriously.
When he was done, he finally turned to her. “Did you want something, Elizabeth?”
The note of impatience in his voice made her bristle; it also reminded her of her purpose. “I wished to thank you for what you did for Archie.”
“You’re welcome. Now if that is all . . .”
He tried to walk past her but she stepped in front of him, putting her hand on his chest. It was a mistake. She could feel the beat of his heart under the solid shield of steel. That heady, warm feeling came over her again.
She jerked her hand back and shook off the haze. “No it is not all. Why did you lie to me? Why did you let me think I could persuade you, when you’d already been ordered to go?”
He didn’t have the decency to look ashamed by her discovery. In fact, he looked amused. “As I recall, I wasn’t the one who was bargaining. You were. If you didn’t like the terms you shouldn’t have offered them.”
Elizabeth’s cheeks fired. “But you said . . .”
She gazed up at him stricken, realizing the truth. He hadn’t said anything.
“Did I?” he asked idly. “Or did you just make a lot of assumptions?”
The latter. She was the one to put her body and then a kiss into the negotiations. But he’d still tricked her. “You could have told me it wasn’t necessary. Instead you let me . . .” She was too embarrassed to get the words out and looked away.
“Lower yourself?” he filled in, although that wasn’t what she’d been about to say. Act like a wanton. “Aye, well, I wasn’t in the best state of mind. I was furious. You found me at an inopportune time.”
She remembered exactly how she’d found him, and the woman who’d been touching him. “You mean I interrupted your plans so you just decided to take advantage of another opportunity?”
He looked confused for a moment, but then one corner of his mouth lifted. “Aye, something like that.”
She stared at him, feeling as if a big, heavy lump of ore was burning in her chest. “You’ve changed, Thom.”
The disappointment in her voice seemed to spark his temper. “Why? Because I didn’t keep my hands to myself like a good lad? Because I took you up on your offer? Or because I made the perfect little princess feel something as base as lust?” She gasped, outraged, but he continued. “What you are seeing now has always been there; you just haven’t wanted to see it.”
“You’re wrong. The boy I knew would never try to purposefully hurt me. I know you are angry, but this is not who you are—you are better than this.”
The locking of his jaw was the only indication he’d heard her. “Maybe you didn’t know me as well as you thought you did.”
“Maybe you are right,” she threw back angrily. “I knew a young lad who mourned the loss of his mother but who was too proud even at ‘almost nine’ to let anyone know that he cried for her. I knew a lad who would laugh for hours at horrible jokes to make a little girl happy. I knew a lad who comforted an eight-year-old child who had lost her father and been left penniless in a cruel world. I knew a lad who never once asked what happened in those difficult years, but seemed to understand anyway. I knew a lad who would clear a place for me by the forge and let me watch him work, who climbed towers to spend hours telling me stories under the stars, who was a good son, a good brother, and a good friend—the best. Who was honorable and kind, and always did what was right. That was what I saw in you, Thommy. God, I never even noticed how ridiculously handsome you are! I was so dazzled by the person on the inside—the person who I thought was my friend—that was all I could see.”
Thom was thunderstruck. He didn’t know what to say. He’d wronged her, he realized, blaming her for not loving him, when in fact she had. Not the way he wanted her to perhaps, but she’d loved him all the same.
He swore and raked his fingers through his hair, feeling like an arse. A ridiculously handsome one—which shouldn’t please him as much as it did.
She was right. This wasn’t who he was. He’d cut off her attempts to re-establish the friendship between them to protect himself. But there was a difference between self-protection and how he’d lashed out at her in the kitchens. He’d had a right to be angry—but not at her.
But Elizabeth was caught up in her own anger and didn’t give him a chance to apologize. “Maybe it is you who doesn’t know me as well as you thought you did. You claimed to love me, but what you loved doesn’t exist—it never has. You saw a little girl in a castle and held her up as some kind of unattainable object. Something out of reach and untouchable, like a pretty statue of painted marble. But I’ve never asked to be on a pedestal, you just put me there. I don’t sit on thrones wearing gold robes or float around in a faerie garden with butterflies flittering around my head always smiling and happy. And I’m sure as Hades not perfect.” She shuddered with disgust. “Sometimes I’m stubborn, sometimes I’m too proud, sometimes I get angry and say things that are insensitive, and sometimes I make unwise decisions—which you should be well aware of after what happened the other night.” She paused to take a deep breath. “I think that also proved that I’m far from untouchable—actually, quite the opposite; I rather like being touched.” He barely heard the next words, as his head had just exploded. “So who knows who best, Thom?”
