Ever practical, the brigand had no rebuke for that chilling, heartless logic. The gray, murky air swirled about them, the wind screeching and moaning. He thought to make one final plea—nay a veiled threat—for more coin, when a bolt of lightning flashed, striking a tall tree. It burst into flames, burning in an angry glow despite the misty rain.
Startled, he turned to watch the eerie sight, feeling the heat of the flames on his flesh. A mist, cool and dense, rose from the ground, mingling with the smoke from the fire. It looked like the bowels of hell, a place of evil and fear. Unsettled, the brigand turned back around, only to discover the cloaked figure was gone, vanishing into the fog, like an unworldly apparition.
Crossing himself, the brigand recited a quiet prayer, then limped slowly back to his horse.
Chapter Four
Five years later
From the privacy of her tower bedchamber, Davina gazed out the small window at the stark, barren landscape below. Another winter was fast approaching and the earth was preparing to lie dormant. The days would be short, the nights long, leaving far too much time for thinking.
How could it be that time hung so heavy, yet the seasons moved with lightning speed? The darkening horizon blurred and she realized that tears were stinging her eyes. She wiped them away. She was grieving again, lamenting the sorrow of the past, the loss of what she had once held so fleetingly within her grasp that was now gone forever.
James.
He was no longer in Scotland, but instead on Crusade, fighting in the Holy Land. Yet it would not have mattered if he resided but a few miles away, for it was far more than physical distance that separated them.
His face haunted her dreams, the memory of their love whittled away at her soul. Once she had believed they would marry and fill their home with children. But a cruel, unforeseen act of violence had denied her that happiness.
Disgusted with her weakness, Davina angrily turned away. Her days were so often a struggle against her natural inclination to run and hide from the world and she fought that as best she could. Victories were rare, however. Oh, she managed with the members of her family, with the household servants she knew, even with one or two of the older Armstrong warriors that took their meals at the table nearest hers in the great hall.
But she struggled mightily with unknown men, became shy and tongue-tied around women when first making their acquaintance. Hoping to spare her this distress, her family had encouraged her to withdraw, to protect herself from this pain by keeping away from the cause of it.
Directly after the attack, this simple solution had been a balm to her bruised mind, but as the days turned into weeks, then months and finally years, the loneliness of living such a sheltered existence began to eat away at Davina, enveloping her like a shroud. And the cowardliness of this isolated life began to shame her.
I must not allow the fear to paralyze me—I must not, she told herself. But she also needed to learn how to stop the brooding. It did her no good, thrusting her further into the darkness of her mind.
The weak evening light spilling into her chamber dispelled some of Davina’s gloom and strengthened her resolve to find a way to move beyond the circumstances that surrounded her. It had taken her far too long to come to the realization that she could not change the horror that had ravaged her past, but neither did she have to remain a prisoner to it.
The healing had in fact begun three years ago when she received a letter from Lady Aileen McKenna, James’s mother. Davina’s skill at reading and writing were rudimentary, but she was able to decipher the brief message, which inquired about her health and ended with prayers and good wishes. Oddly, it had brought such a calming sense of comfort that Davina felt compelled to reply.
The next message from Lady Aileen spoke of her worry for her son, James, who had gone with Sir James Douglas on Crusade. It ended with an invitation to visit McKenna Castle. The idea of traveling such a distance to stay with strangers was terrifying, so of course Davina promptly declined.
Thankfully, Lady Aileen took no offense and continued to correspond. Davina continued to answer. The invitations to visit also persisted, though they were not in every letter. And then somehow, Davina still was uncertain exactly why, when she answered a missive a few weeks ago, she felt emboldened to accept Lady Aileen’s invitation to come to McKenna Castle and celebrate the Christmas holiday.
Well, bold or desperate, Davina was honestly unsure which emotion was strongest.
It was only several days after she had said yes that the reality of her actions took hold in her mind. And as she grappled with the events she had set in motion, she continued to do as she always did—keep her own counsel.
