Reckless Scotland: A Scottish Medieval Romance Bundle

by Victoria Vane

  “And why would the king’s own physician tend her?” the princess demanded.

  “I dinna ken, Highness,” Davina answered.

  “Then you must find out,” the princess insisted. “I wish to know exactly who she is and why she has come here.”

  “I will try to discover it,” Davina replied. Although she suspected the reason had something to do with MacAedh’s imprisonment, something deep inside bade Davina to hold her tongue.

  *

  STANDING ON A palace balcony, Davina and Princess Adaline watched the beaming Prince Malcolm depart Dunfermline at the head of two hundred knights in full armored splendor. The procession was conducted with just the kind of pomp and pageantry that would set the young prince’s heart aflutter.

  Malcolm was excessively enamored of all things chivalrous, yet had been denied even the chance to squire. Rather than going to foster with another noble family, Princess Adaline had kept him close due to the constant danger in the Borderlands. But his mother’s protectiveness had dire consequences—Malcolm was immature and unready. To Davina, there could be no one in the entire kingdom less prepared to rule it. Nevertheless, the king insisted on presenting his heir to the country—in a show of strength.

  Davina wondered how the common people would respond. She shut her eyes on a vision of quite another Scottish prince riding out at the head of this same honor guard. There was no doubt in her mind that Domnall, sitting erect and proud on his charger, would command respect and awe from anyone who saw him. And his sword was far more than just a display piece. He’d proven it years ago against Ioan Fitz Ranulf.

  Davina was amazed that the king was so obsessed with keeping his direct bloodline on the throne that he weakens the kingdom by choosing an incompetent and untried boy over a tried and true warrior.

  Though he was accompanied by the Earl of Fife and the king’s personal guard, the prince’s departure had put the princess in an unusually bad temper.

  “I do not like this!” the princess insisted. “The Highlands are rife with barbaric, murdering savages!”

  “They are also mothers, and fathers, and bairns, God-fearing people like ye and I, my lady,” Davina said softly. “Is there nae good and bad in all of us?”

  The princess looked only mildly chagrinned.

  “’Tis understandable ye fear for yer son,” Davina consoled. “Ye are a màthair who has suffered great loss. But Prince Malcolm must be seen if he is one day to be king.”

  “I suppose so, but I still cannot like it.”

  Soothing her emotional state had taken much of Davina’s time, leaving her no opportunity to work in the garden or to visit the jail. Once she finally found some time for herself, Davina returned from the Queen’s Chapel to find the princess and her maid, Berthe, rummaging through her wardrobe.

  “’Tis an insult to demand this of me,” the princess declared. “The king has commanded that I produce some suitable clothing for his new guest. She is given the queen’s bedchamber and now I am supposed to clothe her in silk?” Seething, the princess tossed several expensive garments onto the bed.

  “The Lady Sibylla has recovered from her injury?” Davina asked.

  “Aye. She appeared last night for supper in rags that a servant would be ashamed to wear. But why should it fall upon me to clothe her?” the princess asked.

  “Mayhap because she is a cousin to the king?” Davina suggested.

  “I understand she is kin, but I distrust that he’s taken such a personal interest in her welfare. Why is she here?” the princess asked. “I am told nothing!”

  “There is a prisoner in the guardhouse jail. I believe he is her uncle.” Davina hesitated to reveal anything further.

  “If she’s come to plead for him, she wastes her breath,” the princess said. “I am informed by the Earl of Mearns that the king plans to make an example of MacAedh for all who refuse to accept Malcolm as his heir. But I’m confounded to understand why he hasn’t executed him already.”

  Davina had been right to hold her peace. MacAedh would get no compassion from the princess. The princess scooped up a pile of cotes and linen shifts. “Take these to her, Berthe, with my compliments,” she commanded her maid. “But do not hurry back to me. I need you to discover the king’s plans. Find out who attends her and give them this.” The princess handed Berthe a small coin purse. “I want to know how long does she stay here and what does he intend to do with her. I also wish to know everything she does and every movement she makes.”

  “As you wish, Highness,” Berthe replied with a curtsy and scurried out the door.

  Davina had never seen this cold and calculating side of the princess before. It was as if she’d become another person.

