The Knight(33)

“Whether you meant it doesn’t matter. It was for the best. It forced me to see the truth. I loved you too much, and that wasn’t good for either one of us.”

“Stop talking in the past tense, damn it. It isn’t over.”

The look in her eyes told him differently. “Go, James. I do not want you here. I don’t want to see you again. If you ever cared for me, just leave me be.”

And with that, she turned and walked toward the cottage.

He let her go—for now. But he had no intention of letting her walk away from him forever. He loved her and damn it, he would do whatever he had to do to get her back.





“Is something wrong?” Sir David asked as he was leading her back to the bench at the dais. “Was the dance too much?”

Joanna glanced up into his concerned gaze and managed a small smile. “The dance was perfect. The reel is my favorite.”

Another song started up, and he had to raise his voice over the lively tunes of the musicians. “Then is it something else? Are your injuries hurting you, are you in pain—”

She stopped him with a touch on the arm. “I’m perfectly hale. Truly, there is nothing to worry about.”

Unconsciously, she scanned the room, relaxing only once she assured herself that he wasn’t here. Had he really gone so easily? She hoped so. Of course she did.

Sir David studied her with a pinched brow. “Do you know that’s about the tenth time since you arrived that you’ve looked around the Hall like the bogeyman is about to jump out?”

She was about to lift her thumb to her mouth, but bit her lip instead. “It is?”

He nodded, patiently waiting—not demanding—for her to continue. She heaved a deep sigh and told him. “James came to see me after you left.”

She could feel him tense at her side. Every muscle in his body seemed to flare. Apparently, in addition to the instinct to rescue, the urge to defend and protect ran just as strong in him. Knights! It must have something to do with the sword and armor.

But he bit back whatever threats had sprung to his lips and took her hand, pulling her toward a quieter corner in the Hall near the edge of the wooden screen behind the dais. “Are you all right?”

No, she wasn’t all right. The shaking inside that had started the moment she’d left James standing by the burn still threatened to shatter her carefully constructed resolve. It had taken everything she had to watch him ride away without a backward glance and not fall into a sobbing heap at her cousin’s feet. Seeing him again, hearing his words of love, and then seeing the shock and hurt when he realized she would not be swayed, had taken every ounce of her resolve. When it was over she felt spent, utterly drained, and weak.

She’d done the right thing, but never had she imagined how hard it would be to do it.

James had been everything to her for so long; seeing him again had brought it all back. The love she’d once had for him was gone, but vestiges of it remained in her memories—and in her body. Aye, her physical reaction to him was just as strong as it had been before. Her nerve endings didn’t know they shouldn’t flare, her skin didn’t know it shouldn’t tighten, her cheeks didn’t know they shouldn’t flush, and her nipples didn’t know they shouldn’t harden.

She couldn’t see that tall, strong body and not remember how solid it felt on top of her—how he felt surging inside her. The memory of his skin sliding against hers, the heat of his body, the feel of the hard muscles under her hands…

Longing rose up sharply in her chest and pinched.

Every time he’d touched her earlier had been torture. She was so used to touching him back, she’d had to grabs fistfuls of her skirts to prevent herself from doing so.

But she’d done it. She’d confronted him and weathered the storm of emotions. She was battered perhaps, but still standing.

It was for the best. She’d meant what she said: James Douglas was her past. Today she’d taken the final step in making that a reality.

Sir David’s concern and care for her feelings touched her. “I will be fine,” she said, realizing it was the truth. “It was difficult, but it had to be done at some point.” She managed another smile. “Frankly, I’m glad to have it over with.”

Something hardened in Sir David’s expression. He was looking over her shoulder at the Hall behind them. “Maybe not as over with as you’d hoped.”

She turned and her heart caught. Staring at them with the black, deadly look on his face that had earned him his epithet was James.

He strode toward them—stormed, more accurately—practically shoving people out of his way as he wound through the celebrating crowd.