Chapter Twenty-Three
Dunfermline, Fife, Scotland
Davina’s emotions were in turmoil as she prepared the ground for Princess Adaline’s rose garden. A small plot had been designated just outside a private chapel that was once used by Queen Margaret. Though she could have asked someone else to do the heavy labor, Davina was eager to once again have her hands in the cool earth. It was hard work but she had never minded physical labor. It made her feel useful.
As she toiled in the garden, her mind struggled with the dilemma of Malcolm MacAedh. She could not stand by and do nothing for Domnall’s kinsman, but how could she help him?
After spending several hours digging in the dirt and removing and stacking the larger stones, Davina rose and stretched her aching back. She was still no closer to finding an answer. There was no use appealing to the king. Even if she wasn’t out of favor, she had no power to influence him. She also had no desire to bring attention to herself.
She did, however, have some influence with the princess. As Malcolm’s mother, the princess might, perhaps, have some sway over the king—if she could ever be granted access to him. But thus far, she had been denied an audience with him on the basis of his ill-health.
Then again, MacAedh was imprisoned because he refused to swear allegiance to her son, Malcolm. The princess would not be sympathetic. Davina heaved a sigh. It seemed she was only chasing her own tail.
After she’d finished in the garden, Davina once more made her trek to the kitchen and filled her basket with trenchers. In addition to the scraps from the kitchens, she added a skin of wine, a Book of Hours, a rushlight. Her plans, however, went awry the moment she entered the jail.
“Lady Sibylla of Kilmuir,” the guard shouted into the crowded cell. “Come forth.”
Davina froze at the name.
What was this? Had another of Domnall’s kin been imprisoned? And a woman, no less? Confused and cautious, Davina drew back into the shadows, hoping to observe without notice. A woman wearing a black cloak elbowed her way to the front of the cell.
“Nae!” a man in monk’s robes protested as the captain prepared to release her. “’Tis nae the woman we seek.”
“I am Lady Sibylla!” a toothless crone insisted.
“She lies,” the monk insisted. “Where is she?” he demanded. Not waiting for an answer, he snatched the torch from the captain’s hands and pushed his way into the cell. “Sibylla? ’Tis Alexander. Where are ye?”
Alexander? Davina stifled a gasp. Alexander was the name of the monk who’d come to Dunfermline with MacAedh. But MacAedh had said nothing about a woman! The monk disappeared into the crowded cell and emerged moments later carrying a limp body in his arms.
“Is that the woman you seek?” the captain asked.
“Aye,” the monk answered. “She’s badly injured. I think she was struck in the head. She needs a physician.” He wore a look of helplessness mixed with something else that was far more than mere concern for a friend’s kinswoman. There was tenderness in his eyes that made her heart ache. The monk was in love with this lass. Davina was certain of it.
The captain looked from the monk to the girl. “The earl will decide what is to be done. We’ll take her to him.”
Who was she? She must be someone of importance if they would bring her before one of the king’s advisors. Davina was determined to make inquiries the moment she returned to the palace. In the meantime, she knew she must inform MacAedh.
More fearful than ever of arousing suspicion, Davina was mindful of following her established routine. She would visit the common cells first, distribute food and pray for the lost souls, before working her way to the last cell housing the lone prisoner.
When she finally reached MacAedh’s cell, she was faced with minimal resistance from the sentries. Although they always checked her basket and prayer books, they had never actually searched her person. Mayhap ’twas out of respect for her status as a nun, or more likely, fear of God’s displeasure for defiling a “bride of Christ”. Whatever the reason, she was glad of their superstition and used it to her advantage.
“You may enter,” the first guard stated after a brief search of her basket.
Upon entering his cell. Davina found the prisoner in much the same state as before.
But this time, he greeted her with the faintest flicker of a smile. “Sister, I am heartened to see ye again,” he spoke once more in his heavily-accented French.
“I have brought ye some wine,” she replied in kind, and knelt down to offer him the skin. “I also brought a prayer book in hope ’twill comfort ye.”
