“What are your intentions with the lass?” James’s voice was like the man. Deep and threatening.
He knew. Robert set his own jaw, struggling to find a way that James might accept his ploy. The alternative, striking the man’s ire, was not what Robert wanted to encounter this day.
“The mother has asked that the daughter of Simon Fraser be wed to a man of higher stature, to a man who can provide for her, care for her, protect her in these uncertain times —”
James’s chest rumbled in what appeared to be a low laugh, and he sat back in his chair with his thumb to his lips. One side of his mouth curled up, and that curled lip was almost more terrifying than his previously stern face. Robert swallowed hard. Now he would have to do some convincing.
“Surely ye jest. I am a man of war, no’ a husband. I have no home to speak of, my strongholds gone, and if ye recall, I am a monster. The stuff of nightmares. The Black Douglas. No lass, no matter how desperate, should be saddled with me.”
Robert leaned forward, bracing for James’s ire. So far, Black Douglas had handled this request well. He’d rejected it . . . But at least he’d listened and hadn’t tried to throw the king across the room. He flicked his eyes to the ever-stoic Shabib whose own face belied the fact he, too, was interested in such an arrangement for James, and felt confident enough to press on.
“I disagree, Douglas. Your name, your reputation, what better protection for the forlorn lass of Simon Fraser?”
James tipped his head to the side.
“And where, my good king, might she live? I have no home. Should she play the whore, following the army from camp to camp? Will ye keep her here, in what passes for court at Auchinleck?”
At this, Robert’s mouth worked into his own smile. Here is where his plan would work. He’d anticipated James’s arguments and was more than ready to respond to them.
“We left a small garrison at Threave. Most of my men have relocated here and will travel with me as we storm across Scotland and oust the English. As I am doing that, I need someone to keep the English out of the lowlands and rout them from our southern strongholds. I will gift ye Threave and control of the southern Scotland in exchange for the hand of Fraser’s illegitimate daughter.”
“Threave? We just left that pile of rocks! What manner of gift is that?”
James wasn’t wrong in his estimation of that keep. However, the location was sound and granting it to Douglas meant he could build on it, or his progeny, in the future.
“Aye, ‘tis little more than rocks and the moment, but we lived there quite well until we took over Dumfries. And ye can build your own stronghold there, however ye want, so your children and your children’s children will have the legacy that was robbed from ye by Longshanks.”
James half-rose fromthis seat, his irritation blazing off him like a raging fire burned under his skin.
“Ye must be mad to ask me such a thing. I am no’ the type of man to take a wife. I dinnawanta wife. I am a soldier with the singular goal of destroying all the English I can until they slay me in the process. What woman wants that in a husband? Nay. My answer is nay.”
Robert raised his glowering eyes to James and set his shoulders back to appear as commanding as he needed to be. Robert’s arguments had been sound, one even a fool of a man would consider. But James wasn’t in the right frame of mind to appreciate the sound offer.
“I’m no’ asking, James. I am commanding ye. This is an order from your commander, your king. And ye will do as your king demands.”
James clenched his hands into tight fists. The unabiding desire to hit something, the wall, Shabib, the king, roiled through James with a fury. What in the name of Christ’s blood was the king thinking?
“Why, Robert? I’ve overcome much to join ye, and I’ve done the work of the devil on the way. I’m a man with no land, no stronghold, no coin. I’ve my horse, my sword, and the friendship of the King, which I am doubting right now, and that does no’ a husband make.”
James’s throat ached as he tried to choke back the words. They wanted to pour out in a furious scream, one that would bring the walls crumbling down, but this was still the King of Scotland before him, a man to whom he’d sworn fealty a few months before. A measure of control was prudent.
“James, please sit and listen to your king,” Robert told him in a level voice. James sat stiffly and on edge, ready to leap up again. “I have several reasons for demanding this. I will numerate them for ye, and I hope one of them reaches your mind. First, I owe Simon much, and I can return his loyalty by ensuring his children are established. Second, ye won’t be landless much longer. Ye shall have chambers here in Auchinleck whilst we are here. And ye still have the Douglas land — ‘tis still yours though ye need a keep. To that end, as I promised, I am offering ye Threave as your new stronghold. Land, stronghold, coin.” He counted them on his stout fingers.
James tried not to grimace at the prospect of a sinking pile of rocks in the middle of a loch as a reward. Robert continued speaking, trying to convince him that his idea had merit.
“As for ye as a husband, I can attest to what a mighty soldier and loyal sword ye are. As a strategist, ye are unmatched. Ye have many noble traits that make for a great man, and if ye apply those to a marriage, they can make ye a great husband as well. I know ye worry for your soul — ye are no’ called Black Douglas without reason.”
James tipped his head and tried to wipe the sly grin off his face. That reputation was dark and deplorable, but it had grown on James over the past month. He had come to embrace it. Robert’s voice dropped low as his emotions took over.
“A woman, a good woman, a wife, can help us achieve a measure of forgiveness, of solace, that we might not otherwise find ourselves. Perchance ye might find peace in a domestic partnership.”
Behind him, Shabib shifted. James knew Shabib had the same worries for James’s soul, and he would readily agree with Robert on that point. James would never hear the end ofthatone. He fidgeted in the uncomfortable chair.
“Most importantly, James, when so much darkness haunts a man, I worry for ye. I’m no priest — your soul is no’ my greatest concern. Your mind, however, that I need. Ye can think of schemes and strategies and tactics in a way I’ve never seen before. Ye have a familiarity with historical military strategy and can modify it to work for us. Ye think yourself a warrior, James, but ye are more an academic, a brilliant man. The problem is if the darkness grows too great, it can overwhelm the mind and drive ye mad. Yet, if we — ye, me, your adviser Shabib even — can help you deal with the darkness, ye might save your mind.”
James hated every word that the King spoke, but he couldn’t disagree with a single word of it — especially the final assessment of his mind.
During the burning of Douglas Castle, his actions with the now-renowned Douglas Larder, his mind burned like ‘twas lit with vitriol — an unending burning he couldn’t extinguish. Nothing had been able to cool that fervent pain in his head. Shabib had commented that the pain was his morality fighting with the violent actions that needed to be done, and James had begun to worry that if he didn’t balance those two opposing forces, he would indeed go mad.
