The Knight (Highland Guard #7.5)(32)
He took her arm and turned her back to him, his face a mask of anger, jealousy, and something else. Something that if she didn’t know better she would think was fear. “What are you doing with Lindsay? You can’t marry him!”
She knew that, but he had no right to say it. “Why not? Am I not good enough for him? He has never made me feel that way, James. He doesn’t care that I am ‘only the marshal’s daughter.’”
Shame swept over his darkly handsome features. “I’m sorry, Jo. I didn’t mean it that way. I was angry. I wasn’t thinking. You have always been everything to me.”
“But not everything enough to honor with your name or even warrant an introduction to your friends.” Emotion strangled her, closing her throat and piercing her eyes. Damn him for doing this to her. She’d sworn not to talk about this, not to think about this. It was over. Done. But that kiss had brought it all back to the surface, the pain as raw and clawing as if it had been yesterday. “I deserve better, do not blame me for trying to find it. Now let me go. I do not hate you, James, but keep forcing yourself on me like this and I will.”
Knowing she was seconds away from bursting into tears and ruining everything, she took advantage of his shock and shot past him.
But she wasn’t quick enough. She’d barely slid around the partition wall back into the Hall when he caught her arm.
“Let go of me!”
Oblivious to anyone around her, she struggled to detach herself from his hold before her tears betrayed her. She flailed wildly like some kind of madwoman, but he held her firm.
“Stop it, Joanna! Damn it, stop it!” His grip tightened on her arm, as he drew her up to face him. His expression was just as wild and furious as she suspected hers must be. “Fine. If you are going to be stubborn about this, I’ll put it all aside. I’ll ignore my duty, my father’s wishes, and give up the chance to advance my clan and marry you.” He shook her again. “I’ll marry you, damn it. Is that what you want?”
CHAPTER NINE
James wasn’t thinking. He didn’t hear that the music had stopped; he didn’t feel the curious gazes upon them, or notice that they’d become the center of attention; he was oblivious to everything but the woman who was trying to walk out of his life.
She meant it. Every word, and he knew if he didn’t do something to hold on to her, Joanna would be lost to him forever. So he’d blurted out the hastily—awkwardly—constructed proposal without realizing what he was saying. Or rather, how badly he was saying it.
But the look of horror, followed quickly by anger so piercing it could skewer as deeply as any knife, alerted him that he’d made a mistake. An egregious one.
She lifted her chin, stood straight and proud as any princess, and threw him a look of such scorn, he felt about as big as a bug under her tiny slipper. “That isn’t what I want. Actually it’s the last thing I want. You were wrong, James Douglas. It is you who are not good enough for me. I would sooner marry the lad who cleans the garderobe than I would you.”
She stopped suddenly, as if she realized what she’d just said. Her eyes widened with horror—and perhaps even silent apology.
But it was too late. He heard the gasps. The uncomfortable twittering. The snickers that were not quite muffled behind the coughs.
Blood roared in his head. Heat crawled over his skin. The humiliation as sharp and cutting as the one that had come six years before.
Lord of the Garderobe. His ears blared. His eyes saw only red.
Releasing her, he took a harsh step back. His back was as rigid as a poleaxe.
“James, I’m sorry. That’s not what I—”
“I believe I’ve had your answer, my lady. I will not trouble you again.”
Jaw locked, he strode past her without another glance. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself not to show the humiliation he was feeling, forced the heat from his face by sheer strength of will. He even managed to bow to his host as he left. Lindsay’s expression was grim but otherwise unreadable. If the other man was pleased by the turn of events, he did not show it.
Not even when the sunlight hit James’s face as he exited the tower and called for his mount did he release the tight mask of control that held his emotions in check. He kept that mask in place until it hardened into stone and he couldn’t feel anything.
By the time he rode back into camp in the forest of Galloway the next evening, the dead feeling inside him had turned to anger. To hell with her. She’d made her choice. He wouldn’t beg. Joanna Dicson had embarrassed him enough.
But strangely, as he lay in bed later than night, staring up at the thick coated wool walls of the tent, it wasn’t his hurt pride that kept him awake. It was the feeling of loss so painful that it felt as if it were tearing open a big, gaping wound across his chest.
The next morning he was ordered to the king’s tent to explain his actions. As James had anticipated, the king wasn’t pleased by his sudden disappearance.
Robert the Bruce sat behind the table that served as his desk while on campaign, studying him with far more scrutiny than was comfortable. “Aye, well next time you have an emergency, I would prefer that you advise me before leaving.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “Unless you intend to challenge me for this chair, I’m still king.”
James usually enjoyed the jests about his ambition as much as the king did, but today he had to force a smile to his lips. Was he that bad? Had his quest to achieve his family’s greatness become too focused?