Chapter Twelve
Domnall arrived at Carlisle to the disturbing news that the king was holding a betrothal feast. His chest pounding with apprehension, Domnall entered the great hall where the king’s guests were gathered. He’d secured a bargain, of a sort, with Fitz Duncan, but was he too late?
He circled the periphery of the chamber where the servants hovered with serving trays and pitchers of drink while his gaze tracked the room. As an intruder, he tried to remain inconspicuous, but couldn’t help attracting disdainful stares. Travel-stained and disheveled, he was very much out of place amongst the richly-dressed nobles.
The tables were heavily-laden with succulent meats—capon, wild boar, venison, and hare seasoned with spices—accompanied by freely flowing casks of mead and French wine. Having not eaten since the day before, his neglected stomach sounded a loud protest.
He finally saw Davina standing before the high table making a curtsy, first to the king, and then to Prince Henry, before her attention was directed to the man at the king’s right hand. Was this her betrothed? Domnall regarded him with instant antipathy. He was swarthy with black hair and black eyes, and angular features that reminded Domnall of a raven—a scavenger seeking an heiress.
Watching Davina, Domnall was considering his next move when her face went deathly pale. Her eyes grew wide as if stricken with terror as she faced a dark stranger seated at the king’s table. For a moment she stood as if cast in stone, but then she suddenly turned her back and fled the great hall!
Christ’s bloodl! What was this?
Though he’d intended not to draw attention to himself, Domnall’s feet were instantly in motion. He bolted after her, eventually catching up to her in the gallery.
“Davina! Halt ye! ’Tis me, Domnall,” he called out to her, his voice echoing against the walls of stone.
She spun around to face him, with a blank stare as if she didn’t even know him, but then her eyes flickered with recognition. “Domnall?”
He opened his arms and took a slow step toward her.
Davina flung herself against him with a strangled sound, and then burst into hysterical sobs. He was holding her thusly when the king’s guard came upon them.
“What is this?” the captain demanded. “Release her at once.”
“Nae!” Davina cried out. “I willna go back!”
“You shall by order of the king,” the guard threatened.
Shielding her with his own body, Domnall stepped forward and drew his sword. “Ye will go through me first.”
“Through you?” The guard smirked with a scrape of steel. “As you wish.”
“Nae!” Davina screamed and threw herself between them.
Domnall found himself surrounded by the remaining knights. His heart hammered in anticipation, but fighting would be futile. There were too many. Shoulders slumping in surrender, he sheathed his blade.
“You will return to the great hall,” the captain commanded Davina, “and explain yourself to the king.”
“He is a murderer!” Davina choked out.
“A murderer?” the captain eyed Domnall narrowly and then nodded to his men. “Take him to the pillory.”
“Nae! Nae!” Davina shook her head wildly as two men clamped Domnall’s hands behind his back. “’Tis the wrong man! I speak of Fitz Ranulf!”
“What are ye saying?” Domnall asked.
“Fitz Ranulf! He is the one who came to Crailing. ’Tis he who killed my family.”
“Are ye verra sure of this, Davina?” Domnall asked his gaze probing hers. She was distraught without doubt. He could ill afford to err. “’Tis a grave accusation ye make.”
“’Tis true!” she cried. “I am certain of it!”
“Take us both to the king,” Domnall demanded. “Her charge must be heard.”
“What has this to do with you?” the captain asked, eyeing them both with uncertainty.
“I can bear testament to this crime,” Domnall answered.
“You were a witness?”
“Nay, but I was there at Crailing when the bodies were discovered.”
The captain considered him for a moment and then nodded. “Very well. You will both make a full account to the king.”
*
After the guests dispersed amidst whispers of scandal, Davina, Domnall, and Ioan Fitz Ranulf, stood before the king and his closest advisors in his chamber.
“She raves!” Fitz Ranulf cried, arms in the air. “You give me a madwoman to wife!”
