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 sham
e 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 aro
und.
“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.”
Reckless Scotland Page 32
