Fitz Duncan dismounted first, followed by his remaining men, the squire called Champernon, then Domnall and Davina. They had barely set their feet on the ground before a richly-dressed man descended upon them and hailed Fitz Duncan.
“De Morville! Well met!” Speaking in Norman French, Fitz Duncan embraced the man in an enthusiastic greeting.
“Your arrival is well timed, my lord!” De Morville said. “The king has anxiously awaited you.”
Although Davina had been skeptical when she’d first heard Domnall’s story, she now had no doubt it was all true. Fitz Duncan’s high status at court was evident from the very moment they’d arrived.
“Aye?” Fitz Duncan’s brow rose. “And why is that?”
“He’s received ill-tidings from the south. Lincoln Castle has been seized.”
Fitz Duncan’s smile instantly soured. “Seized? By whom?”
“By your own wife’s kinsmen, Ranulf De Gernon with the help of his brother, William de Roumare,” De Morville answered.
The names, of course, meant nothing to Davina, but Fitz Duncan certainly knew them. His scowl deepened. “In whose name did he seize it? Does he act for Empress Matilda or for himself?”
De Morville shrugged “What think you?”
“I think De Gernon has always been a treacherous, self-serving bastard,” Fitz Duncan replied.
“No doubt King Stephen would agree.” De Morville laughed. “Come inside and warm yourself. A certes, the king will recount to ye the tale in its entirety.”
“I also come with a grave matter to report,” Fitz Duncan said. He cast his eyes briefly upon Davina, it was the first he’d acknowledged her since departing Crailing. “Is my Lady Alice still at Carlisle?” he asked De Morville.
“Aye,” De Morville nodded. “She keeps close company with Princess Adaline. ’Tis rumored the princess is with child.”
“Ah.” Fitz Duncan nodded, adding with a smirk. “The king will be pleased that his son has performed his royal duty so promptly.”
Both men laughed.
“What are they saying?” Domnall whispered to Champernon.
“They speak of the war in the south and royal heirs,” Champernon answered.
“Is that all?” Domnall scrunched his face. “The Normans use far too many words. They should learn Gaelic.”
“Dinna ye ken Norman?” Davina asked.
“Nay,” Domnall replied. “Fitz Duncan insisted that my sister and I learn it… but then he left. So I’ve forgotten most of it.”
“What do ye mean he left?” Davina asked but never got an answer.
“Pray tell the king I will come to him forthwith,” Fitz Duncan said to De Morville. He then turned to Davina. “You will go now and pay your respects to Lady Alice.”
“Who is she?” Davina asked.
“My wife,” Fitz Duncan replied tersely.
Davina looked at Domnall. “Will ye nae come also? Surely yer máthair will wish to see ye.”
A strange flicker flashed in Domnall’s eyes. “Lady Alice is nae my máthair.”
“Oh. I am so sorry,” Davina replied softly. “Ye dinna tell me yer máthair had passed on.”
“My máthair is alive and well at Castle Kilmuir in Black Isle,” Domnall replied, jutting his chin with a look of defiance.
It took Davina a moment to digest his reply. If Fitz Duncan was his father, then that could only mean… was Domnall a bastard?
“Ye need nae look at me like I have two heads,” he snapped.
“But I dinna mean to offend ye—”
“Enough!” Fitz Duncan hissed and grabbed Davina’s arm. “Domnall will remain with Champernon and you will come with me.”
With her heart thudding with trepidation, Davina looked back over her shoulder at Domnall as Fitz Duncan half-dragged her across the courtyard. Domnall stared back at her, stiff and stoic as any soldier, but she could read something more in his eyes.
Fear and uncertainty.
Though he refused to show it, he was just as anxious about the future as she was.
*
“TAKE HER TO Lady Alice,” Fitz Duncan commanded one of the servants who stood as sentinels outside the chamber door that presumably led to the lady’s private quarters.
“Should… it… not be washed and deloused before entering my lady’s solar?” he asked, brows rising as he looked Davina slowly up and down.
Davina’s face heated with anger and shame. She had never been referred to as an “it” before but, then again, she looked very much the part of a wild animal. Her hair was a mass of tangles and she didn’t remember her last bath. Even the bearskin mantle that covered her was caked with mud and twigs from dragging on the ground.
“My lady will decide what is to be done,” Fitz Duncan replied dismissively.
“As you wish, my lord,” the servant replied.
He’d hardly spoken the words before Fitz Duncan spun on his heel and left her standing there, once more feeling small and insignificant. Having now delivered her safely to Carlisle, Davina doubted Fitz Duncan would trouble himself with her any further. Would Domnall?
“Wait here,” the servant instructed Davina. “I will notify my lady of my lord’s wishes.”
The servant disappeared into the adjoining chamber and returned a moment later to usher Davina into the countess’ chamber.
At first, Davina was too awestruck to take much notice of anything beyond her surroundings. She gazed in wonderment at the tapestry-laden walls that soared upward to meet a canopy of oak timbers. A blazing fireplace warmed the far end of the room where a woman sat upon a rug of pure white fur, attended by several maidservants, one of whom suckled an infant child at her breast. The countess was young, fair of face, and richly adorned in deeply-dyed silk. Davina had never beheld such beauty or luxury.