“Alas, I canna read Latin,” he replied.
She was quite certain ’twas a lie. She was equally certain he understood her intention. The man was very intuitive.
“Then mayhap I can translate it into Gaelic for ye,” she said. The pretense of translating the scriptures would give them more time to speak and in a language the guards did not comprehend.
Davina opened the book but it was too dark even to pretend to read it. She closed it with a sigh. “Please, will ye light this for me?” she asked the sentry. “I wish to read scriptures to the prisoner.”
The guard grumbled, but complied.
Setting the lit rush in its holder, Davina once more opened her book. She spoke again in Gaelic, careful to keep her voice low and her tone level as if reading prayers. “We have but a short time, mayhap ten minutes until the light burns out,” she said. “I bear news that I believe concerns ye.”
“Aye?” he prompted.
“When I entered the guardhouse just a short while ago, I encountered a monk called Brother Alexander. He carried an injured lass away from the jail. I heard them call her Lady Sibylla of Kilmuir.”
“Sibylla?” His face went ashen. “’Tis my niece! How can this be?”
“I ken naught of the circumstances,” Davina said. “But they were taking her to the palace to be tended.”
He turned his face away with an anguished sound. “Is there nae end to this? Does God now curse my entire family?”
“He works in ways we dinna always understand,” Davina said. “But I dinna believe He curses ye. Ye must nae abandon yer faith, MacAedh of Kilmuir. I doubt nae that ’twas He who sent me specifically to comfort ye.”
“Why would ye believe this?” he asked.
“Because yer nephew once aided me in a time of need. Mayhap now is my chance to repay the debt.”
“How do ye ken Domnall?” he asked.
“When I was but a child of nine, my family was butchered. ’Twas Domnall and his sire who found me. I was then made a ward of the king.”
His expression became suddenly wary. “Ye are the king’s ward?”
“Nae,” she vigorously shook her head. “I was but am nae longer. I offended the king and was sent to a nunnery.”
His brows pulled together with a quizzical look. “Ye didna enter the convent of yer own volition?”
“Nae. ’Twas my punishment when I refused to wed the man he chose for me.”
“’Tis a foolish thing to defy a king.” He rattled his chains with a wry smile.
“I couldna do differently,” she said. “The man he chose was the verra same who murdered my family. Even then, I was only saved from that fate because yer nephew intervened on my behalf. There is much more to the story, but there is nae time to tell the whole of it,” she said. “Suffice to say, I am forever grateful to him and wish to help ye in any way I am able.”
“There is naught ye can do for me,” he replied with a sigh. “I am at the king’s mercy.”
“He is nae well-kent for his mercy,” she replied bitterly.
“I would ask one small boon,” he said after a time. “Can ye mayhap bring me word of Sibylla?”
“I will see how she fares.” The rushlight was sputtering. Their time had run out. “I must go now,” she said, closing the prayer book. “But I will return soon.”
*
Davina returned to the palace to find Princess Adaline in a fury.
“Where have you been?” the princess demanded.
“I was working in yer garden, Highness, and then I went to the jail. What is amiss?” Davina asked.
“There is a strange young woman in the queen’s bedchamber, while I, the king’s own daughter-in-law, am being kept as far as possible from the king. I demand to know why. Who is she?”
“I ken part of the answer, Highness,” Davina said. “Her name is Lady Sibylla of Kilmuir. She was taken from the guardhouse jail just as I arrived. She is gravely injured.”
“Why would she be taken to the queen’s chamber?” the princess asked.
“Mayhap because she is tended by the king’s physician?” Davina suggested. It seemed logical to keep her close by.
“And why would the king’s own physician tend her?” the princess demanded.
“I dinna ken, Highness,” Davina answered.
“Then you must find out,” the princess insisted. “I wish to know exactly who she is and why she has come here.”
“I will try to discover it,” Davina replied. Although she suspected the reason had something to do with MacAedh’s imprisonment, something deep inside bade Davina to hold her tongue.
