Chapter Seven
They rode out just as dawn was breaking. The sun had chosen to come out this day, stretching out long fingers of heavenly light that heated the land and melted the snow. Was this perhaps a sign of God’s mercy after all the suffering she’d endured in the darkness of night? Choosing to accept it as a Divine blessing, Davina closed her eyes and upturned her face, allowing the sunlight to bathe her in its warm glow.
She rode behind Domnall with her arms around his waist. But they had spoken little, both seemingly content to simply take in the changing scenery. Davina’s breath caught and Domnall stiffened in in the saddle at their first glimpse of the burgh of Carlisle.
The gate to the city was manned by numerous armed soldiers who acted upon a mere nod from Fitz Duncan to swiftly open the gates. He must be a man of great importance, this Fitz Duncan.
Entering the city, Davina immediately felt very insignificant and small. Having never ventured further than Jedburgh, she was overwhelmed by the imposing walls of stacked stone that enclosed a multitude of buildings, more structures than she had ever seen in her life. A curious mix of imposing sandstone structures abutted numerous more humble abodes constructed of wattle and daub. And people! They were everywhere in greater numbers than she had ever seen in one place. And towering above them all was the castle.
Carlisle Castle dwarfed her home of Crailing, the place she’d once believed the greatest and safest place on earth. How wrong she had been!
Domnall seemed as awestruck as she was as they ventured across the great square toward the entrance. Once more, the gates opened to them without prelude but, this time, their party splintered into two groups. The larger commanded by one of the captains, rode off, presumably toward the barracks, while a team of young men rushed out to meet Fitz Duncan and took charge of his party’s horses.
Fitz Duncan dismounted first, followed by his remaining men, the squire called Champernon, then Domnall and Davina. They had barely set their feet on the ground before a richly-dressed man descended upon them and hailed Fitz Duncan.
“De Morville! Well met!” Speaking in Norman French, Fitz Duncan embraced the man in an enthusiastic greeting.
“Your arrival is well timed, my lord!” De Morville said. “The king has anxiously awaited you.”
Although Davina had been skeptical when she’d first heard Domnall’s story, she now had no doubt it was all true. Fitz Duncan’s high status at court was evident from the very moment they’d arrived.
“Aye?” Fitz Duncan’s brow rose. “And why is that?”
“He’s received ill-tidings from the south. Lincoln Castle has been seized.”
Fitz Duncan’s smile instantly soured. “Seized? By whom?”
“By your own wife’s kinsmen, Ranulf De Gernon with the help of his brother, William de Roumare,” De Morville answered.
The names, of course, meant nothing to Davina, but Fitz Duncan certainly knew them. His scowl deepened. “In whose name did he seize it? Does he act for Empress Matilda or for himself?”
De Morville shrugged “What think you?”
“I think De Gernon has always been a treacherous, self-serving bastard,” Fitz Duncan replied.
“No doubt King Stephen would agree.” De Morville laughed. “Come inside and warm yourself. A certes, the king will recount to ye the tale in its entirety.”
“I also come with a grave matter to report,” Fitz Duncan said. He cast his eyes briefly upon Davina, it was the first he’d acknowledged her since departing Crailing. “Is my Lady Alice still at Carlisle?” he asked De Morville.
“Aye,” De Morville nodded. “She keeps close company with Princess Adaline. ’Tis rumored the princess is with child.”
“Ah.” Fitz Duncan nodded, adding with a smirk. “The king will be pleased that his son has performed his royal duty so promptly.”
Both men laughed.
“What are they saying?” Domnall whispered to Champernon.
“They speak of the war in the south and royal heirs,” Champernon answered.
“Is that all?” Domnall scrunched his face. “The Normans use far too many words. They should learn Gaelic.”
“Dinna ye ken Norman?” Davina asked.
“Nay,” Domnall replied. “Fitz Duncan insisted that my sister and I learn it… but then he left. So I’ve forgotten most of it.”
“What do ye mean he left?” Davina asked but never got an answer.
“Pray tell the king I will come to him forthwith,” Fitz Duncan said to De Morville. He then turned to Davina. “You will go now and pay your respects to Lady Alice.”
“Who is she?” Davina asked.
“My wife,” Fitz Duncan replied tersely.
Davina looked at Domnall. “Will ye nae come also? Surely yer máthair will wish to see ye.”
A strange flicker flashed in Domnall’s eyes. “Lady Alice is nae my máthair.”
“Oh. I am so sorry,” Davina replied softly. “Ye dinna tell me yer máthair had passed on.”
“My máthair is alive and well at Castle Kilmuir in Black Isle,” Domnall replied, jutting his chin with a look of defiance.
It took Davina a moment to digest his reply. If Fitz Duncan was his father, then that could only mean… was Domnall a bastard?
“Ye need nae look at me like I have two heads,” he snapped.
“But I dinna mean to offend ye—”
“Enough!” Fitz Duncan hissed and grabbed Davina’s arm. “Domnall will remain with Champernon and you will come with me.”
With her heart thudding with trepidation, Davina looked back over her shoulder at Domnall as Fitz Duncan half-dragged her across the courtyard. Domnall stared back at her, stiff and stoic as any soldier, but she could read something more in his eyes.
Fear and uncertainty.
Though he refused to show it, he was just as anxious about the future as she was.
*
“Take her to Lady Alice,” Fitz Duncan commanded one of the servants who stood as sentinels outside the chamber door that presumably led to the lady’s private quarters.
“Should… it… not be washed and deloused before entering my lady’s solar?” he asked, brows rising as he looked Davina slowly up and down.