But now several weeks had passed and it was beyond time she told her aunt and uncle of this impending journey. Pressing her hand against the knot forming in her stomach, Davina walked with long, purposeful strides to the great hall in search of them. She located the pair easily, gathered with several of the local tradesmen in front of the blazing fireplace.
Hanging back in the shadows, Davina waited until the men had concluded their business and departed before approaching. Closing her eyes for a brief moment, she took a deep breath, blurted out her news, and then braced herself for their shocked reaction.
“Ye plan on going where?” her uncle asked incredulously.
“To McKenna Castle, to celebrate Christmas,” Davina repeated. “Lady Aileen has invited me.”
At her announcement, everything went silent. Not a sound could be heard, except for the crackling and hissing of the fire burning in the large fireplace at the center of the great hall.
“Why, I’ve never heard of anything more preposterous,” Aunt Isobel sputtered. “Ye haven’t ventured beyond the walls of this castle fer five years. How can ye possibly make such a long journey? And if somehow ye were able to get there, how will ye possibly manage in an unknown place, among strangers? Among strange men. Ye need to have the safety of these strong walls around ye and the solace of yer family about ye, to chase away yer gloomy thoughts and fears.”
“That’s why Lady Aileen suggested I visit for the holiday, when there will be the added merriment of celebration.”
“Ye told that good lady about yer affliction?” her aunt asked. “Have ye no pride left?”
Davina felt her cheeks begin to heat with shame. “I wrote nothing specific. I merely mentioned that at times I suffer from melancholy. She confessed to the same and suggested that perhaps we could offer each other comfort.”
In truth, Davina had merely hinted at her suffering, but Lady Aileen had been quick to address it, offering sympathy and support.
“What of her son?” Aunt Isobel asked, whispering in Davina’s ear. “Will James McKenna be at the castle, celebrating with his family?”
The genuine worry lurking in her aunt’s eyes brought on a rush of emotions, bringing to life Davina’s memory of herself sobbing in her aunt’s arms the fateful morning when James was preparing to leave Armstrong Castle.
“I heard tell that Sir James wishes to marry ye, Davina,” her aunt had said. “Uncle Fergus will speak with him, if ye agree to the match?”
“I cannae,” had been Davina’s muffled reply.
Aunt Isobel had clucked her tongue in sympathy, but refused to remain silent. “Circumstances force me to be blunt, Davina. Sir James might be yer only chance at having a husband, and one day, God willing, children of yer own. There willnae be many men offering fer yer hand after what happened.”
“’Tis best. I fear I cannae be a proper wife.”
“Those feelings shall pass,” Aunt Isobel had insisted.
Davina’s head had shaken violently. “Nay! The very idea of being intimate with a man repulses me. Even with a man that I love.”
“Hush, ye’ll make yerself ill with all this weeping.” Aunt Isobel had gently stroked her hair, bringing on a fresh bout of tears, for the kindness was both unexpected and desperately needed. “We shall not force ye to do anything that brings such fea
r and sorrow to yer wounded soul.”
Nay, they had not forced her. In fact, they had done their best to protect her and keep her safe. Perhaps that was why she now felt an odd sense of guilt, as if her desire to break free of her fears was somehow a betrayal of their years of care.
“Just this morning we received a message that Joan intends to come home with her husband and baby fer the holiday,” Uncle Fergus said. “She’ll be sorely disappointed when she arrives and discovers that ye aren’t here.”
Davina shrugged, meeting her uncle’s eyes with bland innocence. Four years of marriage to the Fraser laird had not mellowed Joan’s self-serving, spoiled ways. It was always decidedly unpleasant for Davina when Joan and her family came to visit. Little did her uncle realize that avoiding her overbearing cousin was an enticement to leave, not stay.
“I can spare only a few men fer an escort,” Uncle Fergus muttered.
“By the Saints!” Aunt Isobel screeched. “The journey to McKenna Castle will take days. Davina willnae step foot outside our walls unless she has a full complement of our best warriors at her side. I’ll not have her traveling on unsafe roads with only a few men to protect her. Especially at this time of year. Food is scarce when the weather is cold. Who knows what sort of thieves and brigands lurk on the roads, eager to prey on unsuspecting travelers?”