*
Standing on a palace balcony, Davina and Princess Adaline watched the beaming Prince Malcolm depart Dunfermline at the head of two hundred knights in full armored splendor. The procession was conducted with just the kind of pomp and pageantry that would set the young prince’s heart aflutter.
Malcolm was excessively enamored of all things chivalrous, yet had been denied even the chance to squire. Rather than going to foster with another noble family, Princess Adaline had kept him close due to the constant danger in the Borderlands. But his mother’s protectiveness had dire consequences—Malcolm was immature and unready. To Davina, there could be no one in the entire kingdom less prepared to rule it. Nevertheless, the king insisted on presenting his heir to the country—in a show of strength.
Davina wondered how the common people would respond. She shut her eyes on a vision of quite another Scottish prince riding out at the head of this same honor guard. There was no doubt in her mind that Domnall, sitting erect and proud on his charger, would command respect and awe from anyone who saw him. And his sword was far more than just a display piece. He’d proven it years ago against Ioan Fitz Ranulf.
Davina was amazed that the king was so obsessed with keeping his direct bloodline on the throne that he weakens the kingdom by choosing an incompetent and untried boy over a tried and true warrior.
Though he was accompanied by the Earl of Fife and the king’s personal guard, the prince’s departure had put the princess in an unusually bad temper.
“I do not like this!” the princess insisted. “The Highlands are rife with barbaric, murdering savages!”
“They are also mothers, and fathers, and bairns, God-fearing people like ye and I, my lady,” Davina said softly. “Is there nae good and bad in all of us?”
The princess looked only mildly chagrinned.
“’Tis understandable ye fear for yer son,” Davina consoled. “Ye are a màthair who has suffered great loss. But Prince Malcolm must be seen if he is one day to be king.”
“I suppose so, but I still cannot like it.”
Soothing her emotional state had taken much of Davina’s time, leaving her no opportunity to work in the garden or to visit the jail. Once she finally found some time for herself, Davina returned from the Queen’s Chapel to find the princess and her maid, Berthe, rummaging through her wardrobe.
“’Tis an insult to demand this of me,” the princess declared. “The king has commanded that I produce some suitable clothing for his new guest. She is given the queen’s bedchamber and now I am supposed to clothe her in silk?” Seething, the princess tossed several expensive garments onto the bed.
“The Lady Sibylla has recovered from her injury?” Davina asked.
“Aye. She appeared last night for supper in rags that a servant would be ashamed to wear. But why should it fall upon me to clothe her?” the princess asked.
“Mayhap because she is a cousin to the king?” Davina suggested.
“I understand she is kin, but I distrust that he’s taken such a personal interest in her welfare. Why is she here?” the princess asked. “I am told nothing!”
“There is a prisoner in the guardhouse jail. I believe he is her uncle.” Davina hesitated to reveal anything further.
“If she’s come to plead for him, she wastes her breath,” the princess said. “I am informed by the Earl of Mearns that the king plans to make an example of MacAedh for all who refuse to accept Malcolm as his heir. But I’m confounded to understand why he hasn’t executed him already.”
Davina had been right to hold her peace. MacAedh would get no compassion from the princess. The princess scooped up a pile of cotes and linen shifts. “Take these to her, Berthe, with my compliments,” she commanded her maid. “But do not hurry back to me. I need you to discover the king’s plans. Find out who attends her and give them this.” The princess handed Berthe a small coin purse. “I want to know how long does she stay here and what does he intend to do with her. I also wish to know everything she does and every movement she makes.”
“As you wish, Highness,” Berthe replied with a curtsy and scurried out the door.
Davina had never seen this cold and calculating side of the princess before. It was as if she’d become another person.
Needing some time to herself, Davina slipped away to toil once more in the garden. She’d finished turning the soil for the beds and only needed to spread fertilizer to prepare the soil for planting. After seeking out Brother Hebert, the monk in charge of the abbey gardens, Davina returned with a full wheelbarrow of aged manure. A few hours later, her work was done. It would be ready to plant in the spring.
