Chapter Nine
Scottish Borderlands,
December 31, 1145
As the last taper sputtered and died, Davina found herself in almost total darkness. Mass had ended hours ago and even the priest had long departed. Her knees ached and the cold stone had nearly penetrated to her bones, yet she still couldn’t bring herself to leave the chapel. She’d spent every New Year’s Eve for the past five years, thusly—on her knees in prayer for the souls of her murdered father and brother.
She stared up at the face of the Holy Virgin, imagining it was her own mother, patiently waiting for her husband and youngest son to join her and Davina’s eldest brother, Andrew. Davina never fully understood purgatory, but hoped that her prayers would speed their souls into heaven.
The church taught to pray for those who passed from the earth without absolution in order to aid their purification. So she prayed fervently every night, but on the anniversary of their deaths, she prayed all night.
She shivered and pulled her mother’s plaid tightly about her. She always wore it when she prayed. It was the only thing left from her old life, but it was sadly insufficient against the December chill and the wind that blasted through the cracks around the windows and the space under the chapel door.
Determined to ignore the cold, she shut her eyes and began once more to pray, only to be assailed with the click of the latch and a much stronger gust of wind. Had the door blown open?
She turned to find a shadow standing in the doorway. Davina swallowed a gasp. The demons of Crailing still haunted her dreams. Had they now come to take her away?
“Davina?” a soft voice called her name. “Are ye here? ’Tis Domnall.”
“Domnall?” She exhaled his name in relief. How could she not have known it was him?
“Aye, ’tis me,” he replied and took a few steps toward her. “I didna mean to startle ye.”
Then again, it had been almost five years since she’d seen him. She realized that she hadn’t recognized his voice because it had changed. The tone was deeper and more mature. But that wasn’t all that had changed. He came closer and her heart fluttered. He stood half a head taller then her and his face had matured. His mouth was firmer, his brow more prominent, and a light shadow of hair darkened the area just above his lip. The lad she had known was coming quickly into manhood.
“How is it ye’ve come to be here?” Davina asked. His arrival both flummoxed and excited her.
“I came to see ye,” he replied. “I beg ye forgive my late arrival but ’twas a verra long ride.”
“Dunbar is but twelve miles,” she said.
“I wasna at Dunbar,” he replied.
“Nae? How is this? Do ye nae still foster with yer kinsman?”
He shook his head. “I dinna like squiring. Fitz Duncan would have it otherwise, but I have nae interest in becoming a knight, so now I ride the border. We patrol the entire seventy miles of Hadrian’s Wall,” he pronounced proudly.
“How do ye come to be here at Haddington?” she asked.
“I requested to be relieved for the New Year,” he said. “I still remember well what happened at Crailing and I didna want ye to be alone in yer grief. I came to pass this sorrowful night with ye, Davina.”
“Ye did?” She licked her lips. “Ye came here only for me?”
“Aye,” he said. She trembled as he reached out to stroke a lock of her hair. “I need nae other reason.”
She’d become accustomed to her lonely vigil. The prince and princess were kind enough to indulge her, but they had never joined her in the chapel. She’d felt so alone in her grief… until now. His gesture and tender words overwhelmed her with a flood of emotions she couldn’t begin to comprehend.
Fighting to contain the sudden torrent, she turned away with a choked sob.
“What’s amiss?” he asked.
Standing behind her, he rested his warm hands on her shoulders. His gentle touch was all it took. Davina covered her face as the dam burst. Burning tears sprung from her eyes like a raging river.
At first he looked concerned and confused, but then he opened his arms and offered her the comfort and consolation she’d been so long denied.
*
Try as he might, Domnall couldn’t seem to hold his eyes open. Several times, he felt himself dozing and was assaulted with guilt. Was he no better a friend to Davina than the disciples who had slumbered in the Garden of Gethsemane?
He had told her he’d come to share her burden of grief, but it was only a partial truth. He’d also come for his own selfish reasons. He’d ached to see her again.
The past years had been lonely for him, too. He felt out of place in the Lowlands, as if he were a stranger in a foreign land. Perhaps he was. Although he’d come to understand Norman French, he still had no fluency in speaking it. But it wasn’t just the language that separated him from men like his father, it was their outlook on the world. Two generations had passed since the Normans crossed the channel to conquer. They had taken England piece by piece, and still had their eyes set on Scotland. And King David, Scot purely by accident of birth, but in all else thoroughly Norman, seemed determined to allow completion of the conquest.
Although Domnall was only a lad of fifteen, and his sire had done all possible to purge him of the taint of the Highlands, he would never be one of them. He knew well who he was, and what he owed to his Gaelic forbearers, and he had never forgotten the vow that was branded on his heart the day he left Kilmuir—one day he would reclaim it.
