Chapter Ten
Scottish Borderlands
1148 A.D.
Domnall sat straighter and taller in the saddle as Haddington Castle came into view. In any other circumstance, he would surely be turned away from the palace gates, but not this time. He carried dispatches from the king. He’d left his patrol to serve as a lowly courier, only for the chance to see Davina. Nearly three years had passed since they’d last parted, though she was never far from his thoughts.
He’d served the king faithfully in the border patrol. Although their pay was meager, barely enough to feed and equip himself, he had great autonomy. Riding the length of Hadrian’s Wall, he oft spent eighteen hours a day in the saddle, and more nights than not made his bed on the bare ground within the ruins of the Roman wall castles, but even given the hardships, he didn’t envy the squires who were at the constant beck and call of their masters. He wouldn’t trade the freedom he relished for any of the creature comforts they enjoyed.
For the first time in his life he felt he had a purpose.
Neither soldiers nor knights, the patrol riders fell somewhere in between. Although David’s knights held all the major positions of command, the men who rode the Borderlands were not exclusively knights, nor were they all Normans. Four years ago, Domnall had managed to attach himself to a group of Highlanders who’d been conscripted into the king’s service. Although much younger than the other men, he’d been assigned to the patrol because few of the Highlanders understood a word of Anglo-Norman—or at least they didn’t acknowledge that they did.
Several of them were from Kildun, in his own province of Moray. Domnall had been thrilled for the chance to once more speak his native tongue. After so many years away from home, Moray seemed more like a hazy dream than a place anymore. Even his beloved mother’s face had become a bit fogged in his brain.
Since his father had taken him from Kilmuir, Domnall had intently studied the fighting techniques of both the Normans and the Highlanders. He’d squired for Champernon who had taught him how to handle a sword, and later the Highlanders had taught him how to handle a battle ax and a ballock knife. Although the Normans were feared for their formidable cavalry and lethal archers, in close combat the Highland warriors struck nothing less than sheer terror in their enemies’ hearts.
Domnall had quickly learned to wield his weapons with deadly lethality, which he’d also had ample opportunity to prove on his patrols. His studies were not limited, however, to waging warfare. The Highlanders also schooled him in other things—the traditions, folklore, and music of his people—and the Ghillie Challum – the famed Highland sword dance. At the first skirl of the bagpipes, his heart had swelled with a feeling he couldn’t describe. These men had reminded him in the most profound way, of who he really was—a descendent of the great Scottish warrior kings.
Though Scottish blood also flowed in David’s veins, the king was, in all other respects, a Norman. He’d betrayed his country with his Norman knights and his Roman Catholic clergymen. There were precious few men at court who even spoke Gaelic—to include David himself! He cared nothing for the Highlands or its people. They were naught more than warm bodies to fill his army—the army that now helped him to hold his English lands.
As yet, Domnall had taken no official oath of allegiance to the king, as David’s knights were required to do. Nevertheless, he had no doubt that day was fast approaching. What would he do when David commanded him to bend his knee and swear his everlasting fealty? In his heart, he knew he could not. He owed his allegiance only to God and to Moray.
Domnall’s mind had begun turning often toward his future, and thoughts of his future always brought him back to Davina. Would she be much changed? He was—by at least four inches and over two stone since he’d seem her, but thankfully, his tall and lanky frame had finally begun to fill out.
His anticipation grew as he drew closer to Haddington Castle. Soon his heart began to gallop madly—so he urged his horse to do the same.
*
“’Tis mine!” Prince William cried, snatching the brightly painted top from his younger brother, David.
“But I had it first,” David whined. “Mama! William took it from me!”
The boys’ argument swiftly descended into a grappling match, while their two sisters, embroidery tambours in their laps, looked on with poorly stifled giggles.
The clamor awoke the infant, Marjory, who commenced a screaming fit.
“Davina,” Princess Adaline moaned as she knelt on the floor retching into a chamber pot. “Would you please take the children out to play in the garden?”
Princess Adaline was once more heavy with child. It seemed she barely had time to recover from one birth before she began breeding again. Of course, the prince and king couldn’t be happier, though the pregnancies seemed to be getting more difficult for her and the sickness frequently drained her strength.
