by Victoria Zak
As James lay back down, he was surprised he had fallen asleep. Nightmares of death usually haunted his dreams; therefore peaceful slumber eluded him most of the time. Unless the amber liquid went down smooth, then it never failed, he would drink until the mead took over. Normally a lass would be lurking around willing and ready to please. It helped pass the time until dawn.
A vision of Abigale dancing with Marcus invaded his thoughts as he recalled the way her dress flowed to the music. Her body twirled and swayed with grace and beauty like nothing he had ever seen before. For a moment he was content just watching her from across the great hall. Her face softened with a smile and the sound of her laughter soothed his soul.
That was until he had noticed the way Marcus had set his wandering eyes on her. Just like a snake in the Garden of Eden, Marcus was testing his limits, waiting to strike, and make his move. Aye, he did not trust him for one moment, and that’s when the drinking began. James Douglas, if ye were half the man ye thought ye were, ye would have claimed that dance last night instead of letting another man invade yer claim. Aye, if only he was just a man, mayhap he could be the one for Abigale.
James licked his lips and swallowed hard, still tasting Abigale’s kiss that lingered on the tip of his tongue like it had just happened. Shite. He had been such an arse to her. He had tried to walk past her bedchamber last eve, but his body betrayed him. After seeing another man up close and personal with Abigale it took all his strength not to throw her on the bed and take her… brand her… sear her body with his, so every Dragonkine or man would know she belonged to him. But he could not do it, so he took the coward's way out by intimidating her. His eyes flew open. Abigale? She was here. He leaned over and felt the sheets next to him; they were cold.
James sat up, pulled his hands through his hair, and Lennox hopped off the bed. “Och lassie, ‘tis time to lick my wounds and go find Lady Abigale.” Lennox ran to the door, Mahboon right behind her, they both scratched at it. Donning his kilt and tunic, he quit the bedchamber.
The last place James looked for Abigale was in the horse stable, knowing all along she would be here, yet he didn’t want to face the consequences of last night’s blunder. The sweet smell of fresh cut hay filled the stone framed room. Chargers of white, black, and chestnut were lined up on one side of the wall standing side by side only separated by wooden walls. They paid James no mind as he walked down the main aisle. As he approached the next stall a black mare nickered. James patted her on her hindquarters. ”Settle lass, ‘tis me,” he whispered.
Passing an empty stall he thought mayhap Abigale wasn’t here. He began to turn around and leave until he heard a soft sigh and the crunch of hay. Abigale?
Curled up in a fur on a hay pallet next to Fergus, Abigale slept. A soft gray muzzle was buried in her auburn hair next to her flawless face as if the steed was protecting a prized possession. Long, black eyelashes rested on her cheeks that were pink from the cold night air. Her lips quivered. God’s blood, he was an arse.
As James got closer, Fergus stirred and pinned his ears back, telling James to proceed with caution. “Easy lad.” James’s voice was a mere whisper. "I will no hurt her.” He held out his hand and Fergus nipped at it. Retracting his hand quickly, James took a step back. Easy, two steps forward one step back. Fergus stood as to not wake Abigale and pinned his ears again. James held his hands up in surrender. “I know… I know… I messed up. Let me take her inside to get warm.” This was a first, he thought, negotiating with a horse.
Fergus raised his head to intimidate James, then neighed a deep confident nicker. James reached, down never losing eye contact with the stallion and grabbed a hand full of hay. He offered it to Fergus. “See lad, I’m not so bad, am I?" The protective warhorse paused. Slowly with caution he lowered his head and blew out a puff of hot air from his nostrils like he was calming his nerves. With his neck stretched out he investigated the peace offering by moving the hay around with his nose. James took his other hand and stroked Fergus’s pure white forehead. "Peace?”
Finally, after three handfuls of hay and a promised carrot or two, Fergus deemed James as a friend for now, and allowed passage to Abigale. He went down on bended knee beside her. Peaceful like a child she slept. Gently, he took her in his strong arms, and Abigale snuggled deep into his warmth. She felt perfect against his chest, almost like she was made for him. He thought himself a hundred times a fool for being rough with her… intimidating her. The oath he had taken was to protect her and aye, he could do that, but could he protect her from himself?
