Chapter Eight
That night, Davina startled awake at the sound of a knock on her chamber door. Before she could respond, the latch lifted. Had somebody entered? She squinted into the darkness but all she could make out were the shadows cast by the dying embers of the brazier that warmed her chamber. Was it perhaps the maid replenishing the peat for the fire?
“Davina?” a familiar voice whispered.
“Domnall?” Davina gasped. “Is it ye?”
“Aye. ’Tis me,” he replied, emerging from the shadows into the dim moonlight.
Throwing back the covers, Davina suppressed a squeal of joy. “How did ye get in?” she asked.
“I lifted the key from the maid while she and Champernon were… er…” he paused, his face flushing. “’Twasna so hard.”
“I canna tell ye how pleased I am to see ye,” she gushed.
“I canna stay long,” he said. “I came because I ken ye dinna like to be alone at night.”
“Nae, I dinna,” she confessed.
“I also came to tell ye I am leaving soon.”
“Leaving?” she gasped. “But why? Ye just arrived!”
“Lady Alice doesna want me here,” he replied.
His answer befuddled her. “I dinna understand. Why should she object to ye?”
“She doesna like me because…”
“Because ye are Fitz Duncan’s bastard?” she answered.
“Nae!” Domnall’s eyes flashed in protest. “Fitz Duncan was wed to my máthair when I was conceived!”
“But how could he have married Lady Alice if yer máthair yet lives? I dinna comprehend how this can be.”
“’Tis all the king’s doing,” Domnall said with a glower. “He had the marriage annulled so Fitz Duncan could wed a Norman heiress. Through Alice de Rumille, Fitz Duncan became one of the greatest land barons in two kingdoms.”
“I see,” Davina said. “And now she feels threatened for her infant son because ye are Fitz Duncan’s firstborn.”
“Aye,” Domnall said. “So I am to be sent away.”
“Will ye go back home?” Davina asked.
“Nae. He is sending me to Dunbar to foster under a kinsman.”
“Foster? Fitz Duncan wishes ye to become a knight? Why do ye look so displeased about it?” Davina asked. “’Tis a noble thing to live by the knight’s code.”
“Noble?” Domnall snorted. “My sire is considered one of the greatest noblemen of the kingdom, but there is naught noble in his character! Do ye see now why I dinna want to be like him? I will ne’er be the king’s man! I will ne’er pledge my fealty to the man who destroyed my máthair’s family.”
“Then what will ye do?” Davina asked.
“I dinna yet ken,” he replied glumly. “I suppose I will go to Dunbar… for the nonce. If I dinna like it there, mayhap I’ll go back home to Kilmuir.”
“I wish I could go home,” Davina said, fighting the quiver of her lip. “But I dinna have a home to go back to anymore… or a family.”
Laying his hands on her shoulders, Domnall met her gaze. “But ye have me now, Davina of Crailing. And I will ne’er forsake ye.”
His blue eyes were clear and earnest, yet his words were naught but an empty promise. Did he not just tell her he was going away? “How can ye make such a vow when ye said ye are leaving?” she asked.
“Mayhap there is a way we could be together,” he suggested.
Davina’s heart raced. “How?”
“If the king could be persuaded to send ye also to my kinsmen in Dunbar. My great uncle is the Earl of Lothian Ye could do far worse than to be placed in such a family.”
“Do ye think ’tis possible?” she asked.
“Anything is possible if the king deems it so,” Domnall replied.
“But what if the king says no?” she asked. “Wh-what if I ne’er see ye again?” she asked, frantically blinking back the tears that threatened to spill.
“If he says no, we simply will have to think of something else,” Domnall reassured. To her surprise, he then pulled her into a quick embrace. “Have faith, lass,” Domnall said. “Did I nae promise I willna forsake ye?”
*
Returning to the stables, Domnall slipped the key he’d borrowed back into the maid’s poque that lay on the floor of the loft with her discarded clothing. She and Champernon now lay slumbering in the hayloft, limbs still tangled.
