Valor

by Victoria Vane

  “Nae. Alexander says ’tis unsafe.”

  “Then where will ye go?”

  “I dinna ken and I dinna care as long as ’tis far away from this place,” Sibylla answered.

  “Ye must go without me.”

  Although she longed desperately to leave, how could she ever bear being close to Domnall? Davina shut her eyes on a sudden wave of memories—the night-long prayer vigil, the horseback journey to Crailing, the game in the garden, and her single night of passion with Domnall. The recollections were both poignant and painful. They had pledged their hearts to one another. She had waited patiently for him, but he had not come. Domnall had not only broken faith. He had broken her heart.

  “Are ye verra certain of this, Davina?” she asked. “My family would welcome ye.”

  Davina shook her head sadly. “I wish ye and Alexander great happiness.” She took Sibylla into a tight embrace. “Godspeed to ye, sister of my heart.”

  *

  After a very sleepless night, Davina resolved to ask the princess’ leave to return to Haddington Priory. Only by returning to the convent would she be able to put all of the past month’s turmoil behind her and find peace in her soul again.

  She entered the princess’ chamber as Berthe was brushing her hair. Strangely, the princess looked happier than Davina had seen her in weeks.

  “Ye look in exceedingly good spirits today, Highness,” Davina remarked.

  “Because she is gone!” the princess pronounced with a smile.

  There was no doubt to whom the princess referred, but Davina feigned ignorance with a frown. “Highness?”

  “Sibylla! She has disappeared in the night, not that I am sorry for it. Good riddance to her, I say! But the king is in a seething fury over it. Malcolm, however, was appalled when the betrothal was announced. He has no desire to wed and had no prior warning of it, poor lad.”

  “Eventually, he must marry,” Davina said.

  “Aye,” the princess replied. “And when the time is right, I will find him a bride from suitable stock. Eachann, for some reason I cannot comprehend, is determined to find her and bring her back, but he owes me for supporting him as Malcolm’s regent.”

  “I dinna understand. Last eve, ’twas said the earl returned the prince, but I thought Brother Alexander brought him back,” Davina said.

  “The details are irrelevant,” the princess declared with a dismissive wave. “The only thing that matters is that Malcolm is safe.”

  It seemed Sibylla’s escape had put the princess in a rare good mood. There would be no better time to request a boon.

  “Princess,” Davina ventured carefully. “I came here with ye in hope of comforting ye in yer mourning, but I find I dearly miss the priory. I would like to ask yer leave to return.”

  The princess eyed her with a frown. “Are you are not content here?”

  “I have endeavored to make myself useful,” Davina said. “But ’tis a monastery. I enjoyed more freedom amongst the sisters.”

  “Ah, freedom,” the princess sighed. “Is that not what every woman secretly craves? Freedom from the control of men?” She eyed Davina in a long and silent contemplation. “What of my garden?” she asked.

  “Early spring is the best time to transplant the roses,” Davina said. “I could bring them to ye then.” Davina watched with bated breath as the princess deliberated her suggestion.

  “I suppose that would serve,” the princess answered after a time. “I will miss you, Sister Mary Malachy, but I understand your desire to return to the convent. You may go back to Haddington Priory. I will arrange an escort forthwith.”

  *

  Three days later, Davina made her final visit to the jail. To her dismay, MacAedh’s conditions hadn’t changed. She was disappointed that Prince Malcolm, knowing MacAedh was the reason for his own release, had made no effort to improve the state of his captivity.

  He glanced up at her entry. “’Tis good to see ye again, Sister Mary Malachy.”

  His greeting was warm but his eyes were dull and lifeless. He looked very much like a man who had lost all hope. She wished there was something more she could do for him, but she could not remain at Dunfermline for his sake alone.

  “I am sorry I have nae come for such a long while,” Davina apologized, “but much has prevented me from coming.”

  “Ye are under nae obligation to me,” he said. “But I do count it a blessing every time ye do come,” he added with a soft smile.