“Is there aught else ye need?” Davina asked, kneeling beside the princess. “A sip of cider perhaps? Or some ginger tea?”
“No,” the princess replied, delicately patting her mouth and then wiping her face on a handkerchief of nearly translucent linen. “I desire only some peace and quiet for a time.”
“As ye wish, my lady,” Davina answered with a shallow, but perfectly executed, curtsy. “Come children!” she called. “’Tis a fine day. Let us go out into the sunshine and I’ll teach ye how to make a scopperel.”
“Can we joust with them?” Malcolm asked. He was the eldest of the royal sons and greatly enamored with knightly chivalry.
“Aye,” Davina said. “Bring yer hobby horses and we can hold a tourney.”
“But I have not finished my needlework,” Margaret complained.
She was the second eldest of the children with a solemn nature, preferring needlework over merrymaking. Davina could never comprehend why a young girl would rather work than play.
“You may remain, Margaret,” her mother replied, inspecting her daughter’s work with an approving smile.
Margaret, though yet a child, was already being groomed for her future marriage. Though she had the advantage of an affectionate home, Davina still pitied any child denied the full frivolity of childhood. Perhaps because she’d had to grow up so fast.
At least she’d been treated well by the prince and princess. Though she attended the children, Davina was regarded much more as part of the family than a servant. She was richly clothed and had been given the benefit of education that was often denied to females, let alone those of a lower station.
“I do not care for scopperels,” Ada said. “But I’ll cut some flowers for Mama. Mayhap they will make you feel better?”
“Thank you, Ada,” her mother replied.
Young Ada was the most complacent child, while William was the most willful. Davina had no doubt he would one day rule a kingdom.
Collecting some strips of cloth and scissors, Davina placed them in a basket and then shepherded the children from the solar to the private walled garden at the back of the castle.
“Gather ye some sticks from under the trees,” she commanded the boys. “They must be thicker than my thumb,” she extended her hand to show them, “and as long as yer forearm.”
While the boys were occupied with their stick search, she and Ada examined the rose bushes for the best buds to cut. The air was balmy and scented with the late-blooming roses that had been imported from Normandy. Though the garden was her favorite place at Haddington, Davina still missed the heather and thistle and bluebells that had grown wild at Crailing.
Crailing. Her heart gave a painful squeeze at the memory of what once was her home. She hadn’t thought of it or her family in a very long time—not since Domnall had taken her there. She’d put it out of her mind after that. Though the journey had ended with their separation, it had at least allowed her to lay those sad memories to rest.
“Here is one!” Ada exclaimed, pointing to a perfect red bud.
Davina retrieved the scissors and set the basket on the ground. Careful to avoid the thorns, she prepared to cut the bloom, only to prick her finger as a soft male voice called out her name.
“Davina?”
She froze at the sound. She had thought of him only a moment ago. Had she imagined his voice?
“Davina!” he repeated, more forcefully.
She slowly turned to face the man who stood tentatively at the gate. And he was, indeed, a man now. Domnall was tall and handsome with startling blue eyes that slowly searched hers.
“Domnall?” she whispered his name. “Is it truly ye?”
“Aye. ’Tis me.” His face broke into a grin that nearly stopped her heart.
“I canna believe ye are here!” she gushed, her heart pounding with pure joy.
Davina threw down the scissors and rushed toward him, but just as she was about to launch herself into his arms, her brain caught up with her rapidly racing heart. She halted an arm’s breadth away and pulled back with a frown.
The arms that were ready to embrace her dropped to his sides. “What’s amiss?”
“What’s amiss, ye ask. Dinna ye ken? I am sore vexed with ye!”
His face crumpled in confusion. “What have I done?”
“I dinna hear from ye in nigh three years and ye have to ask?”
“’Twas nae fault of mine,” he protested. “Ye ken I was forbidden to come here. I had hoped that, in time, my transgressions would be forgiven… but alas…” he ended with a helpless shrug.
How could she blame him? Uncertain how to respond, Davina glanced down to find a drop of blood forming on her fingertip.
Before she could wipe it on her skirt, he closed the gap between them. Taking her hand, he brought it up to his lips. Warmth flooded her insides at the sensation of his hot, wet tongue licking the tip of her finger.