Domnall had inadvertently witnessed couples rutting a number of times in his life, but it was still something he couldn’t comprehend. At this moment it only annoyed him. The two of them had taken his bed.
With nowhere else to go, Domnall descended the ladder and slipped into his horse’s stall where his gelding greeted him with a flicker of his ears and a soft nicker. Lying in the straw, his head resting against his horse’s belly, Domnall bedded down for the night.
He must speak to Fitz Duncan about Davina first thing in the morning while he still had the chance. Once he departed for Dunbar, Domnall didn’t know when or even if he would see his sire again. Did Fitz Duncan intend to be part of Domnall’s life, or was this fosterage simply a way of washing his hands of his bastard son? He had to know which and he also had to do what he could for Davina. If they were to foster in the same place, they could at least look out for one another.
Davina was alone and friendless. Domnall at least had his father and Champernon. In truth, he didn’t like or trust either of them, but at least he wasn’t all alone. He didn’t quite understand his need to protect her. He liked and respected her. She was clever and resourceful. How else could she have survived the ravages of Crailing? He pitied the lass. But beyond the pity something deeper had taken root, but thinking about it only made him uncomfortable.
Grunting noises and giggles had recommenced in the loft above his head. Mumbling a curse, Domnall covered his ears and whistled a Highland tune.
*
“Ouch!” Domnall awoke to the sensation of a booted foot nudging him none-too-gently in the ribs.
“Awake you, Domnall!” Champernon exclaimed.
“What is it?” Domnall sat up rubbing his side.
“There’s word that King Stephen plans a siege of Lincoln Castle, and there is a good chance Fitz Duncan will be marching south to join him.” Champernon’s eyes gleamed with excitement.
Domnall wondered at Champernon’s fervent interest when this war between Empress Matilda and King Stephen had been going on for over five years. What was one more castle siege in the great scheme of things?
“What of it?” Domnall asked with a yawn. “The war in England means nothing to me.”
“It means a great deal to King David,” Champernon said, “And even more to Fitz Duncan and Prince Henry.”
“Aye?” Domnall stood and brushed the straw from his clothes. “Why is that?”
Champernon heaved a sigh. Squatting down to the ground, he brushed away the straw. He then drew out his dirk and began to draw a crude map in the dirt.
“This is Scotland” he stabbed the upper portion of his drawing with his knife, “and this is England,” he pointed to the oblong landmass that stretched to the south. He then drew a large circle to encompass a vast swath of land that lay between the two. “Cumberland and Northumbria were part of England before the war, with most of it under the control of De Gernon.”
Champernon had finally succeeded in commanding his attention. Domnall squinted at the crude map. “Even Carlisle?”
“Aye,” Champernon nodded drawing another line. “All the way up here and to the west, almost to Galloway. Less than two years ago De Gernon lost a vast chunk of his holdings in the peace treaty between England and Scotland. After King Stephen ceded De Gernon’s Cumbrian lands, De Gernon allied himself with Queen Matilda in retaliation. If De Gernon gains a foothold at Lincoln, he will surely turn his eyes further north and challenge David for his lost lands—lands that currently belong to Prince Henry and William Fitz Duncan. Do you now understand the significance?”
“Aye,” Domnall nodded. Lands and titles meant a great deal to his sire. He would not take such a threat lightly. “What more do ye ken of this De Gernon?” Domnall asked. “How can he be such a threat?”
“Because he’s a man bent on vengeance,” Champernon replied, “Which makes him the most dangerous kind.”
“Why should any of this concern us?” Domnall asked. “Dinna ye and I leave this morn for Dunbar?”
“Nae,” Champernon shook his head. “There is a change of plans. There have been more raids reported in the Borderlands. The king thinks the raids might be intended as a diversion to keep Scotland occupied. He has decreed the creation of a border patrol until the war is over.”
“He fears there will be more raids like the one at Crailing?” Domnall asked.
“’Twill surely get worse before it gets better,” Champernon said with a shrug.
“Fitz Duncan said Crailing was nae a random act,” Domnall remarked. “Does he think this same De Gernon was behind it?”
