by Victoria Zak
The overbearing woman grabbed the sheets from the bottom of Abigale’s bed and ripped them off her body. “Ye cannae stay in bed all day. Now, up with ye before I get the bucket of cold water.”
Abigale struggled to open her eyes as she stretched her stiff, sleep stricken body. Slowly a bedchamber she didn’t recognize came into view. In a frenzy, she straightened herself in to a sitting position as she looked around the room for some clue to where she was. Unfamiliar tapestries hung from the gray stone walls. One of the tapestries showed a gruesome battle scene. Wait… Abigale rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Is that a dragon fighting in the tapestry? Shaking that thought she noticed a huge fire burning in the hearth that filled one side of the room and the smell of lavender lingered in the air. A bath, she sighed.
As Abigale scooted to the edge of the bed, visions of days past clouded her memory. Looking down at her hand, she caressed her thumb across the golden band. The wedding was not a dream, but a reality. A dull tingle on her backside reminded her of the long travel and… oh no. Humiliation washed over her. James had tended to her wounds.
Abigale shot out of bed and ran over to the mirror that stood in the corner of the room. Quickly she lifted her night-gown, turned around, and looked over her shoulder at her buttocks. Amazed at what she saw, she rubbed her hand across one butt cheek; soft, pink healing skin covered the blisters and she felt no pain just a dull ache. How could she have healed so fast? How long had she been asleep?
“Oh my lady, forgive me. Ye’re in pain from yer travels, aye?” Quickly Abigale dropped her gown and turned to face the woman.
“Come lass, I have a bath waiting for ye.” The woman gently led Abigale toward the bath and patted her arm, reassuring her. “The warmth will help ease the pain.”
Without a doubt this woman was in charge of the castle and took her job quite seriously, for she had a firm but caring way about her. Thank God because if she had to deal with another Griselda she would go daft. “Where am I?”
“Black Stone on the Hill, my lady.”
Black Stone? Aye, she was traveling to Black Stone, but why could she not remember how she got here? She remembered everything up until James picked her up and carried her back to the campsite. Ironically she’d forgotten the whole trip to Black Stone. Strange, I must have blacked out from exhaustion, she mused.
Abigale walked with the kind woman over to the tub. Steam rose along with the scent of lavender from the inviting water. Heaven awaits.
“And how long have I been asleep?”
“Two days, lass.”
“Two days?” She’d been asleep for two days? How could this be?
The woman began to pull off Abigale’s night-gown. Abigale stepped back and pushed the woman’s hands away.
“A wee bit shy are we?” The woman turned her back to give Abigale some privacy.
Abigale gathered up her night-gown and pulled it off over her head. Dipping a toe into the water, she tested its warmth. The water felt heavenly as she lowered herself into the tub. After a few seconds she relaxed and allowed her body to absorb the heat.
The woman held out a bar of soap and pointed at Abigale’s hair. “May I?”
Abigale wasn’t fond of this type of treatment; she had to make do on her own back at the abbey. Abbess Margaret had made sure of that. The last punishment Abigale received was one of the cruelest and most painful. Indeed it had to be that Abbess Margaret knew Abigale was going to be leaving the nunnery soon, so she had one last punishment to give. The Abbess couldn’t use tether on her flesh, nor leave bruises, it would leave a mark and everyone would know of her mistreating Abigale. This left her long auburn hair as the weapon of choice.
Late one night, she had awoken to the dreadful woman coiling Abigale’s hair around her hand as if she was in a daze. “Ye think yer pretty don’t ye, bastart?" Abigale kept silent until she was yanked out of bed by her hair, dragged down to the church, and forced to pray to be forgiven for all the sins she had been accused of committing.
Honestly Abigale 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 silently to herself. Apparently this woman didn’t know how James felt about her and the whole marriage arrangement. He’d made that perfectly clear. I dinnae want a wife, she mocked to herself. Then just like a change in the wind Abigale’s thoughts turned on her. Back at Castle Douglas they had made everyone believe that they had consummated their marriage. Obviously, this woman knew differently.
“How do ye know we haven’t… ye know… already?"
The woman got up and retrieved a pitcher. “Lass, yer secret is safe with me.”
And she did believe her secret was safe, for the gray-haired woman had showed her more kindness than anyone had recently. She had a kind approachable way about her and Abigale felt as if she could trust her.
Abigale bit her bottom lip with worry and let out a shaky breath. “I’ve nae 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 aboot it.” Reaching over, the woman grabbed a pitcher full of fresh water. “Now, lean back so I can rinse the soap out yer hair.”
Abigale leaned her head back and looked up at the woman. “I’m no used to all this fuss.”
“Yer the lady of the hoose… of course we will fuss over ye. Besides I like ye.” The woman winked at her and gave her a warm smile like a mother would give a child.