As she stepped back to admire her work, movement caught her eye. Someone, a monk she didn’t recognize, slipped into the Queen’s Chapel. Strange. It was a place of private worship designated for the royal family.
Davina pushed aside her curiosity and was about to leave when another person, this time a female, also entered the chapel. Could it be Lady Sibylla? Was this a clandestine meeting? Overcome with curiosity, Davina deliberated slipping inside, but respect for their privacy overruled her first impulse. Instead, she waited outside. Less than an hour later, the lass re-emerged and headed briskly toward the palace. This time, Davina couldn’t help following.
Recalling her promise to MacAedh to inquire about his niece, she wondered if she should speak. She might not get another chance. They were in the courtyard now and she was only a few paces behind. Once she entered the palace, the opportunity would be lost.
“Lady Sibylla?” Davina called out softly, hoping not to attract anyone else’s attention.
The girl turned with a questioning look. “Do I ken ye?” she asked in Gaelic.
“Nae,” Davina replied in the same tongue. “But if ye are the daughter of William Fitz Duncan, we have something in common.”
“Aye?” Her brows rose. “He was indeed my sire.” She regarded Davina with wariness in her blue-green eyes.
“I speak of yer brother, Domnall,” Davina answered.
It was as if a mask slid from her face at the mention of his name. “Ye ken my brother?”
“Aye. Also yer uncle,” Davina said.
“My uncle,” she gasped. “They tell me nothing. Does he still live?”
“Aye. At least he did two days ago. ’Twas the last time I spoke with him.”
“How?” Sibylla asked. “How is it that ye see him when I am denied?”
“’Tis my ministry to tend the prisoners,” Davina replied.
Sibylla eyed Davina up and down and her mouth dropped as if she only now noticed the nun’s habit. “I wasna aware that there is a convent here.”
“There is nae convent,” Davina replied. “I left Haddington Priory to come to court with Princess Adaline.”
“Who is she?” Sibylla asked.
“Prince Malcolm’s máthair. She is verra curious about ye.”
“I only came to plead for my uncle,” Sibylla said. “And now I am as much a prisoner as he is.”
“What do ye mean?” Davina asked.
“The king has declared me his ward and will nae allow me to go home.”
Davina’s heart filled with empathy. She was once in a like position. “I go on the morrow to the jail. Shall I tell yer uncle I spoke with ye?”
“Aye,” Sibylla said. “Would ye tell him that I am well but I canna go home. And also that Domnall kens naught of his imprisonment.”
Davina regarded her for a long moment. How hard would it be to smuggle Sibylla into the jail? It wasn’t without risk but it would be worth taking if MacAedh were, indeed, a man condemned. “I have an idea,” Davina said. “Why dinna ye tell him yerself?”
“How?” Sibylla asked. “The king willna let me go to him.”
“Mayhap nae, but mayhap ye can go to the jail with me.”
*
They met at the Queen’s Chapel the very next morning.
“How did ye slip away?” Davina asked.
“I said I was going to pray for the king,” Sibylla replied. “I am allowed freedom of the palace and the chapel, but I canna venture beyond these walls.”
“Then those who watch ye must believe that ye are me,” Davina said, handing her a basket with a nun’s habit. Getting Sibylla into the jail was easier than Davina would have believed. Once dressed in the black nun’s habit, the guards paid little heed to her.
“Sister Mary David assists me today,” Davina said as they arrived at the guardhouse.
“Must I go into the cell?” Sibylla whispered with a shudder.
“I’m afraid ye must,” Davina replied. “Else ’twill rouse suspicion.”
“Please, let me stay close to the door,” Sibylla begged. “I dinna want any of the prisoners to recognize me.”
Davina was quick to realize the source of her fear. Not long ago, Sibylla had been locked in this very same cell. “Just pass out the bread,” Davina said. “They are unlikely to look at yer face.”
Careful not to rush or otherwise deviate from her normal routine, Davina read a scripture, prayed for those who asked her, and then moved on to MacAedh’s cell. Accustomed now to her coming and going, the sentries barely even looked in their direction as they unlocked the door. Davina exhaled a long, slow breath of relief in having pulled off the ruse.
