“Aye, well,’tis better than a soft head.”
She laughed and held out a towel. James rose from the tub, dribbling water on the stone floor. He rubbed himself dry, then fastened the towel low on his hips.
Grinning, he approached his wife. Her hands slipped around his waist and she held fast to him. He lowered his mouth to hers. They kissed, sweetly, lovingly.
James’s towel fell to the floor. Yet despite the chill in their bedchamber, he found a most delightful way to chase away the cold, though in truth it made his wife shiver.
A few days later, James and Davina left McKenna Castle. The journey took nearly a fortnight. They traveled with a large contingent of soldiers, wagons overloaded with food, wine, ale, and various household items. The weather remained unpredictable, mild one day, cold and blustery the next.
They were prepared for the chill, erecting sturdy tents each night to ward off the cold. But Davina was shivering when James entered their tent one evening and he hurried to her side. “What’s wrong? Are ye ill?”
“Nay.” Though she tried to prevent it, emotions made her hands shake. “I started my monthly flow this evening.”
It took James a moment to realize what she was saying. “Ah, love, there’s plenty of time fer us to have a babe.”
She fell into his arms. They were strong and warm, soothing her tattered emotions. “I know ’twas foolish of me to even think it. But I had hoped.”
“If I remember correctly, it takes more than hope to create a child.” The teasing humor and love in James’s eyes softened the blow.
“There will be sons one day, with yer wicked grin and warrior’s skills,” she said with yearning.
He grinned, then whispered in her ear. “I’d also like a few daughters, please, with yer bright eyes, kind heart, and sense of honor.”
“I’ll try my best—if ye’ll do the same.”
He laughed and kissed her gently. The sorrow that had been trapped inside her leaked away, like water breaking through a dam. There would be children, she reassured herself, as many as God saw fit to give them. Spirits calmed, Davina ate a light meal, but slept well that night, cradled in James’s embrace.
On the afternoon they reached Torridon Keep, the biting wind howled, the sky darkened, and thunder rumbled in the distance. The animals were skittish and restless as they stopped on a slight rise; the humans, too. Davina felt the knot of anticipation in her belly tighten as she gazed into the valley below.
In front, the dense woods thinned, then gently sloped down. The keep was visible in the fading light, a tall, thin stone structure surrounded by a single low curtain wall. Despite the clouds, the golden stone glowed, a stark contrast to the gray of the winter sky.
There were no pennants snapping in the wind, and only a few wisps of smoke curling from the thatched cottages clustered in the meager village outside the fortress walls.
“It looks much smaller than I remember,” Davina said, reining in her horse.
“Ye were a lass when ye left,” James replied, studying the keep with interest. “Ye’ve never returned since yer parents died?”
“Nay. I asked often at first, but my uncle always said no. I suppose I simply got tired of being denied, so I ceased asking.” She sighed with poignant regret. “I wish now that I had not so easily given up the quest to return, if only to assure the villagers that I remembered and cared about them.”
“They will have no doubt of it once we greet them and they see that we mean to stay,” James said cheerfully.
Davina smiled wanly, not as confident of their reception as her husband. They spurred their horses, riding ahead of the clumsy caravan. Davina puzzled over the silence as they drew near. There were no shepherds tending the sheep, no children playing on the hills, no women gathered by the stream doing wash.
James raised his arm and a group of soldiers behind them broke ranks and came forward. A whisper of foreboding tightened her scalp.
“Do ye suspect a trap?” Davina asked nervously.
“We sent no word of our arrival, but yer uncle knows of our marriage and should have informed them to expect us at some point.”
They continued forward, riding through the silent village. She could see that James’s eyes were trained on the top of the wall. Davina raised her eyes, too, counting the soldiers. They were still too far away to clearly see features, though she knew it was unlikely that she would recognize any of them.
A sturdy wooden bridge spanned a dry moat that was mined with sharpened sticks. This defense butted against the stone curtain wall and encircled the entire keep. Davina remembered her father speaking of the need for a drawbridge, but he never found the time or coin to have one built.
