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James was nothing if not the Bruce’s man, and only a few days after their wedding, he fully resumed his role as captain, directing the king’s armies among the lowlands and searching for rogue English and their treacherous Scottish allies.
Which meant James oft came to their chambers late, shed his harsh, military exterior as he shed his sword and tunic, and came to their bed to find his release with Tosia.
A man of few words, James put his stock in his actions, his behavior, keeping Tosia close whenever they were together.
And as the Bruce’s man, he didn’t share any military strategy with her. Whether it was due to his reticent nature or his desire to shelter her ears from his repugnant but necessary deeds, Tosia couldn’t guess. Perchance a mix of both. What she did know was that any rough or beastly tendencies he might have, he kept out of their chambers. Instead he plied her with kisses, laving her skin with his bold tongue, and delicate touches — far too delicate for a man whose hands commanded death and destruction.
Well, mostly delicate.
His tease on their wedding day had sat in her mind, and one night as James’s eyes flashed like green lightning and his hands found her most intimate folds, she had asked him about it.
“Why would I want ye to bite me?” she’d asked.
James had stilled, and a slight wolfish grin spread across his dark face.
“Is it because ye are oft called a beast? Or do couples sometimes bite?” she continued.
He had shifted atop her and gazed at the curve of her neck.
“Both,” his raspy voice drawled before lowering his face and taking the thin skin under her jaw between his teeth.
Alternating between sucking and nibbling, James’s mouth had sent shivers curling through her. His delicate biting had blazed a trail to the quivering bounty of her breasts, taking one pinking hub and holding it with his teeth as his tongue worked her into a frenzy.
Her fingertips had clawed into his back, and she had sucked in a fierce breath.
“Aye,” she agreed into the darkness as she lost herself with him. “Both.”
Too often, memories of their marital interludes caught her during the day when her mind should have been on other tasks, and a burning blush warmed her cheeks as her loins roiled.
For a man who had frightened her to her core less than a month before, he had shown her the many faceted sides of even the most devilish man. In truth, Tosia had come to feel safer in his arms than anywhere else.
“Och, I know that look. Has that Black Douglas found his way into your heart with as much pleasure as he’s found in his bed?”
Tosia, who was supposed to be beating out the tapestry that hung from the line, whirled around to find the stately Lady Elayne standing behind her, a grin playing at one side of her refined face and a wee babe swaddled on her chest. Even with a bairn in hand, she held herself like a queen, and Tosia had to suppress the instinct to bow.
That impression wasn’t far off. With the king’s own beloved imprisoned by the English and few enough other women in the king’s entourage at Auchinleck, Lady Elayne ran the keep with a firm hand and the household, transient though ‘twas, ran with an efficiency that rivaled any royal court.
Tosia bowed her head slightly as she tucked an escaped lock of hair back into her kerchief. The tall woman’s silvery gray gaze, usually hard and surveying, crinkled at the corners as she clicked her tongue at Tosia.
“Dinna fret on it, lass. Many a woman has been caught up in the attentions of an eager, new husband, no matter how the marriage came to be.”
Lady Elayne’s tone held a light note, and Tosia found courage in the woman’s presence.
“Even if ‘twas assigned by the king to a man who’s known as an evil beast?”
Though she no longer saw James through that veil, she wasn’t deaf to the gossip of what new, vile strategy James envisioned for the king’s war for freedom, necessary though those strategies might be.
Elayne threw her head back and barked out a rich laugh. The swaddled babe squealed at the sound, its shock of blonde hair sticking past the plaid fabric. Elayne cast a soft gaze at her babe, then back at her.
“Och, Tosia. I forget ye are no’ from the Highlands. How do ye think I found my husband, Laird MacCollough? Or Caitrin found hers? Do ye no’ know who the MacColloughs are?”
Tosia shook her head, her eyes focused on the woman who possessed a fascinating tale, to be sure. Elayne’s eyes sparkled as she spoke, her hand patting the babe’s backside without thought.
“Declan MacCollough is laird of what was known for a long time as the beast clan. Wild men with nary a civilized soul among them. When Declan became laird, he’d recently served the Bruce and wanted to lead a clan that was worthy of that position. He’d made an offer for my hand to my father, as I had my own reputation as the willful, loudmouthed harpy. He wanted a strong wife to assist him in humanizing his clan. I didn’t know the man when I arrived at his stronghold, only the disheartening rumor.”