It was a closely guarded secret that he’d entrusted to no one—save Davina. Though they’d spent years apart, there was a connection between them that he’d never known with another soul. She, of all people, seemed to understand his thoughts and dreams and goals. And that is why he had come—simply to be with her.
*
When morning broke, Davina awoke to discover herself huddled with Domnall under his fur cloak. She didn’t remember falling asleep, but her body was finally warm and her heart was at peace for the first time she could remember.
“Good morn,” she whispered with a gentle nudge.
“Good morn,” Domnall replied as he cracked his eyes open. “I’m sorry I didna pray as fervently as I’d intended.”
“Ye were much fatigued,” Davina said, studying his eyes. They were light blue and framed with dark lashes. He had beautiful, intelligent, and expressive eyes. Realizing she was staring, she pulled her gaze away with a blush. “I canna thank ye enough for coming here last night.”
“Did it help?” he asked.
“Aye,” she smiled. “Verra much.”
“There’s something else I think might help ye, Davina. I pondered it long into the night… before I fell asleep,” he added with a look of chagrin. “But I dinna ken if the prince and princess will allow it.”
“What is it?” Davina asked.
“Have ye e’er been back to Crailing?”
His question took her aback. The idea of returning filled her with fear and revulsion… and something else she couldn’t name. She shook her head and answered softly, “Nae, I havena been back.”
“Would ye like me to take ye there?” he asked. “I thought ye might like to visit the graves of yer family. Ye ne’er got to say a proper goodbye to them. I wondered if doing so might bring ye greater peace.”
Davina considered his suggestion for a long time. The idea of returning filled her with so many conflicting emotions but rising above them all was the one she couldn’t at first identify, bittersweet longing. Though it lay in ruins, she still yearned to see her childhood home.
“Aye,” Davina whispered. “I would like ye to take me there.”
“Then let us go now,” he said. “I only have two days before I have to return.”
Davina hesitated. “Shouldna I ask permission to leave?”
“Ye could,” Domnall replied, “And they could well say nae. If ye dinna ask, ye dinna disobey. ’Tis yer right to see yer home.”
“Aye,” Davina squared her shoulder. “’Tis indeed my right and my home.”
They left the chapel together and went to the nearby glen where Domnall had picketed his horse. They rode double on the horse, a beautiful steed that Davina admired as much as its skilled and confident rider.
Davina rode behind with her arms wrapped around Domnall’s solid body. It had been years since she’d been on the back of a horse. She had once loved to gallop the heath on her pony. She’d adored the exhilaration of the wind in her face, the rocking motion of the horse beneath her, and the hypnotic rhythm of hoof beats on the turf. She didn’t realize until now just how much she’d missed it.
“Domnall?” Davina asked after a while. “Would it be too hard on the horse if we were to gallop for a bit?”
“He’s a strong beast and, together, we weigh nae more than a knight in armor. Ye willna fall off?”
She shook her head vigorously. “I willna fall.”
“Good.” He grinned. “’Tis many years since I’ve come off a horse’s back. I dinna relish ye taking me with ye.”
A second later, he applied his heels to the horse’s flanks. His mount responded eagerly to Domnall’s command. Davina shut her eyes tightly, not out of fear, but purely to better relish every sensation. Tilting her head back, she felt the warmth of the sun finally breaking through the morning mist to caress her face. She filled her lungs with crisp winter air and savored the scents of mud, horse, leather and Domnall. After five years of grief and sorrow, she finally felt alive again!
Eventually they settled back into a trot but kept a steady pace for the entire day. The sun was dipping and Davina had begun to fear they’d gotten lost, when a castle keep finally came into view.
“What is this?” Davina asked as Domnall pulled the horse to a halt.
“I am certain ’tis the place,” Domnall said. “I have been riding this part of the country for the past two years.”
“’Tis nae Crailing!” Davina said. The landscape was familiar but the castle that commanded the hilltop was not.
They rode another quarter of a mile to the castle gate.
“I dinna understand this but there’s nae mistake,” Domnall insisted. “Look at the gate. I will ne’er forget it!”
Indeed, it was exactly like the gate at Crailing—the only thing that had not been burned to the ground. “But this is nae my home!” Davina said, feeling confused and frustrated and angry.
“Come,” Domnall urged. “Let us discover what has taken place here.” Domnall dismounted and then help Davina. They then proceeded on foot the few remaining yards to the gatehouse.
It was manned by a Norman soldier who eyed them skeptically. “Who are you and what is your business?” he demanded in Norman French.
Domnall heaved a sigh and answered in stilted and Gaelic–accented French that took her by surprise. Had he still not learned the Norman language in all this time?
He was trying to explain why they had come when Davina lost patience and stepped forward. “We have come from Haddington and are looking for Crailing Tower,” she explained in perfect Norman French. “I used to live here,” she said “But there was nae castle. There was only a watch tower.”
