The Knight (Highland Guard #7.5)(22)
In the smoldering ashes of her love a flash of anger ignited, for herself and for their child. They deserved better. How dare he do this to them—to her. She’d given him everything, and he treated her as if she meant nothing to him.
Whether he would change his mind when he learned about the baby no longer mattered to her. She had changed her mind. She wouldn’t marry him now even if the great James Douglas came crawling to her on his hands and knees.
But what was she going to do? The horror of the situation crashed down on her. She slid to the stair, cradling her stomach in her hands, hating him for making her feel this way. Hating him. Yes, God, she hated him.
Vaguely she was aware of the patter of tiny footsteps approaching. The soft scent of roses wafted through the air a moment before she felt the tentative press of a hand on her shoulder.
“Jo—Joanna, are you all right?”
The dulcet sweet tones were of the past but instantly familiar. Joanna lifted her gaze to the woman leaning over her.
She blinked, the magnificence of the beautiful face looking down on her almost rivaled the sun in sheer brilliance. Bright blue eyes, shimmering flaxen hair, skin so snowy-white it almost sparkled, and tiny, delicate features that belonged on a faerie princess, Elizabeth Douglas looked like something that had descended from the heavens.
Was this really her old friend? Gone was the wild urchin with the unkempt braids and torn skirts who used to run across the countryside with her. The lady standing before her was dressed as richly as a queen with every strand of hair perfectly coiffed beneath a diamond-encrusted circlet of gold and veil so thin it might have been spun from the threads of a spider’s web.
The hand that rested on her shoulder looked as if it had never known a moment’s labor. Soft and white, with perfectly oval-shaped nails bereft of a speck of dirt underneath.
Instinctively, Joanna curled her own hands—with her nails bitten almost to the quick—into her plain brown woolen skirts.
She sucked in her breath as the cruel truth hit her. Oh God! This… this was the kind of woman James would think to marry. A lady. A lady who’d traveled to England or France. A lady who wore fine silks and velvets and jewels. Not a provincial girl with ribbons through her hair, muddy skirts, torn nails, and sun-stained cheeks.
Joanna didn’t need to look back and forth between them to see the differences. They were so obvious, she wondered that she could have been so blind.
Perhaps she hadn’t wanted to see them? Perhaps she’d wanted to pretend and be happy for as long as she could. Perhaps she’d hoped the James she knew as a lad would never become the great knight and important lord that he’d wanted to be. Perhaps she’d hoped he would never achieve his ambition and would remain here with her. Was that it?
“Joanna?” Lady Elizabeth Douglas repeated uncertainly, her voice and face showing even more concern.
Joanna tried to wrench herself from the trance of grief, but seeing Elizabeth had sunk her even deeper. She wanted to burst into tears. She wanted to throw her arms around the sweet girl who’d been her friend and pour out her misery. But things had changed. Everything had changed. Though still sweet and guileless, the clear blue eyes that met hers were also more reserved. There was an awkwardness between them that had never been there before—the awkwardness of two people who’d been friends when rank didn’t matter and now suddenly realized that it did.
Poor Thommy. Suddenly Joanna understood the mountain he must see in front of him when he looked at Elizabeth Douglas. It must seem insurmountable—even to a man who could climb anything.
Elizabeth was still staring at her. Realizing how she must look, pride gave her the strength to get to her feet. “I’m fine,” she managed.
But barely had the lie left her mouth when she swayed. Elizabeth gasped in alarm and caught her by the shoulders. Reserve forgotten, her expression flushed with anger. “You are not fine. You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What did Jamie say to make you so upset?”
Jamie. Only Beth had ever dared to call him that.
Joanna’s heart twisted a little tighter. “It was nothing,” she responded.
Nothing. It was over.
For him that is, but not for her. The child that she’d been so excited about now felt like a badge of shame as the difficult months ahead loomed in front of her. Alone. Disgraced. How would she manage? What kind of life could her child look forward to? Without a father, without a name—she shuddered—a bastard.
Suddenly, Thom’s words came back to her. He would help her. He’d said he would marry her. Selfishly, she wanted to take him up on his offer, knowing it would save her and her child.
But he loved this ethereal, oblivious young woman before her, and if there was any chance…
Her eyes went to Elizabeth, to the woman who looked more like a princess than the possible bride of a blacksmith’s son. Was there a chance?
“I’m sorry, my lady,” Joanna said. “It was lovely to see you, but I have to go. I have to find Thom before he leaves.”
Had she not been watching carefully, she might have missed it, but there was an unmistakable flicker in Lady Elizabeth’s gaze. It was too fleeting, however, to decipher.
Her childhood friend stiffened, looking every inch the noblewoman. “Leaves?” she repeated.
Joanna kept her gaze plastered on Elizabeth’s face. “Aye, did he not tell you? He’s leaving the village to pledge his service to Edward Bruce.”