“On the contrary, I know this young woman to be of sound mind,” Prince Henry declared in Davina’s defense. “She has served my family for a number of years, but perhaps she is confused. She was but a young child, after all.”
“There is nae mistake,” Davina insisted as Fitz Ranulf eyed her with a deadly stare. “I remember his face, his eyes, his voice. This man came to my home and tried to…to… rape me,” she blurted the last word in a whisper. She shut her eyes in an effort to regain the fragile threads of her composure.
“Tried?” the king’s brows rose. “So the deed was not done?”
“Nae.” Davina cleared her throat and continued, “After I got away from him, he locked me in the stable and set it afire. I barely escaped with my life. But the others did nae escape. They were brutally slaughtered.”
“Lies!” Fitz Ranulf took to his feet spewing spittle. “I will not stand for this!”
“Then I suggest you sit,” the king commanded softly.
“I am unjustly accused!” Fitz Ranulf continued to rant. “There will be dire consequences for this!”
“Indeed?” The king steepled his fingers and studied both the accuser and the accused. After a time, he looked back to Davina. “Was anyone else present at Crailing? Can anyone besides you identify the wrongdoer?”
“Nae, Majesty,” Davina answered softly. “Everyone else is dead.”
“I was there,” Domnall declared. Until now, he’d held his peace, but it was already clear that the hearing was not leaning in Davina’s favor. “As was my father, William Fitz Duncan.”
The king inclined his head. “I do recall him speaking of this unhappy event, but did you see the murders?”
“Nae,” Domnall said. “I saw only the headless bodies of Sir Rémin and his son.”
Davina gasped.
“I’m sorry, lass,” Domnall murmured. He hated that he’d revealed the gruesome details. Until now, she’d been spared the worst of it.
“’Tis not enough to accuse a man,” the king declared, his tone remaining mild and his face impassive. “The law is clear on this point. No man may be charged with murder without reliable witnesses.” He glanced at Davina. “And a child of nine years is hardly reliable.”
Davina was once more pallid.
Domnall’s fist clenched under the table. Was the king about to let the murderer go? Perhaps it’s what he’d intended all along, and this hearing was naught but a sham. He could not let this happen! He could not allow Davina to suffer this injustice!
The king stood. “Given the lack of evidence against this man, I have no choice but to—”
“Let God be the judge,” Domnall blurted before the king could finish.
The council gaped.
“By Yer Majesty’s leave,” Domnall quickly amended. “Davina of Crailing deserves justice for her loss. ’Tis within her right to seek a trial by wager.”
The king pierced Domnall with a lethal stare. It was clear he had no liking of Domnall’s interference, or his suggestion. “Do you permit this man to speak for you?” he asked Davina.
“I do,” she replied, directing Domnall a questioning look.
The king’s brows pulled into a scowl. He then looked to Fitz Ranulf. “Do you also agree to this, Sir Ioan Fitz Ranulf?”
Fitz Ranulf’s thin mouth stretched into a smug smile. “I do, indeed.”
“So be it.” The king released a long, tired sigh. “The trial by wager will proceed a sennight hence at noontide. If this man’s innocence is proven, as I have little doubt it will, the wedding will proceed the day following.”
“What if he is proven guilty, Majesty?” Davina asked.
“You will be freed from this obligation,” the king replied, leaving no doubt that her fate still remained in his hands. “These two men shall make preparation to come together at the lists of Carlisle a sennight hence,” the king pronounced. “May God’s will and His justice be done.”
*
“Pray, Yer Highness,” Davina asked the prince as they departed the council chamber, “may I speak privily with Domnall?”
“You may walk together in the garden,” Prince Henry replied, “but stay you well within sight.”
“Thank ye, Highness,” she replied with a curtsy. “Come, Domnall, let us walk to the fountain.”
Followed at a discrete distance by two to the prince’s men-at-arms, Davina and Domnall strolled side-by-side to the castle gardens.