Elayne winked at Tosia. “There’s more to a man, to anyone, than the rumors, than their history, than their kin. If ye take the full measure of a man, ‘twill show ye his true nature.”
Tosia nodded as she released a long breath. Thinking something on her own was one thing, to hear someone confirm it, someone in a similar situation, was quite another — and a relief.
“And now ye have a babe?” Tosia asked, smiling at the fair child. Elayne’s face beamed at the babe again.
“Aye, a strapping son we call Gabriel.”
“Och, like the angel!” Tosia cried. Elayne nodded.
“So, has he?” Elayne asked, one of her rich chestnut eyebrows rising high on her forehead.
Tosia’s head flinched slightly. Was she asking if James had gotten her with babe? Such the invasive question! “Has he what?”
“Found his way into your heart? If the king entrusts the man with his life, I can assume ye could do no less. And there is something to be said of a man who would guard ye, champion ye, with his life.”
Do my eyes sparkle like that when I speak of James? Tosia wondered wildly. If they did, then mayhap Lady Elayne's words were accurate.
James had done nothing to perpetuate any vile thoughts toward him and instead done all he could to make her feel welcome, safe, valued.
Elayne patted her shoulder. “If no’ yet, perchance soon enough. I will leave ye to daydream at the tapestries.”
Tosia’s warm blush became a hot flush of embarrassment at her lolly-gagging, and she dropped her gaze to her feet. Elayne’s boisterous laughter carried through the courtyard as she swept back to the keep, leaving Tosia to contemplate Elayne’s words.
Try as she might, her mind still couldn’t focus, and after repeatedly failing to beat the dust from the woven canvases, Tosia dropped her shoulders and returned the paddle back to its place by the kitchens. Mayhap Brigid had a chore in the kitchens that might engage her mind, so she didn’t waste it on girlish fantasies regarding her husband.
Upon entering the kitchens, she was greeted not with smiles but with frantic rushing. Had something happened whilst she daydreamed away the day? Why the chaos? She closed the door behind her and grabbed the sleeve of a chambermaid whose arms held cloths as she shoved past the other kitchen maids.
“Is something amiss?” she asked the curly-haired lass who went by Alana.
“Aye. The king’s men were attacked by the cowardly MacDoualls, caught by surprise. One’s been injured.” Then she ripped away and ran for the doorway to the main hall.
James! Tosia thought crazily. Who else would be a target than the man who’d wreaked havoc on the English and their allies over and over?
Lifting her skirts, Tosia broke into a run, following the woman to the main hall.
But it wasn’t James who was carried in by the Bruce’s men.
The men rushed into the hall in a storm, not with joyous celebration but in cautious tones.
“Call the midwife!” Asper called out as Tosia followed Brigid out of the kitchens.
The giant red man shoved a young clansman out the main doors, and the lad scrambled to do his bidding.
It wasn’t the man hidden in the circle of men that drew Tosia’s attention; it was the pale expression on James’s face — a foreign look on a man intimate with death and blood. What caused him to look so wan?
Only one thing — if the injury were to her, something out of James’s control. But she was fine, covered with a fine layer of oat flour, maybe. Which could only mean . . .
“Tavish!” she screamed, dropping the cloth she held as she ran to the men.
James caught her around the waist and swung her to his side.
“First, ‘tis no’ as bad as it looks,” he whispered raggedly in her ear. “Second, ye must temper yourself so as no’ to frighten him.”
Tosia stared into James’s ashen eyes, which were nearly as washed out as the rest of his face. She nodded slowly, and only then did James step to the side and permit Tosia to go to her brother.
The gash on Tavish’s side appeared grievous, with blood seeping enough to taint his tunic a frighteningly maroon red. Tosia’s heart raced in her chest, her own fear at her brother’s seemingly dire state gnawing at her like a rat on grain. She reached out her hand and clasped his pale fingers.
“Och, Tosia. I regret ye find me in so pitiful a state. I’m not the warrior I thought myself to be.”
“Posh, dinna say it. Many a great warrior has his battle scars as testament to his greatness. ‘Tis only your sour fortune that your first one is larger than ye expected.”
“Aye,” James’s normally harsh voice was tempered behind Tosia. “Ye’ve seen my back, a collection of scars that would set many men running. Ye are no’ a true warrior until ye have the scars to prove it.”
