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Once Tavish exited the chambers, Brigid prattled away, including mentioning that Douglas would soon move to his own keep at Threave, recently gifted from the king himself. She didn’t seem frightened of the villain, rather she spoke in tones of awe, which perplexed Tosia. How did anyone not live in fear of the man’s shadow?
The news of moving to Threave sent another shot of cold panic through her. Would Tavish come too? What if he was not attached to Douglas but with the king? How would she survive without her brother with her?
Brigid offered to draw Tosia a bath, but even the call of warm, calming waters wasn’t enough to draw her from her despairing thoughts. She sent Brigid off with a limp wave of her hand and sat on the edge of the bedding, which emitted a crinkling sound of packed hay. At least that sound was familiar.
The chambers were cramped — unimportant guest bedding at best. Still, it was a sight better than anything she’d had at home. Here she had a door that closed, mayhap even bolted, and she might sleep in peace under the soft wool coverlet knowing that the monster who was her husband-to-be couldn’t enter.
Until they were wed. That was a whole other problem, and Tosia’s head swam enough as it was even before considering what it would be like to marry the blackguard.
A tiny hearth was built into the wall next to the window slit, and Tosia was grateful springtime was well entrenched. That hearth wouldn’t warm a croft, let alone this stone chamber. The kindling was gray and cold as it was.
The window slit emitted a narrow patch of sunlight, the lone shard of brightness in this otherwise dim chamber, this dim life, Tosia found herself in.
Her wallowing in self-pity increased as she stared at that patch of light, and before she managed to lift a hand and wipe them away, hot tears squeezed from her eyes and streamed down her face. Then she lost all control, collapsing into the wool and sobbing with abandon. Her brother’s words waned in her misery. Everything — the death of her mother, being ripped from her home, the loss of her brother’s immediate companionship, and her betrothal to the Black Douglas — it was too much. Her heart shattered in her chest. How could she survive? Her sobbing wracked her body.
She must have fallen asleep in her tears, for the sweeping of her chamber door against the stones as it opened drew her from her fitful slumber.
“I still dinna need anything,” Tosia called to the maid, keeping her face squashed in the damp plaid blanket.
“I’m no’ the maid,” a deep voice rumbled, and if she’d had the energy to cower, she would have. As it was, the crying had taken much out of her, and Tosia slowly lifted herself on her elbow.
Black Douglas dwarfed the room — how did one man take up so much space? He must have bathed, or leastwise cleaned up, for his beard was trimmed to little more than a shadow on his jaw, and his hair had been tamed, clipped at the sides with tiny queues braided at the back. He had changed his tunic, this one clean and the color of white summer heather on the glen. His black and gray plaid was clasped at his neck with a brooch etched with a fiery salamander. He looked the part of the esteemed second in command to the king.
But he was yet the Black Douglas in Tosia’s eyes. No amount of washing cleansed that cursed name from him.
She wiped her face with the draping sleeve of her kirtle — she was flushed from sleep and at being discovered crying.
James remained by the door, keeping his distance. He said nothing, waiting for her collect herself. Tosia sat up fully on the bed and patted at her hair. She must be such a sight!
“Lass,” he said, his voice surprisingly tender, “I canna imagine the distress ye feel right now.”
Her lips quivered, but she held her tongue as she slowly shook her head. Nay, he could not imagine.
“But I am not unfamiliar with loss,” he continued in that same lulling tone.
Tosia tipped her head, intrigued by his words. Nay, he wasn’t unfamiliar. If anything, he was as intimately acquainted with it as she.
“The king has granted ye a sennight to settle in at Auchinleck ‘afore we are wed. We will then stay here until the king decides our next movements, then I will relocate ye to my temporary keep at Threave. Your brother will remain by my side as my squire, and thus be near to ye until our battles take us elsewhere with the king.”
His kindness at detailing what her future held touched something deep in her heart. She’d feared she’d be wed to the man the same day they arrived. Knowing she had a bit of time to grow accustomed to her new surroundings, mayhap get to know her future husband, and have her brother nearby for the meantime, lifted a weight from her shoulders.
And the tone of his voice . . . She’d not considered the beast to have a tender side at all.
His words regarding his own loss were raw. Perchance she’d judged the man too harshly.
Then he moved suddenly, and she stiffened as he knelt on one knee in front of her. He was so close! Why did her body feel like a fire blazed at the hearth with his nearness?