Aside from the entrance, nothing was the same. A great style castle was being constructed to replace the old pell tower she used to call home. The new fortification had thicker walls and a central keep with ramparts that commanded a view even beyond the Cheviots.
“The old tower burned long ago. ’Tis Castle Crailing you have come to,” the gatekeeper said.
“And who has built this castle?” she asked.
“The king of course,” he answered. “’Tis his land.”
“His land?” Davina’s chest tightened. She was the king’s ward. Did that give him the right to seize what was rightfully hers? “’Tis my land!” Davina cried. “’Twas my home!”
“Come away, Davina,” Domnall urged with an arm around her waist. “Let us go to the place where yer faither and brother were buried. There will be time to sort out the rest of this later.”
It was but a small blessing that the burial ground had not been disturbed. Several crudely carved wooden crossed marked the spots where the dead lay. Davina knelt by each one and murmured a quiet prayer for her father, Ewan, Elspeth, Callum, and Aillig. She then went to the grave of her mother where she sat in lengthy, sober silence. It saddened her that she could barely recall her mother’s face anymore.
“I wish I had some flowers,” she said, but the landscape was barren of anything green. She’d expected to feel some kind of connection to her past once she arrived here, but it wasn’t her home anymore. She only felt hollow and empty. “I want to go now,” she said softly.
“I’m sorry, Davina,” Domnall said. “I wish I hadna brought ye here. ’Tis nae at all as I imagined it.”
“I’m glad ye brought me,” Davina replied sadly. “I needed to return here and I had a right to ken what the king has done to Crailing.”
“I only wanted to bring ye peace.” His shoulders rose and fell in a helpless shrug.
“Ye have given me more peace than ye ken.” She reached out and touched his cheek. “Ye are the only true friend I have.”
He caught her hand with his and brought it to his lips. His breath was hot and humid against her fingers. “What if I hoped for more?” Her flesh tingled with each press of his lips against her fingers.
“More?” Davina’s pulse skipped a beat. “I dinna understand ye.” His meaning puzzled her but the look in his eyes made her warm in unfamiliar places.
He released her hand to cup her face in both of his and leaned closer until his mouth was mere inches from hers. His eyes darted down to her lips. Did he intend to kiss her? Would she let him? Yes. She wanted to feel his lips on hers. She desired his kiss.
She closed her eyes in eager anticipation. His mouth caressed hers softly at first. It was a fleeting test of flesh against flesh, as if he were no more certain of how to go about it than she was. But then he kissed her a second time and his lips lingered. The sensation was warm and wonderful and made her innards flutter.
“I am a man now,” he murmured against her lips, “but I have yet to ken a woman.”
“Ken a woman? Ye dinna speak of carnal knowledge?”
“Aye,” he replied. “I have ne’er lain with a lass. I would like to lie with ye, Davina.”
“Nae!” she pulled back with a gasp. “’Tis a sin without marriage!”
“So says the church, but is it truly wicked if two people care about each other?”
“Dinna try to twist the words! I willna let ye use me this way!”
Was that all he wanted from her? Was everything else just a lie? She suddenly felt like the only person she truly trusted had betrayed her.
She turned her back to him, intending to flee, but there was nowhere to go.
“Davina!” he seized her arm. “Please. Ye dinna understand!”
Her voice barely emerged from the tightness in her throat. “I ken perfectly,” she replied in a whisper. Her anguish was almost a physical pain.
“Nae, ye dinna!” he insisted. “I wanted to lie with ye because ye are the only lass I e’er desired to kiss and to lie with. I think of ye every night. There is nae other for me, Davina.”
“If ’tis true, why do ye nae speak of marriage?” she asked.
“Because I canna make ye that kind of promise,” he said. “At least nae yet. There is much I have to accomplish before I can e’er think of taking a wife.”
“If ye care for me truly, ye can wait for me,” she said.
“But can ye wait for me?” he countered.
“Aye,” she replied. “I could and I would.”
“But ’tis nae yer choice,” Domnall said. “Ye will be wed when the king commands it… and to whomever he chooses.”
She knew he was right, but she refused to sacrifice her virtue so easily—even to the only one she cared about. The only one she loved.
She looked up at him with unwavering resolution. “I give ye my heart most freely, Domnall Mac William, but I willna let ye take my virtue.”
He took her hand then and placed it on his chest over his own wildly thumping heart. “I give ye my heart as well, Davina of Crailing, and I willna e’er take anything from ye that is nae freely given. I swear this day before God and His Saints that I willna e’er lie with anyone else but ye. I will wait for ye, Davina.”
