by Arial Burnz
This man—this creature—probed her mind, a seductive invasion of her thoughts, learning everything about her as he drank. Within moments, she relived the pleasures of her childhood, the frustrations of her youthful womanhood, and the fantasies of her Gypsy dream lover. These distant memories of Broderick came rushing forward and surrounded her…the exotic aroma of the incense, the heady presence of his heat, the fluttering of her belly at the sight of him.
Davina relived the night she met Broderick.
“What do you see, sir?”
Their faces were very close as his deep voice cautioned her. “I cannot lie to you, lass. Doing so would be a disaster.”
“A disaster?”
“Aye.” His emerald eyes bore into hers. “Times ahead will not be pleasant. But you must not lose faith. You have much strength. Draw on that strength and hold tight to what is most dear, for that is what will bring you through these troubled times that are yet to come.”
“What will happen, sir?” she pressed.
“‘Tis unknown to me. I know not the specifics. The lines on the palm do not reveal such details, only to say that strife is in your future. Just remember what I told you. Hold tight to your vision of strength.” The rest of her memories leading up to this moment in time, quickened by and brought her back to the despair she experienced today.
Aye then. Let this stranger drink the life flowing through my body. Let him do what I cannot bring myself to do. I will have peace at last and die in the arms of the man who I imagine, for the moment, is the one I love. In the seconds from the time he’d latched onto her throat until this moment, serenity engulfed her.
The stranger broke from her and dropped her to the ground. Davina’s neck throbbed. Her head churned from the rapid memories swirling through her mind, displaying her life like a poorly performed play.
Scrutinizing his hazy image beginning to clear, she discerned him tip his head back and laugh maniacally. “After two decades of searching, I finally have what I have been looking for!” He knelt down before her and cradled her face in his palms. “God doesn’t look well upon my kind, so I can only credit the Dark Lord himself for bringing me such a prize!” He breathed deep, his smile growing. “As sweet as your blood is, my dear lady,” the man licked her blood from his lips, “I will leave you to your tragic life.” The molten silver glow faded from his eyes.
The questions swirling through her mind vanished in the familiar despair moving through her and gripping her heart. What twisted games were the Fates playing with her? Why relive all those moments, with Death so close in her arms, only to have her chance at freedom yanked away from her. She reached for him, but weakness lorded over her body. “Nay,” she tried to say over the lump in her throat, choking back the tears stinging her eyes. “You cannot leave me to this. Please…finish the task.”
He curled a finger under her chin. “All will be well.” He laid his palm to her forehead and Davina’s mind became a fog. All went black.
* * * * *
Stars sprinkled the sky above with the moon overhead. Davina sat up, her head pinning, and touched the lump throbbing on the back of her skull.
“Thank God!” a deep male voice exclaimed. A hazy figure knelt beside her, and she struggled to clear her vision to try and identify him. “What were you thinking!”
She scrunched her eyebrows in confusion, her mind a muddled mess. “Wha—?”
“I apologize. I may have been a little overzealous in trying to save you from yourself.” When she tried to stand up, his warm hands on her shoulders pushed her back down. “Methinks you need to stay seated for a moment longer. Do you know where you are?”
Davina scanned the area, the world coming into view. She sat in the middle of the forest clearing she frequented for solitude. Heather stood a distance away, nibbling at some leaves on a bush. Why was she here? Glancing at her trembling hands, she hoped to find the answers. Her eyes wandered, and in the stranger’s hand, she recognized her dagger. She beheld the stranger, his emerald eyes filled with concern in the silver light of the moon. How familiar he seemed. Her breath caught in her throat. How very much like her Gypsy dream lover, yet not like him.
“You remember,” he said, nodding. “You are very fortunate I came along, mistress. What would possess you to take your own life, only God will know, but for the sake of your soul, I hope you do not try to repeat that ghastly task.”
“Sir, if you please.” She laid an imploring hand upon his arm. “What happened?”
