by Victoria Zak
Honestly, she didn’t want to be touched by anyone, but she felt like she could trust this woman. “Aye.” She smiled meekly.
Working the soap into a lather, the woman let out a soft chuckle. “Dinnae worry, it will be over before ye know it.”
“What will be over?” Abigale was confused.
“Aye, ye are a married woman now. Yer husband will want to bed his wife.”
Abigale laughed to herself. Apparently, this woman didn’t know how James felt about her and the marriage arrangement. He’d made that perfectly clear. I dinnae want a wife. Then just like a change in the wind, her thoughts turned on her. Back at Castle Douglas they had made everyone believe they had consummated their marriage. Obviously, this woman knew differently.
“How do ye know we haven’t…already?"
The woman got up and retrieved a pitcher. “Lass, yer secret is safe with me.”
She believed that was true, for the gray-haired woman had showed her more kindness than anyone had for a long time.
Abigale bit her bottom lip with worry and let out a shaky breath. “I’ve no’ been with a man.” Looking down at her hands she nervously picked at her nails. "I’ve heard it hurts.”
“Aye lass, but only for a wee bit. Dinnae worry yer pretty head about it.” Reaching over, the woman grabbed the pitcher full of fresh water. “Now, lean back so I can rinse the soap out of yer hair.”
Abigale leaned her head back and looked up at the woman. “I’m no’ used to all this fuss.”
“Ye’re a princess, of course we will fuss over ye. Besides, I like ye.” The woman winked and gave her a warm smile like a mother would give a child.
Recalling the last eight years, she’d supposedly benefitted from being the king’s daughter. But look where that had gotten her. Multiple tongue-lashings and extra duties. There was no royal treatment for her; princess was just a given title. Abigale guessed she should be thankful. Even though she was a bastard, her father had recognized her as his own, and that was a blessing in its own right. Nay, she did not need more.
“I dinnae expect any special treatment. I’m no’ much of a cook, but I can help.”
The woman clucked her tongue. “There’s no need to help—”
“I insist,” Abigale said firmly.
“Well then, ye are the lady, if that’s yer wish—”
“It is.”
After a few moments of silence, the woman stood. “I’ll leave a fresh gown out for ye and I’ll be back with some food.”
She started to leave when Abigale called out, “Wait, yer name!”
The woman turned around. “Me name is Alice.”
Tears filled Abigale’s eyes. “Thank ye, Alice, for being so kind to me.”
Alice’s smile offered Abigale hope. Hope that mayhap she would find happiness at Black Stone on the Hill.
After her bath, Abigale made her way downstairs. She heard two women talking and followed the chatter to the kitchens. One of the voices was Alice but the other she didn’t recognize. Abigale stood and watched the women before making her presence known. She was not keen on kitchen duties. In fact, she hated to cook.
“I’ve no’ met a princess before.” The redhead confessed as she blew a ringlet of hair from her eye.
“Effie, I think ye have washed that plate clean.” Alice was quite aware how nervous Effie was about meeting Abigale. Word had spread fast that the princess of Scotland was there and now wed to their clan chief.
Drying off the spotless plate, Effie turned to Alice who was preparing the nightly feast. The whole clan was coming together in celebration of the return of The Douglas and his new bride.
“Alice, is she pretty? I wonder how many fairytales she has about growing up as royalty.” Indeed, Effie was daydreaming about her own prince.
“Effie!” Alice scolded, “Keep yer head out of the clouds, lass. There is much work to be done. Grab that basket of carrots and start choppin'.” Effie sauntered over to the basket. She paused as she saw Abigale standing in the doorway.
“Awe, lass, come in, come in.” Alice welcomed Abigale with open arms.
Effie dropped a knife and dashed over to Abigale, swiftly wiping her hands on her tattered apron. “My lady.” She did her best curtsy, trying to impress the princess.
“Please, no need to be formal with me.” Abigale brushed off the curtsy. However, she was surprised the girl knew her true identity. Indeed, Abigale felt she was safe. Besides, this was why her father had arranged this union between her and the Black Douglas, to keep her safe. With a savage reputation like his, no one would dare try to harm her.
