The Black Douglas Trilogy

by J. R. Tomlin

  "My sweet knight. Don't let me suffer. Please. Give me your dirk."

  He scrubbed at his eyes. "Isabella--I'm no godly man. But to suffer damnation--" He wanted to sob but wouldn't. Not in the face of such suffering. "You can't kill yourself."

  "Could hell be worse than this?"

  He knelt down, as close to her as he could get. Pulling his dirk, he tested its edge on his thumb. It cut and he sucked at the blood. Then he laid it in his lap. "I won't leave you, my love. I swear it." He looked up. "I wish the stars were out. I watched them so clear last night. I won't mind dying with you."

  "I would though." Her breath choked again and she paused. "You can't die. You have an oath. And--I'd like for what I did to mean something. Can you make it count for something? Would someone care that I crowned the king?"

  He reached through the bars and took her hand. Stroked the twigs that were her fingers.

  "I'd like--not to go to hell, Jamie."

  "No," he begged.

  "But I don't want to hurt. Please. I want out of this cage. And that's the only way."

  He held his head in his hands. God in heaven. She was right. He couldn't get her out--not without getting caught. And he couldn't leave her here.

  "Come close to me," he said. She scooted against the bars. He forced his arm through so he could put it around her. She leaned against them and her head touched his shoulder. He pressed his lips to her hair. "God forgive me. I can't tell you no."

  He squeezed as close as he could, trying to give her some of his warmth.

  "Thank you." Through the bars, she touched his face. "Kiss me--and don't let me hurt any more."

  He would never forgive himself for this. He stroked her cheek, the bone so sharp under her hot skin. "I love you." He pressed his lips to hers and they parted. He held her tight against him. He wouldn't let her do something that would condemn her to hell. Better him than her.

  The dirk slid into her throat. She jerked. Her blood soaked his hands, his chest. He cradled her through the bars until she was still and limp.

  He sat holding her. Her body grew cold. Inside him was a place that was as dead. This was a sin he'd never forgive himself for. Never.

  A light shone across the bailey from an open door. "Cursed rain," a voice said.

  James stood and ran to the part of the hanging wall that ran into the River Tweed. The water wasn't deep enough to dive into, so he jumped. The jolt hurt when he hit. He ducked under the water. It wasn't deep, not even man a man's height. But he held his breath and swam as far as he could. The icy water numbed him and even his thoughts stilled. He came up for a quick breath. The night was quiet. Mayhap no one had heard the splash. Another dive took him far enough from the castle to climb up on the shore. At first light, he'd be away.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Douglasdale, Scotland: April 1307

  James rubbed his hand against his leg.

  Still, days after he had snuffed out her life he could feel the dirk in his hand as it slid through her throat, and his fingers twitched.

  He had felt guilt at beheading his prisoners, but nothing like this. He had never known that grief and guilt could hurt so much. Unbidden, old prayers passed through his lips, prayers of contrition that the priest had taught him when he was a child, but he felt no forgiveness. Once he even wept, but it seemed to shame her suffering, so he forced his eyes to go dry.

  He had ridden straight from Berwick to Douglas, stopping only to water and rest the animal. Mayhap someday he'd be weary enough to sleep. He knew he was flagging. Every muscle ached, but it wasn't enough to make him close his eyes and see Isabella as she had suffered, hear her pleading for death.

  He needed to talk to Will, so in the semi-dark of the night he stood in front of their hearth watching the glowing embers as the fire died. Alycie opened a pot and steam drifted up bringing a meaty scent of rabbit.

  "I'm to meet with my woman from Bothwell, my lord," Will said. "Her son brought me a message that this news is too important to trust to another."

  Alycie put a bowl on the table. "Eat, please. You don't look well."

  James looked at the bowl. He'd forgotten the last time he ate. "Thank you. I'm just tired, but it smells good." He pushed the stool to straddle it and took a bite of the stew. Rabbit. His mouth watered, and he shoveled in another bite. "How long will it take you, Will?"

  "I'll be back soon after first light, I hope. Early enough that I won't be missed cutting the logs. Clifford has us working hard at rebuilding the castle. A few of the stone split from the heat of the fire but mostly it's rebuilding the floors and inner walls."