It had been many years since Davina had been to this place but it was little changed. Graveled walks as straight as arrows divided the walled courtyard into neat, even, rectangular plots of green. Along the periphery were vine-covered pergolas bearing grapes, and wooden trellises exploding with colorful blooms that perfumed the air. The centerpiece, however, was a fountain of carved stone depicting the weeping Virgin, whose tears fell into the pool of water at her feet. Surrounding the pool were cleverly crafted seats of turf.
Out of earshot but still within sight of the guards, Davina spread her skirts and sat. “Where have ye been all this time?” Davina voiced the question that was nearly bursting from her lips from the moment she saw him.
“I went to Skipton,” Domnall said. “I’d hoped to make a bargain with Fitz Duncan that would forestall this marriage.”
Davina’s heart fluttered. “Ye did? I thought ye had deserted me.”
His warm hand rested gently on hers. “Did I nae swear ne’er to forsake ye?”
“Does that mean ye succeeded in yer quest at Skipton?”
“In part,” he answered. “Fitz Duncan offered a compromise. He proposed offering Doncaster in place of Crailing. ’Tis one of Prince Henry’s holdings, but located deep into English territory. ’Tis highly probable he will lose it anyway, in time, whichever way the war ends. I believed the prince might consider the idea, but it seems I arrived too late to present it.”
“Nae,” she said with a shaky breath. “Ye arrived just in time. But I dinna understand this ‘trial by wager’.”
“’Tis an accepted Norman custom for settling disputes,” Domnall answered. His reply seemed purposely vague.
“Ye have told me nothing,” she accused. “How does this proceed?”
Domnall sighed. “The accuser and the accused do battle in the hope that God himself will judge the guilty.”
Her eyes widened. “Ye will fight Fitz Ranulf? Why would ye do this? I dinna understand why ye would risk the king’s wrath, let alone yer own life.”
“’Twas the only way,” he said with a shrug. “Ye ken as well as I that the king was about to dismiss the charges.”
“But ye could be killed!” she cried, jumping to her feet. “Surely he is more experienced in battle than ye! I willna have ye hazard yer life over this!”
“Ye would prefer to be his bride?” Domnall asked.
“Nae! Ne’er that!” she cried. “I would risk eternal damnation and take my own life first.”
“Nae, Davina!” He caught hold of her arm. “’Tis already settled. I offered the challenge in yer name and he accepted. I will be yer champion, and my sword will deliver the justice ye seek.” He drew her closer until she stood between his knees.
“And if ye lose?” she whispered.
“I willna let that happen,” he answered softly.
“Ye canna make me such a promise,” she replied. “’Tis nae under yer control!”
“Aye,” he agreed. “’Tis in God’s hands now. And I trust His justice far more than that of the king. God will judge this matter,” Domnall said. “And He will guide my sword. And after this matter with Fitz Ranulf is finished, I will petition the king for yer hand.”
His words made her heart skip. “Ye mean that?”
“I do. I willna let another have ye, Davina. Ye were meant for me.”
Davina longed for him to take her into his arms, but they were not alone. The king’s men stood nearby watching them.
“Has Fitz Duncan changed his mind, then?” she asked. “Will he make ye his heir?”
“Nae,” Domnall said. “Nevertheless, I will have what is mine.”
“How so if he denies ye?” she asked.
“Fitz Duncan will nae live forever,’ he replied. “Once he is gone, I will fight for my máthair’s lands. I swore to Fitz Duncan ne’er to challenge his son, William, for Cumberland, but I made no such vow regarding Moray. And as soon as I reclaim my inheritance, ye will be my bride.”
Her heart sank. “But that could be years away.”
“Aye,” he agreed. “But we are yet young. Can ye nae wait for me? Ye promised me once that ye would.”
“I would wait for ye, Domnall Mac William, as long as it takes.”
Their eyes met and held. The longing for his kiss was so great it made her bones ache.
“Bluidy guards be damned,” he muttered, and drew her into a deep and passionate kiss that stole the very breath from her body.