Noting her entrance, the lady’s thinly-arched brows rose as she took in Davina’s appearance. “What is this creature Fitz Duncan has sent to me?” she inquired with a disdainful curve of her lips.
Davina stepped forward, chin proudly raised. “I am nae a creature. My name is Davina. I am the daughter of Sir Rémin of Crailing.”
“Are you indeed?” she replied dubiously. “And how do you come to be at Carlisle?”
Fighting the tightness in her throat, Davina cast her eyes to the floor. “M-my family was killed and my home was burned,” she managed in a choked whisper.
“Then you are to become a ward of the king,” the countess stated.
“What does that mean?” Davina asked.
“It means you are now under his protection.”
“Then I will live here at Carlisle?”
“No,” Lady Alice replied with a laugh. “He will rid himself of the direct responsibility of your care as swiftly as he can and send you away to foster.”
“Where will I go?” Davina asked.
“You are possessed of property?” Lady Alice asked, ignoring Davina’s question.
“Aye. Crailing Tower,” Davina replied, “… or what is left of it.”
“Then it is to the king’s advantage to take some interest in you—until your marriage can be arranged.”
“M-marriage?” Davina repeated blankly. “I have barely passed my tenth summer!”
“You have naught to fear at the moment,” the countess reassured. “Even David would not be so cruel as to make a bride of such a young child. But given a few years…”
Her gaze narrowed as she stepped back to appraise Davina. “He will, no doubt, expect to have a look at you.” She then heaved a deep sigh. “I suppose ’tis on my shoulders to make you presentable. Berthe!” the countess addressed the servant holding the infant. “Give the babe to me and prepare the chamber next to mine with a bath. The girl will also need some clothes. You may burn whatever she’s wearing along with that reeking pelt.”
“Nae!” Davina cried, clutching the bearskin tightly about her. “It was my faither’s,” she lied. “I will keep it.” In truth, it was Domnall’s but she couldn�
��t bear to part with it. The thought of losing anything connected to him made her throat tighten.
“Very well,” Lady Alice replied with a sniff. “But see that it is thoroughly cleaned… and aired.”
Davina was taken to a smaller, more sparsely appointed bedchamber, where, moments later, she was stripped naked and scrubbed until her skin was raw. While Berthe tended to her bath, another younger maid named Agnes was dispatched to find her some clothes.
Once Davina was thoroughly washed, Berthe briskly rubbed her dry with a rough cloth. She then sat Davina on a faldstool and promptly went to work on her hair, yanking mercilessly at the snarls with a silver comb until Davina felt as if her hair was being ripped out of her head by the roots.
The younger maid soon returned with a bundle of clothing that she laid out for Davina’s inspection. Though she had never worn such a gown, Davina recognized the Norman style bliaut and girdle. The deeply dyed hue and quality of the garments was beyond anything Davina had ever owned, or even seen for that matter. The blue wool cloth was also surprisingly soft to the touch.
“Does it please you?” Agnes asked.
“Aye. I have ne’er worn such a fine gown,” Davina remarked.
The maid pulled a garment of fine linen over her head, followed by the Norman style bliaut. The gown had wide sleeves that fell to the floor and was too long with several inches pooling at Davina’s feet. Some of the excess length was taken up by the girdle that was placed on her hips but she still feared tripping as she walked.
“Am I presentable now?” Davina asked Berthe.
“’Tis too big,” Berthe said with a frown. “But ’twill suffice for the nonce.”
“When will I see the king?” Davina asked.
“When he sends for you,” the maid answered. “Until then, you will remain here.”
“Are ye saying I canna leave this chamber?” Davina asked, her heart sinking.
“You will await the king’s pleasure,” Berthe replied. “A supper tray will be sent to you anon.”
Davina should be famished after her long journey but uncertainty turned her stomach into knots. What exactly did it mean to be fostered? And where would the king send her? She dreaded the idea of living with strangers. Would the family the king chose resent her arrival? Would she be treated as a guest or as a servant?
Collecting the bathing implements, Berthe and Agnes departed, leaving Davina all alone to ponder her fate. She longed to see Domnall. In the short time they’d been together a bond had begun to form. She felt as if he were her only friend in the world but now it seemed as if even he had been taken from her.
Chapter Eight
THAT NIGHT, DAVINA startled awake at the sound of a knock on her chamber door. Before she could respond, the latch lifted. Had somebody entered? She squinted into the darkness but all she could make out were the shadows cast by the dying embers of the brazier that warmed her chamber. Was it perhaps the maid replenishing the peat for the fire?
“Davina?” a familiar voice whispered.
“Domnall?” Davina gasped. “Is it ye?”
“Aye. ’Tis me,” he replied, emerging from the shadows into the dim moonlight.
Throwing back the covers, Davina suppressed a squeal of joy. “How did ye get in?” she asked.
“I lifted the key from the maid while she and Champernon were… er…” he paused, his face flushing. “’Twasna so hard.”
