The Rogue: A Highland Guard Novella (The Highland Guard) Read online

  Christ. Just thinking about it made his face flush. To a man of his experience it was bloody humiliating.

  But he hadn’t felt lust like that in a while. Hell, he couldn’t remember ever feeling lust like that—although he was sure that he must have at some point. He frowned. Of course, he must have.

  Still, the lack of control had been a surprise. As had been that kiss. How had it spun out of control so quickly? One minute he’d been thinking that he had to taste her, and the next he’d been thinking about wrapping her legs around his hips and swiving her senseless.

  She’d been so warm and soft and surprisingly sweet, he’d found himself drowning. Melting. Losing all sense of time and place and right and wrong. He was about to ask her cousin to marry him, for Devil’s sake! What had he been thinking?

  He knew exactly what he’d been thinking. He’d been thinking how good she felt, and how he wanted to feel all that soft warmth surrounding him.

  But it was her passionate response that undid him. That he hadn’t anticipated. Although perhaps he should have. A woman who laughed so freely and with such ease would know how to find pleasure in life.

  Find pleasure. He nearly groaned. An image of her lying in his bed—naked—with her hand stroking between her legs while he watched made him hard all over again.

  Bloody hell, he shouldn’t be thinking things like that. Not when they were seated practically on top of one another. He shifted in his seat, but it didn’t do any good. They were still touching, and his cock was still rock hard and throbbing uncomfortably in his suddenly too-tight braies.

  Damn these benches to hell! It seemed like half the nobles in the city were crammed around the long trestle table on the dais. There was one man in particular he wouldn’t mind knocking off, although until about a half hour ago, he’d considered Sir Gilbert de la Haye a good friend.

  Lady Isabel laughed for what must have been the fifth or sixth time—not that he was counting, blast it!—and Randolph felt the muscles at the back of his neck bunch. What the Devil was de la Haye saying to her? Randolph had never known him to be so bloody amusing. The respected knight in the king’s retinue was about as stoic and serious as they came. But Lady Isabel seemed to find him hilarious.

  Randolph gritted his teeth, but he couldn’t help listening. She had the most entrancing laugh. It was soft and soothing, like the gentle tinkle of water over rocks in a slow running burn. And there was something oddly contagious about it—something that made him want to laugh, too, despite his irritation.

  Why the hell was he so irritated anyway? He should be glad she was trying to make the best of a decidedly awkward situation by shamelessly flirting with de la Haye. It was so obvious that she was trying to make him jealous. Randolph knew she could not be as immune to him as she was pretending—he’d seen that blush earlier.

  Although she certainly wasn’t acting like she was aware of him at all right now. But that’s what it had to be—an act. She couldn’t be pressed up against him and not be thinking about that kiss. Not when he—who had far more experiences in these things—could think of nothing else.

  She leaned over to listen to something de la Haye was saying in a low voice. The sly bastard had done it on purpose! The movement caused her bodice to shift, revealing at least another half inch of the perfect swell of her breasts. Randolph went rigid with rage when de la Haye glanced down into that deep cleft… Bloody hell, the blackguard! Randolph’s fist might have ended up through the other man’s teeth rather than squeezing around his goblet until his knuckles turned white if his aunt hadn’t said something.

  “Is something wrong, nephew?” his aunt Margaret asked with a smile—she loved teasing him about her supposed position of seniority despite their differences in age. “I asked how the siege was going, but I guess you didn’t hear me?” She glanced at Lady Isabel with a little too much understanding.

  The glance acted like a hard shake of sanity. What the hell was he doing? He’d given his word to Douglas that he would ask for his sister. He wouldn’t go back on that. He’d worked too hard to put past mistakes behind him and was careful about everything he did—extremely careful. Besides, Elizabeth Douglas was perfect for him and exactly what he wanted in a wife. She wasn’t just rich, beautiful, and well connected—all of which were important—she loved the excitement of court life as much as he did. She was well versed in many subjects, understood the politics of court, and would be an asset to his plans. He shouldn’t be dallying with her cousin. Admittedly, it wasn’t the first time he’d found himself in an unexpected passionate embrace with a woman, but he sure as hell didn’t go around ravishing virgins. Until today, that is.

  He had to put a stop to this. If his aunt was noticing something between them, anyone could. At the first opportunity, he would talk to Lady Isabel and apologize. As young and inexperienced as she was, she was probably confused, and he didn’t want her to get the wrong idea about what had happened.

  For now, however, he turned his full attention to his aunt, answering her questions about the siege, which frankly wasn’t progressing at all. The English didn’t seem inclined to surrender any time soon, and Randolph knew that if the Scots were going to take the castle before Edward of England marched next summer, they’d have to think of something inventive. He wasn’t going to let Douglas get the better of him, damn it.

  When he’d heard about Thom MacGowan’s climbing skills in rescuing Douglas’s brother, Randolph had gone to his uncle with an idea about putting those skills to use in Edinburgh. But apparently Castle Rock, as the cliff upon which Edinburgh Castle sat was known, was even too dangerous for MacGowan’s extraordinary climbing skills. But Randolph wasn’t giving up completely on the idea of finding a route up through the cliff. It was too tantalizing a prospect. Climbing a cliff no one had ever climbed before to take a castle? It would make him a legend.

  The evening meal wasn’t the prolonged affair of the usual midday meal, and given the Lenten season and that they were in an abbey, it was also fairly subdued. It wasn’t long before the king stood, signaling the unofficial end to the meal, and the others began to follow.

  As soon as Randolph heard Lady Isabel start to thank de la Haye for “such an enjoyable meal,” he was ready.

  “A moment, my lady. If you don’t mind, there is something I would like to talk to you about before you retire.”

  She frowned. If he wasn’t so certain that her indifference was an act, he might think that his request was an imposition.

  “I’m quite tired, my lord. Do you mind if we wait until tomorrow? Sir Gilbert has offered to escort me to the guesthouse.”

  It certainly sounded as if it were an imposition as well. It was his turn to frown. “I am happy to escort you. I’m sure Sir Gilbert won’t mind.”

  He gave his longtime companion-in-arms a look of warning, which the other man heeded with a speculative lift of his brow. “Not at all,” de la Haye said gamely. He wasn’t a fool. He wouldn’t challenge a warrior of Randolph’s skill. But de la Haye also wouldn’t back down completely, and added provocatively to Isabel, “As long as you promise I may do so another night this week.”

  If he was trying to anger Randolph—which he probably was—it worked. Randolph’s eyes narrowed, and the other man smiled as if he’d just made an interesting discovery. Whatever de la Haye thought he knew, he was wrong. Randolph wasn’t jealous. He didn’t get jealous. It was a wasted emotion—as so many emotions were. He liked women, they liked him. Why did it need to be any more complicated than that? Keep it simple. He’d seen too many of his friends act like idiots over women. But he was fortunate to be immune to those kinds of feelings. And he had no intention of letting that change. His focus was on one thing and one thing only: winning the war and cementing his position as Robert the Bruce’s greatest knight.

  Douglas might disagree with that title—especially after his dramatic taking of Roxburgh Castle—but Randolph had no doubt that he would come out on top. If he could just figure out a way to