  Needing some time to herself, Davina slipped away to toil once more in the garden. She’d finished turning the soil for the beds and only needed to spread fertilizer to prepare the soil for planting. After seeking out Brother Hebert, the monk in charge of the abbey gardens, Davina returned with a full wheelbarrow of aged manure. A few hours later, her work was done. It would be ready to plant in the spring.

  As she stepped back to admire her work, movement caught her eye. Someone, a monk she didn’t recognize, slipped into the Queen’s Chapel. Strange. It was a place of private worship designated for the royal family.

  Davina pushed aside her curiosity and was about to leave when another person, this time a female, also entered the chapel. Could it be Lady Sibylla? Was this a clandestine meeting? Overcome with curiosity, Davina deliberated slipping inside, but respect for their privacy overruled her first impulse. Instead, she waited outside. Less than an hour later, the lass re-emerged and headed briskly toward the palace. This time, Davina couldn’t help following.

  Recalling her promise to MacAedh to inquire about his niece, she wondered if she should speak. She might not get another chance. They were in the courtyard now and she was only a few paces behind. Once she entered the palace, the opportunity would be lost.

  “Lady Sibylla?” Davina called out softly, hoping not to attract anyone else’s attention.

  The girl turned with a questioning look. “Do I ken ye?” she asked in Gaelic.

  “Nae,” Davina replied in the same tongue. “But if ye are the daughter of William Fitz Duncan, we have something in common.”

  “Aye?” Her brows rose. “He was indeed my sire.” She regarded Davina with wariness in her blue-green eyes.

  “I speak of yer brother, Domnall,” Davina answered.

  It was as if a mask slid from her face at the mention of his name. “Ye ken my brother?”

  “Aye. Also yer uncle,” Davina said.

  “My uncle,” she gasped. “They tell me nothing. Does he still live?”

  “Aye. At least he did two days ago. ’Twas the last time I spoke with him.”

  “How?” Sibylla asked. “How is it that ye see him when I am denied?”

  “’Tis my ministry to tend the prisoners,” Davina replied.

  Sibylla eyed Davina up and down and her mouth dropped as if she only now noticed the nun’s habit. “I wasna aware that there is a convent here.”

  “There is nae convent,” Davina replied. “I left Haddington Priory to come to court with Princess Adaline.”

  “Who is she?” Sibylla asked.

  “Prince Malcolm’s máthair. She is verra curious about ye.”

  “I only came to plead for my uncle,” Sibylla said. “And now I am as much a prisoner as he is.”

  “What do ye mean?” Davina asked.

  “The king has declared me his ward and will nae allow me to go home.”

  Davina’s heart filled with empathy. She was once in a like position. “I go on the morrow to the jail. Shall I tell yer uncle I spoke with ye?”

  “Aye,” Sibylla said. “Would ye tell him that I am well but I canna go home. And also that Domnall kens naught of his imprisonment.”

  Davina regarded her for a long moment. How hard would it be to smuggle Sibylla into the jail? It wasn’t wi
thout risk but it would be worth taking if MacAedh were, indeed, a man condemned. “I have an idea,” Davina said. “Why dinna ye tell him yerself?”

  “How?” Sibylla asked. “The king willna let me go to him.”

  “Mayhap nae, but mayhap ye can go to the jail with me.”

  *

  THEY MET AT the Queen’s Chapel the very next morning.

  “How did ye slip away?” Davina asked.

  “I said I was going to pray for the king,” Sibylla replied. “I am allowed freedom of the palace and the chapel, but I canna venture beyond these walls.”

  “Then those who watch ye must believe that ye are me,” Davina said, handing her a basket with a nun’s habit. Getting Sibylla into the jail was easier than Davina would have believed. Once dressed in the black nun’s habit, the guards paid little heed to her.

  “Sister Mary David assists me today,” Davina said as they arrived at the guardhouse.

  “Must I go into the cell?” Sibylla whispered with a shudder.

  “I’m afraid ye must,” Davina replied. “Else ’twill rouse suspicion.”

  “Please, let me stay close to the door,” Sibylla begged. “I dinna want any of the prisoners to recognize me.”

