The Highlander Who Loved Me

by Adrienne Basso

  The musty smell became staggering as they reached the landing, but they pressed on, slowly opening the door. As the steward had warned her, the chamber was in a disgraceful state. James pulled back the furs covering the windows and dust motes flew into the air.

  Davina’s nose twitched at the unpleasant smell of dampness mixing with the dust. She closed her mouth and covered her nose with her hand, but the thick odor settled in the back of her throat. A huge curtained bed stood against one wall; on the opposite wall was a table and chair. One of the wooden chair legs was shorter than the other three; it listed drunkenly to one side.

  Davina approached the bed, dismayed to see the mattress had been chewed. She feared the dark shadows in the corner were the carcasses of the vermin who had done the deed. Behind her, James circled the chamber slowly.

  Davina looked up to meet his sober gaze. No words were needed to know he felt the same as she did—utterly disappointed. Aside from the dirt and decay, melancholy seemed to linger here and that bothered Davina more than anything.

  “I have such fond memories of this chamber,” she said. “’Twas never lavishly appointed, but it was warm and comfortable, safe and happy. There were tapestries adorning the stone walls and bed curtains of red velvet. My mother was so proud of those curtains. She sewed them herself with her mother and sisters and brought them here as part of her dowry.”

  “We will sleep here tonight,” James declared.

  Davina rubbed her forehead. “Och, James, it will take an army a month to get this place cleaned.”

  “Then we shall rouse an army.”

  James bellowed for the steward and the man came running. His expression grew increasingly horrified as James gave him instructions, but the steward didn’t dare protest.

  Once they were alone again, James pulled Davina into his strong embrace and she went willingly, in need of his comfort. “’Tis only a minor problem, easily solved,” he insisted.

  “Aye, James.” She sighed wearily. “As long as we have each other, nothing can defeat us.”

  “That’s my lass,” he whispered, kissing her brow.

  Yet the following morning James sent a message to McKenna Castle asking for reinforcements.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Are ye awake, Davina?”

  James’s voice rumbled, deep and sensual, in the silence of the night. Davina turned on her side, punched the pillow beneath her head, and sighed.

  “Sorry,” she answered. “Did I wake ye?”

  “Aye, from a sound sleep. Clearly, I have not done my duty as a husband if ye aren’t fully exhausted from our earlier coupling.”

  The feel of his fingers against her naked breast startled her. Stiffening, she pushed his hand away.

  “James, making love is not the answer to every problem,” Davina exclaimed, glad that in the darkness he could not see the flush spreading across her cheeks.

  Nearly six weeks married and she still suffered bouts of modesty when he acted so boldly. Worse, he found her blushes vastly amusing and greatly enjoyed teasing her about them, a situation she normally didn’t mind.

  But tonight she was too upset.

  “I was trying to distract ye,” he said softly, easing her into his arms. “Ye haven’t slept a peaceful night since we arrived.”

  “I know and I feel foolish because of it.”

  “It’s not an uncommon problem,” James said sympathetically.

  “Well, judging by the volume of yer snoring, I can safely say that ye dinnae have any trouble sleeping here,” Davina retorted.

  “When ye live the life of a Crusader, ye quickly learn to sleep anywhere. My brothers-in-arms liked to joke that I could easily sleep standing up, like a horse.” He kissed the top of her head. “Ye merely need time to adjust.”

  “McKenna Castle was unfamiliar to me, yet I dinnae have nearly this much difficulty drifting off to sleep.”

  Davina’s heart twisted. It had been the realization of a dream having James as her husband and the chance to return to her childhood home as its mistress. The sorry state of the keep had been an unexpected letdown, but she had never shied away from hard work.

  Laboring all day and making love with James each night should have left her exhausted and contented. Yet instead, she felt oddly unsettled and that feeling of unease grew with each passing day.

  Though he denied it, James felt it too. Why else would he have sent for aid from his family? Malcolm’s arrival had been a surprise to both of them; obviously James had not expected his brother to answer his plea for help.