“Exactly!” Uncle Fergus scowled. “Another reason why ’tis a daft idea. I forbid ye to go, Davina. Ye shall stay here with yer family, where ye will be safe and protected.”
Uncle Fergus and Aunt Isobel turned expectantly toward her. Davina swallowed hard, knowing they were waiting for her to agree. “Lady Aileen is sending an escort.”
“What?” Aunt Isobel’s jaw lowered.
“How many men?” Uncle Fergus asked.
“Never mind the men,” Aunt Isobel interjected. “Is she also sending a maid? We have none to spare and ye cannae be left alone in the company of a group of McKenna soldiers fer so many days and nights.”
Unable to answer, Davina lifted her hands in a helpless gesture and shrugged. Her aunt clucked her tongue in disapproval. Her uncle snorted in derision and the two began listing myriad hazards that she could encounter, one more distressing than the next.
The more they talked, the faster Davina’s panic started to rise. Biting her lip, she looked from one dismayed face to another. Are they right? Am I mad to consider such a journey?
The idea of going to McKenna Castle had been so bold, so freeing, but now it was feeling like a bad, impulsive decision.
Agitated, Davina started pacing in front of the fireplace. The fears inside her began to emerge, starting first as a small trembling, then progressing to a shortness of breath.
Engulfed in the shame of her failure to conquer these fears, Davina opened her mouth, ready to acquiesce to their demands that she abandon the notion of visiting Lady Aileen. But before she could speak, a lad ran into the great hall, his voice heavy with excitement.
“Riders approach! Angus sent me to tell ye he spied them from the battlements.”
“Can ye see their colors?” Uncle Fergus asked anxiously.
“Aye. ’Tis the McKenna banner they carry.”
“What the devil?” Uncle Fergus scratched the stubble on his chin. “How could they have gotten here so quickly?”
All eyes turned toward Davina. She felt her heart slam against her ribs, but somehow managed a weak smile. Apparently, there would be no time to reconsider the rashness of her actions in accepting Lady Aileen’s invitation.
Her McKenna escort had just arrived.
As his horse thundered through the open gates of Armstrong Castle, all Sir Malcolm McKenna could think of was his sore arse. He had pushed himself, and his men, hard on this journey, riding long hours both day and into the night and his muscles were finally rebelling against the abuse.
The cold, damp weather hadn’t helped much either. It seeped into the bones and pulled at the muscles, bathing them in stiffness. Yet his personal discomfort had no effect on his decision to make this journey in as short a time as possible.
This ridiculous journey, he amended in his head.
Determined to ignore the soreness, Malcolm gave no hint of his pain as he dismounted from his panting, sweating horse. Tossing the reins to a waiting servant, he stood in the nearly deserted bailey, hands on his hips, stretching out the cramps in his legs.
With a wry grin he noticed that several of his warriors were also moving a bit slower than usual, yet none dared to complain. Tonight they would sleep indoors, near a warm hearth, after filling their bellies with good food and drink.
Malcolm’s eyes turned expectantly toward the heavy, oak door of the great hall, waiting for the laird and his lady to appear and bid him welcome. Yet the door remained tightly shut. Puzzled, Malcolm looked to the lad who held his horse, but the youngster refused to meet his gaze and instead stared at the ground.
Ballocks!
Malcolm had succumbed to his mother’s pleas to ride out to this godforsaken keep and escort Lady Davina Armstrong to McKenna Castle because he could no longer bear to see the painful flashes of loss that lingered in her eyes. His father had agreed it was an ill-advised journey, but Lady Aileen was convinced that Davina Armstrong could shed light on his brother James’s behavior.
Malcolm and his father were not as certain. James had left Scotland to fight for a noble cause. It was that simple. Yet his mother refused to believe her son would leave without first telling his family and then bidding them a proper farewell. And she was certain that Davina Armstrong was the key to unlocking that mystery.