  James paused in his eating to look up and smile. "I'll be sorry to waste your labor."

  As Will laughed, James scraped the bowl clean. "I didn't know that I was hungry. Or mayhap it was just how good it was."

  James leaned his elbows on the table and plunged his hands into his hair. "I think I've never been so tired. I'd best wait for you, Will. When I was at Bothwell, Valence wasn't there. I want to know if he's returned."

  Will put his hand on James's shoulder and squeezed then jerked it back. "I'm sorry, my lord."

  "When did I become so fine that I'd mind a man's hand on my shoulder?" James stood. "I'll put wood on the fire and sit for a while if you don't object. I don't like to waste it, but--sometimes it seems a good thing of a dark night."

  "By the saints, burn all the wood I have and you're welcome." He frowned at James. "Alycie's right. You look worn to the bone." He picked his mantle up and kissed his sister's cheek as he left. She barred the door after him.

  James thrust a piece of wood from a pile into the embers and squatted to poke at it whilst it caught. He pulled a stool from the table to sit on, stretching his legs out to the fire. "Mayhap I'll sleep here in front of the fire." He bent and tossed another piece of wood into the flames.

  "You can't rest so. I have some chamomile. Let me prepare a mug for you."

  He gave her a wry smile. "I'm not a bairn or an old man--just tired." He sighed. "I really have never been so tired." Not a lie--the weariness went down to his soul.

  She knelt by him and touched his arm. "What happened?"

  He took her hand and turned it over. Running a finger over her soft fingers, he found a callous her middle finger. He wondered how she'd made it. Not a fine lady's hand, but soft and warm withal. "How many years do you have, sweetling?" he finally asked.

  Looking puzzled, she said, "Sixteen."

  He reached out a hand, stroked her hair, and ran a fine strand through his fingers. The house was quiet. The wood popped as it burned. "You should be married with a bairn at your breast. Not here with a lord who's as like to ravish you as not."

  She shook her head, but she had laughter in her eyes again. "Jamie, you're not going to ravish me." Standing, she brushed a finger across his lips. "You wouldn't--"

  "How can you be so sure?"

  "I admit you used to chase me away with a stick when I was a lass. But I remember the one time when you caught me--" She smiled. "What did you do, Jamie Douglas?"

  He had to laugh. How could he have forgotten she was the first lass he'd kissed? He'd been eight and she all of six.

  She stroked his hand. "I know you better than you think I do."

  He was on his feet both hands holding her face. He bent to press his face into her hair and breathed the scent of grass and beneath it her own scent. Running his hands down her back, she arched against him at the pressure. "Do you? You're sure I wouldn't ravish you?"

  Her arms slid up and around his neck. She stretched up onto her toes, pressing her mouth to his ear. "No," she whispered. "You wouldn't."

  He held her close and her heart was beating against him. No, he wouldn't. She touched his face and tipped her head back to look up at him. "You think I don't know you better than that, James, Lord of Douglas?" She shook her head. "To think that you'd hurt me?"

  "How can you know me when I don't know myself? What I've turned into?" He shoved the stool back as
he pulled her down and sat on the floor, tucking her against him with his arm around her. He propped his back against the wall and gentled her head on his shoulder. A knot in the wood popped loudly and he sighed. "I've done things I never meant to. I never meant to--" And like a dagger it cut him that he was grieving as much for himself as for Isabella. His grief was in part for the knight he'd meant to be--the knight who would do no wrong. "Dreams. What did you dream as a lass?"

  She laughed softly. "Impossible things, but I won't tell you." She looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

  He smiled and turned her head towards him. "Really? Is that what you dreamed of?"

  She blushed and pushed his hand away, looking into the fire. "You shouldn't make me admit that. It was foolish."

  "Not at all. You're beautiful enough for any man." He settled her back against his shoulder and kissed the top of her head. "Mine were boy's dreams. Jousting. Defeating all who came against me. Battles that left me covered with glory." His voice hardened. "They say I have glory--that my enemies fear my name. I never suspected the price that came with it."