  “Is it Joan? I know it cannae be easy having yer cousin here,” James asked.

  Davina sucked in a sigh. “Joan was a most unexpected, unwelcome surprise, but I cannae blame this unsettled feeling on her.”

  James’s arms tightened around her. It was a great comfort, though the sense of calmness she sought still eluded her. She twined herself around his body, needing to get closer. James groaned. His hand rested near her bottom and seemed unable to resist a sensual caress across her curves, but he stopped after one languid stroke.

  Davina shivered and moved her legs restlessly. “Why did ye stop?”

  “God’s bones, Davina, ye just told me that everything cannae be solved by coupling.”

  She shook his shoulders. “Honestly, James McKenna, do ye always listen to yer daft wife?”

  He chuckled, as she knew he would, and claimed her lips in a sweet kiss. It took but a few kisses until she felt the fullness of his erect penis pressing against her belly. Davina rolled onto her back, letting her body soften beneath his and a deep, sensual sound rumbled from James’s chest.

  He raised himself on his elbows and looked down at her. Davina slipped her hand between their bodies. Her fingers glided over his chest, across his abdomen, and finally down to his penis. Curling her fingers around him, she stroked his thick, hard length.

  He hissed in a breath. The sound brought forth even more wetness between her legs. She lifted her hips. Her body was moist and ready. He brushed a kiss over her lips as he slid inside her. Davina closed her eyes and sighed with contentment.

  There was no rush to climax for either of them. James pulled back slowly, thrusting in a languid tempo. It was a gentle loving, exciting in a different way. Her arms tightened around him, keeping him as close as possible, as her breathing grew ragged and hoarse.

  They reached their pleasure together, bodies shuddering and shaking and then going still. Davina could feel his seed spill within her. The promise of a child brought tears to her eyes; having a family with James would truly make her life complete.

  The heat of his breath on her neck helped her relax. It felt familiar, safe. She ran her hand lightly over his muscled back. When he rolled to his side, she followed.

  Finally drowsy, Davina looked to the fireplace, taking note of the small pile of glowing embers. Her eyelids grew heavy, but then her nose started to twitch.

  “James, do ye smell smoke?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Smoke. I smell smoke.”

  He shifted and drew in a deep breath. “Hell! Ye’re right. Put on yer nightgown. We need to sound the alarm and get out of here.”

  Heart pounding, Davina raced to her trunk, haphazardly pulling out garments, grabbing the first item she could easily slip over her head. It was a rather revealing nightgown, part of the trousseau that Lady Aileen had insisted be made for Davina and appropriate only for her husband’s eyes.

  In deference to sheer fabric, Davina threw her cloak over her shoulders. James grabbed her hand and she saw that he too had hastily thrown on a pair of brais and a tunic. Barefooted, they raced to the chamber door.

  James yanked it open. A rush of heat enveloped them and the smell of burning wood brought on fits of coughing. At the end of the corridor they could see flames shooting into the air, producing billows of black smoke, could hear the crackle of burning wood.

  “The stairs are on fire!” she shouted, covering her mouth and nose to prevent brea
thing in the worst of the smoke. She pivoted on her heel, scanning the other side of the hall, even though she knew there was no other exit. “We’re trapped.”

  James turned and ran back into their bedchamber, emerging with a tapestry in his hands. Holding one end firmly, he began beating the flames. Following his lead, Davina snatched the pillows from their bed and returned to help.

  “Watch yer hair,” James cried.

  Wasting precious time, Davina quickly braided her hair and tossed it over her shoulder. Working together, they managed to smother one section, but the flames quickly spread to another. The heat was unbearable. Davina’s eyes watered, her throat stung, her arms grew heavy. But she matched her husband stroke for stroke as they fought for their lives and home.

  “Sir James!” a voice called from the other side of the fire. “Help is on the way. The villagers are gathering buckets and water.”

  “Colin?” Davina shouted.

  “Aye, milady.”

  “Be careful. Dinnae get too close.”

  “I saw the flames from my pallet and roused the household,” Colin called excitedly.