*
Darkness had fallen, and the moonless night sky made travel impossible. They spent the night in the stables, once more huddled together for warmth. But Domnall’s body was far too aware of Davina for him to sleep. Desire burned in his veins. He had hoped she would be his this night, but he meant what he’d said. He would hold fast to his own virginity until the day she would become his wife. His greatest fear, however, was that she would never be his. In just two years she would be old enough to wed and he had no doubt the king would not tarry in arranging the marriage.
He pulled her into his chest with a sigh. He loved her and no other. He’d recognized that truth of his heart the very moment he’d set eyes on her in the chapel.
For as long as he could remember, Domnall’s driving desire had been to reclaim his family’s lands. To his knowledge, Fitz Duncan hadn’t been back to Kilmuir in the past five years. He had a Norman son with his Norman wife, who stood to inherit all of his father’s holdings, but it was unlikely that young William of Egremont would ever set foot on Highland soil.
Every day that he lived, Domnall prepared himself for the day he would fight for his lost birthright. But refuting that very claim might be his only chance to have Davina.
*
Davina grew more anxious the closer they came to Haddington. By the time they arrived back at the palace, her stomach was knotted with worry. “Ye should go now,” Davina said the moment the keep came into view. “I can walk the rest of the way.”
Domnall shook his head. “I will deliver ye safely back.”
“But ye will surely be punished for taking me away!” Davina was certain the prince and princess would be angry at her disappearance but Domnall only shrugged off her warning.
“’Tis a risk I assumed when I took ye.”
“But—”
“Dinna fash, mo chridhe,” he gently chastised. “I willna slink away like a craven or a criminal. I will face Prince Henry like a man.”
His words were brave but he, too, looked a bit daunted when they dismounted in the bailey and found themselves surrounded by the prince’s men-at-arms.
“We are glad to see you safely returned, mademoiselle. His Highness was much concerned with your disappearance. He took a party of men out to find you.” The soldier eyed Domnall with a measured look. “He will surely desire an explanation.”
“And he will have one,” Domnall replied blithely.
Davina’s anxiety mounted another notch as they entered the palace keep. Would they both be punished?
“Where have you been?” the princess demanded the moment they appeared in the solar. “Prince Henry has been gone the whole day seeking you!”
“I’m sorry to have worried ye, my lady,” Davina replied. “I went to Crailing to visit the graves of my family.”
“You did not ask permission,” the princess reprimanded. “If you wanted to go you should have told me. Go you now to your chamber.” She then turned wrathful eyes upon Domnall. “And you will await Prince Henry’s return.”
Davina and Domnall exchanged a wistful parting look as Davina left the solar. She already suspected she would be made to pay her penance with prayer and fasting, but her fear was far greater for Domnall. How would he be punished?
*
Domnall was ordered to wait in the prince’s study, watched closely by one of the prince’s men. It was three interminable hours before the prince returned. He knew he would be punished but he had no regrets.
Storming into the room, Prince Hnery confronted Domnall with a thunderous look. “What devil possessed you to hie off to Crailing with Davina?”
“She wanted to visit her family’s grave sites, so I took her there,” Domnall replied. “My only thought was of soothing Davina’s grief. I am sorry to have caused ye worry, Highness. I should have asked ye first.”
The prince glowered. “You bloody well should have! You know very well the dangers of the Borderlands. I feared someone had taken her—or worse.” His gaze narrowed. “Did you return her in the same… condition… in which she departed?”
“Aye, Highness,” Domnall replied, knowing exactly what the prince meant. “I dinna touch her. I swear it.”
The prince shook his head. “She is the king’s ward. As such, I canna trust your word alone on this. She must be examined. Know this well, Domnall Fitz William, kinsman or no, if ’tis discovered that you lie, I will personally ensure that you never debauch another maid.”
*
Early the next morning, Davina was awakened by the princess’ arrival with her midwife. “The prince demands that you undergo an examination,” the princess declared without ado.
“Examination?” At first Davina didn’t comprehend, but enlightenment quickly came when the midwife commanded her to disrobe.
“You went off alone with a young man,” the princess stated. “Now you must provide proof of your chastity.”
“But I didna lie with him!” Davina exclaimed. “I am still a maid!”
Nevertheless, the princess was deaf to her protests. The next few minutes were a torture of pure mortification as the midwife probed the most intimate part of her body. Though Davina’s face burned with shame and humiliation, she bore the indignity with as much stoicism as she could muster.
“She speaks the truth, Highness,” the midwife declared. “She is yet a maid.”
“Good!” the princess said. “Then we need say nothing to the king of this misadventure.” She then turned to Davina. “As your penance, you will remain in this chamber for a fortnight with only bread and water to contemplate the error of your ways.”
“What of Domnall?” Davina asked.
“Domnall is forbidden ever to see you again.”
Davina gasped. “But he did nothing wrong!”
“Taking you away was a grave transgression of trust,” the princess said. “He will not be given another chance.”