  Davina was quick to realize the source of her fear. Not long ago, Sibylla had been locked in this very same cell. “Just pass out the bread,” Davina said. “They are unlikely to look at yer face.”

  Careful not to rush or otherwise deviate from her normal routine, Davina read a scripture, prayed for those who asked her, and then moved on to MacAedh’s cell. Accustomed now to her coming and going, the sentries barely even looked in their direction as they unlocked the door. Davina exhaled a long, slow breath of relief in having pulled off the ruse.

  MacAedh looked up in surprise when he saw two figures enter, but thankfully made no remark until they drew close enough to whisper.

  Sibylla stifled a sob at the first sight of her kinsman.

  “Nae!” Davina clutched her arm. “Ye must speak calmly.” Davina opened the prayer book and began to read in a loud voice that she hoped would conceal their whispered conversation.

  “Uncle,” Sibylla knelt down beside him. “How do ye fare?”

  “Sibylla! What the de’il are ye doing here?”

  “I came to see ye,” she replied, and opened the book.

  “Why did ye leave Kilmuir?” he asked.

  “I thought I could convince the king to release ye… but I was wrong,” she said sadly. “Is there aught I can do for yer comfort?”

  He shook his head. “Sister Mary Malachy has cared well for me. Ye must go away from this place, Sibylla.”

  “The king willna let me go home,” she said. “He has declared me his ward. He intends for me to wed. Until then, I am a prisoner here.”

  “What of Alexander?” His gaze narrowed. “Does he ken of this… betrothal?”

  Davina wondered why it would matter what the monk thought of it, but then she remembered the look on Brother Alexander’s face when he carried her from the jail. There was far more to their relationship than they would reveal.

  “Aye,” she replied. “He kens. We spoke before he left with the prince.”

  “Go home, the both of ye,” he said. “Find a way to escape and ne’er come back.”

  “Even if I could, I wouldna leave ye,” she insisted.

  “Ye must,” he hissed. “Ye, Domnall, and Alexander must protect the rest of the family. Or all our lives will be lost. Ye must all go far away and out of the king’s reach.”

  “But where would we even go?” Sibylla asked.

  “Faither Gregor of Portmahomack will ken a safe place. Go ye to him. There is naught ye can do for me. Promise me ye will go.”

  “I must await Alexander’s return,” she replied.

  Once more, Davina wondered at the relationship between Sibylla and Alexander.

  “Let us pray before we depart,” Davina announced, bowing her head and signaling the end of the exchange. They surely risked discovery if they lingered any longer.

  The two young women left the jail with their hoods raised and their eyes downcast until they were well away from the guardhouse. They walked together to Queen Margaret’s reflecting pool in the abbey courtyard where they would part ways.

  “I must return now,” Sibylla said. “Thank ye, Sister. I dinna ken how I can e’er repay ye.”

  Davina hesitated. There was much on her heart and she didn’t know when she might have another opportunity to speak privately with Domnall’s sister. She had learned much in these past days. She knew that Domnall lived and that his family’s lives were in grave peril. She’d witnessed their love and sacrifices for one another. Their family represented everything she had always wanted. She desperately wanted to confide in Sibylla, but how much could she trust this young woman? Dare she reveal her own history with Domnall? Her instincts told her she could.

  Davina took a long breath. “There is something ye dinna ken. I said I would help ye because I ken yer brother… but there is much more to it.”

  “I suspected as much,” Sibylla said, her lips curving in a sly smile. “Did ye care for my brother?”

  “I did once, verra much,” Davina confessed. “Has he… is he… does he have a wife?” she blurted awkwardly.

  “Nae.” Sibylla shook her head. “I once thought maybe he and my cousin, Ailis… but he didna return her regard. Mayhap now I ken why.” She eyed Davina with a knowing look. “Ye are far too young and pretty to have taken the vows.”

  “’Tis a verra long and sad story,” Davina said. “And yer brother played a great part in it. If ye could meet me again on the morrow, I will tell ye the whole of it.”

  “Aye,” Sibylla said. “I do wish to hear it. I have lessons with a tutor in the morning, and in the afternoon I walk in the garden for an hour with the king. He demands that I learn to speak Norman,” she explained. “Afterwards, I could meet ye again in the Queen’s Chapel.” Clasping Davina’s hands in hers, Sibylla said. “It is verra good to finally have found a friend.”

