by Victoria Zak
That couldn’t be farther from the truth. How could a father approve of the vindictive ways his son conducted warfare or the way he dealt out brutality to those who stood in his way? Nay, far from proud his father would be, James thought.
“What of this quest ye seek?” James asked
Robert tapped his steepled fingers on his bearded chin. “I have someone verra precious to me, Abigale my daughter. I’ve arranged for her to be married.”
James knew the king would only trust him and his men at arms to escort the princess of Scotland. This made perfectly good sense, but knowing the king as well as he did he still waited cautiously for his request.
“I’ve arranged for ye to make leave for Castle Douglas in the morn. There ye will marry my daughter.”
The room started to spin and the air in his lungs seized. Sweat began to bead on his forehead and his palms went cold. Had the king gone daft? Robert Bruce knew what he was, yet he was willing to marry his daughter off to a dragon. “God’s Teeth!" James wiped the sweat streaking down from his temple. He began to pace the small space in front of the king’s desk.
Finally James gathered his thoughts before he did something daft himself like run down to the gallows and hang himself.
“Yer Grace, with all due respect, I can no marry yer daughter.”
“’Tis a shame.” Bruce paused and reached inside his desk drawer. He began to uncoil a scroll that appeared to have a map on it. “Angus is such a beautiful piece of land, tucked in between two huge lochs.”
The king paused for a moment. “Tell me, James, how much coin do the oat fields bring in? Profitable, I assume?”
“Aye.” James had been defeated. There was no way around it. The king always got what he wanted, one way or another. Also, there was that feeling of gratitude gnawing in his gut. He had to marry the king’s daughter, for he owed a debt.
“So, prepare for travel?” Bruce asked.
“Aye.”
“Good. This makes me a happy man.” Then he began signing land documents over to James.
A generous and inviting dowry was too enticing to turn down. Marrying Abigale gained him not only Angus, but Bothwell Castle by the River Clyde in South Lanarkshire as well. But this newly owned land did not change the fact that James did not want a wife. But, with orders to take the princess to the safety of Angus and far away from the lowlands, James had to wonder if King Robert had other motives as well. Why does he remove me from the battlefield? Send me to the Highlands to live the mundane life of a clan chief? God’s Teeth! Am I more valuable behind a desk?
Nay, he was one of the seven Guardians of Scotland, chosen to defend and protect Scotland like his fellow Dragonkine warriors. Plus his mind was sharp when it came to strategizing attacks, the best there was. The king could not afford to lose him on the battlefield.
Regardless of Robert’s reasoning, he now had a wife. “A wife.” He spat. A forceful hoof stomp and aggravated tail swish let James know he had tightened his saddle a little snug for his horse’s liking. He rubbed his black mare on her chest. “Sorry, Lassie.”
James patted the mare on her hindquarters as he walked behind her making his way toward the stable’s entrance. He leaned his massive shoulder against the door frame of the stable and looked over at Castle Douglas. Rolling green hills now surrounded his land. He remembered a time when the castle was not so pleasant. It had been seized by English filth.
His family was outside the bailey’s protective wooden staked wall, just far enough away from the brutal massacre of the Clan Douglas men. No familiar war cries were left. Only the blood-curdling sounds of the wounded being slain by the English army could be heard. Their clan had been on the verge of being defeated. Sir William, James's father and clan chief, had to make a decision and fast. The English army had fought hard and were closing in on them. An English victory for certain.
Sir William looked down, deeply, into his young son’s eyes. A warrior-worn face bloodied and swollen, yet he was still a man in charge. “Son, do no fret or shed tears for me,” Sir William demanded.
“Da, I bid ye, please let me stay and fight,” wee James begged as he swiped at a fallen tear.
“Nay, Clan Douglas fought well, but the odds were against us. We have lost too many good men today. I must do what’s right for our people.”
James shook his head and tightened his fists. “Nay, we can still fight. This is our home.”