“’Twould be a shame to soil such fine clothes.” He slowly lowered her hand, but he didn’t immediately release it.
“Aye. ’Twould, indeed,” she replied breathlessly. “I dinna understand this. If ye are still barred from Haddington, how do ye come to be here?” Davina asked.
Had his circumstances changed? Had he come to seek her hand? She tried to tamp down the sudden surge of hope.
“I brought dispatches from the king,” he replied. “They could hardly turn me away.”
“Is that the only reason ye came?” she asked. “To deliver documents?”
“Nae!” he almost laughed. “’Twas but an excuse to come! I had hoped to see ye long before this, Davina.”
“Then why dinna ye write to me?” she asked, trying to stay angry but already feeling herself softening.
His face flushed. He glanced away and mumbled, “I canna write.”
Davina gaped. How could this be? He was the grandson of two kings! “Ye canna write?”
“Nae,” he replied. “Books are for priests. I have studied warfare. ’Tis much more useful in these times.”
He was right about that. As anarchy in England persisted, lawlessness had prevailed in the Borderlands. It was only the brave men who patrolled the frontier that ensured peace and safety.
“I’m glad to see ye, Domnall. I have missed ye greatly.”
“And I, ye,” he answered.
Her eyes riveted to his lips. A thousand butterflies fluttered inside of her at the sudden remembrance of the kiss they had shared nearly three years ago. His expression had grown more intense, almost as if he read her thoughts about the kiss.
There was so much more to say but where even to begin? They stared at one another in an increasingly awkward silence, finally broken by young William and Malcolm emerging from the orchard waving branches.
“Davina! We found sticks for the scopperels.” They abruptly pulled up, eyeing Domnall with suspicion. “Who are you?”
“My name is Domnall,” he offered with a bow. “I am a nephew of the king, which also makes me yer kinsman.”
“You mean a cousin?” Malcolm offered.
“Aye,” Domnall nodded. “A distant cousin.”
“Do you know how to make a scopperel?” William asked.
“I suppose I could figure it out,” Domnall said, reaching for his dirk.
“William and I are going to joust,” Malcolm proudly declared. “Like the knights do.”
“Are you a knight?” William asked.
“Nae,” Domnall replied. “I am a member of the king’s patrol.”
“What is a patrol?” William asked.
“A group of men who keep a look out for raiders,” Domnall answered.
“What is a raider?” William then asked.
Domnall squatted down to the boy’s eye level. “A raider is a bad man who steals things and hurts people.”
“Do you kill them?” William asked, eyes gleaming.
Domnall seemed taken aback by the bluntness of the question. “Aye,” he finally replied. “I have killed before.”
“How many?” Davina softly asked. Had he killed the man who murdered her family?
“I dinna ken,” Domnall replied with a shrug. “But I think of ye, Davina, every time I raise my sword.”
“Do ye?” she asked, her heart racing for another reason now. “I am glad of it,” she said, adding vehemently, “such men deserve to die a thousand times.”
“Can we play a game?” Ada asked, now joining the group.
“What kind of games do ye like?” Domnall asked.
“Hide and seek?” the young princess suggested.
“I want to play Colin Maillard,” William said, waving his stick.
“We can play it, but nae with the sticks,” Davina said. “Lest ye truly put yer eyes out.”
“Colin Maillard?” Domnall repeated with a blank look. “Is this a person or a game?”
“Both!” Malcolm answered. “’Tis a game about a knight of yore. My father told us his story. Shall I recount it to you?”
“I would like to hear it.” Domnall nodded and then settled himself on the grass. “Will ye sit with me, Davina?” he asked, patting the place beside him.
Wary of appearances, Davina hesitated only until the children sat. She then joined them on the grass as Malcolm began his story.
“Long ago, in the days of King Robert of France, there was a fearsome knight named Jean Colin who came to be called Maillard after the great mallet he carried into battle to smash his enemies’ heads.” Malcolm raised his imaginary hammer and struck his brother, who eagerly entered the pantomime and threw himself to the ground as if dead.
“During one such battle, his chief rival, the Count de Lorain, put out his eyes. Believing Maillard vanquished, the count left his enemy to die and returned to the battle. Maillard, however, was far from dead. Though blind, he ordered his squire to guide him to the very place where the count was fighting. Blindly brandishing his mallet, Maillard felled a score of his foes, including the count!” Malcolm then demonstrated by smashing them all on the head with his invisible mallet.