“I canna tell ye how pleased I am to see ye,” she gushed.
“I canna stay long,” he said. “I came because I ken ye dinna like to be alone at night.”
“Nae, I dinna,” she confessed.
“I also came to tell ye I am leaving soon.”
“Leaving?” she gasped. “But why? Ye just arrived!”
“Lady Alice doesna want me here,” he replied.
His answer befuddled her. “I dinna understand. Why should she object to ye?”
“She doesna like me because…”
“Because ye are Fitz Duncan’s bastard?” she answered.
“Nae!” Domnall’s eyes flashed in protest. “Fitz Duncan was wed to my máthair when I was conceived!”
“But how could he have married Lady Alice if yer máthair yet lives? I dinna comprehend how this can be.”
“’Tis all the king’s doing,” Domnall said with a glower. “He had the marriage annulled so Fitz Duncan could wed a Norman heiress. Through Alice de Rumille, Fitz Duncan became one of the greatest land barons in two kingdoms.”
“I see,” Davina said. “And now she feels threatened for her infant son because ye are Fitz Duncan’s firstborn.”
“Aye,” Domnall said. “So I am to be sent away.”
“Will ye go back home?” Davina asked.
“Nae. He is sending me to Dunbar to foster under a kinsman.”
“Foster? Fitz Duncan wishes ye to become a knight? Why do ye look so displeased about it?” Davina asked. “’Tis a noble thing to live by the knight’s code.”
“Noble?” Domnall snorted. “My sire is considered one of the greatest noblemen of the kingdom, but there is naught noble in his character! Do ye see now why I dinna want to be like him? I will ne’er be the king’s man! I will ne’er pledge my fealty to the man who destroyed my máthair’s family.”
“Then what will ye do?” Davina asked.
“I dinna yet ken,” he replied glumly. “I suppose I will go to Dunbar… for the nonce. If I dinna like it there, mayhap I’ll go back home to Kilmuir.”
“I wish I could go home,” Davina said, fighting the quiver of her lip. “But I dinna have a home to go back to anymore… or a family.”
Laying his hands on her shoulders, Domnall met her gaze. “But ye have me now, Davina of Crailing. And I will ne’er forsake ye.”
His blue eyes were clear and earnest, yet his words were naught but an empty promise. Did he not just tell her he was going away? “How can ye make such a vow when ye said ye are leaving?” she asked.
“Mayhap there is a way we could be together,” he suggested.
Davina’s heart raced. “How?”
“If the king could be persuaded to send ye also to my kinsmen in Dunbar. My great uncle is the Earl of Lothian Ye could do far worse than to be placed in such a family.”
“Do ye think ’tis possible?” she asked.
“Anything is possible if the king deems it so,” Domnall replied.
“But what if the king says no?” she asked. “Wh-what if I ne’er see ye again?” she asked, frantically blinking back the tears that threatened to spill.
“If he says no, we simply will have to think of something else,” Domnall reassured. To her surprise, he then pulled her into a quick embrace. “Have faith, lass,” Domnall said. “Did I nae promise I willna forsake ye?”
*
RETURNING TO THE stables, Domnall slipped the key he’d borrowed back into the maid’s poque that lay on the floor of the loft with her discarded clothing. She and Champernon now lay slumbering in the hayloft, limbs still tangled.
Domnall had inadvertently witnessed couples rutting a number of times in his life, but it was still something he couldn’t comprehend. At this moment it only annoyed him. The two of them had taken his bed.
With nowhere else to go, Domnall descended the ladder and slipped into his horse’s stall where his gelding greeted him with a flicker of his ears and a soft nicker. Lying in the straw, his head resting against his horse’s belly, Domnall bedded down for the night.
He must speak to Fitz Duncan about Davina first thing in the morning while he still had the chance. Once he departed for Dunbar, Domnall didn’t know when or even if he would see his sire again. Did Fitz Duncan intend to be part of Domnall’s life, or was this fosterage simply a way of washing his hands of his bastard son? He had to know which and he also had to do what he could for Davina. If they were to foster in the same place, they could at least look out for one another.
Davina was alone and friendless. Domnall at least had his father and Champe
rnon. In truth, he didn’t like or trust either of them, but at least he wasn’t all alone. He didn’t quite understand his need to protect her. He liked and respected her. She was clever and resourceful. How else could she have survived the ravages of Crailing? He pitied the lass. But beyond the pity something deeper had taken root, but thinking about it only made him uncomfortable.
Grunting noises and giggles had recommenced in the loft above his head. Mumbling a curse, Domnall covered his ears and whistled a Highland tune.
*
“OUCH!” DOMNALL AWOKE to the sensation of a booted foot nudging him none-too-gently in the ribs.
“Awake you, Domnall!” Champernon exclaimed.
“What is it?” Domnall sat up rubbing his side.
“There’s word that King Stephen plans a siege of Lincoln Castle, and there is a good chance Fitz Duncan will be marching south to join him.” Champernon’s eyes gleamed with excitement.
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?”
Reckless Scotland: A Scottish Medieval Romance Bundle Page 29