James’s attempt to build Tavish back up slowed Tosia’s erratic heart. She’d learned he wasn’t quite the monster he’d been painted, and hearing him support her brother only softened her to him all the more.
“Move, move, let me pass,” an authoritative, high-pitched voice announced, and they turned toward the invasive sound.
A stout woman with her entire head wrapped in a pale blue kerchief brushed by the men circling Tavish. The woman’s crinkled brown eyes flicked at Tavish, and she clicked her tongue as she lifted his tunic, then turned her gaze to Tosia.
“Ye are his woman?”
Tosia smiled weakly. “His sister.”
The stout woman nodded approvingly. “Well, ye can stay. Can someone get the rest of the mongrels from here?”
James and Robert immediately jumped to work, corralling the rest of the men out of the main hall.
“I’m called Morna. I’m a healer and midwife. From the looks of this wound, ye dinna need to fret overmuch. Stitching will be the worst, and then ye will have a fine scar to show off to the lassies.” Morna chuckled to herself as she patted Tavish’s shoulder.
Tavish shot a worried glance to Tosia, mirroring her own clenching worries, then looked back at the midwife.
“Aye? I’ll recover?”
Morna dug in her satchel with one hand and flapped at Tavish with the other. “Ye did no’ think that this was a fatal wound, did ye? Och, laddie, ye have much to learn about swordplay. I think yon king and his mannie will make sure ye learn all ye must, aye?”
She lifted a slender brown eyebrow but kept her gaze on the injured soul in front of her. James and Robert nodded and grunted in agreement.
“Fine. Here, bite down on this. ‘Twill be sore for a bit, but in a fortnight or so, ye will be back serving your master, sword in hand.”
Before Tavish could respond, Morna shoved a well-gnawed stick between his teeth. Then she cast a quick look over her shoulder.
“If ye would?” she asked, gesturing to Tavish. Robert and James scuttled to Tavish’s side to hold him immobile as she worked. “If ye feel faint, lass, please take your leave. One injury is enough for me today.”
Tosia bit her lip and nodded, vowing to herself to keep her wits about her. She barely had time to marvel at how easily this short woman commanded the King of Scotland as if he were nothing more than a lowly crofter, before her needle was threading through Tavish’s skin, pulling it as the thread dragged through his ravaged skin.
He hissed and tried to arch his back, but the King and James were true to their word, holding Tavish down so Morna’s fingers could work as quickly as possible. Soon, the sheared skin was rejoined in a jagged line of stitching, and only a few thin trickles of blood remained where once a bloody ragged gash had been.
Morna wiped the rest of the blood away with a rag, then wiped her own hands before wrapping a strip of cloth around Tavish’s waist. “There. Keep it clean. Lass, ye can clip the threads out for the lad in two or three weeks. Watch for pus, and if it forms, call for me right away.”
She patted Tavish’s tunic again as she stood.
The air in the hall suddenly seemed thinner, cooler, and Tosia took a deep breath, trying to clear the clenching in her chest and the pounding in her head. Robert and James each stepped back from Tavish and inhaled deeply as well, searching for their own cooler breaths.
The king walked the healer to the main doors, slipping a coin into her skillful hands. James went to Tavish and ducked under his arm to help him rise from the stained bench. Tosia still clutched her brother’s hand, and supported his other side as best she might.
“Ye get a cot in the chambers off the kitchens, oft reserved for servants of guests,” James explained as they hobbled toward the archway. “That way the maids can see to ye as ye need. Ye will remain there until the stitching comes out, then ye are back with the other squires. However, this has shown me that I’ve been lax in your training. I should no’ have brought ye with us until I was certain of your ability. Prepare yourself. Once those stitches are gone, your body will wish they were back. I shall work ye until ye drop. Your next scar will be one of no consequence, this I vow.”
But he wasn’t looking at Tavish as he spoke. James’s gaze peered around Tavish’s heaving chest at Tosia.
He was making the vow to her.
Once Tavish was settled in his cot, the kitchen maids were tasked with bringing him spiced mead and dried venison to help him regain some of the blood he lost. Tosia patted his hand and kissed his forehead before leaving. His brow was cool, and color was returning to his cheeks. The deathly pallor of his face was gone.
James placed his arm around Tosia’s waist as they exited through the kitchens toward the stairwell.
“A moment, if ye please,” James asked before they mounted the steps.