He clasped her shaking hands in his calloused ones and gazed at her with eyes as more green than gray, reminding her of a loch in spring.
“The king has commanded we join our lives, and I would have ye know that despite the horrors ye may have heard about me, I would never bring you harm.” Then he bowed that black head and his hands tightened, his grip impossible to break. “I vow to ye, Tosia Fraser, the protection of my body, the security of my sword, and would lay down my life for ye if necessary. No matter what ye’ve heard, I vow to keep ye safe from all manner of violence, even mine.”
Tosia couldn’t move, yet her insides quivered from his nearness and the power of his words. Her heart pounded against her chest, and she struggled to take in a breath. This was nothing of what she had expected. The monster of Scotland on his knees, swearing an oath to her? Had the world turned upside down? How had she been put on this strange road to the king of the Scots and his men?
James didn’t move. He remained on his knee, his head bowed, his hands clasping hers.
Is he waiting for something? She cleared the lump from her throat.
“Why?” she whispered in a wobbly voice.
His head lifted, and his shimmering moss-green eyes, so different than the hard gray flint from earlier, searched her face.
“I swore fealty to the king. What the king commands, I do, and he’s no’ led me astray yet. His latest venture is to bind me to you. And I protect what is mine.”
Mine.
The word held such weight, and a shiver coursed over her back.
His in every sense of the word.
But he had vowed not to harm her. Perchance ‘twas a start.
“And I am yours,” he continued. “Your needs, your desires, I will fulfill them as best I can.”
Hers.
She hadn’t considered her part of the marriage in that way. Or that he would think of her like that.
Aye, she’d have to reconsider her presumptions of the man.
Tosia withdrew her hand from his and lifted it, unsure of what she was doing in that movement. At first she thought to rest it on his freshly washed head, to touch that sinfully black hair. But her nerves got the best of her, and she instead dropped it where it rested on his forearm.
His eyes flicked down at her hand, as if assessing her touch. He’d assuredly had women before — he was a man after all — but a soft touch in such a hard life? By a woman to whom he had a claim?
Perchance not.
James shifted his own hand and with one long finger traced the thin veins under her skin in the most gentle caress. Too gentle for the Black Douglas.
Then his finger was gone, moving as quickly as the man moved to rise. He strode to the door before speaking again.
“The king will expect you for the eventide meal. I must sit by his side, but I will see to ye before and after the meal. Is there anything ye need before then?”
Tosia shook her head. “Nay. But gratitude for your consideration.”
James studied her for a long moment, then nodded and stepped beyond the door.
Only then did Tosia breathe fully.
James marched down the hall, a small spark of hope in his chest that he’d managed to quell at least some of the lass’s anxieties. As it was, his time was at a premium, and now the Bruce had shackled him with an unwanted wife, whom he would assuredly neglect in his attendance to the king.
What at the Bruce been thinking?
But the Bruce’s whims were not the fault of the young lady, and as forlorn as she appeared to be, she didn’t deserve a stern husband on top of her present discomfort. She had seemed receptive to James’s private oath, even reaching out to him. He’d taken the chance to caress her hand, expecting her to cower away from, but she hadn’t.
That, James believed, was a strong start.
James was not a sentimental man by any means, yet something in his chest had contracted when he’d first set eyes on her. Everything about the lass was uisge-beatha at sunset — brown and golden and amber, with wide eyes and a dazed expression that sent a surge of protectiveness through him, an emotion he’d only experienced in defending his men against the English.
Never had that sensation extended to a woman. And he’d been between the thighs of many.
Something about this lass — her skittishness, or the fact she was his — he wanted to keep her safe. And mayhap, just mayhap, make her happy.
James had seen the way her brother hovered around her, protective in his own youthful way, and how her eyes had watched him as he walked away when they had arrived. Obviously they had a close relationship. With how isolated her croft had been, he wasn’t surprised. But that meant keeping her brother safe if he were to keep Tosia content.
Being a soldier in the Bruce army was not conducive to safety, that James had seen all too readily with his own eyes. Christ’s blood, ‘twas why he had become so hard and jaded in his life!
He reached the top of the stair, empty and surprisingly quiet. Leaning against the stone wall, he pressed his fingers into his eyes until he saw stars.
Och, but did this lass and her brother complicate his life. Shabib would chuckle softly, saying it was Allah’s way to temper James’s fiery brain.
What had the king been thinking?