“Oh, I thought you remembered.” He cleared his throat. “You were going to take your life, so I stopped you. In the process, you hit your head. I hope you can forgive me.” He rolled his eyes and mumbled, “I may have almost finished the deed for you myself, with my clumsiness.”
“Not to wish you ill tidings, sir, but I wish you had finished the deed.”
“Nonsense!” He inhaled a breath and seemed to gain control over his outburst. “Why do you suppose I’m out here, young miss?”
“I’m not sure I understand what you imply, sir.”
“I will come right out and say it, in spite of how mad my words will sound.” He took both her hands in his and stared pointedly into her eyes. “‘Tis not by chance that I wandered these woods this night. I say this after having saved your life, but I doubted my sanity at first. I was passing through your humble little town below and these woods called to me. A message came into my mind as I searched, not knowing what I searched for. The message said, ‘You must tell her that he will return, that he will rescue her. You must tell her not to give up hope and hold tight to that vision of strength.’”
Davina gasped.
“Do you know what that means?”
She nodded.
“Good, because I certainly do not.” The corner of his handsome mouth turned up when she offered no explanation. “Well, it matters not. I’m glad I’m not cracked after all.”
“So am I, sir,” she replied in awe. A new hope blossomed in Davina’s chest. “I thank the Lord you were listening to Him this night. Thank you for stopping me.” She resisted the urge to hug this dark stranger, who became her savior and messenger in the form of the man she loved, and instead kissed his knuckles in gratitude.
“Well, that’s more reward than I have already received and could have hoped for.” He helped her to her feet, not letting her hand go until she proved she was sound on her feet and assured him she was able to ride. After she mounted Heather, he held the dagger up to her, offering her the handle-end. When she reached for it, he pulled it back. “I hand this over with much hesitance, dear lady. Will you promise me you will never have this blade pointed at your heart again?”
“Aye, sir, I promise.” He gave her the knife and she tucked it into her boot. “The message you delivered has given me a reason to live.”
“That’s a great relief.” He patted her knee. “You can ride back on your own, I trust?”
She nodded and her face flushed with shame. “Aye, I’m sure my family didn’t know my intent when I left in such a state. Having to explain how you saved me from myself would put us both in an awkward position.”
“That it would. As much as I would like to accompany you back, I have other pressing matters. I have been biding for someone for a very long time, and I believe I will bide no more. You have given me a sign of my own, my dear lady. I’m sure we will see each other another time, though.” He walked a few steps backwards and waved before he turned to leave. “Good night, fair lady!”
“Oh, sir! What is the name of my savior so I may include you in my prayers?”
“Angus!” he called back without missing a step.
Chapter Three
Stewart Glen, Scotland—Late Autumn, 1514—15 Months Later
“Leave me alone! Don’t touch me!” Davina struggled against the hands restraining her.
“Davina. Davina.”
The softness of the voice stopped her, and she scooted away, uncertain of her surroundings.
“�
��Tis I, Davina, your mother!” Lilias lit a tallow candle and climbed onto the bed beside her daughter. Wrapping comforting arms around Davina and rocking to and fro, she hushed her. “All is well. He’s dead. Remember? He’s long in the grave, sweet.”
“Aye, M’ma.” She sighed and let her mother wipe her sweaty brow. “Cailin?”
“Cailin is well,” her mother assured her. “Myrna is attending her. Rest easy, Davina.” Lilias sighed and continued to rock her daughter. “Many weeks have passed since a nightmare has troubled you.”
Davina nodded. Her husband Ian had been dead over a year, and the nightmares still plagued her; though, they appeared to be dying off as of late, which gave her some hope.
So much had happened since that night she tried to take her own life. The time went by so quickly it seemed to have vanished; and yet as she waited with patience for Broderick’s return, as the dark stranger Angus promised, the time seemed to stretch on into eternity. Though Ian gained a foothold with her family, a long and heartfelt conversation with them eased the tension, and they gave Davina the benefit of observing Ian more closely. The bruises she received from his rough handling behind the stables aided her cause. And even though she braved showing them the scars on her body from past beatings, dissolving the union was no longer an option. Davina told them about her pregnancy, and though her condition gave them more reason to keep Ian away from her during this observation, it solidified their marriage.
