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Authors: Monica Mccarty
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to see them home in exchange for the solemn vow that they would never step on Scottish ground again.
Boyd shook his head and gave him a long stare. “You and Seton with your damned chivalry. Pretty soon you’ll be spouting off knightly codes like Randolph.”
James gave a real shudder. Though the king’s nephew had come around to “fighting like a brigand” as he’d once accused Bruce, Randolph still had his moments of knightly superiority. But James couldn’t wait for him to hear about this latest victory—let him try to top this. “Bite your damned tongue.”
“Does this have something to do with the lass you went to see yesterday?”
“No,” James said flatly, turning sharply away.
But did it? Perhaps a little. He shouldn’t have made a promise to Joanna, but he had, and he would do his best to honor it. She would be distressed by De Wilton’s death, but perhaps this show of mercy would help atone for his mistake.
A moment later, Seton led the prisoners out and James gave the order to light the fires.
As they were without siegecraft weaponry like trebuchets or siege engines, they would burn everything first and assault the weakened walls later with great timber logs, iron bars, picks, and whatever else they could find.
Jaw locked, James watched as the fires scattered around the castle sparked, crackled, and roared to life, building and building with intensity. Smoke filled his lungs and burned his eyes, but still he refused to turn away. He stood and watched as his home went up in flames. As the place that he’d loved more than anywhere else was destroyed. He held his arms tightly at his side, as if to stop himself from reaching for something to hold on to. Joanna, he realized. He wished she were here by his side, her small hand tucked in his. She would understand what he was feeling. She knew what this place meant to him, that the castle was a connection to his father that it felt like he was severing forever. He needed her softness, her kindness, needed to feel her soothing presence by his side.
But at what cost? The sound of her ultimatum still rang through his head.
Maybe he should talk to her? But the way he was feeling right now, he feared what he would say. He feared how much he needed her.
Damn it, he couldn’t marry her—no matter how much he wanted her by his side. How could she not see that? Didn’t she know him at all? Restoring his family’s name and seeing the Douglases brought to greatness was the only thing that had mattered to him for a long time.
A harrowing cracking made him flinch. A moment later the roof of the hall came crashing down. He stared at the smoldering wreckage, unable to swallow the tight ball in his throat.
Only when embers started to fly and the wall of heat became unbearable did he allow Boyd to pull him away. “Come, the men found a barrel of whisky in the storehouse. We return to Park Castle and toast our victory. What say you?”
James hesitated. He’d been drinking all night, and it hadn’t done a damned thing to ease the ache in his chest. He knew only one thing—one person—could do that. Jo would know how to make him feel better. He needed to see her. “I—”
But Boyd cut him off. “What the hell is he doing here?”
James followed the direction of his gaze and saw the party of riders approaching. His mouth thinned. The bright crimson and gold of the riders’ arms blared the newcomers’ identity. The fact that they were making no effort to conceal them spoke of the authority, confidence, and boldness of its leader. James’s thoughts echoed Boyd’s: What the hell was Randolph doing here?
“I don’t know,” he said. “I thought he was with the King at Dunstaffnage.”
A few minutes later, Sir Thomas Randolph and his men drew up beside them in the field overlooking the still burning castle. After jumping down, Randolph drew off his helm and tucked it under his arm, raking his fingers through his crimped dark hair. His gaze met
Boyd shook his head and gave him a long stare. “You and Seton with your damned chivalry. Pretty soon you’ll be spouting off knightly codes like Randolph.”
James gave a real shudder. Though the king’s nephew had come around to “fighting like a brigand” as he’d once accused Bruce, Randolph still had his moments of knightly superiority. But James couldn’t wait for him to hear about this latest victory—let him try to top this. “Bite your damned tongue.”
“Does this have something to do with the lass you went to see yesterday?”
“No,” James said flatly, turning sharply away.
But did it? Perhaps a little. He shouldn’t have made a promise to Joanna, but he had, and he would do his best to honor it. She would be distressed by De Wilton’s death, but perhaps this show of mercy would help atone for his mistake.
A moment later, Seton led the prisoners out and James gave the order to light the fires.
As they were without siegecraft weaponry like trebuchets or siege engines, they would burn everything first and assault the weakened walls later with great timber logs, iron bars, picks, and whatever else they could find.
Jaw locked, James watched as the fires scattered around the castle sparked, crackled, and roared to life, building and building with intensity. Smoke filled his lungs and burned his eyes, but still he refused to turn away. He stood and watched as his home went up in flames. As the place that he’d loved more than anywhere else was destroyed. He held his arms tightly at his side, as if to stop himself from reaching for something to hold on to. Joanna, he realized. He wished she were here by his side, her small hand tucked in his. She would understand what he was feeling. She knew what this place meant to him, that the castle was a connection to his father that it felt like he was severing forever. He needed her softness, her kindness, needed to feel her soothing presence by his side.
But at what cost? The sound of her ultimatum still rang through his head.
Maybe he should talk to her? But the way he was feeling right now, he feared what he would say. He feared how much he needed her.
Damn it, he couldn’t marry her—no matter how much he wanted her by his side. How could she not see that? Didn’t she know him at all? Restoring his family’s name and seeing the Douglases brought to greatness was the only thing that had mattered to him for a long time.
A harrowing cracking made him flinch. A moment later the roof of the hall came crashing down. He stared at the smoldering wreckage, unable to swallow the tight ball in his throat.
Only when embers started to fly and the wall of heat became unbearable did he allow Boyd to pull him away. “Come, the men found a barrel of whisky in the storehouse. We return to Park Castle and toast our victory. What say you?”
James hesitated. He’d been drinking all night, and it hadn’t done a damned thing to ease the ache in his chest. He knew only one thing—one person—could do that. Jo would know how to make him feel better. He needed to see her. “I—”
But Boyd cut him off. “What the hell is he doing here?”
James followed the direction of his gaze and saw the party of riders approaching. His mouth thinned. The bright crimson and gold of the riders’ arms blared the newcomers’ identity. The fact that they were making no effort to conceal them spoke of the authority, confidence, and boldness of its leader. James’s thoughts echoed Boyd’s: What the hell was Randolph doing here?
“I don’t know,” he said. “I thought he was with the King at Dunstaffnage.”
A few minutes later, Sir Thomas Randolph and his men drew up beside them in the field overlooking the still burning castle. After jumping down, Randolph drew off his helm and tucked it under his arm, raking his fingers through his crimped dark hair. His gaze met
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