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  Stepping back had been the only prudent thing to do. But why did he feel that in doing so he’d conceded something he didn’t want to concede?

  Perhaps sensing the direction of Thom’s thoughts, MacLeod said, “It would have to be done at night. We will see to it that no one from the castle is alerted.”

  The king lifted a brow. “You want MacGowan with you?”

  The Highland Chief nodded. “Aye.”

  Thom almost heaved a sigh of relief.

  Randolph shot Douglas a surprised look, at which his old friend just shrugged. They all knew what MacLeod’s command meant: Thom was being recruited by the Phantoms.

  “Very well,” the king agreed. He turned to Thom. “You may be able to help with a few other missions I have in mind.”

  Thom nodded. “I’ll do whatever I can, sire.”

  “My brother says you wish to become a knight?”

  “Aye, sire.”

  “Do well, and I will personally see to it,” he said. Thom was still reeling from the king’s words when Bruce added with an enigmatic laugh in MacLeod’s direction, “Although not everyone sees the value, knighthood still has much to recommend it.” He glanced down at Thom’s horse—a pathetic beast compared to the fine horseflesh ridden by the other men. “You will need to find a better horse.”

  Thom repressed a groan. “I’m working on it.”

  More than one man laughed as they turned their mounts and headed back through the forest to return to the abbey.

  Fortunately, it would be a short stay. With his release from Douglas’s temporary command, Thom would leave the abbey for the siege encampment at the base of Castle Hill—the elevated rise from the west that provided the only accessible entrance to the castle—about a mile away. Staying at Holyrood, being forced to watch Randolph woo his bride, would have been unbearable.

  Thom needed to put his head down and concentrate on the opportunity being given him with the Phantoms. Christ, the king had offered to knight him if he proved himself.

  He was riding at the back of the group with MacRuairi and MacLeod going over a plan to try to get a closer look at the cliff that very night, when he took the opportunity to ask about the king’s earlier remark. “What did the king mean when he said you did not see the value in knighthood?”

  The two West Highland chieftains exchanged a look.

  “We’re Highlanders,” MacLeod said as if that were explanation enough.

  “We have our own code,” MacRuairi added. “The chivalry of knights may make for romantic tales,” he said with an eye to Randolph. Apparently Thom wasn’t the only one not impressed by Randolph’s performance. “But it is not reality, nor does it win wars.” He gave him a slightly evil smile. “You’ll see.”

  Thom frowned. “There are no knights among you?”

  “A few,” MacLeod answered. “But it is secondary to their place in the Guard.”

  The Guard. Thom stored the information away for later.

  “There was another among us for whom it was not secondary,” MacRuairi said with a deadly look on his face. “He lost sight of his place and betrayed us. He fights for the English now.” He practically spat the last.

  Whoever the man was, Thom wouldn’t want to be in his boots if he ever came face-to-face with Lachlan MacRuairi again.

  Thom realized that Sir Neil Campbell, who in addition to being one of Bruce’s oldest friends was also brother to one of the Phantoms, must have overheard some of their conversation when he started prodding Randolph. “I hear you made quite an impression last night, Randolph. I’m surprised you did not call out the trumpeters.”

  Randolph said something Thom didn’t hear, but he suspected it was a suggestion for Campbell to do something that was physically impossible.

  The older battle-hard warrior just laughed. “Douglas’s sister seems too levelheaded to be charmed by such theatrics. That shining knight on a white charger routine isn’t likely to get you very far. I hope you have another plan in the works.”

  Randolph might be arrogant and a bit pompous—if not priggish—but he could give as good as he got. “If it doesn’t, I suppose I can always try your method of wooing.”

  “The hell you will,” Douglas said, obviously not appreciating the jest—Sir Neil had abducted his young bride a few years back.

  Randolph smiled. Thom could see he enjoyed getting a rise out of his friend and rival. “I won’t need to. I think your sister and I see eye to eye on everything.”

  There was something about Randolph’s arrogance—his cocksure confidence—that made Thom want to put a fist through his gleaming white grin.

  But it was the fierce surge of possessiveness that gripped him, which told him he wasn’t quite as over Elizabeth Douglas as he wanted to be.

  The question was, what was he going to do about it?

  Would he take another step back? Concede? Stand aside and do what he was supposed to do? What he’d been doing his entire life?

  Or would he fight for what he wanted?

  Fight for what now seemed possible. As a knight and a member of Bruce’s secret army, he would have something to offer her. And maybe, just maybe, a life together wasn’t a complete fantasy.

  “Are you looking for someone?”

  Startled, Elizabeth turned to the man seated next to her at the high table. She plastered what she hoped was a relaxed smile on her face, although she was anything but. “Who would I be looking for when all of Edinburgh is gathered in this very room?”

  Sir Thomas chuckled. “Aye, you are right about that. My uncle has invited most of the city—well, anyone of import, that is, for today’s meal.” He lowered his voice, a mischievous smile turning his mouth. “I might even call it a feast if this wasn’t the middle of Lent.”

  Elizabeth laughed. It was hard not to be charmed by the vaunted knight. Sir Thomas Randolph, Earl of Moray, was witty, sophisticated, enjoyed the same things she did, knew the same people, and was just wicked enough to make things interesting. She was fortunate indeed. So why was she staring at doorways?

  “Anyone of import.”

  Not quite everyone—at least not to her. She hadn’t seen Thom since the night they’d arrived two days ago. She learned from Jo that he’d left the abbey to join the men in camp laying siege to the castle.

  It was for the best, she knew. But why didn’t it feel that way? Why did her chest squeeze every time she thought of his face that night?

  Was it guilt?

  Whatever it was, it was affecting her interactions with Sir Thomas, and she knew it had to stop. He might begin to think she wasn’t interested, and she couldn’t have that.

  He’d probably talked to her cousin Isabel more than he had her—which was her fault, as she’d made it a point to keep Izzie close to her side whenever he was around. Her cousin, however, didn’t seem very impressed with her soon-to-be-betrothed, and unfortunately Randolph sensed it. He went out of his way to charm her, but it had rather the opposite effect. Izzie watched him with an amused detachment that was halfway between rolled eyes and polite tolerance. Needless to say, Randolph didn’t like it, and Elizabeth sensed his growing frustration with her cousin. She certainly didn’t want that frustration extended to her.

  Turning her full concentration to the man at her side, Elizabeth responded to his irreverence with mock shock. “A feast on a Wednesday during Lent? The abbot would never condone such a thing.”

  Sundays were the only break from fasting during Lent.

  They both glanced down the table to where the abbot sat beside the king with a huge trencher of food before him, and at least one very large goblet of wine. There was no meat, but with all the lampreys, oysters, and fish it was hardly missed.

  Meeting each other’s gazes, they burst into laughter. When more than one person stared at them—including her cousin, who frowned disapprovingly at their loss of decorum—they managed to get themselves under control.

  Randolph took a long swig of wine from his own goblet. “Lent or not, I�€