Thankfully, this evidence betrayed Ian’s true nature, but prior to pursuing any other disciplinary measures, King James changed his mind and declared war on England. Before the men were called to arms, Ian tried to escape, taking as much as he could from his father’s estate to support himself, but Munro and Parlan intercepted him. They kept him under lock and key until their time to go, with the threat of treason hanging over his head if he tried to escape once more. On the eve of their departure, Ian vowed he would return, and Davina would wish she had never been born. Kehr vowed to Davina, in his own private farewell, that Ian would not return.
On September 9, 1513, the Battle of Flodden Field ravaged Scotland’s countrymen—even taking their brave King—and left a mass of women heartbroken in its wake, including Davina and her mother. The war dragged not only her husband into the battlefield, but her brother Kehr and her father Parlan as well, proving to be a bittersweet victory. True to Kehr’s word, Ian didn’t return. His death freed her, but at the cost of losing her beloved brother and father. Uncle Tammus—having been one of the few who survived—trudged home, bringing the bodies of Parlan and Kehr with him. Among so many others in the massacre, Ian’s body couldn’t be found, so great was the loss. They buried Kehr and Parlan on their land, and seeing them lowered into the cold earth put finality to their lives. However, with Ian’s death, the babe inside her—three months along—would have the chance to live a peaceful life.
Munro also fell in battle, leaving Davina the inheritance of his estate and funds. She couldn’t bear returning to the place where Ian terrorized her, so she returned home. That chapter now closed upon her life, new responsibilities awaited her, assisting her mother in the care of Stewart Glen. In addition, Tammus took upon the role of guardian for them, spending half his time at Stewart Glen and the other half at his own holdings. With his son also fallen in battle, and his wife dead at childbirth, Tammus welcomed the family responsibilities.
So if her torment was over, if Ian was dead and long in the grave, as her mother said…why did he still haunt her dreams? Why could she not escape this dread of his return? Maybe the nightmares came from never finding his body, and Ian’s hanging threat. Maybe she just needed to forgive him at last and release her hatred.
Myrna entered the room, cradling a crying babe. “She calls for you, Mistress Davina.”
Davina could feel the milk in her breasts rush forth and seep through her gown at the sound of her child’s baying, and she winced in discomfort. She reached out and took her eight-month-old daughter from her mother’s handmaid. “Aye, precious,” she cooed, and soothed the infant with kisses and strokes to her tiny face. “Thank you, Myrna.” Davina noted how much weight Myrna lost over this last year, the death of Parlan and Kehr seeming to take its toll on her as well. Davina turned to her mother. “I will be fine, M’ma. Cailin can stay with me for the rest of the night.”
Lilias gave mother and child a kiss to their brows and left them alone in the candlelight, Myrna following close behind. The glow of the flame flickered and danced in the silence, casting soft illumination upon her baby’s face. Davina’s lips touched Cailin’s cheeks, and she wiped the tears away. Her infant in her arms made the nightmares so easy to forget. Positioning her child at her side, she opened her damp gown, and the eager mouth closed around her nipple. Cailin stopped crying and breathed soft, warm puffs against Davina’s skin.
Davina studied her nursing child—her tiny nose, soft lashes upon her pudgy cheeks, cinnamon hair, thick and curling, around her angelic face. Burying her face in her daughter’s silky curls, Davina shed silent tears into Cailin’s downy locks. “What a blessing from the curse,” she whispered. She vowed, as she had a hundred times since Ian’s death, she would never let a man brutalize her again.
* * * * *
The morning sunlight kissed Davina’s face and she stretched in its warmth. She watched her handmaid, who opened the curtains, humming a simple tune while fetching Davina’s clothes from the wardrobe.