James entered his bedchamber and laid Abigale down on a warm bed billowing with furs and pillows. “James?” Abigale said, half asleep, half awake.
“Shhh my bel ange. Rest.” He placed his hand on her forehead as his magic washed over her sending her into a restful sleep. He tucked the blankets snug around her body and kissed her forehead. Before he left the room he placed more peat on the fire. The lass had to go.
~~~~~
The next morn before the sun rose over the village indicating a new day had come, James and his men left on a long hunting jaunt. He needed to clear his thoughts, take in some cool Highland air, bond with his Dragonkine brethren while hunting red deer and boar. He needed to refocus on recruiting neighboring clans to join clan Douglas and fight for the king. This was not an easy task at hand, for Scotland was unstable and fragmented. Kinsmen fought kinsmen over who they thought should be the rightful king of Scotland. Ally with the wrong clan and truces would be broken between allies. James had seen clans wiped out, completely slaughtered, just because they joined forces with accused traitors.
Even though King Robert took him off the battlefield to protect his daughter, it didn’t mean he couldn’t aid in the king’s rebellion against England. He would always do what he had to do to rid Scotland of the English. Furthermore, there was always a battle to be fought and he would be prepared when the time came.
James led the way north toward the Great Glen. Mounted upon his black mare, James looked very much the natural born leader he was. The black mare was massive, unusual for a female warhorse, but she was just as dominant as James. James and Conall took the dirt path deeper into the glen, while Rory and Magnus followed the trail to the loch. A flawless strategy was set in motion to draw out the hunt, surround the prey, and then go in for the kill.
James sensed that Conall needed to get something off his chest. Both men side by side walked their fine steeds at a steady pace along the forest path keeping their eyes alert, searching the thick vegetation for clues of deer.
“Abigale seems to be a fine lass,“ Conall said.
James adjusted himself in his saddle. “Aye. Alice is verra fond of her.”
“Ye know James, it might not be all that bad to have a wife… warming yer bed every night.” Conall dared a glance at James, arched a black brow, and grinned.
”Conall, you can stop right there… I know what ye are doing. I took a vow to protect King Robert’s daughter and that I intend to do, for he has been nothing less than a father to me. I owe him for helping me get my lands back. I didnae ask for her to be my wife, nor do I want her as my wife.” For Christ sake, was he ever going to escape the lass?
Halting their horses, Conall tried to reason with James. “But, ye have a wife, a verra beautiful one.”
James shot him a hard stern glare warning his friend to tread softly. “Did ye forget? We are Dragonkine, Conall! How do I explain this to her!” James pointed to his eyes as they turned to a swirling amber with reptilian slits.
“Och—“
“Nay, I’m sending her to Bothwell Castle and that’s final!” James kicked his horse forward, ending their conversation. The more Conall brought up Abigale the more aggravated he became. After he left his bedchamber last night he pondered ways to solve his problem, and sending Abigale to Bothwell was the best plan of attack. They could still go on as husband and wife, but would live separate lives. She would be close enough to protect, yet far away from him.
‘Twas a plan he was sure Abigale would be fond of, for she would be able to keep part of her dowry and he could keep his honor with the king.
He was letting her go… sending her away. The realization hit his heart like the muscle was being squeezed by a steel plated gauntlet. He felt the coldness of the steel bite deeper into his lifeline. The restraint intensified leaving him aching. James rubbed the pain in his chest as he felt his dragon mourn their loss.
“James, listen to me.”
James shook off his thoughts. It was apparent he had to listen to Conall because his best friend wasn’t taking no for an answer. God’s teeth, Conall could be a persistent nag.
“Think of it like this… like a battle. Ye go to battle to fight for what’s right. ‘Tis a long hard battle, ye dinnae like it, but ye know at the end there will be peace. A woman is no different. Ye fight for her love, ye dinnae like the feelings she brings out of ye at first, but my friend, if she’s the one, trust in me when I say to let go and ye’ll find there’s nothing like a woman’s love to soothe yer dragon side.”