“But what has this story to do with a game?” Domnall asked.
Davina then took up the tale. “When King Robert learned of Maillard’s amazing feat, he lavished many royal favors upon him and even commemorated the event with a pantomime. It was so popular with the people that it became a game.”
“’Tis a true story,” Malcolm exclaimed.
“How is this game played?” Domnall asked.
“We shall show ye!” Davina rose and went to her basket where she’d placed the cloth that she’d intended to cut up for the scopperel flags.
“Stand up,” she ordered Domnall. She then proceeded to tie the cloth around his head and over his eyes. “Can ye see anything?” she asked.
“I canna,” he replied.
“Verra well.” She proceeded to spin him around three times. “Now ye need to catch one of us!” She released him with a push and a giggle.
“What happens when I do?” he asked.
“You have to guess who it is you caught,” Ada answered. “If you guess right, they have to take your place, but if you guess wrong, you have to pay a forfeit.”
Davina stepped back to watch the game. The children squealed and taunted as they darted in and out of the circle they made around Domnall. She couldn’t help admiring his agility and athleticism, even blindfolded. She knew he only humored the children. His warrior instincts were too finely honed not to catch them if he wished to do so.
After a time, he scooped an arm around William, launched him up into the air, and slung him over his shoulder. “I believe I caught a prince of Scotland. But which one did I catch?”
“Have a care not to drop him on his head!” Ada exclaimed.
“’Twould not hurt William. His head is hard as a rock,” Malcolm declared, reddening when he realized he’d given away his brother’s identity.
“Ah! I have captured William,” Domnall declared with a laugh and ripped off his blindfold.
“’Twasn’t fair!” William cried. “Malcolm gave me away!”
“You are the one who let yourself get caught,” Malcolm argued.
“I’ll take William’s place,” Davina volunteered, hoping to avert another battle between the brothers. “Care to do the honors?” she asked Domnall.
“’Twould be my pleasure, my lady,” he replied with mock gallantry.
Walking behind her, he covered her eyes with the blindfold. Though she could not see him, it was as if she were suddenly doubly aware of his physical presence—the heat of his body behind hers, his musky, male scent, and then his strong, callused hands on her shoulders.
Leaning closer to her, his warm, moist breath caressed her neck as he whispered in her ear. “I didna even ken how much I missed ye until I saw ye standing here in the sunlit garden. ’Tis a vision that will be forever etched in my mind.”
His words made her breathless and dizzy even before he spun her around.
“Catch me! Catch me, Davina!” Malcolm and William called in unison as two pairs of hands tugged on her skirts. The children laughed and squealed and buffeted her as she chased their voices with wildly flailing arms.
“Ye are nae verra good at this game are ye, Davina?” Domnall taunted her from behind.
She spun with a gasp but caught only thin air. The garden echoed once more with childish chortles.
“Mayhap I should just let ye catch me?” Domnall murmured.
This time when she spun around, her hands made contact with a wall of linen-covered, masculine flesh. Davina froze at the sensation of his heart pounding under her palms. Her own leaped nearly into her throat as Domnall’s warm voice once more rumbled lowly in her ear. “I dinna mind yer hands on me, Davina. Dinna guess too quickly. Were we in private, I would kiss ye again. What would ye do, Davina? Would ye kiss me back, I wonder?”
“Aye,” she whispered, licking her lips. “I believe I would.”
“Davina!” Princess Margaret’s shrill voice shattered the moment.
Davina jerked back and pulled off the blindfold just as the eldest princess appeared in the garden.
“Who is this?” Margaret regarded Domnall with a curious look.
“’Tis yer kinsman, Domnall Fitz William,” Davina said.
“Mac William,” he corrected her.
Ada’s brow furrowed as if searching her memory. “Then you are Fitz Duncan’s ba—”
Domnall’s body visibly tensed. Clearly, his illegitimacy was still a sore subject.
“Son,” Davina quickly interjected.
Thankfully, Margaret noted the correction. “I-I do recall you now,” Margaret said. “What brings you to Haddington?”
