The Knight(38)

Though she was conscious of the towering man at his side, she kept her gaze fixed on her father, as she slowly made her way down the center aisle of the otherwise empty Hall. Her mother was no longer seated by the fire and the servants who should be setting out the tables for the midday meal were nowhere to be found.

She stopped a few feet away. “Father,” she said. Then, knowing she couldn’t avoid him any longer, she turned to James and dropped her head in a deferential bob. “My lord.” She lifted her gaze long enough to see his mouth tighten (presumably at the bob, which she’d never given him before), and then quickly turned back to her father. “You asked to see me?”

The normally jovial expression on her father’s face was gone. His countenance was harder than she’d ever seen it, but it softened with concern when he looked at her. “Aye. The young lord has asked for permission to speak with you. I have granted it.”

From his voice, she could tell that it had not been granted easily.

Joanna knew she should refuse—God knew they’d caused each other enough pain the last time they’d “talked”—but after assuming he’d never want to speak with her again, she was also curious as to what he had to say.

Perhaps sensing her hesitation, James spoke for the first time. “Please, Joanna, it is important.”

The quiet urgency of his tone surprised her. As did the look in his eyes when their gazes finally locked. He was pleading with her, which was ridiculous. James Douglas didn’t plead.

“Please,” he repeated, belying her thoughts.

Her chest squeezed. The small sign of weakness made her want to refuse.

“Listen to him, daughter,” her father said. “Then you can decide whether you want me to send him away.”

She looked back and forth between the two men, men who used to act more like father and son than vassal and lord, but now stood in stiff anger, and felt her chest squeeze again. She might not be able to do anything to repair the damage that had been done to her relationship with James, but she could do something about her relationship with her father. She would not let what had happened between her and James come between them. She, too, had a duty. Finally, she nodded.

The moment her father left, Joanna wanted to call him back. Her nerves were jumping, and she had to clasp her hands together to prevent them from twisting.

Perhaps sensing her nervousness, James said, “Will you walk with me outside?”

She nodded gratefully and walked alongside him as he led her out of the Hall and down the wooden stairs to the yard.

He didn’t say anything, nor did he take her arm as he usually did, but he seemed to be doing his best to give her time to get used to him again. But his presence was never anything she could get used to. Awareness leapt to every one of her nerve endings and filled her senses whenever he was near. Just the way he smelled—always so clean with the faintest tinge of soap—made her feel as if she’d drunk one too many goblets of wine.

They crossed the small yard and exited the gate in the wooden palisade. It was a warm spring day and the heather that blanketed the ground around the castle had started to bloom in vibrant shades of purple. Consciously or not, he started to walk toward the hills—their hills—and she stopped him. “What is it you want, James?”





You, James thought. But he didn’t say it, not wanting to do anything to scare her off. She was like a startled hare right now, one wrong move, and she would run.

He tugged the coif at his neck, which suddenly felt too tight. Actually everything felt too tight. And though the day wasn’t hot, he could feel that his skin was slick with sweat.

Bloody hell, he was nervous. More nervous than he could ever recall being in his life. Even when he’d been a lad of eight and ten and allowed Lamberton to convince him to try to appeal to the English king, and Edward had launched into one of his terrifying Angevin fits of temper that had sent James racing from the castle for his life with that crude title following after him. Lord of the Garderobe. He told himself he’d forgotten the shame—that it had stung a lad’s pride, not a man’s. His reaction to Joanna’s ill-fated choice of words proved him wrong.

But he was a man, and it was time he start acting like one.

He drew a deep breath. “I came to tell you that you were right. You deserve far better than I gave you, Jo. And the man who left you with child and made you feel like you weren’t good enough to be his wife isn’t fit to clean your garderobe.”

Her face twisted with remorse. “I’m sorry, James. I didn’t realize what I was saying until it was too late. I never meant to hurt you like that.”