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the wooden framework of Douglas Castle. Although the tower was small and no more than thirty feet high, he might not have been able to climb it at all had it not been neglected for years, with much of the lime-rendered harling—meant to even the surface and protect the stone from weather—cracked and worn away.
    Park Castle had been built as a watchtower years ago by the church, but was purchased some years back by the English knight Lady Eleanor Douglas had married after the death of the old laird. William the Hardy had died in the Tower of London about two years after Thom’s mother for rebelling against King Edward again. Ella had been forced to leave Douglas Castle for a couple of years then as well. It had been a difficult time for her, one that she didn’t like to talk about.
    With the English and Sir Robert Clifford in possession of the old Douglas lands, Park Castle now served as home to Lady Eleanor (recently widowed for the third time), her stepdaughter, Elizabeth, and Elizabeth’s two half brothers, Archie and Hugh.
    He looked around. The pitched wooden roof and surrounding battlement were deserted. Thom tried not to be disappointed. It was early yet. Ella usually waited until well after everyone went to sleep, making it easier to sneak up to the garret to access the small door.
    Despite the clear night, it was cold, and Thom was grateful for the extra plaid he’d tossed into his sack as he sat to wait. He’d been right. The stars were out tonight. Coupled with the nearly full moon, a soft glow had been cast across the quiet countryside. It seemed so peaceful it was hard to believe they were in the midst of a long, brutal war.
    The village of Douglas had seen more than its share of conflict, and as long as the English occupied its castle, Thom knew it would see more. If James Douglas had to destroy the entire town, he would to rid Douglasdale of the English for Robert the Bruce. Thom wanted the English gone, too, but Jamie’s vengeance went too far. His former friend had changed.
    Had Ella?
    Thom didn’t want to think so, but why hadn’t she come to see him? When she’d left, he’d been so certain that she’d begun to feel the same way as he. “ Will you wear my ribbon around your sleeve when you are a knight in a tourney, Thommy ? ” or, “ I know you hate it, but how will we go to France when we are older if you don’t learn to speak French ? ” She’d been thinking about a future with him, even going as far as telling him one of the rare times he lost his temper with her that if he were her husband, she’d put spiderwort in his soup (which was known for its digestive effect), and give him cause for his black mood, if he ever snapped at her like that again. He’d been chastened and enchanted. His little princess had some fire.
    If only Jamie hadn’t sent her away, damn it.
    Time passed slowly while Thom waited. After a few hours, he was forced to concede that she wasn’t coming. He stood and started to stuff the plaid back into his sack. He was a fool. His father was right. Five years was a long time. She’d probably forgotten—
    The door opened, and his heart dropped.
    He glanced up as she stepped over the threshold, a beam of moonlight catching her in its hold and taking his breath along with it.
    Jesus .
    He might have jolted. The glimpse he’d caught of her with her stepmother, as she’d ridden through the village a couple of weeks ago, had not prepared him for the vision before him now. Long, shimmery waves of flaxen hair tumbled around her shoulders in a silky veil down her back. Her features were small and even, perfectly positioned in an oval canvas of snowy white. Her mouth was red, her cheeks pink, and her chin delicately pointed. Dark arched brows and long feathery lashes framed round, wide-set eyes the unusual blue of peacock feathers. She was gowned in an ice-blue dressing robe lined with white fur, the thick gold braid belt around her waist emphasizing its trimness as well