  “Are we under attack?” James asked.

  “I’m not sure,” the lad answered. “Sir Malcolm is on the wall with the guard, but they’ve not sounded a battle alarm.”

  “That’s good, isn’t it?” Davina rasped, turning to her husband.

  James coughed long and loud. A deep frown of concern lined his forehead. “If necessary, Malcolm will defend the keep. But we must contain the blaze here. If any sparks hit the thatched roofs in the village, every cottage could be lost.”

  It seemed to take an eternity, but in truth was no more than a few minutes before the sound of water being hurled at the flames filled the hall. Female cries could be heard mixed with the male voices shouting commands and Davina was heartened to realize the women had also joined the bucket line.

  Eventually, she started seeing puddles of water on the charred wooden landing. Hope claimed her heart as they continued to battle the blaze and appeared to be winning.

  The fire was nearly out when suddenly there was a burst of motion behind them and a man leaped from the shadows. Davina screamed in shock. The man charged James and launched himself forward, hitting James squarely in the chest. James caught his attacker by the arms, attempting to hold him off. The pair pushed and shoved their way down the hall, toward the blaze.

  Eyes wild, teeth bared, the attacker fought like a madman. James cursed loudly, drew back his fist, and landed a sharp blow on the man’s jaw. It knocked his opponent off balance, but the man clutched James’s tunic and they fell down together.

  Behind them Davina could see the flames of the fire still burning, even as the buckets of water were being thrown on them. James and his attacker rolled away from the fire, a snarling jumble of legs and arms and fists. Another scream lodged in Davina’s throat when she saw the attacker pull out a knife, the long blade flashing in the firelight, sharp and lethal.

  Davina stood frozen and terrified, wanting to help, but knowing she would only be in the way. A chill slipped down her spine when she heard the attacker’s shout of triumph, but as the pair regained their feet, it was James who held the knife.

  She saw a vivid red blood smear across her husband’s arm. Her knees began to shake and she fought to compose herself. She shifted out of the attacker’s line of sight, not wanting to give him any ideas.

  If he caught her, the intruder would have a powerful weapon to use against James. For she knew with certainty her husband would not hesitate to sacrifice his own life to save hers.

  Suddenly, the man charged, bellowing like someone possessed by a demon. James met him full on, then at the last instant pivoted to his left. James struck hard, burying the dirk deep in his attacker’s unguarded middle. As the man clutched his stomach, his mouth opened and closed and he staggered a few steps, then dropped to his knees.

  Eyes glazed, he toppled forward, hitting the floor with a resounding thump. The deep wound began to bleed immediately, draining away his life’s blood. Davina’s own stomach turned as a rush of bright red stained the man’s chest and tunic, pulsing onto the floor.

  “Are there any others?” James cried.

  Davina’s anxious gaze darted about the hallway. “I dinnae see any.”

  “The fire?”

  “It’s out.”

  James cursed vehemently under his breath and hauled Davina into his arms. He held her for a long moment and then Davina felt his embrace tighten. “James, love, ye are holding me so tight I can barely catch my breath.”

  “If I had failed ye again . . .”

  “James, ye never failed me.”

  “James! Davina!”

  “Malcolm?” James called. “Are we under attack?”

  “Nay,” Malcolm answered. “We’re getting boards to lay across the charred beams so you can climb down. Are either of ye injured?”

  “James was assaulted,” Davina cried.

  She heard the sound of a sword being drawn, a loud thump, and amazingly Malcolm stood in front of her. She blinked, realizing he must have vaulted over the ruined section of the landing to reach them.

  “Careful or ye’ll fall through,” James shouted.

  Malcolm gingerly took a few steps forward. Deep concern touched his face as he glanced from her to James and then back to his brother. “Are ye hurt?”

  “A scratch.” James shrugged, glancing down at his bleeding arm.

  Streaks of bright crimson belied James’s assessment of his injury. With a soft cry of distress, Davina lifted his arm, then realized she had nothing to bind his wound. Malcolm solved the problem neatly by passing a clean strip of cloth to her. Davina was so relieved she didn’t even question how he came to be carrying it.