Recalling the last eight years, she’d benefitted from being the king’s daughter and 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 would be treated like everyone else.
“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, so if that’s yer wish then—“
“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 the wash area when Abigale called out, “Wait, yer name!”
The woman turned around and faced Abigale. “Me name is Alice.”
Tears started to fill Abigale’s eyes. “Thank ye Alice for being so kind to me.”
Alice gave her the warmest smile, giving Abigale hope. Hope that mayhap she would find happiness here at Black Stone on the Hill.
~~~~~
“I’ve no met a princess before,” Effie confessed as she blew a ringlet of bright red hair from her eye.
“Effie, I think ye have washed that plate clean.” Alice was quite aware how nervous Effie was of meeting Abigale. Word had spread fast that the princess of Scotland was here and now wed to their clan’s chief.
Drying off the spotless plate Effie turned to Alice who was preparing the nightly feast. The whole clan was coming together tonight in celebration of the return of their chief and his new bride.
“Alice, is she pretty? I wonder how many wonderful fairytale stories she has about growing up in royalty.” Indeed, Effie was day dreaming herself about a prince charming and a happily ever after.
“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 and began her kitchen duty.
Abigale fol
lowed the chatter she heard coming from the kitchen, but paused and took a deep breath before she entered. She was not keen on kitchen duties, in fact she hated to cook. It never failed that she burned everything she tried to make. Not wanting to set a bad first impression with her cooking skills, Abigale hoped that Alice wouldn’t ask her to cook.
“Awe lass, come in… come in.” Alice welcomed her with open arms.
A luscious redhead 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 formality. However, Abigale was surprised that she knew her true identity. Indeed she knew she was safe here, besides this was why her father had arranged this union between her and the Black Douglas, to keep her safe. A savage reputation like his, no one would dare try to harm her.
Abigale wondered where James was. Alas it had been two days since the last she saw him. She couldn’t shake this feeling like something was missing, as if she wasn’t whole. Well, she did know darn well who was missing and she longed to see him. "Alice? Where is Laird Douglas?”
“He’s out in the bailey somewhere sparring with his men. They should be back midday,” Alice confirmed.
“Oh.” Abigale, a little disappointed, was hoping to see James sooner.
Most of the morning passed by quickly, as Alice attempted to teach Abigale how to make bread and prepare the night’s feast. Nonetheless, it wasn’t an easy task. Abigale just wasn’t a good cook. Not for the 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, completely inedible.
“Dinnae fash 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. Both women had made her 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. For instance, there was a chapel near the castle where services were held regularly. The smith not only was 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, rascals 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 Alice was highly respected by them and that they gave her no troubles.
After the kitchen disaster and almost 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 tonight’s feast as Clan Douglas welcomed home their chief and his new bride. Assorted wild flowers littered the tops of wooden tables, cobwebs had been dusted off the chandelier, 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 and waited 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 what needs to be mended.” 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 than just a stain. 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 saw 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. Through the doorway bounded two huge, gray Scottish deerhounds. 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 panting. Men jesting and laughing boisterously 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 out.
“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, and his pectorals twitched slightly as if he was relieving sore muscles. God help her, this man was truly beautiful.
Smiling from ear to ear James strode over to Alice. “My dear Alice.” He leaned down and placed a soft 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.” James 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 line 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 campsite, but was never 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 seemed to have an authoritative demeanor.
Rory smoothed his hand through his shoulder-length blonde hair trying to tame the waves. As he 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 rich voice broke her trance as Conall approached her. “Lady Abigale. ‘Tis nice to be formally introduced.” A scattered mess of chocolate curls, wet with sweat, hung just below his ears. He bent down and 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.
The noises in the hall must have obscured her hearing because she could have sworn she heard a growl coming from James.
After Conall finished his greeting with Abigale he set his blue-gray stare on Effie, and with a sly, sexy smile he turned Effie’s freckled cheeks three shades of red. The lass quickly looked down at the leather boot she was re-lacing.
Marcus stood where he was and gave a nod.
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 piercingly protective stare.
“I’ll be
in my bedchamber.” And with no other words James 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.
Chapter 7
There is no room for two dragons in one pond. ~ Chinese Proverb
Softly stroked notes from a golden harp gracefully filled the great hall. A few hundred members of Clan Douglas were scattered around long wooden tables as they ate the night’s feast. Chatter amongst them started up again as they finished the last of the wide variety 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, James and his soldiers had sent King Edward the Second fleeing back to England, leaving behind a routed English army, and now he was home. 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 having a hard time adapting 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.
James sat across from Conall and Magnus at the tables. Rory sat next to him working on his third trencher of food. Rory’s body leaned forward 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.