“I came to deliver some correspondence for Prince Henry,” he answered stiffly.
“Some of which apparently concerns Davina,” Margaret remarked. “My father calls for you, Davina.”
“Me?” Davina said, her pulse beginning to race.
“Aye. Ye are to go to him in the solar,” Margaret replied. She then beckoned her siblings. “Malcolm, William, David, Ada! Come you to the chapel. ’Tis nigh time for prayer.”
“But we have not finished our games,” William complained.
“God before games. Always,” the young princess chided.
Dragging their feet and mumbling complaints, the children followed their sister. Davina tracked their progress out of the garden gate with a growing sense of unease. What would the prince want with her? But even as the question entered her brain, the answer nipped at its heels. She had passed her seventeenth birthday and the princess had already hinted that her marriage would soon be in the making.
*
Domnall impatiently watched the procession of young princes and princesses depart the garden. At last, he had Davina alone.
“I must go inside now,” Davina said. The joy had died from her eyes, like a snuffed rushlight.
“Nae, Davina.” Domnall laid a hand on her arm. “I would speak first.” He was damned if he wouldn’t take advantage of this moment.
“What is there to say?” she softly asked. “Ye ken as well as I do what this matter is about.”
They both knew there was only one reason for the king to concern himself with her. This could only be about arranging her marriage. But the very idea of it jolted him to the marrow. Domnall had pledged years ago to protect her when this day came. He doubted that he had even understood the reason at the time. Back then, he was too young to recognize his feelings. But not anymore. The real reason he’d wanted to defend her from others was that he loved her. He had always loved her.
How could he stand to lose her to somebody else? But he was still in no position to offer anything. He’d been robbed of his inheritance when the king had him decreed illegitimate. He had nothing but his horse, his sword, and the cloak on his back. He had little chance of gaining favor unless he sacrificed everything else he held dear—his claim to Moray. He knew that he should hold his peace. He knew that no good could come from a declaration of his feelings, but the sadness in her green eyes was tearing him asunder.
“Aye,” he said grimly. “Nevertheless, there is one question that must be asked and answered,” he said.
“And what is that?” she asked.
“I would ken yer heart, Davina. I would ken if things were different, would ye have me?”
She stared back at him with a tormented look. “That choice is nae mine to make.”
He lifted her chin with his fingers, focing her to hold his gaze. “Ye dinna answer the question, Davina. I asked if ye would have me.”
“Why?” she demanded almost angrily. “Why do ye ask me this?”
“Because I love ye,” he said. “And I would ken if ye—”
She answered with a strangled sound and then her lips met his.
Her kiss was soft and sweet, but hinted of hidden passion that made his heart pound. Unable to help himself, he pulled her into his arms, deepening the kiss. A brief taste of her lips wasn’t enough. Davina was his. She was always meant to be his. Desire bloomed. Swift, potent and powerful, it heated his blood.
With something between a whimper and a sigh, Davina pressed her soft body to his. He had wanted this, dreamed of her, for so long. He was on fire as he guided her backward into the shelter of the orchard. Desire blurred his brain as he pressed her against a tree, and groped for her skirts.
“Nae!” she cried, tearing her mouth from his. “What are ye doing?” Her eyes were wild and her breasts heaved.
“Doing?” He didn’t even know. She demended an answer he was unable to summon. The kiss had overwhelmed him. No, her kiss had nigh slain him. In sooth, he’d stopped thinking almost the moment her lips had touched his.
“Is that all ye want from me?” she asked. “Did ye whisper sweet words of love to me just so ye could… could…” Too flustered to finish, she shoved him away. But she didn’t leave as he feared she would do. Instead, she studied him with anger and uncertainty warring in her green eyes.
“Nae, Davina!” He clawed his hair with an anguished sound. Painfully aroused and fully frustrated, Domnall struggled to unscramble his thoughts. “Ye dinna understand!”
“Dinna I?” She tossed her head.
“I dinna intend to take liberties.” But passion had made him forget himself. He paced the garden, trying to untangle his emotions. “Please, Davina, will ye forgive me?”
Her eyes flickered and then softened with her sigh. “There is naught to forgive. I started it. I wanted to kiss ye, and I wanted ye to kiss me back… but ’twas a great mistake.”
“Why?” he asked.