  She put a hand against his chest. "It's been a terrible price for all of us. But I know what's inside you, Jamie." She stroked her hand over his heart. "I know the love that's there."

  He tilted her chin up with his thumb and kissed her, nibbling at her lips. "I shouldn't do this," he whispered, and he was so hard it hurt.

  He caught the hem of her kirtle, tugging it up to her hips; he could feel himself trembling. "Lass, tell me no," he urged.

  She rose onto her knees and pulled the kirtle over her head in a motion, tossing it aside. James took her hand. He pulled her gently to him. Her mouth tasted of mint and honey when he thrust his tongue into it. Her fingers stroked his neck, tangling into his hair.

  She made a noise in her throat and fumbled at the fastenings of his clothes as her mouth clung to his. Not here, he thought. He wouldn't rut with her like an animal, so he scooped her up and shoved the door to her room open with a foot.

  She was watching, eyes wide, as he jerked off his tunic and breeches. Out of his clothes, he knelt beside her and took her soft breasts in his hands. He swallowed and couldn't wait longer. He'd waited so long. He touched her soft thigh and moved his hand up until he could feel her warmth and her wetness.

  Slowly, he eased his finger inside her and she tensed. James knew she had been hurt and what had been done. He lay still as he whispered soft words in her ear. Breathing in the scent of her hair, he forced himself to wait, holding her and fingers gently stroking her wetness. His mouth drank her in, her breasts, her neck, her mouth. Her arms tightened around him as he heard her moan. She moved against him.

  "Jamie," she pleaded. She returned his kiss, her tongue probing his mouth until it found his.

  He threw back his head, his eyes closed. "I'll be gentle." He was easing into her. He came deeper and she was lifting her hips for him. Then slowly he began to move. He held her head between his hands and kissed her, his words fast and frantic, gasping out between kisses his need for her. "Ah, God, I need you."

  She cried out and held tightly to him. As she lay in his arms afterwards, James realized how much he had needed her. Not just that it had been a year since he'd lain with a woman, but that in all that time, he'd not touched anyone but to kill them. He'd hungered for this. He might well die tomorrow or mayhap the next day. If he did, he'd go to hell thinking of Alycie and not the men he'd beheaded or his knife sliding into Isabella's throat.

  He could feel the softness of her hair that fell across his chest as she lay against him. He stroked the silky strands and wound it gently around his fingers.

  She murmured something against his shoulder.

  "Go to sleep, love," he said. With a sigh, she settled against him. When her breathing turned deep and even, he eased his arm from beneath her smoothing the coverlet around her. Naked, he walked to the front door and stepped out to make water. Beyond the trees, the black shape of Douglas Castle hulked, but a single light showing from the tower. James shook off the last drop of piss and thought that he'd have to do something about the castle again. But not yet. He'd let them finish first. Then, he'd remind them that the Douglas had returned.

  When James returned to the bedroom, Alycie held out a hand and said sleepily, "I awoke and you were gone."

  "I'm here now." He slid into bed and pulled her against him.

  She pressed her body to his and he was hard again. "Yes," she said and drank in his mouth. He was on top of her and for a while, she made him forget war and blood.

  He awoke to a knock on the door. "My lord," Will said.

  James slid his arm from under Alycie's shoulders and slipped out of bed. She murmured a sleepy sound as he tucked a blanket around her. James grabbed his breeches and boots. Opening the door, he said, "You're back early." He closed the door and stepped into his pants. Looking away from Will's gaze, he tried not to color. Not that he'd intended to hide what he'd done from Will, but this wasn't how he'd meant to tell him. But Will just sighed.

  "I knew this would happen."

  James finished lacing himself, chewing on his lip. "Do you want to talk about it?"

  "What is there to talk about, my lord? Done is done."

  James folded his arm across his chest and propped up the wall with his back, frowning at the man. "Do you think I'm the kind of man to abuse a woman? Take her against her will?"

  "No. But that doesn't mean I have to like it. Or that there's anything I can do about it."

  James nodded in the direction of the castle. "You could go there and tell them what you know."

  "God's wounds, I wouldn't do that. Never. Whatever has happened, I'm your loyal man."