James mused for a moment. Had his friend gone daft? How could a ruthless, bloodthirsty dragon bring anyone peace? Nonetheless, how can ye bring peace when ye’re no at ease with yerself?
“Conall, are ye daft? Did ye leave yer ballocks back home?”
It looked as if a huge boulder crashed down on Conall. “Rest assured my Laird, my balls are just fine. I thank ye for yer concern.” Conall nodded his head and trotted his horse toward the sandy trail leading to the loch. There was no getting past that thick skull.
James let out a heavy exhalation and continued through the glen, finally alone with his own thoughts. Hellfire, his blood burned in irritation. His best friend… talking about love and women… he had to have been bewitched. Conall Hamilton hadn't fallen under a lass’s spell… had he? “Nay.”
The squawk of a flock of black birds fleeing from a thicket of blackthorns on top of a hill caught James’s attention. He watched the birds as they scattered like black specks littering the sky. There was no time to move or even flee as James saw an arrow fly through the air from the thicket and plunge into his heart with precise aim.
~~~~~
A wise man once said that patience was not a virtue, but a vice. A wicked moral, testing the true heart of a man. When fortitude was tested, it separated the weak from the strong, the faithful from the faithless. He knew this all to be true, he lived it every day. Now as fate would have it he would seek out what was rightfully his and gain its benefits. Not only did he have to possess patience, but he had to know when to strike and to push a little harder to achieve his goals. Perched high on top of a green mounding hill hidden behind a thicket of dense blackthorns, he waited for his glory. If fate would allow, the Gods would bless him this day.
He reached behind him and pulled out a long shaft from the leather quiver on his back. As he sat there fondling the feather-light flight, his thoughts of being on the battlefield came to mind. James on bended knee being knighted by the king of Scotland, a banner in his honor, and the king’s daughter as a reward. It should have been him on bended knee being honored, not James. He should be the one with a banner in his name with men aplenty behind him. His blood had been shed on the battlefield that day. Shouldn’t he reap the benefits of land and a pretty princess to warm his bed? All of his life he had been second to James, but not today. He would outwit the clan’s chief, uproot the house of Douglas, and become a legend… the man who slayed the Bogeyman.
Dull green leaves turning to a pale yellow thinly littered the blackthorn bushes. The blue-black color of the berries on its branches beckoned him to reach up and pick a berry. He studied it for a moment before placing it in his mouth. A bitter taste shot through his mouth reminding him winter was on its way. After first freeze the berries would taste much sweeter, he thought.
After he spat out the remainder of the sour berry, he walked over to the spot that would give him the best vantage point. Looking down upon the trail, he knew it wouldn’t be long; his target would be approaching soon. He felt in his bones that his time was now. He grabbed his longbow that was resting by an autumn-stricken tree and paused for a moment. As he looked at the black contorted skeleton of a blackthorn tree it mocked him, revealing how twisted and evil his soul had become. Jealousy throughout the years had weaved through him and cloaked his heart in blackness. Ye are the keeper of dark secrets, lad, the tree mocked again. It was going to be a blackthorn winter, he thought with a smirk.
To him, a traitor was nothing more than an actor upon the stage only revealing what seems fit at the moment. A master of lies and deception, he had played his part well throughout the years. Just like patience, betrayal had become second nature. A coat of many colors he wore, but his purpose stayed true. Friend or foe, ally or enemy, he waited to make his move, showing no mercy upon the fools who stood in his way.
Much more than retaliation for his misfortunes was on the line. He fought for someone more precious to him than the air he breathed. An innocent victim handpicked and strategically placed on the game board to be played by someone else for their gains. Nay, there was no turning back.
Feet planted true and firm like the excellent archer he was, he raised his bow, and notched the shaft. He surveyed the trail once more as he drew back the poisoned arrow. Feathers lightly brushed his neatly trimmed jawline, reminding him of how sweet Abigale’s kisses would be and how sweet victory would taste. Soon my pet, verra soon.