Instead, he had spent his money on tall, broad oak gates, bound with iron and set with metal studs designed to split a battering ram. He had also widened the top of the walls, so his guards could stand two deep.
“I count a dozen men on the wall,” she said, when they brought their horses to a halt at the start of the bridge.
“Are any of them known to ye?” James asked, his hand resting on his sword hilt.
“Nay.”
“Then ye had best announce yerself,” James said with an encouraging smile.
She sat taller in the saddle, cloaking herself in commanding dignity. “I am Lady Davina Armstrong McKenna, daughter of Lachlan Armstrong and mistress of this keep. I come with my husband and his guard to take up residence in our home. I command ye to lower the gates and grant us entrance before the rains come and we are soaked to the skin.”
As though to emphasize her point, the sky rumbled ominously. But if she had hoped the threat of impending rain would hasten their entrance, she was sadly mistaken.
“We had no word to expect ye,” one of the soldiers called down from the wall.
“Aye, I dinnae send word. But I’m here now.” Davina peered up at the wall, noticing several of the men shifting on their feet. “Open the gate.”
“Who did ye say wants entrance?” the soldier asked.
“Lady Davina Armstrong McKenna!” James shouted.
“Who are ye?” the soldier wanted to know.
“Her husband, Sir James McKenna.” James patted the neck of his restless horse and glared at the man.
“I cannae open the gate unless the steward commands it,” the soldier insisted.
“Then call the steward, so that Lady Davina can speak to him directly. And be quick about it! I’ll be very displeased if my wife catches a chill in the rain.”
Davina felt her face heat with annoyance. While she appreciated the soldier’s efforts to protect the keep, their manner was overly cautious.
After a few minutes, the steward appeared. He carried a chicken leg in his right hand, proof they had interrupted his dinner. He exchanged some words with the soldiers, paused, looked down at them, then resumed the conversation with the men on the wall.
“My man informs me that ye wish to gain entry to the keep,” the steward said.
“Aye,” James replied curtly.
“Ye claim that Lady Davina Armstrong rides among yer party?”
“I dinnae claim it, I know it. Now open the damn gate!”
James shouted so loudly, the precious few panes of glass on the keep windows shook.
The steward’s face whitened. He tossed his chicken bone aside and wiped his greasy fingers on the front of his tunic. “Forgive my confusion on this matter, Sir James, but Lady Davina is already here. She’s resting in her private chambers.”
Davina was so stunned by the announcement that for an instant all she could do was stare. She turned toward James and saw the shock she felt reflected in her husband’s eyes. “Did he just say that I was already in residence?”
“Aye.” The astonishment on James’s face gave way to puzzlement, then anger. He shifted in the saddle. “Bring her here immediately.”
“But she is resting,” the steward exclaimed.
James swung his shield around, drew his sword, and
began beating the sword against the shield. The McKenna men surrounding them took up the chant, imitating their leader. The fierce sound reverberated through the valley, a chilling, violent warning. Davina could almost see their fear as the men on the wall exchanged nervous glances.
James raised his sword, and the pounding ceased. “Ye have been lied to, my good man, by a clever, deceitful female. Bring her to the wall this instant, and I shall consider sparing yer life once we are inside.”
The steward’s jowls quivered. He spoke to the soldier on his left and the man scurried away. Just as Davina felt the first fat raindrop on her arm, the soldier reappeared. There was another person with him, smaller in stature and obviously a female.
The imposter.
“Who dares to claim my identity?” Davina shouted. The imposter stepped forward. Her head was bent so low that Davina could see nothing of her face—yet there was something about her manner that was familiar. Gooseflesh pricked down Davina’s arms and an uneasy feeling settled in her stomach.
“Joan?” Davina gasped.
The imposter let out a high, keening cry and stumbled forward. The steward reached out, catching her in his arms as she fell to the ground.
“Well, that’s one mystery solved.” James smirked.