  There was something disconcertingly familiar in his eyes, something that reminded her far too much of Domnall. Davina was quick to shake off the thought.

  “I come with tidings that I hope will raise yer spirits,” she said. She opened her prayer book and switched to Gaelic as she knelt down beside him. “Ye will be glad to ken that yer niece has left Dunfermline.”

  He looked incredulous. “The king released her?”

  “Nae. She has eloped with Brother Alexander. They are both gone.”

  “Then I am alone here.” His expression grew darker. “Nevertheless, I am glad of it. I wanted them to leave.”

  “There is more news. Yer life is spared.”

  His gaze narrowed. “What do ye mean?”

  “The king does nae ken it, but Prince Malcolm has secretly pledged to release ye when he comes into power.”

  “He has? How did this come about?”

  “Yer kinsman, Domnall, persuaded him. I dinna ken the details of it but I hope ’twill restore yer faith.” She laid a hand on his arm. “God has nae forsaken ye.”

  “I thought He had until He sent ye to me. Ye have, indeed, been a Godsend, Sister. I dinna ken how I will e’er thank ye.”

  He gazed at her with a softness that touched her heart, but also made it all the more difficult for Davina to tell him that she would not be coming back. At least she had given him some good news with which to soften the blow.

  “I dinna expect gratitude,” she said. “’Twas my desire to lessen the suffering of those who are imprisoned.”

  “’Twas?” His brows arched.

  “Aye,” she replied with a sad sigh. “I am also leaving Dunfermline soon.”

  “Is there a particular reason for it?” he asked.

  “There is,” she confessed. “I feel myself changing. I am nae the person I was and I fear that if I stay I will simply wither away.”

  “I ken verra well the feeling,” he replied. “And I am glad that ye go. I only regret that I am nae the one to take ye away from here.”

  His answer took her aback.

  Her surprise must have shown on her face. “Do I offend ye?” he asked.

  “Nae,” she answered. “Perhaps I dinna correctly understand yer meaning.”

  “I think ye do,” he answered, his dark gaze growing intense. “My nephew was a bluidy fool to have let ye slip away.”

  “He had nae choice,” Davina replied softly. “His life was endangered.”

  “Do ye still love him?” MacAedh asked.

  “I do,” she replied. “And I will ne’er love anyone else.”

  “Ne’er is a verra long time,” he replied. “And ye are yet a young lass. Mayhap another man will prove himself worthy of ye one day.”

  “I must go now,” Davina said. She murmured the Lord’s Prayer for the benefit of the guards and then stood to depart. “I will be back in the spring with rose bushes for the princess’ garden. I will come and visit ye then.”

  He inclined his head with a smile. “Ye have given me something to look forward to.”

  *

  Two days later, Davina was escorted to the stables by one of the king’s knights.

  “Sister,” he greeted her with a great show of reverence. “I am Guilbert Champernon and this is my squire, Jacot.” He introduced a pimply-faced youth of about fourteen years who held three horses by the reins. “It is our privilege to conduct ye to Haddington Priory.”

  “Guilbert Champernon?” Davina repeated dumbly.

  She had not seen or hear
d of him since her arrival at Carlisle all those years ago. He had matured a great deal from the adolescent squire she had known. Was she also so changed that he didn’t recognize her?

  “I am recently returned from Normandy, where I have been fighting in the service of Henry Fitz Empress.” He returned her quizzical look. “Have we met before, Sister?”

  “As a matter of fact, we have,” she replied. “’Twas long before I became a nun. Ye were among the men who found me at Crailing.”

  She almost laughed as his jaw dropped. “You are the lass, Davina?”

  “I was,” she corrected. “But now I am Sister Mary Malachy.”

  “Do you ride, Sister?” he asked.

  “It has been many years,” she answered. “But I believe I still ken how to sit a horse.”

  He nodded to his squire. “Then let us depart.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Davina was dismayed at the state of the priory herbary. Whoever had tended the garden in her absence had done considerable damage! The beggar’s blanket had been all but eradicated. Did they not realize the myriad uses for the common weed? The flowering stalks burned nearly as well as a rushlight, and the soft, hairy leaves were almost as good as heather for stuffing mattresses. Moreover, it had a number of medicinal uses.

