“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.”
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 ki
ng 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.
Valor (Sons of Scotland Book 2) Page 8