MacAedh looked up in surprise when he saw two figures enter, but thankfully made no remark until they drew close enough to whisper.
Sibylla stifled a sob at the first sight of her kinsman.
“Nae!” Davina clutched her arm. “Ye must speak calmly.” Davina opened the prayer book and began to read in a loud voice that she hoped would conceal their whispered conversation.
“Uncle,” Sibylla knelt down beside him. “How do ye fare?”
“Sibylla! What the de’il are ye doing here?”
“I came to see ye,” she replied, and opened the book.
“Why did ye leave Kilmuir?” he asked.
“I thought I could convince the king to release ye… but I was wrong,” she said sadly. “Is there aught I can do for yer comfort?”
He shook his head. “Sister Mary Malachy has cared well for me. Ye must go away from this place, Sibylla.”
“The king willna let me go home,” she said. “He has declared me his ward. He intends for me to wed. Until then, I am a prisoner here.”
“What of Alexander?” His gaze narrowed. “Does he ken of this… betrothal?”
Davina wondered why it would matter what the monk thought of it, but then she remembered the look on Brother Alexander’s face when he carried her from the jail. There was far more to their relationship than they would reveal.
“Aye,” she replied. “He kens. We spoke before he left with the prince.”
“Go home, the both of ye,” he said. “Find a way to escape and ne’er come back.”
“Even if I could, I wouldna leave ye,” she insisted.
“Ye must,” he hissed. “Ye, Domnall, and Alexander must protect the rest of the family. Or all our lives will be lost. Ye must all go far away and out of the king’s reach.”
“But where would we even go?” Sibylla asked.
“Faither Gregor of Portmahomack will ken a safe place. Go ye to him. There is naught ye can do for me. Promise me ye will go.”
“I must await Alexander’s return,” she replied.
Once more, Davina wondered at the relationship between Sibylla and Alexander.
“Let us pray before we depart,” Davina announced, bowing her head and signaling the end of the exchange. They surely risked discovery if they lingered any longer.
The two young women left the jail with their hoods raised and their eyes downcast until they were well away from the guardhouse. They walked together to Queen Margaret’s reflecting pool in the abbey courtyard where they would part ways.
“I must return now,” Sibylla said. “Thank ye, Sister. I dinna ken how I can e’er repay ye.”
Davina hesitated. There was much on her heart and she didn’t know when she might have another opportunity to speak privately with Domnall’s sister. She had learned much in these past days. She knew that Domnall lived and that his family’s lives were in grave peril. She’d witnessed their love and sacrifices for one another. Their family represented everything she had always wanted. She desperately wanted to confide in Sibylla, but how much could she trust this young woman? Dare she reveal her own history with Domnall? Her instincts told her she could.
Davina took a long breath. “There is something ye dinna ken. I said I would help ye because I ken yer brother… but there is much more to it.”
“I suspected as much,” Sibylla said, her lips curving in a sly smile. “Did ye care for my brother?”
“I did once, verra much,” Davina confessed. “Has he… is he… does he have a wife?” she blurted awkwardly.
“Nae.” Sibylla shook her head. “I once thought maybe he and my cousin, Ailis… but he didna return her regard. Mayhap now I ken why.” She eyed Davina with a knowing look. “Ye are far too young and pretty to have taken the vows.”
“’Tis a verra long and sad story,” Davina said. “And yer brother played a great part in it. If ye could meet me again on the morrow, I will tell ye the whole of it.”
“Aye,” Sibylla said. “I do wish to hear it. I have lessons with a tutor in the morning, and in the afternoon I walk in the garden for an hour with the king. He demands that I learn to speak Norman,” she explained. “Afterwards, I could meet ye again in the Queen’s Chapel.” Clasping Davina’s hands in hers, Sibylla said. “It is verra good to finally have found a friend.”
Sibylla’s words echoed Davina’s own thoughts. Sibylla’s arrival was a godsend. Davina hadn’t even realized until now just how lonely she’d been.