  She’d only been gone for a few weeks but it would take months to get things back in order. At least she had something with which to fill her empty hours and occupy her restless mind. It had only been a few days since her return. She hoped that, in time, she would be able to settle back into her former mundane routine.

  “Sister!” the abbess called out as she entered the gardens. “There is someone here to see you, a monk from Portmahomack Monastery. He says he has brought a gift to you from Father Gregor.”

  “A gift?” Davina shook her head in puzzlement.

  “He said ’tis a prayer book you requested.”

  “I met Faither Gregor at Dunfermline,” she said. “But I canna recall asking for a prayer book.”

  “Shall I send him to the herbary?” the abbess asked.

  “Aye, if ye please,” Davina replied. Her mind continued to race as she paced the gardens. What could this mean? Could the monk be Alexander? Had something happened to Sibylla?

  She thought she had left all the turmoil behind her at Dunfermline, but it seemed only to have followed her. Was there no escape? Would she ever know peace again?

  “Sister Mary Malachy?” a low and distressingly familiar voice called out her name.

  She turned slowly to face the stranger who had entered the herbary. His monk’s cowl cast his face in shadow but his voice was unmistakable. He took a few steps toward her and dropped his hood. “Or should I call ye Davina?”

  Davina stared into eyes the color of the Highland sky on a clear day and found she couldn’t breathe. Although he’d said few words beyond her name, his eyes spoke volumes.

  Davina struggled for several minutes just to find her voice. “Domnall?” she whispered. There were so many things she wanted to say. Things she had played over in her mind countless times but only one question escaped her lips. “Why have ye come here?”

  “I came to make good on a promise I should have honored long before this.”

  “Ye should have,” she whispered fervently, her body trembling with emotion. “I waited a long time for ye, Domnall Mac William.”

  “But ye kent how it was, Davina! I told ye I would come for ye as soon as I reclaimed my inheritance, and ye promised me patience.”

  “I did,” she confessed. “But as time went on with nae word from ye, I thought ye had forgotten me.”

  He clasped her shoulders in an almost painful grip. “Forgotten ye? Dinna ye ken how much I love ye? I would sooner forget to breathe or my heart forget to beat. My feelings for ye have ne’er wavered, but I dinna come because I am an outlaw. I have nae home, nae money and a price on my head. Is this the kind of man that a sane woman takes to husband?”

  “What man wants a wife with nae lands, nae dowry?” she countered.

  His dark brows drew into a frown. “A man who is confident enough in himself to make his own way in the world.”

  She searched his gaze. “Are ye such a man, Domnall Mac William?”

  “I am,” he replied resolutely. “But I fear there will be much bloodshed before it is done. I must ask ye, Davina, after devoting yerself to God all these years, could ye in good conscience make a life with a man who will kill to gain what was taken from him?”

  It was a question she had never asked herself.

  Davina considered it very carefully before she responded. “War and murder are nae the same thing,” she replied at length. “Men often make war for righteous causes. The Pope himself commanded war to retake the Holy Land from the Saracen infidels. Yer cause is also just, Domnall. But when ye had the chance, ye dinna choose to slay Prince Malcolm, though ’twould have been the easiest path to reclaim what ye lost.”

  She placed her hand on his chest. His flesh was warm and solid beneath her palm, and his heart beat strong and steady. “But what beats within yer breast is a noble thing, a valiant thing.” She gazed up at him and whispered, “Yes, I would, indeed, make a life with such a man.”

  “I have nothing but my horse and my sword,” Domnall said. “I have nae even a place to lay my head.”

  “Then ’tis fortunate that ye chose a woman with simple needs.” Davina reached down to pluck a single long stemmed weed with bright yellow flowers. “’Tis called beggar’s blanket for a reason. Did ye ken that it makes a fine bed?”