“He believes ’tis nae coincidence. The timing is suspicious at the least,” Champernon replied.
“Why is that?” Domnall asked.
“Because there are a growing number of men, particularly in the Borderlands, who owe allegiance to neither king nor country.”
“De Gernon is such a man?” Domnall asked.
“Suffice it to say his allegiance changes with the wind,” Champernon said. “Even now the earls discuss whether or nae to send men to Lincolnshire to aid King Stephen.”
“If they march, will we be going with them?” Domnall asked.
“I will be going,” Champernon said. “You will remain here in Carlisle.”
At first, Domnall was annoyed at being left out, but then he thought of Davina. He hadn’t wanted to leave her with things yet unsettled. He’d intended to ask Fitz Duncan to persuade the king to send her to Dunbar with him, but now it seemed fate had smiled in their favor. Carlisle wouldn’t be half so bad if they were here together.
*
Davina was already awake and dressed and sitting by the window when Agnes entered her chamber. Lost in her thoughts she paid little heed to the maid. Domnall had promised to speak to Fitz Duncan. Had he had the opportunity to do so? If so, would Fitz Duncan petition the king? If not, she wondered if Lady Alice would be willing to speak to the king on her behalf? She could only hope.
“I brought your breakfast, mademoiselle,” Agnes said.
Accustomed to bannocks and porridge, Davina regarded the contents of the breakfast tray with surprise. There was a small round loaf of white bread, a wedge of cheese, a small dish containing honey and a cup that presumably contained ale or cider. She raised the cup to her nose and sniffed. It was neither ale nor cider. “What is it?” Davina asked.
“’Tis mead,” Agnes replied.
Davina took a tentative sip and wrinkled her nose. The taste was strange and stronger than she was used to. She then tore a piece from the bread and took a bite. Its texture was soft and the taste slightly sweet. It was entirely different from the oat bannocks that Elspeth made every morning.
“You must eat quickly, mademoiselle,” Agnes urged. “She does not like to be kept waiting.”
“She?” Davina asked.
“Her Highness, Princess Adaline,” Agnes clarified. “She wishes to see you as soon as you have broken your fast.”
The bread suddenly turned to sawdust in Davina’s mouth. Though she had eaten almost nothing for days, she turned away from her food. “I am to go alone?” she asked.
“Lady Alice will be there,” Agnes said.
“Then I will go to her now.” Resolved to take matters into her own hands, Davina followed the maid through a seemingly endless corridor to the opposite end of the palace where the maid rapped softly on another chamber door before entering.
Two women were seated side-by-side in a friendly discussion that ceased the moment they noted Davina’s presence. The younger of the two, presumably the princess, sat with her hands folded protectively over a protuberant belly.
Davina hesitated on the threshold of the solar, an even larger, and if possible, luxurious chamber than the one the countess had occupied the day before. Rather than the rush mats she was accustomed to at Crailing, elaborately woven carpets covered the floor. Her father had spoken of such beautiful things that many of the knights had brought back with them from the crusade.
Davina tentatively entered the chamber, almost afraid to step upon the carpet.
“Ah Davina! You do look much improved this morn,” Lady Alice said. “Come you forth and present yourself to Her Highness, Princess Adaline.”
Uncertain of the protocol, Davina wavered.
“Well,” the countess eyed her expectantly.
“Make your curtsy,” Agnes whispered.
“I dinna ken how,” Davina answered. “I have ne’er made one before.”
“Just bend your knees,” the maid hissed more urgently.
Already near buckling from nerves, Davina slowly descended—all the way to the floor. The two noblewomen exchanged a befuddled look, then broke into trills of laughter. Realizing her gaffe, Davina’s face burned with embarrassment.
“You may rise, Davina,” the princess commanded. “I am a mere Princess of Scotland, not the Holy Virgin.”
Davina scrambled to her feet. “I havena met a princess before.”
The countess eyed her coldly. “You are born of decent stock, yet your manners are lacking.”
“My máthair passed away two winters ago,” Davina explained. “My father did not overly concern himself with me.”