  "No, I don't suppose that you would." James sighed. "Like me, you're your father's son. But, Will, you have to know--I'll not hurt her. I won't make promises I can't keep, but if I can protect her, I will."

  Will rubbed his face, looking weary himself. "And we have no time for this. That's what's wrong. We have time for nothing until they're gone. I met my cousin who spies for us from Bothwell and rushed back as fast as could be. That's why I'm early."

  James sat, jamming his feet into his boots. "What happened?"

  "Today John de Mowbray will leave to lead a troop to join with Valence."

  James jerked his head up. "Mowbray." There was a traitor he'd give much to cross swords with. "How many? Which way do they go?"

  "My lord, there's more news. There was much talk that King Robert fought a battle at Glen Trool. Valence attacked him in the Glen with a thousand men and was driven back. It's said that when Longshanks demanded an explanation, Clifford and Valence came to blows in the king's presence." Will was practically tripping over his words in excitement.

  "I heard about Glen Trool. But Clifford and Valence fighting--" James laughed. "That I would have given much to see. But that was a good place to catch them. I know that glen well. Narrow and with steep cliffs on each side. A thousand men our king defeated." He gave a grim smile. "Our luck has indeed changed. But what of Mowbray?"

  "He's to reinforce Valence with another thousand men for some coming battle. My spy says he goes by way of Edryford."

  James opened his closed his fist, picturing that narrow route through the marshes and bogs. He nodded thoughtfully. "I can do something with this." He took the three pounds sterling he had out of his purse and put it on the table. "See that our spies are well paid, Will, and keep some for yourself and Alycie."

  "I don't do it for gold."

  James shook his head. "Of a certainty not. But a man should be rewarded for his work, you and the others." He went to Will and squeezed his shoulder. "I value you, Will. Don't doubt that. I must go to the king soon. Tell him what I've done and receive his commands, but I'll send someone for your reports. I'll be back soon. Else, I'll get word to you. And to Alycie."

  In the bedroom, he quickly pulled on his jerkin and kissed the top of her head. Rolling over, she opened her eyes.

 
"Where are you going?" She slipped her arms around his neck.

  "I'll be back as soon as I may." He kissed her lips. "I must leave before it's light."

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Douglasdale, Scotland: April 1307

  James hurried through the pre-dawn chill, wisps of fog drifting through the trees from the river. His garron whickered where he'd left it tied. He threw the saddle on and mounted. Taking his time through the forest made him grind his teeth in frustration. He couldn't take a chance on the horse stepping in a hole in the darkness, but he had to move fast. If he was to stay ahead of Mowbray, there was no time. A chill of excitement went down James's back.

  The sentries waved him in and James nodded in satisfaction. Wat had done well. Day broke and light streamed through the trees by the time he rode into camp. "Up," he shouted.

  Wat ran towards him. "My lord, is aught wrong? An attack?"

  "No, But we must get to Edryford as soon as we might." He strode the pile of his mail and started stripping to pull it on it. "We'll carry bows, every man. Now move."

  Men raced to Pym as he handed out bows and they grabbed handfuls of arrows. By the time James tightened his belt and checked the hilt of his longsword, they were lining up in files of two.

  "How did they do whilst I was gone?" James asked as he gathered his reins.

  "Another man left, my lord, and I let him go as you ordered. But they trained well. We're ready for a fight. And we have garrons for all though it cost a goodly amount."

  "Good man. Get them mounted. We've no time."

  James was pleased at the way the small horses could wend their way through the dense woods. His troop of men followed. He knew their nervousness, their fear. They'd had time to think and to wonder who would die.

  The trees stopped. They entered the moorlands. Rocky scree-covered hills and broken boulders rose sharply to the north on the other side of the narrow path. Patches of willow trees reflected in standing pools of water. The path wound its way, but James led his men into the moor instead. He wouldn't chance Mowbray realizing a force had passed before him. The horses sloshed hock deep through sludgy water. Tussocks rose a little way to the south. The horse heaved and strained its way up onto the boggy ground. Even the small garrons sank to their fetlocks. A larger horse would have long since foundered in the deep green slime. James counted on it.