Tosia turned to him, a flicker of apprehension surging through her. James grasped both of her hands in his, and his glittering eyes searched her face.
“The blame for today resides in me. I asked him to accompany us as I would have any other squire, not bothering to see if the lad was ready to fight if called upon. I apologize if his injury caused ye any pain.”
Not for the first time, strange emotions battled inside her. Here stood the mighty beast, the Black Douglas himself, renown for causing pain and destruction, and he was apologizing for causing her any pain. Would she ever resolve those two contrary aspects to the man?
Tosia released one of his hands and placed her palm on his scruffy jaw. His black beard and the sides of his hair that he had shaved to cleanly had started to grow back, returning his rough appearance to him. The hairs prickled against her skin as she rubbed them, and his face tipped to her hand, nuzzling it.
“’Tis our lot, James, to fight against the English. Tavish knew this once the king sent his missive, and he was the one convincing me that this was our new path in life. I canna fault ye for the actions of the English. I’d rather have ye at his side, at his back than any other. Ye of all people would bring hell upon earth before seeing him, or any of your men, harmed.”
“Or ye.” His voice cracked as he spoke, and her heart leapt into her throat. “I’d lay waste to everything on Earth and in hell to keep ye safe.”
Her heart fluttered at his words. How did a man so hardened make her insides soften to the point her legs threatened to buckle? How had the Blackguard of Scotland managed to steal her heart?
“As I would ye. Dinna forget, James. Just as ye made a vow to me, I made one to ye as well.”
Then his full, sensuous lips latched onto hers, his tongue caressing hers as if to seal their shared vow with their kiss.
The evening meal in the hall was a subdued affair. At Bruce’s table, Robert’s head bowed close to those of James and Asper Sinclair as they conferenced on serious events of the past several days.
June had ended in a bloody wake. Tavish had been the start of a series of violent escapades that the King’s army had tracked back to the MacDoualls, and the king’s frustrations seeped from his skin, marking his face with severe lines. His plan to quell the English and their lowland sympathizing clans had to be put on hold to deal with this more pressing issue.
“We can wait no longer. I’ve wanted my vengeance on the bloody MacDoualls, and now I might have it. Most of their attacks have occurred as evening claimed the day, as ‘twas when they murdered my brother. I’m sure they expect us to attack in a similar measure, if they expect us to attack at all.”
His statement hung in the air as a question, and he flicked his steady brown gaze to James, who dipped his head in a slight nod. James’s set jaw and icy verdant gaze left no doubt as to where his mind was — assessing the best way to inflict the most damage to the MacDoualls, for both his king, and his wife.
Under hooded eyes, James glanced around the hall, but Tosia was nowhere to be found. She had taken her meals with her brother for the past several evenings, and he had missed her clear, bright face in the hall. As much as it chafed him, the lass, her modest strength, and acceptance of a man such as he for husband had endeared her to his heart.
What chafed him even more was that Shabib and Robert had been correct — Tosia had been good for him. A balm for his soul, for his heart. He hadn’t lost that organ, no matter what the gossips claimed.
And if he lost it now, it was because the forest fae lass was stealing it from his chest.
The king had continued, and James rubbed his hand across the stubble of his sprouting beard to focus on the matters at hand.
“We’ll take our lead from Douglas, and his renowned larder. Daybreak, after a night of drink. They may well be sleepy and sore from a night of imbibing, but we will give them full opportunity to raise sword against us. We will surprise them as light touches day, instead of attack in the dark like the cowards they are.”
The Bruce’s voice rumbled roughly on the word cowards, and James ginned at the king. The man had grown into his crown well, a warrior king, and Scotland deserved no less.
“James.” The king shifted to face James directly. “Your man, the Moor, ye’ve said he has a talent of working well in the shadows?”
James tilted his head and glanced at his blue-robed friend. “Aye. And he’s been waiting for ye to find him of use.”
Robert nodded. “The tomorrow night, we will ride out. Stay to the woods but send your man to the Dumfries keep. Have him spy on the men, and if they are drunk enough, he can tell us. Then we will prepare our raid.”
James nodded. “And if he overhears anything of note, the words will fall eagerly from his lips.”
Robert slammed his fist on the table. “Then we are in accord. Gather the men on the morn, prepare for an attack. James, I trust ye will concoct a ploy for success?”
A slight shiver coursed over James’s back, but he cleared his throat and leveled his gaze at his king.
“I am ever yours to command.”