Abigale wondered where James was. It had been two days since last she saw him. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing, as if she wasn’t whole. She shook her head in irritation. She knew very well who was missing, and she longed to see him, though she didn’t understand why. "Alice? Where is Laird Douglas?”
“He’s out in the bailey sparring with his men. They should be back midday.”
“Oh.” A little disappointed, Abigale had been hoping to see James sooner.
The morning passed quickly, as Alice attempted to teach Abigale how to make bread and prepare the night’s feast. It wasn’t an easy task. She just wasn’t a good cook. Not for lack of trying. She kneaded the dough just like Alice instructed, but the blasted sticky paste stuck to the table and all over her hands. To top it off, the bread turned out hard as a rock.
“Dinnae fash yerself, lass, ‘tis only yer first try. We can cut up the bread and use it for trenchers,” Alice said.
A blast of laughter exploded between the women. God bless Alice for having the patience of a saint. She and Effie had made Abigale feel right at home, and she truly enjoyed their company. As they worked washing vegetables and chopping herbs, Alice and Effie had enlightened her about Castle Black Stone and its clan members.
There was a chapel near the castle where services were held regularly. She also was informed that the smith was not only a master behind his anvil, he also had a way with the lasses. There was a healer with an exceptional gift, always on call. Then there were the men…Highlanders. Rogues up to no good, but without a doubt, they defended their clan with honor and with their lives. Though as Alice explained more about them, Abigale had a feeling they respected her highly and gave her no trouble.
After nearly setting her second loaf of bread to flames, Abigale, Effie, and Alice retired to the great hall. A savory aroma filled the air, indicating that a variety of wild game was cooking in the kitchen. Servants scurried about arranging the great hall for the feast. Assorted wild flowers littered the tops of wooden tables, and rugs of bright colors covered the stone floor. Tapestries hung high and draped the walls, and candlelight shining from the sconces illuminated the room, giving it a golden glow. The great hall looked fit for a king.
The women took their seats next to the hearth where baskets full of clothes sat waiting to be mended. Soft leather boots needed new laces, tunics needed patching, and trews needed stitching. “Alice, do all of these items belong to James?” Abigale couldn't imagine that a man like James would possess such a large amount of clothing.
“Nay, as a clan, we take care of our people. So, when our men come home from battle, we mend their clothes.” Alice handed her a bloodstained tunic.
Abigale studied the stain for a while, her brows creased as she wondered who had worn this tunic and if they had lived to see another day. That stain represented so much more. It was a reminder of just how unstable Scotland was. Brave men and women had lost their lives fighting for their freedom from the English. As if that wasn’t enough, clan fought against clan, brother against brother, blood against blood. When would the fighting stop? she thought. She had seen and healed so many wounded men and watched too many of them die. Life was valuable to her and needed to be cherished, not destroyed.
The sound of heavy paws trampling through the great hall broke Abigale from her thoughts. Two Scottish deerhounds bounded through the d
oor. The beasts ran past her with their tongues hanging from the sides of their mouths in exhaustion. As if it were routine, they plopped down next to the hearth. Men jesting followed.
“Magnus, old man, I think ye have lost yer touch,” a blond-haired man boasted and shoved Magnus with his shoulder.
“Or he’s still drunk with mead,” another man blurted.
“Ye may outwit me with yer fancy blades, but I’d behead ye with one swing of my axe.” Magnus’s rough voice boomed over their laughter.
Abigale’s heart stopped as James approached them. His long, black hair stuck to his neck and bare chest with sweat, his kilt hung low on his hips. God help her, this man was truly beautiful.
Smiling, he strode over to Alice. “My dear, Alice.” He leaned down and placed a kiss on her cheek. “Och, how I've missed ye, bonny lass.”
Alice dismissed his greeting with a swish of her hand. “My laird, ye know how to make a lady blush.”
