The Knight(44)

It wasn’t until the messenger arrived that she had her answer.

James had just finished leading her back to the dais, when the seneschal approached and whispered something in his ear.

“That’s all right, Roger,” James said. “Let him in. I’ve been expecting him.”

Though James didn’t seem overly worried, something about his words sent a shiver of trepidation whispering up her spine. “Is something wrong?” A horrible thought suddenly occurred to her. “Is it another message from the king?”

He smiled, covering her hand with his. “In a manner of speaking, aye. But don’t worry, there is someone I should like you to meet.”

A moment later, the crowd of revelers parted as a man dressed head to toe in the shiniest mail she’d ever seen—so shiny it seemed to sparkle—wearing a tabard of scarlet and gold strode down the center aisle with all the pomp and arrogance of a king. She’d seen the man before, she realized. It was the same man who James had spoken to that horrible day, the man whom he’d told she was no one.

It wasn’t the memory of those harsh words that chilled her heart, however, but the sight of the dozen soldiers marching in behind him.

She turned to James in horror. “They are coming to take you!”

She started to rise—to what purpose, she didn’t know. She could hardly drag him off. But he held her down. “It’s all right, Jo. Trust me.”

Their eyes met. Trust me. Desperately, she wanted to, but could she? She swallowed—or tried to swallow with her suddenly dry throat—and managed a short nod.

The man had removed his helm, and as he approached, Joanna could see that he was actually quite handsome. Probably close to James’s age, he was dark-haired, dark-eyed, with a short, neatly trimmed beard, and the fine, aquiline features of a prince to go along with the regalia. Though a few inches shorter than James, he was just as broad-shouldered and seemingly—although it was hard to tell beneath the mail—as well muscled.

He stopped before the dais and stared at James for a moment before speaking. With a meaningful glance down the long table still overflowing with food and drink, he said dryly, “This is quite a family emergency, Douglas.” He turned to the Douglas ladies who were seated on James’s other side and executed a formal bow. “Lady Eleanor,” he said to James’s stepmother, and then to his sister, “Lady Elizabeth.”

His gaze fell to Joanna appreciatively before he quirked an eyebrow at James.

James’s eyes narrowed. He turned to her. “Joanna Dicson, may I present Sir Thomas Randolph.”

Joanna’s eyes widened. So this was the Bruce’s nephew and James’s infamous rival. She looked at him appraisingly, a look that he returned twofold.

Finally, he took her hand and gave her a gallant bow. “My lady. Beauty such as yours is not easy to forget. I remember seeing you before; I regret that we did not have a chance to meet.” He shot a smug look at James. “Douglas here doesn’t like competition.”

James made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl low in his throat. “Let go of her damned hand. And I like competition fine—assuming I had any.”

Sir Thomas just smiled. “Glad to hear it.”

Taking up the challenge, he plopped down onto the bench next to her and proceeded to flirt so outrageously with her for the next half hour, she thought the vein bulging at James’s temple would burst.

True to the reputed fierce rivalry between them, Sir Thomas seemed to enjoy seeing how far he could push his friend, and when his hand accidentally landed on hers as they both reached for their goblets, James’s uncharacteristic forbearance found its breaking point. “Do that again, Randy, and I’ll put my dagger through it.”

Sir Thomas grinned, the threat seeming only to amuse him. But he did pull his hand away. He took a long sip of wine, casually popped a few more of the handful of precious grapes he’d availed himself of into his mouth, and finally got down to the business that had brought him here. “I hope this feast means that you’ve handled whatever ‘emergency’ has kept you from my uncle’s side.” His gaze flickered to Joanna for just a moment. “He’s growing rather impatient for your return.”

James’s expression hardened. He kept his gaze fixed on Sir Thomas. “I’m afraid he will have to wait a while longer. I cannot return yet.”

“It isn’t a request.” All jesting fell away as Sir Thomas’s expression turned deadly serious. “I’ve been ordered to bring you back.”

James’s mouth fell in a stubborn line. “I need a while longer.”