Perchance not.
James shifted his own hand and with one long finger traced the thin veins under her skin in the most gentle caress. Too gentle for the Black Douglas.
Then his finger was gone, moving as quickly as the man moved to rise. He strode to the door before speaking again.
“The king will expect you for the eventide meal. I must sit by his side, but I will see to ye before and after the meal. Is there anything ye need before then?”
Tosia shook her head. “Nay. But gratitude for your consideration.”
James studied her for a long moment, then nodded and stepped beyond the door.
Only then did Tosia breathe fully.
James marched downthe hall, a small spark of hope in his chest that he’d managed to quell at least some of the lass’s anxieties. As it was, his time was at a premium, and now the Bruce had shackled him with an unwanted wife, whom he would assuredly neglect in his attendance to the king.
What at the Bruce been thinking?
But the Bruce’s whims were not the fault of the young lady, and as forlorn as she appeared to be, she didn’t deserve a stern husband on top of her present discomfort. She had seemed receptive to James’s private oath, even reaching out to him. He’d taken the chance to caress her hand, expecting her to cower away from, but she hadn’t.
That, James believed, was a strong start.
James was not a sentimental man by any means, yet something in his chest had contracted when he’d first set eyes on her. Everything about the lass wasuisge-beathaat sunset — brown and golden and amber, with wide eyes and a dazed expression that sent a surge of protectiveness through him, an emotion he’d only experienced in defending his men against the English.
Never had that sensation extended to a woman. And he’d been between the thighs of many.
Something about this lass — her skittishness, or the fact she was his — he wanted to keep her safe. And mayhap, just mayhap, make her happy.
James had seen the way her brother hovered around her, protective in his own youthful way, and how her eyes had watched him as he walked away when they had arrived. Obviously they had a close relationship. With how isolated her croft had been, he wasn’t surprised. But that meant keeping her brother safe if he were to keep Tosia content.
Being a soldier in the Bruce army was not conducive to safety, that James had seen all too readily with his own eyes. Christ’s blood, ‘twas why he had become so hard and jaded in his life!
He reached the top of the stair, empty and surprisingly quiet. Leaning against the stone wall, he pressed his fingers into his eyes until he saw stars.
Och, but did this lass and her brother complicate his life. Shabib would chuckle softly, saying it was Allah’s way to temper James’s fiery brain.
What had the king been thinking?
A clamor echoed up the stairwell, familiar enough to James. Robert had arrived in the hall for his midday meal, and he would want to meet with his men after. Taking Auchinleck had been a monumental accomplishment for the Scots army, a blow to the English and one desperately needed.
James’s mind switched like a fork in the road, and his concerns for the woman in the small guest chambers were pushed to the back of his mind as he assessed what the Bruce would need to do next in his movements against the English.
James searched his mind for strategy as he shoved off the wall and descended the stairs, ready to do the King’s bidding.
The midday meal with the king, a simple fare of leek soup and rough oat bread, passed quickly, as the Bruce commanded his men to returned to his solar, which he used as a disorganized war room. Before he left the main hall, James spoke to a kitchen maid who carried a large bronze pitcher and requested a simple meal to be brought to Tosia. The last thing he needed was for her to wither away. While she might not eat, James would ensure she’d have nourishment at her disposal.
The men packed the room, which stank of musk and mud. The bright red Sinclair reclined at the foot of Bruce’s table, while several other men — the Adonis-like MacCollough and his man, Torin, included — clustered at the sides. The powerful figure of Robert the Bruce stood at the head of the table with his brother Edward, recently arrived from Ireland on his left, and a chair on the other side of him, waiting for James. Closing the door behind him, James approached the chair. The Bruce pointed to the tattered map on the table as James approached.
“Douglas, the groom-to-be! We are fortunate ye decided to join us!”
The Bruce’s rich baritone vibrated throughout the chamber, and the men at the table roared in laughter. James waved a hand at the men, dismissing their mockery.
“I’d though ye’d have abandoned us to spend time getting to know your betrothed. Ye look the part of the handsome bridegroom, for certain.” Robert raised one dark brown eyebrow.
“Your match-making knows no bounds,” James retorted. “Dinna laugh, men. Ye might find yourself betrothed under the king’s command. Look what happened to Sinclair’s brother!”
The men laughed again, and even James’s lips twitched into a suggestion of a smile. Robert pounded his back.
“At least my captain has no’ lost his sense of humor,” the king said in a sardonic tone. “But let us focus now on our next movements. Come, James. What do ye see?”