A clamor echoed up the stairwell, familiar enough to James. Robert had arrived in the hall for his midday meal, and he would want to meet with his men after. Taking Auchinleck had been a monumental accomplishment for the Scots army, a blow to the English and one desperately needed.
James’s mind switched like a fork in the road, and his concerns for the woman in the small guest chambers were pushed to the back of his mind as he assessed what the Bruce would need to do next in his movements against the English.
James searched his mind for strategy as he shoved off the wall and descended the stairs, ready to do the King’s bidding.
The midday meal with the king, a simple fare of leek soup and rough oat bread, passed quickly, as the Bruce commanded his men to returned to his solar, which he used as a disorganized war room. Before he left the main hall, James spoke to a kitchen maid who carried a large bronze pitcher and requested a simple meal to be brought to Tosia. The last thing he needed was for her to wither away. While she might not eat, James would ensure she’d have nourishment at her disposal.
The men packed the room, which stank of musk and mud. The bright red Sinclair reclined at the foot of Bruce’s table, while several other men — the Adonis-like MacCollough and his man, Torin, included — clustered at the sides. The powerful figure of Robert the Bruce stood at the head of the table with his brother Edward, recently arrived from Ireland on his left, and a chair on the other side of him, waiting for James. Closing the door behind him, James approached the chair. The Bruce pointed to the tattered map on the table as James approached.
“Douglas, the groom-to-be! We are fortunate ye decided to join us!”
The Bruce’s rich baritone vibrated throughout the chamber, and the men at the table roared in laughter. James waved a hand at the men, dismissing their mockery.
“I’d though ye’d have abandoned us to spend time getting to know your betrothed. Ye look the part of the handsome bridegroom, for certain.” Robert raised one dark brown eyebrow.
“Your match-making knows no bounds,” James retorted. “Dinna laugh, men. Ye might find yourself betrothed under the king’s command. Look what happened to Sinclair’s brother!”
The men laughed again, and even James’s lips twitched into a suggestion of a smile. Robert pounded his back.
“At least my captain has no’ lost his sense of humor,” the king said in a sardonic tone. “But let us focus now on our next movements. Come, James. What do ye see?”
Black X’s marked places where the Bruce’s army had defeated the English. James didn’t miss the X scrawled atop his own now-decimated keep in Douglasdale. The X’s scarred the map, and a finer piece of art James couldn’t imagine.
Circles, however, yet littered too much of the map — those places where the English were still well entrenched.
“With the defeat of Valence, and the taking of Auchinleck, Longshanks will be none too pleased. I expect he’s on his way north as we speak.” Asper Sinclair spoke up from his end of the table.
“I’ve yet heard his health is precarious. Will he try for Scotland if he’s ill?” Thomas inquired.
The Bruce scratched at his beard. “Nay, he’d have his men carry him on his deathbed for the north. I believe we must anticipate he will at least try to invade. But when that will happen, ‘tis anyone’s guess.”
James kept his eyes riveted on the map. “What are your intentions, my king?”
“We need your strategy again, but this time for a more personal intention.” The Bruce paused and scanned the grizzled men. James shifted where he stood. A personal intention? “I would have my vengeance on the MacDoualls for their part in the deaths of my brothers Thomas and Alexander. Garthland Castle here, in Galloway, off the North Channel, is where we will find those fiends.”
With his finger, James circled the larger area of Dumfries and the Scottish lowlands. “I know ye want to take the Highlands as soon as ye might, but if ye desire to wreak vengeance on the MacDoualls, we could use that to our advantage.”
“In what way?” the Bruce asked.
“Why not establish our presence more securely in the lowlands before moving to the Highlands? ‘Tis June in a few days. We dinna know when Longshanks will arrive. What better than to have more of the lowlands under our control to halt his onslaught before it even begins? Once we feel the lowlands are secure, ye assign a Sheriff to maintain control and then we start for the Highlands. The men there are more ready to be on our side. Taking back those lands might be a sight easier as a result.”
Robert’s face split into a wide smile, his entire face brightening. For a man in the throes of war, every line on his face relaxed at the prospect of military success. He pounded James heartily on his back.
“Och, Black Douglas. Has there ever been a strategist such as ye? What say ye men? Should we rout the sassenachs here ahead of pressing north?”
The men pounded the table in agreement, and Robert smacked James’s back again.
“Well, good for ye, lad. Ye won’t be too far from your bride this summer, which should please her.”
James kept his mouth shut and cut a sidelong look to his King. He wasn’t sure his bride-to-be agreed.