  He cupped her face in his large, warm hands. “I have dreamed endlessly of having ye in a real bed, mo chridhe, in a fine castle, where we would make many bairns, but I canna promise ye any of it. The only thing I can promise ye is my love and my protection. I would defend ye with my life, Davina.”

  “There is only one promise I care about,” she said. “And ye have fulfilled it this day.”

  *

  Domnall gazed into Davina’s large, mossy-colored eyes feeling as if he had found something he’d lost—Davina’s heart. He wished he could give her the life that was stolen from her, the life she deserved, but he could guarantee her nothing beyond his heart and soul. She was everything that mattered most to him.

  He drew her slowly into his arms and kissed the sweet lips he’d only tasted in his dreams. She melted against him with a soft sigh of surrender.

  “Come, mo chridhe,” he urged. “Let us leave this place and yer old life behind. We will go someplace new and we will be together as husband and wife, as we were always meant to be.”

  Epilogue

  Wick Castle, Caithness, Northern Scotland

  Spring 1153

  The wind whipping her hair, Davina shaded her eyes and cast her gaze northward over the sea, eager for any telltale sign of sails. It had been nearly a fortnight since her husband had departed with Earl Harald. The meeting with Harald’s rival to the earldom was supposed to have been a parlay, but acts of treachery were common in such circumstances.

  She always worried whenever Domnall left her but, thus far, God in His great beneficence had always returned him to her. In the short time since they had arrived here, she had come to love Caithness. It was a desolate place with wild winds, deadly cliffs and fierce seas. The lonely, flat, and treeless landscape to the west was a harsh contrast to the rolling Cheviot Hills and the bustling Borderland burghs where she had been raised. Nevertheless, she felt a sense of belonging that she’d never known since her early childhood at Crailing.

  Picking up her basket, Davina continued her lone trek along the clifftop until she set her burgeoning basket down to rub her aching back. She’d spent the entire morning gathering clusters of dandelion and yarrow, and other wild growing herbs. Exploring the cliffs in search of roots and herbs had become her daily routine, but her advancing pregnancy magnified her discomfort.

  Soon, their child would be born. The thought of their love bearing fruit filled her with inexpressibl
e warmth and joy. Domnall had promised her nothing when he’d come to her at Haddington Priory, yet, he had given her everything she’d ever desired. It both thrilled and terrified her.

  Once more, she looked out over the horizon but, this time, her heart leaped within her chest with a glimpse of white. A ship at last! Cradling the weight of her great belly with one arm, Davina jogged the narrow path leading back to Castle Wick.

  *

  Anticipation thrummed in Domnall’s veins the moment he glimpsed the castle. Although they had been wed for nearly a year, he could still barely stand to be away from her, even for a brief sojourn in Orkney. Every night away from her, wanting her had been physical and emotional torment. She had become essential to his happiness, to his very being.

  Though he’d been reluctant to leave her, it had been well worth the trip, however. Rognvald, Harald’s co-ruler of the earldoms of Orkney and Caithness, was soon departing on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, which would leave young Harald solely in charge. Rognvald had called the Thing-meeting to publically acknowledge the nineteen year old as the sole ruler of Orkney and Caithness until his return. Naturally, Harald was jubilant to finally come into his own after living for so long in the shadow of such a great warrior.

  Although Domnall had initially come to Caithness as nothing more than a hired sword, a bond akin to brotherhood had quickly forged between the two young men who had both been betrayed by King David. And now that Harald was secure in his own earldom, he would surely help Domnall to reclaim his own.

  Domnall’s support in the Highlands was growing by the day. In recent months he had received a near steady stream of guests from all over the Highlands who came to pay their respects to the man they recognized as the legitimate heir of Moray. Unfortunately, the king still lived and MacAedh still languished in prison, but soon, Domnall hoped his kinsman would be free. He hoped that Malcolm would keep his word. But if he did not, Domnall would be ready to act.

  As a reward for his service, Earl Harald had bestowed upon Domnall the governorship of Wick Castle. At last, he could give Davina the home she deserved and a safe place to birth and rear the bairn she carried in her belly.