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-bre
d 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.
PART TWO
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.
&nbs
p; “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.
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