Her eyes were sad and wistful, but her voice was resigned. “Because ye ken as well as I that it canna be between us. I’m sorry, Domnall. The prince is expecting me. I can tarry here no longer.”
Squaring her shoulders, she marched toward the garden gate, leaving Domnall, helplessly and hopelessly staring after her.
*
Davina entered the solar to find both the prince and princess waiting for her. The princess was by the fire with the infant, Marjory, asleep in her arms, while the prince sat at his writing table frowning over some document, presumably the correspondence that Domnall had delivered to him.
“Ye called for me, Highness?”
Prince Henry looked up and beckoned her forward. “I have a letter from the king regarding the disposition of Crailing.”
“The disposition of it?” Davina frowned. “I dinna understand what this means.”
“It means you are to be wed,” the princess answered.
Although it was what she’d suspected, the blunt news still came as a shock. “It canna be!” Davina protested in a choked voice.
“You have known from the moment you came here that this would be,” the princess reminded her.
“B-but I am barely seventeen! I thought I would have more time,” Davina said.
“You are old enough to wed by a year,” the prince said. His brows rose subtly. Davina followed the direction of his gaze and found Domnall standing in the doorway behind her.
“May I speak with ye, Highness?” Domnall asked.
“I am occupied at present with the king’s business,” the prince replied.
Glancing at Davina, Domnall licked his lips and squared his shoulders. “’Tis the verra business I would discuss with ye. I have served the king faithfully these past three years…”
Davina’s heart fluttered.
“You waste your breath if you wish to petition for Davina’s hand,” the prince replied.
“My service is worth naught?” Domnall asked.
“’Tis not enough,” the prince replied.
“Foolish lad.” The princess looked from Domnall to Davina and back again. “She is already betrothed.”
The fragile tendrils of hope instantly withered inside Davina. “Is this true?” she asked.
“Aye,” the prince said. “’Tis already decided.”
No! Davina wanted to shout and rant and rail.
“’Tis nae done until the vows are spoken,” Domnall argued.
“The vows mean nothing,” the prince replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “This alliance is a matter of politics.”
“What has Davina to do with politics?” Domnall demanded.
“Davina is tied to Crailing, and Crailing has everything to do with politics,” the prince answered.
“I dinna understand,” Davina said.
The prince rolled his eyes with a heavy sigh. “The war in the south has turned once more in the Empress Matilda’s favor, due to the support of Ranulf De Gernon… but his support comes with a price. He wants the return of all of his former Cumbrian lands. The king objects, but he is being pressured by the empress. In this letter, the king demands that Fitz Duncan and I both make a token sacrifice to appease De Gernon. Of course, I cannot like it but I must concede some of the smaller estates under my control.”
“And my father will do the same?” Domnall asked.
The prince responded with a scowl. “Fitz Duncan has yet refused to concede anything, which places the burden squarely on my shoulders to keep the peace in the Borderlands.”
“And ye mean to use Crailing for this?” Davina asked.
“I am willing to sacrifice it in order to retain the more valuable lands around Carlisle, especially the silver mines at Alston,” the prince answered.
“So I am to be traded in this bargain?” Davina asked.
The prince shrugged. “I must ensure peace on the border, Crailing must be settled upon someone, and you must eventually be wed. If De Gernon accepts the proposal, all that remains is to present the bride to his chosen groom.”
“When?” Davina asked.
“Soon,” the prince replied. “The king commands you to go to Carlisle. No doubt, ’twill all be settled there and then. There is little ceremony to these things, usually a blessing by a priest, followed by witness signatures on a parchment.”
“And that is it?” Davina choked. “My life is given away so easily?”
She looked at Domnall, silently begging him to save her, but what could he do? He was as helpless as she. With no money or property, Domnall was in no position to petition for her hand, not that it would have mattered anyway. The prince offered Davina and Crailing for purely political reasons.
“I have already penned my reply to the king.” Prince Henry extended the sealed parchment to Domnall. “You will carry it back to Carlisle with all dispatch.”
“But he only arrived here two hours ago,” Davina protested. Would he be sent away so soon?
The prince’s lips compressed as he looked from Domnall to Davina and back again. “I perceive no good reason for Domnall to tarry any longer at Haddington.”