He ignored the subtle taunt of his name, grabbed her by the elbow, and hauled her up against him. “What do you mean you rather like being touched?”
She sputtered, clearly exasperated. “After everything I just said, that is what you focus on?”
Damned right it was. He might have growled and drew her a little closer with a shake. “Like being touched by whom?”
She blinked up at him.
/> “Randolph?” Thom demanded furiously. “Or do I call him Moray now? Do you ‘like’ when your betrothed touches you?”
Elizabeth jerked out of his hold. “Randolph? He hasn’t . . .” She pursed her mouth angrily. “I meant you.” Thom relaxed—marginally. “And he’s not my betrothed,” she pointed out.
“Yet.”
“Yet,” she agreed.
“You did not think to mention that little detail to me?”
“I wasn’t hiding anything,” she said, clearly trying not to sound defensive—and failing.
“Weren’t you?”
Her mouth flattened in a stubborn line he recognized only too well, as he’d been seeing it since she was six. “My betrothal has nothing to do with you and me.”
The muscles in his neck were drawn so tight he could feel them twitching. “I think your soon-to-be betrothed might disagree. I suspect he’d be very interested in what happened between ‘you and me’ in the kitchens.”
She flushed guiltily, but then straightened her spine. “That was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”
The fact that he agreed didn’t make it any easier to hear. He clenched his fists at his sides so he wouldn’t be tempted to draw her back into his arms and wipe that haughty purse off her mouth.
“And the fact that you like when I touch you? Does that have nothing to do with him either?”
His voice was huskier than he intended. The damned warm air in the stable was getting to him—as was the soft scent rising up from her hair. She always smelled so good.
But the warm sensations fired by her closeness were quickly banished by her next words. “Why should it? I’m certain I shall like it when he touches me as well.”
Thom didn’t think he’d ever moved that fast. He spun her around and had her backed up against the wall in seconds flat. With his hands planted on either side of her head, he leaned in threateningly. “What the hell do you mean by that?”
She glared at him, her eyes spitting blue sparks. If he’d been trying to intimidate her, it clearly hadn’t worked. He was one of the biggest, strongest men in camp, and she pushed him back with one dainty finger on his chest. Christ.
“Why shouldn’t I? Now that I know what to expect, I imagine it will be even more pleasant. From what I’ve heard, he’s had enough practice.”
Could a head explode twice? His was certainly in danger of doing so. He could feel the hot pressure pounding in his skull. “It’s that simple, is it? Now that you’ve experienced passion, it’s all the same, is that it? It doesn’t matter who is touching you?”
“No, of course not!” She frowned. “Why are you always trying to confuse me and put words in my mouth? I just meant there was no reason to think I won’t enjoy—”
“Don’t say it,” he warned darkly, his mouth only inches from hers. If he heard one more word about her and Randolph, he was going to forget every vow, every promise he’d made to himself not to touch her again.
He knew it was her innocence speaking—that she’d convinced herself that what had happened between them wasn’t anything special. Just as he knew that what had exploded between them, what had made a kiss descend into nearly mindless passion in a matter of minutes, was a rare gift. But knowing didn’t make it any easier to hear.
Wisely, she closed her mouth. She must have realized how close he’d been to kissing her, because this time when she edged away, she eyed him cagily.
Slowly the rush of blood surging through his veins stopped pounding and his pulse returned to normal. Air—as opposed to fire—was once more blowing in and out of his lungs.
“I don’t want you to hate me, Thom,” she said in a small voice. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“I know—and I don’t.” It would be infinitely easier if he did.
She brightened, and the pure radiance of her smile was like a beam of sunlight streaming through his chest.
The ice that had been encased around his heart for three years began to melt, and God help him, he didn’t know how to make it stop.
13
IT DIDN’T TAKE ELIZABETH long to realize what Joanna was up to—her sister-in-law would never be characterized as subtle.
The slighted walls of the once great Roxburgh Castle were still visible on the horizon behind them when Joanna caught sight of Thom riding by with a few of Bruce’s secret warriors and called him over under the pretext of introducing him to Izzie. The exchange would have been brief had Joanna not proceeded to regale her cousin with a seemingly endless stream of tales from their youth. “Oh, Thom, you must tell her about . . .” and “Elizabeth, don’t you remember when . . . ?” were uttered so many times she lost count.
She might have been grateful—the time forced riding together eased a great deal of the lingering awkwardness between her and Thom—were it not for her kinswoman’s reaction. Her pretty cousin, who was as clear-eyed, hard to impress, and seemingly impervious to charm as any young woman of her acquaintance, was utterly and completely dazzled.