Less than an hour later, Davina and James sat across from a defiant Joan in the great hall. Her golden hair hung around her shoulders like a veil, making her appear far younger than her years. She wore a blue silk gown, with long tight sleeves and an equally snug bodice that clung to her slender figure.
Her expression was calm, her manner haughty. One would think that she was the offended party in this sham, not the other way around.
“What sort of game are ye playing, Joan?” James asked, anger lurking in his gaze.
“’Tis no game. I was traveling home after visiting my parents and stopped here to spend the night. The gates were barred, much as they were today. It simply seemed easier to gain entrance by telling them that I was ye.” Joan had the grace to flinch, though her chin remained proudly raised. “’Twas only a small fib. I planned to leave within a few days.”
James turned to the steward, who was hovering in the shadows. “How long has Lady Joan been here?”
The steward blinked rapidly, clearly terrified to have been asked. “Neigh on three weeks, Sir James.”
Joan’s expression hardened to stone. “I caught a chill, which necessitated a longer stay.”
“Ye seem perfectly healthy to me.” James scowled. “Why haven’t ye gone? And where, may I ask, is yer husband?”
The smoldering flame of resentment in Joan’s eyes didn’t surprise Davina. Joan had always objected to answering questions about what she said and did. Apparently, that hadn’t changed. “Archibald had Fraser business that needed his attention.”
“Where?” James wanted to know.
“At court.”
Davina shot a disbelieving look at her cousin. Her husband was at court and Joan elected to be here, instead of with him? The tale did not ring true. Joan thrived on the intrigue and gossip of court life, speaking often of how she hated being stuck so far from anything of interest, wasting away in the Highlands.
James offered Joan a sad, suspicious smile and Davina knew he also doubted her words. He opened his mouth to question her cousin further, when Davina’s belly rumbled with hunger.
“Milady, forgive me,” the steward exclaimed. “I’ll have food and drink brought to ye immediately.”
Davina took a deep breath to stay her fraying nerves. James had been ready to string the poor steward up by his thumbs for refusing them entrance, but Davina had convinced him that the man was just trying to do his duty. He, too, had been duped by Joan; they must give the steward a chance to redeem himself.
Unfortunately, the food they were served was cold, tough, sour, and smelled faintly of mold. Even though he had taken a small mouthful, James seemed unable to swallow it. Instead, he spit it out on the rushes that covered the floor.
Joan lifted her brows, then smirked. “Apparently, one loses all sense of manners and civility when they become a Crusader.”
“Please bring us something we can eat without becoming ill,” Davina commanded, embarrassed by the poor showing.
She had wanted James to feel a connection, a commitment to their home, to be proud of it. Instead, this homecoming had been nothing short of disastrous.
The steward returned with a thin broth with bits of stringy chicken floating in it. Davina took one look at the grease congealed on the top and pushed her bowl away.
“I’m not very hungry,” she lied.
“Ye need to eat,” James insisted. “I’ll get something from the stores we brought.”
He stormed out, calling for his men, the steward doggedly following on his heels. Davina could hear the man apologizing profusely, insisting that the larder was poorly stocked, but he was certain with fresh food he would be able to set a table worthy of them.
“My, my, isn’t James the solicitous husband,” Joan clucked, reaching for a goblet of wine.
When she moved, her sleeve rode up, revealing her forearm. Davina gasped when she saw the line of yellow and blue bruises marring the flesh. Joan, feeling her cousin’s eyes upon her, hastily pulled her arm back so the fabric would conceal the discolored flesh.
Joan’s eyes met hers. “The floors in this keep are an abomination. ’Tis very easy to lose yer footing and tumble down on the hard stone.”
“That doesn’t look anything like a bruise from a fall,” Davina said quietly. “Let me see the rest of yer arm.”
Joan hesitated. Then averting her gaze, she slowly lifted first one sleeve, then the other. Davina winced. Joan’s arms were grossly streaked with yellow and purple bruises that Davina was certain went even farther up her body. Even after three weeks of healing they were still vivid and looked painful.