All thoughts pushed aside, he took aim and released the string, sending the arrow straight to his target. James’s heart.
Chapter 9
Were it not for hope the heart would break. ~ Scottish Proverb
A powerful force knocked James from his horse. He landed firmly on his back on the hard forest floor. Air rushed out of his lungs and his torso stung as he clamped a hand over the sting to relieve the pain. As he looked at his chest, a red circle crept across his tunic. In the middle of that blood-soaked spot, an arrow shot in perfect accuracy plunged deep into his skin. He had been a target, indeed his heart marked the spot.
The smell of dirt and blood invaded his senses. He rolled back and forth and arched in pain, but there was no escaping the blazing heat burning through his veins like fire. Confusion hit him hard; one strike from an arrow shouldn’t have caused him this much pain, after all he was immortal. Even after a fatal blow he could fight off death and regain his strength, but this was different. The pain was agony, the blood poured rapidly from his body, and his strength weakened. With his throat dry and swollen, a mere grunt was all James had left in him as he tried to yell for help.
Darkness was closing in. As he drifted, a vision of Abigale floating in the loch flashed before him. Long auburn hair splayed out around her flawless face, a thin wet shift clung to every curve as the water licked at her delectable body. James remembered how he itched to run his hands over her breasts, feel the hardness of her pebbled peaks, and taste her sweetness. Her body beckoned to be touched. Now it was too late… too late to tell her what a fool he had been… too late to claim her.
~~~~~
At the first crack of light, Abigale was up and ready for the day. She had planned to keep herself busy and rid herself of all thoughts of a certain Highlander. First thing this morn, she had helped in the kitchen preparing the vegetables for the night’s feast and staying clear of anything that involved fire. By noon she had crushed some lavender into a mixture to bathe the smelly dogs. If the hounds from hell were going to be regular visitors in her bedchamber they had to be bathed, for they smelled like a dung heap. As she crumpled the sweet-smelling lavender into a bowl, a little harder than needed, she vowed a few times to hate James Douglas for as long as she lived, especially after last eve’s kiss. It was a good thing he was nowhere in sight, because undoubtedly he would have received the sharp end of her tongue. “Barbarian,” she thought out loud.
After the challenging experience of bathing Lennox and Mahboon, Abigale made her way into
the solar where Alice and Effie sat by the hearth working on their embroidery. Abigale walked in and plopped herself down in a chair with a huff.
Concern creased Alice’s brows. “What be the worry, lassie?”
Effie spoke up before Abigale could respond, “Didn’t yer night go well with Laird Douglas?”
“Effie!” Alice scolded.
“Nay Alice, ‘tis alright,” Abigale reassured. It was obvious her friends had been worried about her. In fact she hadn’t said a word to them all day. "Nothing happened, I assure ye.” She crossed her arms and blew out a hard breath. “James had too much mead and blacked out.” Purposely, she’d left out the small, yet mortifying detail of how foolish she’d felt kissing him and being turned away. No need to mark herself a total fool.
Alice snorted and held back a laugh.
“Alice, do no laugh, Abigale is devastated.” Effie jumped out of her chair, rushed over to Abigale, and embraced her with a sympathetic hug.
“Effie, I appreciate yer concern, but I’m more mad than devastated. When we first met he told me he didnae want me as a wife. I guess… I mean… I just thought maybe one kiss and he would change his mind.” Abigale shrugged her shoulders and plucked at the hem of her apron. Looking up sheepishly she revealed, “I spent the night in the stables with Fergus."
All of a sudden the women broke out in laughter. Abigale joined their laughter, for she had to laugh. Frankly she was too flustered by James’s behavior to break down and cry. How could James be jealous of another man when he had no feelings for her? Why should he care who she danced with or chose to talk to? It didn’t make sense to her.
Alice set her embroidery down and shook her head. “Highlanders. They’re so damn stubborn.” She turned to face Abigale. “Dear Lady Abigale, he’s trying to push ye away because he likes ye and he does no like how it is making him feel.”
