Chapter Fifteen: Reclaiming Scotland
Tosia might have hada measure of pity for her brother, if several of the kitchen and house maids hadn’t made it their intent to ply Tavish with adoring attention. If it wasn’t Chrissy with buttery treats from the ovens, then ‘twas Grace sewing up Tavish’s tunic and braies to fit Tavish’s burgeoning form to perfection.
She leaned against the side of the stairway, watching as the lassies scrambled for a hint of consideration from Tavish. Tosia was pleased that her brother was coming into his own, finding his place with James and the king’s men. Yet at the same time, the sight made her stomach tighten in a hard knot. He didn’t need her anymore, and she’d miss the adoring brother he’d been.
A form came up behind her, pressing his hard body against her back. She leaned into the comfort of James’s chest as he bent to whisper into her ear.
“The king will wait no longer to settle his vengeance against the MacDoualls. I will explain to your brother why he’s not attending me. He shall be disheartened but understanding. Please know that while our charge on the MacDoualls is in retribution for the king’s brothers, my sword will also lay waste in retribution for the injury to your brother.”
She shouldn’t have found comfort in his violent words, but she did. Knowing that James would slay the men who’d harmed her brother sent a wave of warmth through her, tinged with a new, icy concern. Tosia spun into his arm, her face upturned.
“And ye. I have confidence that ye will do as ye say, but I dinna desire to seeyeharmed. I would have ye return to my arms.”
That reluctant tug of a smile sparked on his face. Without answering, he lowered his head and nipped his teeth on her lip before claiming her in a lusty kiss.
Then he released her, gave a courteous bow, and entered the small servant chambers off the kitchens where Tavish reclined on a low pile of furs and tartans. The doting maids rushed from the room as if the hounds of hell themselves had entered.
“Milord,” Tavish’s lighthearted face grew serious at James’s approach. He lifted up on his arms as if to rise from the bed. James waved him back.
“Stay. Ye are no’ well enough to rise yet. And as such, ye will take this news with grace. The king has decided we can wait no longer to quash the MacDoualls. We ride tonight to learn what we can and prepare our attack.”
“But I must go wi’ ye! I’m your squire!” he squeaked out, and Tosia giggled behind her hand from the kitchen where she eavesdropped.
“Nay. A knight does no’ permit one who is injured to come to more harm, which is what would happen if ye came with. Ye can barely stand. Know that we will have our retribution, both for the king’s brothers and for ye, and when we next ride against the English and their allies, ye will be more than prepared to ride with us.”
Tavish’s mouth pulled into an irritated frown, but he nodded at James, acknowledging the command of his lord.
James turned and left the cramped quarters. When he passed Tosia in the kitchen, she gave him a grateful smile. He didn’t stop but reached out and caressed her hand with his finger as he strode past.
A violent demon on the outside, but an adoring husband where none might see.
None but her.
Shabib emerged fromthe darkness like a spirit, a dark ghost in an even darker night. His deep blue robes were black in the shadows, and James started when he approached. The back of his head smacked against the tree trunk, and he sucked in his breath and rubbed the sore spot.
“It saves me from smacking you to pay attention, James,” Shabib intoned as the other men surrounded him.
“Och, ye fiend. What did ye learn? Anything of use?”
Shabib bowed, whether it was in assent or mockery, James couldn’t guess. The Moor was nothing if not mysterious. And he had an astute ear of overhearing conversation, which was why James tasked him with observing the MacDoualls from the shadows.
“The MacDoualls are within. They depart on the morn to meet with Richard MacCann from clan MacCann, and from their tone, it involves the English. And there is more, something you might find very interesting.”
James straightened and stared down Shabib, waiting for the man to speak. Why did he always speak in such riddles?
“Shabib?” James asked with an edge to the word. James thought he saw a glint on Shabib’s teeth when the man smiled.
“Your king had wondered if the Hammer of the Scots English liege was in stout enough health to try to invade Scotland once again?” James nodded, his teeth on edge. What had Shabib learned of Longshanks? “The king is dead. His health finally expired, and now his son has very recently been crowned King Edward the Second.”
James stilled, his breathing shallow as his mind tried to process Shabib’s news. The Hammer was dead? The old king had finally died? He didn’t yet know what type of king the son would be, but James, as well as most of Robert’s inner circle, knew the son to be a weakish fop.
“Let us find Robert. He will want to strike at the MacDouall’s on the morrow, after they are well away from the keep.”
“And news of the old king?”