Sir William bent down in front of his son and placed his hands on his shoulders. It was difficult for James to see his father this way; a broken man desperate to keep his family together. James raged inside just like the bloody war raging inside the walls of Castle Douglas.
“James, listen to me. Ye are the man of the family now.” A sob from his wife caught his father’s attention. William paused and looked up at her. His beautiful wife had fought so hard to hold back her tears but had failed. Her body trembled as she covered her mouth with her shaking hand to stifle another sob. She pulled their younger son of seven years close to her.
William turned his attention to his wee James. “Ye must take care of your mother and brother now.”
Tears rushed down James’s face as he shook his head in denial. His face reddened with anger. What a task to bear for a boy no more than ten winters old.
“Ye know the plan, get to Paris and there ye will be safe. Do ye understand me, lad?” Sir William commanded.
James’s anger got the best of him. He was angry at his father for sending him away. He was angry at the English filth for ripping his family apart. He raged inside and began to erupt like a spewing volcano.
“Ye are a coward!” James exploded and began to hit his father in the chest with tiny fists. “Coward!”
William threw his arms around his raging son and hugged him tight as if he understood his son’s outrage, for he seethed just the same inside.
The metal clang of knight mail and heavy marching feet grew near. There was no time to waste. If William wanted to keep his family safe he needed to say goodbye now. Their time together had come to an end.
Sir William let go of his son. James took a few steps back and stared at his father. No words were spoken between the two of them.
James watched his mother cry convulsively as she clung to the broken man. His little brother stood between his parents as if they were his shelter from this terrible nightmare. James’s vision blurred and time slowed to a crawl. He looked around at the mayhem of bloodied warriors fighting and the destruction they left behind. Forever this day would be branded into his memories. He vowed he would come home and avenge his family’s name.
William let go of his wife and walked over to a young Robert Bruce. He trusted only one man with his family and Robert, with his English connections, was the one who could get his family safely to Paris.
William clasped his hand on Robert’s shoulder, “Bruce, ye make damn sure they’re on that boat to Paris. Understood?"
“Aye.”
James watched his father as he turned to face him. Standing tall, he took one last tender look at his family huddled together, tears streaking their faces. James knew this was his father’s way of saying their final goodbye.
William nodded to Robert. “God speed, my friend.”
With the last bit of pride William had he stood tall and smiled at his wife. Like a man on a mission he turned, unleashed his sword and ran back to the battle as he yelled one last war cry. “A Douglas! A Douglas!” As God was his witness he would take down a few more Sassenach filth before he surrendered his home.
James took a deep breath as he felt a tear threaten to fall. He would take his last breath slaying the English for taking everything from him. His father, his land, and his mother. His mother never got over losing his father. Some said she died of the plague, but he knew better; she died of a broken heart.
When James had returned to Scotland, several summers ago, he reclaimed his home from the English and avenged his family’s name. As his eyes roamed to the wes
t side of Castle Douglas, charred stone reminded him of that night. He and his force of three massive dragons beheaded the English garrison, torched them and decapitated their horses. It was the first time he had unleashed the wrath of his dragon, and he felt no remorse for the English scum. Even today, when the wind blew just right, the smell of burning flesh could still be detected.
He sent a message that day. From then on, he was known as the Black Douglas, the Bogeyman.
A soft female voice came from the rear of the stable and claimed his attention.
~~~~~
“Good Morn, Fergus.” Abigale greeted her fine steed.
The brilliant white steed let out a welcoming nicker as Abigale approached.
“I’ve a surprise for ye,” Abigale teased. Reaching into her pocket she pulled out a juicy red apple.
Ears pricked in her direction, he bobbed his head up and down as if he approved of her surprise.
Abigale offered the apple and held onto it as he took a bite. She found Fergus’s favorite spot to be scratched, right between his ears, and gave him a good scratch.
“Ah, Fergus, what are we going to do?” Abigale sighed as if she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders.