For a moment, Abigail envied Alice, for she wished James would look at her the way he looked at the older woman.
James glanced at Abigail and greeted Effie with a nod.
“I’ll be in my bedchamber.” He headed for the stone and iron staircase.
Alice scolded James like a child. “Nay so fast…aren’t ye going to introduce yer men to yer lady?”
James rubbed the back of his neck and turned back to his men, who now stood in perfect formation in front of Abigale like proper Highland soldiers. James shook his head.
“My apologies. This is Rory Cameron, my cousin, Marcus Stewart, Conall Hamilton, and the handsome man in red, is Magnus.”
Magnus grunted and rolled his eyes in response to James’s jest. “It be me pleasure to meet ye, my lady.”
Abigale remembered Magnus from the camp but had never been introduced properly. Magnus had long, unruly red hair, which was a shade lighter than his full beard that hung past his chin. Though they all seemed to look about the same age, Magnus had an authoritative demeanor.
Rory approached Abigale, his eyes shimmered a bright blue when he smiled at her. “My lady.” He knelt down without losing eye contact with her. What a charmer, with a gaze like Rory’s, the lasses must swoon over him, Abigale thought.
A deep voice broke her trance as Conall approached. “Princess, ‘Tis nice to be formally introduced.” A scattered mess of chocolate curls, wet with sweat, hung just below his ears. He bent down, reached for her hand, and kissed it. He was pure dominance in the same way James was, but seemed approachable.
“Aye, I do remember ye. Ye were my escort to the kirk?”
“Aye.” He winked.
After Conall finished his greeting, he looked at Effie, and with a cocky smile turned Effie’s freckled cheeks three shades of red. The lass quickly looked down at the leather boot she was re-lacing.
Marcus stayed where he was and nodded.
A chill raced down Abigale’s spine as Marcus glared skeptically at her. She hadn’t noticed him on her travels to Black Stone, but the others she remembered. Abigale turned her attention back to James who was watching her intently with that protective stare.
“I’ll be in my bedchamber.” And without another word, her husband turned on his heels and ascended the stairs two at a time until he reached the loft that circled the great hall. Abigale watched him until he disappeared down a long corridor leading to their—his bedchamber.
7
There is no room for two dragons in one pond. ~ Chinese Proverb
Softly stroked notes from a golden harp filled the great hall. A few hundred members of Clan Douglas were scattered around long wooden tables as they ate the night’s feast of roasted game and vegetables.
James sat with his men and pondered how much his life was going to change now that he was home and had a wife. After an impressive victory at Bannockburn, he and his soldiers had sent King Edward II fleeing back to England, leaving behind a routed English army. It had been a while since James and his Dragonkine warriors had been back to Black Stone on the Hill. The battlefield had been the bane of their existence for God knew how long.
Accepting his immortality was going to be a challenge; knowing that time was nonexistent in his world, he was going to have a hard time adjusting to the solitude of a mundane life. At least if he was on the field, time didn’t seem to matter and his dragon’s bloodlust was appeased. Furthermore, clan life was uninteresting to him. Surely, he should be securing the borders south of Stirling, but instead, he was home and trying, with great difficulty, to adapt to the idea of solitude and a wife.
There was no more fighting for him, at least not on the battlefield. The king had made it clear that he was to protect his daughter, and if that meant accepting clan life, James would do it.
He sat across from Conall and Magnus. Rory sat next to him, working on his third trencher of food. Rory leaned over his treasure, his strong arms caging the dish like a dog guarding a bone.
Magnus and Conall sat with creased brows as they witnessed Rory’s attack on a leg of mangled meat. Magnus shook his head in wonderment. “That laddie has one hell of an appetite.”
Conall took a long, vigorous chug of mead, then set the empty tankard on the table. “Aye, ‘tis like watching a wild beast devour its prey. Repulsive.”
Juice dripped from the corners of Rory’s mouth as he looked up from his trencher. “Ye can talk rubbish all ye want, but I need my strength if I intend to be betwixt a lass's legs all night.” He winked.