Davina’s face heated with anger and shame. She had never been referred to as an “it” before but, then again, she looked very much the part of a wild animal. Her hair was a mass of tangles and she didn’t remember her last bath. Even the bearskin mantle that covered her was caked with mud and twigs from dragging on the ground.
“My lady will decide what is to be done,” Fitz Duncan replied dismissively.
“As you wish, my lord,” the servant replied.
He’d hardly spoken the words before Fitz Duncan spun on his heel and left her standing there, once more feeling small and insignificant. Having now delivered her safely to Carlisle, Davina doubted Fitz Duncan would trouble himself with her any further. Would Domnall?
“Wait here,” the servant instructed Davina. “I will notify my lady of my lord’s wishes.”
The servant disappeared into the adjoining chamber and returned a moment later to usher Davina into the countess’ chamber.
At first, Davina was too awestruck to take much notice of anything beyond her surroundings. She gazed in wonderment at the tapestry-laden walls that soared upward to meet a canopy of oak timbers. A blazing fireplace warmed the far end of the room where a woman sat upon a rug of pure white fur, attended by several maidservants, one of whom suckled an infant child at her breast. The countess was young, fair of face, and richly adorned in deeply-dyed silk. Davina had never beheld such beauty or luxury.
Noting her entrance, the lady’s thinly-arched brows rose as she took in Davina’s appearance. “What is this creature Fitz Duncan has sent to me?” she inquired with a disdainful curve of her lips.
Davina stepped forward, chin proudly raised. “I am nae a creature. My name is Davina. I am the daughter of Sir Rémin of Crailing.”
“Are you indeed?” she replied dubiously. “And how do you come to be at Carlisle?”
Fighting the tightness in her throat, Davina cast her eyes to the floor. “M-my family was killed and my home was burned,” she managed in a choked whisper.
“Then you are to become a ward of the king,” the countess stated.
“What does that mean?” Davina asked.
“It means you are now under his protection.”
“Then I will live here at Carlisle?”
“No,” Lady Alice replied with a laugh. “He will rid himself of the direct responsibility of your care as swiftly as he can and send you away to foster.”
“Where will I go?” Davina asked.
“You are possessed of property?” Lady Alice asked, ignoring Davina’s question.
“Aye. Crailing Tower,” Davina replied, “… or what is left of it.”
“Then it is to the king’s advantage to take some interest in you—until your marriage can be arranged.”
“M-marriage?” Davina repeated blankly. “I have barely passed my tenth summer!”
“You have naught to fear at the moment,” the countess reassured. “Even David would not be so cruel as to make a bride of such a young child. But given a few years…”
Her gaze narrowed as she stepped back to appraise Davina. “He will, no doubt, expect to have a look at you.” She then heaved a deep sigh. “I suppose ’tis on my shoulders to make you presentable. Berthe!” the countess addressed the servant holding the infant. “Give the babe to me and prepare the chamber next to mine with a bath. The girl will also need some clothes. You may burn whatever she’s wearing along with that reeking pelt.”
“Nae!” Davina cried, clutching the bearskin tightly about her. “It was my faither’s,” she lied. “I will keep it.” In truth, it was Domnall’s but she couldn’t bear to part with it. The thought of losing anything connected to him made her throat tighten.
“Very well,” Lady Alice replied with a sniff. “But see that it is thoroughly cleaned… and aired.”
Davina was taken to a smaller, more sparsely appointed bedchamber, where, moments later, she was stripped naked and scrubbed until her skin was raw. While Berthe tended to her bath, another younger maid named Agnes was dispatched to find her some clothes.
Once Davina was thoroughly washed, Berthe briskly rubbed her dry with a rough cloth. She then sat Davina on a faldstool and promptly went to work on her hair, yanking mercilessly at the snarls with a silver comb until Davina felt as if her hair was being ripped out of her head by the roots.
The younger maid soon returned with a bundle of clothing that she laid out for Davina’s inspection. Though she had never worn such a gown, Davina recognized the Norman style bliaut and girdle. The deeply dyed hue and quality of the garments was beyond anything Davina had ever owned, or even seen for that matter. The blue wool cloth was also surprisingly soft to the touch.
“Does it please you?” Agnes asked.
“Aye. I have ne’er worn such a fine gown,” Davina remarked.
The maid pulled a garment of fine linen over her head, followed by the Norman style bliaut. The gown had wide sleeves that fell to the floor and was too long with several inches pooling at Davina’s feet. Some of the excess length was taken up by the girdle that was placed on her hips but she still feared tripping as she walked.
“Am I presentable now?” Davina asked Berthe.
“’Tis too big,” Berthe said with a frown. “But ’twill suffice for the nonce.”
“When will I see the king?” Davina asked.
“When he sends for you,” the maid answered. “Until then, you will remain here.”
“Are ye saying I canna leave this chamber?” Davina asked, her heart sinking.
“You will await the king’s pleasure,” Berthe replied. “A supper tray will be sent to you anon.”
Davina should be famished after her long journey but uncertainty turned her stomach into knots. What exactly did it mean to be fostered? And where would the king send her? She dreaded the idea of living with strangers. Would the family the king chose resent her arrival? Would she be treated as a guest or as a servant?
Collecting the bathing implements, Berthe and Agnes departed, leaving Davina all alone to ponder her fate. She longed to see Domnall. In the short time they’d been together a bond had begun to form. She felt as if he were her only friend in the world but now it seemed as if even he had been taken from her.