After last eve’s performance, Abigale had pondered most of the morning away as she ate stale oatcakes and picked at her black pudding. James had never returned, leaving her to a peaceful night’s rest. Why had he showed her mercy? He was her husband now; certainly he had the right to bed his wife.
“That really is some kind of horse ye have.”
Abigale jumped, surprised to find she wasn’t alone. James was leaning his shoulder up against the stall with his arms crossed. “Ye frightened me.” She held her hand over her chest to calm herself. “How long have ye been there… watching me?”
“Long enough.” James pushed off the stall and grabbed a saddle nearby. “We leave for Angus soon. ‘Tis best ye prepare for travel."
A crease appeared across her forehead. “I thought Castle Douglas was yer home?”
“Aye, it is. Archibald, my brother, will stay here to protect it. We head north.” James tipped his chin toward the Highlands.
“The Highlands?”
James blew out a huff. “Aye.”
Abigale followed closely behind as he sat the saddle down next to Fergus’s stall. As he turned around she almost bumped into him. A cold stare sent chills over her skin causing her to take a step back. One look from those eyes made her feel so small, like a wee child.
“But it’s dangerous to travel through the Highlands.” She glanced down at her clasped hands nervously. “We would be much safer here.”
“What’s wrong lass, are ye afraid a rogue Highlander will jump out of the woods to attack ye?”
Abigale didn’t take kindly to being teased. Being a woman and out on her own without the safety of the nunnery walls, she was apprehensive of traveling to the Highlands.
Abigale stood with her hands on her hips. “Ye see my Laird, I’ve only met one Highlander in my life and I’m no impressed." She looked him up and down.
Before she knew what was happening, James had closed the distance between them. Abigale felt giant hands grip her waist as she was pulled against a hard wall of muscle. Confused by his actions, she threw her hands to his chest in protest. She did not realize the repercussions of her actions.
As soon as their bodies connected, she felt his heat radiating off him. Amber eyes swirled leaving her breathless. She felt his cock harden against her stomach and instantly her body burned. He lowered his head. God help her, he was going to kiss her. She closed her eyes and waited for his kiss, but to her disappointment it never came.
Quickly she was hoisted up by her waist, only to open her eyes to find James setting her down off to the side and out of his way. He walked past her and lifted a bridle off of a hook as if she had no effect on him. “Ye best hold yer tongue, lass. I have no tolerance for it,” he warned her.
Abigale stood dumbfounded. As sure as the sky was blue he was going to kiss her, she knew it. She felt it. Why did he stop? Did I do something wrong? She touched her lips and watched him walk over and grab the bridle like nothing had happened. This maddened her to no end. Threats and intimidation would not work on her; they only added fire to her fury. She had spent the last eight years surviving Abbess Margaret’s mercilessness. Now that she was free from her ruthless behavior, Abigale wouldn’t stand for the abuse.
“Is that the way ye Highlanders talk to yer wives?” Abigale bit back. “If so, my Laird, I’m still no impressed.”
James strode in front of Abigale holding her blue stare of ire. “Lass, let’s get one thing straight, I give the orders and ye are to obey.”
Abigale felt her blood boil up to the tips of her ears as she grabbed her skirts to prevent herself from slapping him.
“I didnae want a wife. ‘Tis best ye keep yer distance and do as yer told.” James broke their stare and began to saddle up a mount.
Abigale didn’t know where her courage came from, but this man was not going to get the best of her nor the satisfaction of knowing how furious he made her. Arrogant fool. “I see, my Laird ‘tis best to be seen but not heard. Like a well-trained dog?"
James began to tighten the saddle. “See it as ye wish, just do as yer told.” He brushed her off like an annoying fly buzzing around.
Before Abigale made her way back to Castle Douglas to pack for travel she sauntered next to James so he had to look at her.“Yer an arse, James Douglas.”
James smirked back and gave the saddle strap a good yank. “Now lass, is that any way to talk to yer husband?”