They had learned of James’s whereabouts from a traveling priest, the hastily scrawled letter he was entrusted to deliver arriving months after James had departed from Scotland’s shore. Since then, there had been little news. There had been no word of Christian victories against the infidel.
In truth, most of the Highlanders who had gone on Crusade had returned. Yet James had remained.
Or so the family believed.
The sky rumbled with thunder and Malcolm felt the first fat, cold raindrop land upon his head. ’Twas the final insult. He was not about to become drenched in a downpour while standing like a beggar in the Armstrong bailey. Nor would he allow his men to be treated so rudely.
Nostrils flaring, he strode uninvited to the closed door of the great hall and flung it open. If the Armstrongs refused to show good manners, then why should he?
His sudden appearance startled the few occupants of the great hall. A maid shrieked and scurried behind a trestle table, another dropped the basket of bread she held. He saw two men reach for their swords, but they stopped before drawing them when the order to stand down was shouted by a tall, brawny fellow who Malcolm assumed was the captain of the guard.
Malcolm’s lips twitched into a grimace as he slowly moved his hand away from the hilt of his own sword. This was hardly the welcome of an expected guest.
What the devil is going on?
Malcolm glanced over his shoulder to verify that his men stood behind him. Then keeping his expression blank, he cautiously advanced toward the trio standing near the fireplace. He recognized the laird and his wife and assumed the woman at their side was the infamous Lady Davina.
Laird Armstrong was short, stocky, and red-faced, his eyes forming into beady slits as he scrutinized Malcolm. Lady Armstrong was a bit more circumspect than her husband, though he felt the intensity of her wary gaze just as keenly. She, too, was round in shape, with a beak-nosed face and a suspicious demeanor.
No matter. He was not here to impress either of them. He was here at his mother’s request, to escort Lady Davina safely to their home.
“Laird Armstrong. Lady Isobel. I am Sir Malcolm McKenna.” He bowed respectfully before turning his eyes sharply toward the young woman who stood beside them. “Lady Davina?”
“Sir Malcolm.” She dipped a hasty curtsy. “Welcome to Armstrong Castle.”
The words sounded stiff and rehearsed, but
he was distracted from the message by the sweet, lyrical sound of her voice. One might describe it as angelic, but for the husky edge that instantly stirred a man’s senses. Intrigued, Malcolm’s eyes swept over her, taking her measure.
She was not a raving beauty—he had certainly seen prettier women. And females with a more buxom, enticing figure. Yet there was much to admire. Her features were refined, her skin flawless, her liquid brown eyes soulful. Most would call her attractive, yet there was something about her, something undefinable, that had the power to draw his attention, almost against his will.
Laird Armstrong cleared his throat. “Forgive our poor greeting, Sir Malcolm. We were only just made aware of Davina’s plans and were startled by yer arrival.”
Reluctantly, Malcolm tore his gaze away from the mysterious Davina. “I had wondered if there was a problem. But I assure ye that all is in order. My mother eagerly awaits Lady Davina’s arrival.”
“Well, sir, we have several things that must be settled before we allow ye to take our Davina away,” Lady Isobel bristled.
“Aye,” Laird Armstrong seconded.
Malcolm glared at the pair in puzzled annoyance. Take Davina away? He was not some marauder who had come to steal their treasurer. He was here to provide an escort. Nothing more.
“I shall make every accommodation to ensure that Lady Davina travels in comfort and safety,” Malcolm said with a winning smile. “Or else I shall have to answer to my good lady mother. I confess I’d rather face an army of English curs than defend myself against her wrath.”
Malcolm’s attempt to lighten the mood failed utterly. Lady Isobel made a disapproving sound in the back of her throat, while a shadow crossed over her husband’s face. Malcolm glanced at Lady Davina. Her head was bowed in supplication, as though she dared not look at him.
His confusion, along with his irritation, increased. For some reason the Armstrongs were not at all pleased with this arrangement, and for the life of him, Malcolm could not fathom why.
The Highlander Who Loved Me Page 5