  Sibylla’s words echoed Davina’s own thoughts. Sibylla’s arrival was a godsend. Davina hadn’t even realized until now just how lonely she’d been.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  BY THE TIME the galley dropped anchor back at Tarbert Castle, Domnall realized that the true purpose of the sea voyage had been not so much to give Domnall a tour of Somerled’s realm, but to provide the warlord a chance to size him up. Domnall hoped that he had passed muster. In all the kingdom, he couldn’t wish for a better ally than Somerled Mac Gille Bride. Somerled’s tactical genius had been the key to his rise from obscurity to become Lord of Argyll, Buchan, and Bute, and to effectively control nearly a third of Scotland. While Somerled had said nothing thus far about a strategic alliance, Domnall was confident that a friendship had taken root.

  They had barely turned into the harbor when another boat hailed them.

  “Heave to!” Somerled commanded his men to bring the vessel to a halt.

  A moment later, the smaller birlinn came alongside and Somerled’s eldest son, Gillecolum boarded.

  “What is this?” Somerled asked.

  “I was told by Ragnhilde to watch fer ye,” his son replied. “We have more guests arrived from the Highlands.” He then looked to Domnall. “One is a kinswoman of yers. They bring urgent news.”

  “A kinswoman?” Domnall asked, his pulse and his mind both racing. “Who is it?”

  “She said she is yer cousin, Ailis,” Gillecolum answered. “She was accompanied by Hamish of Kildun.”

  “God’s blood!” What could have moved Ailis and the old man of Kildun to traverse the Highlands looking for him? He looked to Somerled. “This canna be good!”

  Somerled nodded. “Man the oars!” He promptly commanded his men to take them into the harbor.

  *

  “AILIS?” DOMNALL HALTED at the sight of his cousin sitting with Somerled’s wife and sister. Ailis looked strangely hollow-eyed and frai
l beside the other women. Was she ill?

  His pulse jumped. He crossed the room in three strides. “How did ye get here? And why have ye come?”

  Ailis leaped to her feet the moment he entered the solar. Her face wore lines of worry and her voice was breathless. “I came with Hamish of Kildum. He awaited ye these two days, but had to return home. I told him I would stay and return with ye to Kilmuir.”

  “But why have ye come?” he asked.

  “’Tis a matter most urgent! But where even to begin?”

  “At the bluidy beginning!” he snapped impatiently.

  “Our men ne’er returned from Inverness. Fergus and the lads are being held there. MacAedh went to appeal to the king and is now imprisoned at Dunfermline. The king intends to execute him for treason unless ye go to him and swear allegiance to Prince Malcolm,” Ailis declared, her voice choked with emotion.

  “God’s bones!” Domnall shook his head with amother curse.

  “So David seeks to extort yer fealty?” Somerled remarked.

  “It seems so,” Domnall said with a bitter laugh. “My uncle’s plan was to offer a compromise. He asked me to revoke my own claim to the throne in exchange for the regency.”

  “And ye agreed?” Somerled asked.

  “Against my instincts,” Domnall said. “But it seemed a bloodless solution to the problem. And this is how the king receives my offer?”

  “’Tis a heavy-handed tactic to be sure… even for David,” Somerled remarked.

  “Ye must do as he asks!” Ailis begged. “Uncle’s life depends upon it.”

  Domnall turned to Somerled. “I am at a loss what to do. If I swear allegiance, I must also renounce my heritage and any hope of reclaiming what belonged to my máthair’s family. But if I dinna, MacAedh’s blood will be on my hands.”

  “He could free himself at any time,” Somerled said. “It is his choice to refuse the vow.”

  Domnall took a moment to digest that. “Mayhap, but I canna trust the king. What would ye do in my stead?” Domnall asked.

  “I once was in yer stead,” Somerled remarked. “Come, let us talk.”

  *

  SOMERLED CONDUCTED DOMNALL up to his castle ramparts, where they sat and stared out upon the seemingly endlessly churning sea. After a time, Somerled pulled a wineskin from his belt and took a long draught. He then handed it to Domnall.