“I have to go, my dear sister. I will check in on ye as much as I can, but please,please, find peace here. I canna do my duties knowing the strife ye feel.”
Tosia lifted her face to her brother and cupped his still-smooth cheek with her cool palm.So young, yet so wise for his age.What had she done to deserve this love from her brother?
“Go. Thank ye for your sage counsel, brother. I shall be fine.”
Tavish stood tall, tugging on his tunic. She was proud at his attempt at courage, even if he only put on that courageous air to appease her.
“I’ll see ye soon, I hope. Dinna despair, Tosia, and know that your brother loves ye, always.”
He bowed slightly and turned, leaving her alone in the chambers with the maid.
Chapter Eight: The Black Douglas
Once Tavish exitedthe chambers, Brigid prattled away, including mentioning that Douglas would soon move to his own keep at Threave, recently gifted from the king himself. She didn’t seem frightened of the villain, rather she spoke in tones of awe, which perplexed Tosia. How did anyone not live in fear of the man’s shadow?
The news of moving to Threave sent another shot of cold panic through her. Would Tavish come too? What if he was not attached to Douglas but with the king? How would she survive without her brother with her?
Brigid offered to draw Tosia a bath, but even the call of warm, calming waters wasn’t enough to draw her from her despairing thoughts. She sent Brigid off with a limp wave of her hand and sat on the edge of the bedding, which emitted a crinkling sound of packed hay. At least that sound was familiar.
The chambers were cramped — unimportant guest bedding at best. Still, it was a sight better than anything she’d had at home. Here she had a door that closed, mayhap even bolted, and she might sleep in peace under the soft wool coverlet knowing that the monster who was her husband-to-be couldn’t enter.
Until they were wed. That was a whole other problem, and Tosia’s head swam enough as it was even before considering what it would be like to marry the blackguard.
A tiny hearth was built into the wall next to the window slit, and Tosia was grateful springtime was well entrenched. That hearth wouldn’t warm a croft, let alone this stone chamber. The kindling was gray and cold as it was.
The window slit emitted a narrow patch of sunlight, the lone shard of brightness in this otherwise dim chamber, this dim life, Tosia found herself in.
Her wallowing in self-pity increased as she stared at that patch of light, and before she managed to lift a hand and wipe them away, hot tears squeezed from her eyes and streamed down her face. Then she lost all control, collapsing into the wool and sobbing with abandon. Her brother’s words waned in her misery. Everything — the death of her mother, being ripped from her home, the loss of her brother’s immediate companionship, and her betrothal to the Black Douglas — it was too much. Her heart shattered in her chest. How could she survive? Her sobbing wracked her body.
She must have fallen asleep in her tears, for the sweeping of her chamber door against the stones as it opened drew her from her fitful slumber.
“I still dinna need anything,” Tosia called to the maid, keeping her face squashed in the damp plaid blanket.
“I’m no’ the maid,” a deep voice rumbled, and if she’d had the energy to cower, she would have. As it was, the crying had taken much out of her, and Tosia slowly lifted herself on her elbow.
Black Douglas dwarfed the room — how did one man take up so much space? He must have bathed, or leastwise cleaned up, for his beard was trimmed to little more than a shadow on his jaw, and his hair had been tamed, clipped at the sides with tiny queues braided at the back. He had changed his tunic, this one clean and the color of white summer heather on the glen. His black and gray plaid was clasped at his neck with a brooch etched with a fiery salamander. He looked the part of the esteemed second in command to the king.