“Good morrow, Davina.”
Davina smiled. “Good morrow, Rosselyn.” Rising from her bed, she held Cailin in her arms and carried her half-sleeping daughter through the double doors to the landing outside. She drew a deep, cool breath of air and sighed. With the winter months coming upon them, the morning sky was still shadowed, and not yet brightened by the late-rising sun. She placed her hand atop the cold, gritting stone wall. Pride swelled in her breast over her father’s ingenuity. He had used the remnants of a walkway atop the curtain wall of the older structure, creating a terrace. This was Davina’s favorite feature of her bedchamber, providing a view over the courtyard, the dense forest off to the left, and the village far in the distance. For no apparent reason, a tickle of excitement fluttered in her stomach, not unlike the anticipation of a long-awaited gift. Curious.
Davina grinned and stepped back inside to sit down in an embroidered chair, where she cradled her baby. Davina opened her robe and gown and offered one of her swollen breasts. With greedy enthusiasm, Cailin suckled as she clutched a handful of Davina’s hair and closed her eyes. A live-in wet nurse was expensive, and though she had a sizable inheritance from her late husband’s family, Davina erred on the side of caution in maintaining those funds. She and her family held no titles, their connections to the crown through her father’s illegitimate birth too distant for such luxuries. But they fared well enough to own land and have a mutual relationship with the growing community of Stewart Glen. This arrangement suited Davina well. Her age and position allowed her to maintain a low profile, so finding suitors was not a concern. All that aside, neither would she send her daughter away to be nursed, as she enjoyed the bonding breast feeding Cailin afforded.
After a while, Cailin stopped suckling and Davina turned her around to offer her other breast. Lilias strolled into the room and kissed Davina on the crown of her head. “I would like you to help Caitrina and her girls with the laundry today, Davina. Rosselyn, Myrna, and I will have Anna help us with the sweeping and changing of the wormwood.”
“Of course, M’ma,” Davina said, rising and handing Cailin to Myrna, who took the baby to the nursery. “Are we still for the markets this day?”
“As to be expected!” Lilias said with mock astonishment. “I must continue my eternal quest for ribbon!” They snickered and Lilias left to be about her chores.
Rosselyn smiled. “I shall make haste with our food.” She broke her fast with Davina when she returned with a tray, then helped Davina finish dressing. To prepare for the morning of laundry chores, she g
athered Davina’s long coppery tresses cascading down her back into a tight braid and tied it up under her coif.
How should I breach the subject? Davina pondered as Rosselyn worked at securing the last of her hair. As of late, Davina ached to talk about her brother and father. What would be a subtle way of easing into the topic without springing it upon her from nowhere? She glanced at their trenchers and eyed the honey.
“Where is your mind, Davina?”
Relief washed over her that Rosselyn created the perfect opportunity. “I was thinking upon my brother, Roz. The honey with our meal made me recall how many years Kehr and I went on our little midnight raids.”
Rosselyn made no comment while she helped Davina dress in her chemise. Rosselyn laced the brown wool kirtle, avoiding eye contact, tears building in her eyes as distress marred her brow.
Davina’s cheeks flushed warm over Rosselyn’s silence, but she pressed onward. “Up until the day I married, Kehr and I snuck through the dark halls to the pantry, giggling like babes in the nursery.”
Rosselyn never took her eyes off her duties, worrying her lip between her teeth.
Davina turned to Rosselyn and stayed her thin hands. “Please share this with me, Rosselyn. Since the death of my father and brother, no one will speak to me about them. I fear I will lose their memory.”
Rosselyn’s bottom lip trembled. Tears spilled down her cheeks and past the attractive mole on her jaw line. “Davina, I…” She stared at Davina for a long moment.
When Davina thought her friend would say something more, Rosselyn stepped away and disappeared into the wardrobe. As much as Davina wanted to go and comfort her, feeling responsible for her current mood, Rosselyn’s retreat meant she needed time, so Davina granted her a few moments alone.