“Poor lass,” Conall snickered.
James was oblivious to the nonsense. A stunning woman in a blue dress had caught his attention the moment she came into view. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Abigale. A tight bodice enhanced her breasts just enough to tease his eyes. Long waves of auburn hair hung across her shoulders. Like a warm ray of sunshine, her face lit up as she read to a group of children.
For a moment, he envisioned that they were his wee ones. Aye, she was born to be a mother.
Two days had passed since they returned to Black Stone. Knowing the severity of her wounds, he made sure his sleep magic worked longer than usual. Or maybe he made her sleep longer so he’d have time to get his thoughts straight. However, he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
His body remembered how perfectly she’d fit against him as he held her while she slept on their way back to Black Stone. Tiny as she was, she had fit perfectly tucked up next to him. Her soft curves felt good against his skin. Mayhap a wife wasn’t a daft idea.
“Ye have yerself one bonny wife.” Conall nodded toward Abigale and brought James’s attention to him.
James cleared his throat. “Aye.” He picked up his tankard and drank heavily.
“So, when are ye going to have wee bairns of yer own running round the castle?” Conall jested.
Ale shot from James’s mouth and splattered all over Conall. “Bloody hell, Conall!”
“What?” He wiped the mead from his face and tunic, “Lady Abigale is a beauty, why no’?”
“Look at her one more time and I’ll rip yer eyes right out of their sockets.” James didn’t know why he’d threatened his brother-at-arms. The more he thought about Abigale, the more his world spun out of control.
“Nay, dinnae fash yerself, my friend.” The redhead playing the harp came into Conall’s view.
Twelve children, between three and twelve years of age, bright-eyed, and curiously enthralled, listened closely to Abigale as she told a tale about a brave knight who fought for Scotland’s freedom. Leaning toward the children, she made sure the cherub-faced bairns paid close attention.
“And as the brave knight returned home from battle, he crept up the stairs to his daughter’s bedchamber to bid her a good night. When he entered the room, his daughter jumped out of bed and ran to her da. He pulled his little princess close and hugged her firmly. He made a vow that night as he said, ‘do no fret my pet for ye shall be free. No longer shall ye be caged like a bird. Be free and fly, songbird.’”
Abigale pause
d for a moment. Remembering this story brought up the past. It was the same tale she told herself every night while living at Dunfermline Abbey.
The children rushed at her and hugged her neck. Abigale returned their affection with hugs of her own. “Now go play, and Neven, stay out of Alice’s special oatcakes.” She waved an authoritative finger at him. “She’ll have yer backside.”
“Aye, my lady.” Neven bowed.
Abigale sat there for a while as she watched the children scamper off. Neven was always getting into some kind of mischief. At least two times this morn he had snuck two oatcakes and had been chased out of the kitchen by Alice several times by midday. That one there was a handful; his mother must be at her wit’s end with him.
“It seems ye have a way with the wee bairns, Lady Abigale.” Marcus stood next to her, leaning a shoulder against the stone wall.
“Aye.” She smiled and stood. “They are precious, a true gift from God.” Her eyes followed Neven as he took off toward the kitchen. Abigale shook her head and laughed. “That lad has a head full of rocks.”
Marcus smirked. “Highlanders tend to have a stubborn streak.”
Abigale was beginning to find this to be true.
“Seeing yer mother murdered right before yer eyes will scar ye for life.”
Stunned, Abigale turned and faced Marcus. “He saw his mother die?”
“Aye. We believe he was only five summers old when it happened. ‘Tis a shame. James allowed the boy to stay here. In fact, the lad has grown quite fond of yer husband and has become one of the stable grooms. Clumsy, but he cares for the horses quite well.”
“How old is he?”
“Ten-and-two, we believe.”
“Thank God James has given the lad a home. I can’t imagine what he’s been through.” Abigale searched the hall until James came into view. He was with his men, talking. As she watched him from across the room, it warmed her heart knowing what he had done. He’d saved Neven’s life. The Bogeyman didn’t seem so evil after all.