Abigale shot him a disgusted glare. She thought better than to exchange any more words so she turned on her heels and headed toward Castle Douglas to pack.
Chapter 5
A road less traveled…
The announcement that they were going to make camp for the night was music to Abigale’s ears. Keeping up with five mountainous Highlanders as they rode their horses through the Highlands started to wear on her body. Breaks were few, short lived, and the rocky, rough terrain had wreaked havoc on her backside. James, determined to make it at least half way to Angus before nightfall, rode them hard. These men were accustomed to the land and their bodies were built to absorb the brutal beating the Highlands could bring upon a person, but she wasn’t.
It was outlandish and well, plain rude to treat her like one of his men-at-arms. Though never once did she grumble about her discomfort. She rode with grace and kept to herself, but inside Abigale stewed.
I dinnae want a wife, James’s voice rang through her thoughts. Abigale huffed and rolled her eyes. Did he really think she wanted to marry the Bogeyman? Nay, she was perfectly content back at the nunnery studying to become a surgeon and help heal the sick. Most nights she found herself nose deep in a book, reading up on herbs or looking over notes taken during an observed surgery. As long as she stayed clear of Abbess Margaret, life was, well… predictable, safe.
Who are you fooling, Abigale Bruce? She scolded herself. The nunnery was not the place she wanted to be. In fact as of late she had grown restless with images of wee bairns running amuck, calling her mother. A mother… just that thought warmed her inside. She wanted a husband to call a friend, a lover who could make her toes curl with one kiss. Aye, she sighed, a family. A family like she had never known. Now that desire seemed to crumble away to nothing more than a wishful dream. I dinnae want a wife.
The more she pondered the more blame she placed on James. He’d made it perfectly clear she was nothing more than a nuisance… a bump in the road… a thorn in his backside. Well, she would show him who the thorn was, she thought. At this point, she could not decide what burned her arse more, James or the bloody saddle.
“We’ll camp here for the night,” James announced.
Abigale winced when they came to a halt. Dismounting was going to be a challenge; she had no feeling left in her legs.
James hopped down off of his bl
ack mare and looked for a place to set up camp while two of his men went to search for wood to build a fire. Abigale noticed how he commanded his men and the way they respected him. A true natural born leader indeed. She respected him for that, but his manners on the other hand, well, not so much.
After she realized she was on her own, Abigale slowly slid off from the saddle onto numb, stinging legs. Pain crept across her face as she steadied herself against Fergus. The white steed turned his head and nudged her with his wet nose as if he asked how she fared. Patting him on his head, she smiled and reassured him that she was fine.
Desperately needing to set up a spot so she could get some rest, she began to untie a rolled up blanket and fur. As she took her first step, her legs buckled. Strong arms caught her from behind before she hit the hard ground.
“Ye alright, lass?” James asked.
“Are ye alright?” What kind of question was that? Of course she was not alright; her backside throbbed and her legs stung. She was exhausted, famished, and in desperate need of a bath. Besides she really did not want his help. She would be fine on her own, just like she had been her whole life. Alone.
“I’m fine.” Abigale brushed him off and tried to walk away only to stumble back into his arms.
“Here, let me help. Ye can take my pallet.” Before Abigale could protest, James scooped her up in his strong arms and walked her over to his pallet.
He sat her gently down on soft fur then reached into a satchel and handed her an oatcake. “Here, eat this.”
Taking the oatcake, Abigale eyed him curiously. “Thank ye.”
Abigale ate in silence. Wondering why he was treating her with kindness, she watched him keenly. Walking back to the black mare, he retrieved a waterskin. Oh thank Heavens… water. She was parched.
“Drink this,” James demanded.
Abigale gladly took the skin and drank vigorously. A strong overbearing taste burned her throat and her stomach threatened to lurch. She spat out the amber liquid and coughed.
James smirked. “What’s wrong? Have ye no had whiskey before?”