Thom was barely out of earshot (after he was called away by Tor MacLeod and Joanna finally had to let him go—apparently even Joanna hesitated to defy the intimidating Island chief), when Izzie turned to her accusingly. “Good, gracious! That is your smithy’s son?”
Elizabeth glared at her. “He is not my—”
“You neglected to mention that he is jaw-droppingly gorgeous.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together, not quite sure why she was so annoyed by the observation. Was it because it had taken her so long to realize the same thing? “I hadn’t noticed,” she grumbled.
Izzie looked at her as if she must be blind—something that Elizabeth was beginning to wonder herself. But her eyes had been opened. They were wide open, blast it.
Fortunately, her cousin shifted her attention to Joanna. “My God, those eyes—those unbelievably blue eyes—contrasted against that black, wavy hair.” She sighed dreamily.
“It isn’t black,” Elizabeth said unthinkingly. Both sets of eyes turned to her, and she could feel the heat staining her cheeks. “It’s almost black, but when the sun is shining on it, you can see that it’s more a dark sable brown . . .”
Izzie’s brows shot up in perfect tandem; Joanna’s smile was so wide she’d best have care not to swallow a bug.
Feeling their scrutiny, she blurted, “Randolph is dark haired as well. And exceedingly handsome.”
“Is that so?” Izzie said thoughtfully.
Elizabeth nodded. It was definitely dark—although she’d be hard-pressed to say the shade.
“And his eyes?” Izzie asked curiously. “Are they dark or light?”
Elizabeth tried to picture him, but the image wasn’t very sharp. Realizing Izzie was trying to make some kind of point, she scowled at her. “Light.”
“Blue like your smithy’s son’s?”
Elizabeth gritted her teeth, refusing to be baited. He wasn’t hers, blast it. And what did it matter what color eyes Randolph had? Or that she’d never noticed. “Yes,” she said, hoping she was right.
“Hmm.”
Apparently her cousin was taking “hmm” lessons from her sister-in-law.
Ignoring them both, Elizabeth rode in miffed silence for the remainder of the morning, mostly talking to Helen MacKay, who was having difficulty with her fidgety young son and fortunately hadn’t heard the earlier conversation. Elizabeth didn’t know why she was so annoyed, only that she was. By the time they stopped to water the horses, however, her good humor had returned. She was laughing with Izzie about Uilleam’s latest antics—apparently, he’d decided that food tasted better after it was dropped on the floor—when she heard Joanna exclaim, “Oh no. I thought something was wrong. Look at that”—she pointed to his left rear hoof—“my horse is losing a shoe.”
Joanna could see the faintest edge of metal sliding out from under the horse’s hoof.
She turned to Elizabeth. “Be a darling and see if you can find Thommy. He may have a hammer.”
“Have
you ever seen Thommy shoe a horse?” It wasn’t a pretty sight. “I’m sure one of Jamie’s men—”
Joanna waved her off—seemingly uncaringly. “Izzie can go if you are too tired.”
“I’d be happy to . . .” Izzie started.
“I’ll do it,” Elizabeth said over her. The sly fox.
So she went to ask Thom if he could help. Knowing how much he despised shoeing, he agreed with a surprising lack of hesitation. Of course, it was for Jo.
After he’d fixed the shoe—with Elizabeth unconsciously taking her position as horse distracter as she’d done when they were young so he wouldn’t get kicked—Joanna insisted he share some of the sugared biscuits the cook had given her, which were accompanied by more reminiscing, until Jamie came upon the cheerful scene and promptly sent Thom away to scout ahead of them.
The first time might have been by chance, the second by coincidence, but when they finally made camp for the night, and Joanna insisted over Jamie’s objection that Thom dine with them “after all his help,” her brother wasn’t the only one who realized what was going on. But Joanna was impervious to his dark glares and Elizabeth’s chastising frowns.
As she’d noted, subtlety wasn’t one of her sister-in-law’s strengths.
But Elizabeth couldn’t pretend that she minded Joanna’s efforts to throw them together. It was nice to be around Thom again—even if it wasn’t quite as easy and uncomplicated as it used to be. At least for her. She was far too aware of what had happened between them. Every time she looked at him, she remembered how his mouth had felt on hers, how he’d tasted, the heat of his tongue sliding in her mouth, the feel of his hands on her body—and then the more wicked memories hit her. The feel of his hardness between her legs, the weight of his body pressed against hers, the intimate stroking, the burgeoning pleasure, and the shattering euphoria that had followed. How did one act normally with a man when they had shared something like that?
She didn’t know.
But when the time to fetch him came, Joanna didn’t need to ask her, Elizabeth volunteered.