“’Twill need to be rectified if she is to make a good marriage,” the princess said.
Marriage again? Davina was growing increasingly perturbed that a subject that didn’t interest her in the least seemed to be almost an obsession of everyone around her!
“What if I dinna want to wed?” Davina asked.
“What you want means nothing,” the countess replied.
“I dinna need a husband,” Davina protested. “My family’s lands produce good crops. I could hire men to work the land. ’Tis what my own father did whilst he was away.”
“Your fertile land is precisely what makes you an attractive bride,” the countess said. “You will be as much sought after as a well-bred horse.”
“’Tis hardly a flattering comparison,” Davina grumbled.
“Ah, but it is,” Lady Alice said, adding with a chuckle, “There are far too many wives who would give anything to be treated half as well as their husband’s horses.”
“What if I wish to keep my own lands?” Davina asked.
“The king would never allow it,” Lady Alice replied.
“Why nae?” Davina asked.
“Because it would not suit his purpose,” the princess interjected. “The king will wed you to his advantage. ’Tis what kings do. They buy men’s loyalty with titles and estates.”
“You have much to learn of this world, Davina,” the countess interjected. “As a female you have but two choices in this life—taking a husband or taking the veil. If you choose a husband, he will control both you and the estate. If you seek to take Holy vows, the church will gain control of you and your lands. Do you see now?” she asked with a fatalistic shrug.
“What of love?” Davina asked. “Does love nae matter in a marriage?”
Once more, the two women exchanged a look she didn’t understand.
“If God blesses you with a good husband, you will learn to love him,” the princess said. “Your lands will help you to make such a marriage. In the meantime, you must learn the manners and conduct of a well-bred lady. Indeed, I think that I shall be the one to teach you.”
“Ye?” Davina replied in incredulity.
“Aye,” the princess replied. “You will come to Haddington with me.”
The countess eyed Davina dubiously. “Are you quite certain, Princess?”
“The child does show some promise,” the princess said. “And I will be much in need of diversion once my confinement begins.” She patted her belly.
“Then let us waste no time,” countess remarked. “You may begin now, Davina, with a proper curtsy.”
*
“Did ye learn anything of Davina?” Domnall asked as he and Champernon broke their fasts in the castle kitchen.
“Aye,” Champernon replied between a bite of bread and a sip of ale. “Agnes said she will not remain at Carlisle. She goes instead to Haddington to be fostered by Princess Adaline.”
Domnall was taken aback. “The princess has taken her in?”
“’Tis not such bad news,” Champernon said by way of consolation. “Haddington is but ten or twelve miles from Dunbar. Not that you need to concern yourself with her any longer. She will not be mistreated. Davina is an heiress now.”
“What of it?” Domnall asked.
“A female with property is every man’s dream,” Champernon said.
Domnall wasn’t sure what to think of that. The very idea of marrying a woman solely for her wealth made his stomach churn with disgust. “Shouldna every man make his own way?”
“Aye, but some are born to greater advantage than others,” Champernon replied with a shrug. He smiled at a pretty maid who sat further down the table.
She blushed and averted her gaze.
“How old is Davina?” Champernon suddenly asked.
“I dinna ask her,” Domnall said. “At most, she’s seen nine summers.”
“Seven years then,” Champernon replied thoughtfully. “I will be four and twenty. ’Tis a good age to wed.”
Domnall gaped, unable to believe his ears. “Ye canna mean ye intend to take Davina to wife!”
“Why not? She has no visible deformities and who knows what seven years will bring.” He added with a laugh, “Mayhap, she’ll grow into those big eyes and buck teeth. With any luck, she’ll even sprout a nice pair of teats.”
Champernon nodded to the maid.
This time, she smiled back at him.
Domnall watched the exchange with a sudden surge of emotion. Champernon could not wed Davina! He had no right! He cared nothing for the lass, but only coveted her property. ’Twasn’t just! After all she had been through, she deserved better. She deserved someone who would love, honor, and protect her.
In seven years, he would be grown also. He would then be big and strong enough to defend Davina from men like Champernon. When the time came, he would be her champion.