  Ever the difficult patient, James tapped his foot impatiently while she bound his arm. She knew it would need to be properly washed and dressed with salves, but for now was content to stop the bleeding.

  Malcolm’s lips thinned into a grim line as he gazed down at the body. “Do ye think he set the fire?”

  “It seems highly likely, yet he waited at the other end of the hallway once it flared to life,” James replied. “Why? Surely he realized he would be trapped.”

  “Perhaps he meant to draw ye from the chamber, but the blaze grew too quickly,” Malcolm suggested.

  “Well, we certainly cannae ask him about it now,” James cried, throwing down the dirk in frustration. “I was hoping he would live long enough to tell us why he did it.”

  “Or more importantly, who paid him.” Malcolm moved closer to the body. The attacker lay facedown, a pool of dark blood surrounding him. Using the tip of his boot, Malcolm rolled the body over. The man’s head lolled awkwardly to one side, his eyes glassy in death. “Do ye recognize him?”

  Davina gasped. “My God, he’s just a lad, no more than fifteen or sixteen. Why would he do such a thing?”

  “Most likely he was paid,” Malcolm speculated.

  Davina wrapped her arms around James’s waist and leaned her cheek against his strong shoulder. The smell of smoke and blood clogged her nostrils. Tears rose. She’d almost lost him. First to fire and then to an assassin’s dirk. It didn’t bear thinking.

  “Is this keep cursed?” she asked, daring to voice yet another fear.

  “Not by ghostly spirits,” James said.

  “Aye,” Malcolm said grimly. “I found a pool of melted wax on the charred staircase. This was no accident. Whoever set the fire, meant to kill ye both.”

  The acrid smell of smoke tinged James’s nostrils, bringing back memories of the sieges he had endured while on Crusades. Thankfully, the nauseating smell of burnt flesh was not present; according to Malcolm no one was injured, except for the knife wound James had sustained.

  Holding Davina’s hand, he navigated over the thick wooden planks that Malcolm had placed over the charred stairs and landing. Once safely down, they gathered in the great hall.

  James’s throat was
dry and parched, his lungs sore from inhaling the smoke. He walked rapidly, felt the ground begin to spin, and abruptly sat, not wanting to draw any additional attention to himself.

  He downed a tankard of ale and a second tankard of water. The liquids helped to invigorate him and his mind soon began tripping over itself with questions.

  Why would someone want them dead?

  He turned his head, glancing suspiciously at the soot-lined faces of the people gathered in the great hall. They had worked hard to save him and Davina. Was one, or more, of them a traitor?

  “Sit down, James, and let me tend to yer arm,” Davina pleaded. “Colleen has brought medicine from the stillroom.”

  Davina lifted a basket and he saw clean linen strips of bandages and a poultice filled with pungent herbs. He sincerely hoped that she did not intend to put that on his arm, as the smell was turning his stomach.

  He fidgeted while Davina fussed, holding on to his patience with effort. He could see that she was still shaken and realized tending to him helped keep her calm. His arm stung and throbbed, but he stayed silent, even when she sewed his torn flesh with her needle. ’Twas no question that he would do anything to give solace to his wife, even suffer her medical care.

  “There, all done.” She smiled, but he could see a furrow in her brow. “’Tis a nasty gash, though not as brutal as it might have been. I’ve put in a few stitches, which will help stop the bleeding. We must keep it dry and clean to make certain it heals without bringing on a fever.”

  Davina’s furrowed brow deepened when she mentioned the possibility of an infection, as if the thought had just occurred to her. Anxiously, she pressed her hand to his cheek and temple.

  “I’m fine, Davina. Truly.”

  “I’ll prepare a dram, to ward off the fever.”

  Heads pressed together, Davina and Colleen started rummaging through her basket. His arm was on fire, but the love and concern he saw in his wife’s face eased his physical pain.

  “Where is Lady Joan?” Malcolm asked.