Joan’s eyes flashed and she raised her chin. “I dinnae want yer pity or yer judgment. Ye have no notion of what it’s like to live with a man like Archibald Fraser.”
“Have ye run away from him? Is that the real reason ye are here, pretending to be me?”
Joan let out a hollow burst of laughter. “Ye cannae hide from the Frasers.”
“There must be something ye can do,” Davina insisted.
The mirthless smile remained on her cousin’s lips. “Archibald is my lawful husband. No one has the right to censure his behavior.”
“Ye deserve to be treated with dignity and respect,” Davina said, reaching forward to place her hand upon Joan’s. “Not beaten like an animal.”
Joan’s head tilted. “Ye’ve changed, Davina. Ye used to run from yer own shadow and now ye’re ready to challenge a man as powerful and ruthless as Archibald.” Joan’s voice turned bitter. “I thank ye fer yer efforts, but there’s naught to be done.”
Stiffly, Joan rose to her feet. Her face was flushed as she struggled to maintain her dignity. How lowly the mighty have fallen. Ashamed of her unkind thoughts, Davina lowered her gaze, realizing that she was unable to control the stab of pity she felt as she watched her proud cousin stride away.
James entered the great hall, his eyes flickering across the chamber as he searched for Davina. “Where’s Joan?”
“She’s left to rest in her chamber.” Davina turned troubled eyes toward James. “I believe I’ve discovered the real reason she’s here. She’s run away from her husband.”
James scoffed. “Is she sulking? Angry over not getting her way?”
“Nay, James. ’Tis serious. He beats her, often I think, and very violently. I’ll admit she’s not the most biddable woman, but that doesn’t give him the right to beat her.” A dozen warring emotions flared inside Davina. “I’m angry with her and yet I couldn’t help but feel sorry fer her. She spoke only a few words about her plight, but paled whenever Archibald’s name was spoken.”
“No man of honor or valor strikes a woman, no matter how angry. Especially if she is his lady wife.” James sighed
. “Yet even ye must admit, yer cousin can try the patience of a saint.”
“She cannae help it. She’s been spoiled and pampered all her life, her every wish granted. Naturally she has grown to be a difficult, demanding woman.”
“I cannae believe that ye’re defending her. She’d not do the same fer ye.”
Emotions sparked in Davina’s heart. “Joan’s fear makes her haughty, cold. I look at her life and then at mine, and I feel a twinge of guilt. I have a good, loving husband and a life of happiness in front of me. Joan has naught but heartache.”
“What of her child?”
“She dinnae speak of her son.”
James stroked his chin thoughtfully. “She’s obviously had to leave him behind. If yer suspicions are correct and she has run away, she wouldn’t dare take Fraser’s son and heir. If she did, she’d have no chance of escape.”
“Can we give her sanctuary, James?”
His lips parted in obvious surprise. “The Frasers are a powerful clan. ’Twould be most unwise to make an enemy of them.”
“I doubt they will think to look fer her here. Can she stay fer at least a few weeks more?” Davina pleaded.
“I’ll consider it. Now, come and eat some of the food I brought fer ye,” he cajoled.
“I’ve no appetite,” she answered truthfully, disappointed at his answer. But she wasn’t worried. Beneath his warrior’s muscled form was a heart filled with compassion. As long as she pleaded her cousin’s case, Joan would not be abandoned.
“We best decide where we will sleep tonight before it gets too late,” James said, signaling for the steward to attend them.
“The master’s chambers are at the top of the keep’s north turret,” Davina replied. “We shall occupy those rooms.”
The steward blanched. “It hasn’t been used fer decades, milady. Though I’m sure with a thorough cleaning it can be set to rights.”
“We shall inspect them now,” Davina decided.
Hand in hand, Davina and James climbed the wooden staircase. It was dimly lit by narrow slits in the thick stone walls, but Davina’s memories were strong enough to find the way even if they were plunged into complete darkness.
The Highlander Who Loved Me Page 24
