Chapter Twenty: Payback
James had kissed Tosiawildly before the small entourage of men mounted their horses. Excitement sizzled on his skin, and she could smell that heat from him as he pulled her close. The possibility of a free Scotland, finally, made them feel drunk, and James’s excitement was contagious.
“I vow to ye, Tosia, I will return. We have not yet lived the fullness of our life together. Yet, we are not fully confident of the English king’s intentions. If they are laying a trap, I want to have ye safe. Shabib?” James raised his hand to his friend. Shabib stepped around James’s steed, where he stood with Tavish. “My faithful friend, I’ll assign ye here, to guard the keep, our kin, and my wife, against any possible English incursions. We dinna know if this is nothing more than a plan to remove the warriors from the keep.”
Shabib’s black eyebrows furrowed on his brow. “Milord, I do not ride with you?”
His voice was strained, disbelieving. James shook his head and clasped Shabib’s shoulder.
“Nay. We dinna trust this missive, and we dinna want to risk this stronghold. Only a small company of men will ride with the king, to keep him safe. I must have ye do the same here. Tavish, ye are to remain as well. Again, to keep your sister and the king’s stronghold secure.”
His eyes flicked to Tosia, and a surge of heat rose inside her. Once again, James’s focus was on her and her safety while he put his own life at risk, no matter how sweet his goodbye.
Tavish bobbed his head eagerly, his face shining with pride at his lord’s talks. Shabib, however, pursed his lips, but nodded tightly.
“I will guard the stronghold and those within it with my life.” He made his own vow and bowed low.
James cleared his throat and turned back to Tosia.
“We dinna meet the boy-king’s emissaries until the morrow. We are investigating the lands and locations today and preparing for the meeting. If all goes well, I should return within three days. Then we can discuss our move to Threave.”
Tosia’s chest fluttered — Threave, the stony keep that the king had promised to Douglas in return for marrying her, to replace the keep he’d decimated out of deference to Scotland. They had been waiting until the king’s goal of subduing the lowlands before they moved to Threave, and now it was happening. She grasped his hand and twined his fingers with hers.
“My heart beats only for ye and will be still until ye return to my arms,” she whispered in a tremulous voice.
Then James stole the rest of her words, and her breath, in a deep kiss that worked her lips, probed her tongue, and promised that his greatest desire was to return to her.
He released her as suddenly as he kissed her and mounted up, joining the king without a look back.
Shabib stepped up to stand right behind her.
“You have given him much to live for, milady. That is something he’d not had in years, if ever. And he will come back to claim all that ye have given him.”
Shabib’s rich voice and insightful words covered her in a cloak, warming her, and she sent up a prayer that James’s man was right.
Autumn arrived wellbefore summer was ready to depart, chasing the warmer day away in a rush of sunburst leaves and chilly breezes. And the cusp of autumn also signaled more work in Auchinleck. The inhabitants were uncertain of how long they were to remain, especially as rumor of the potential military excursion to the Highlands if the meeting with the emissary didn’t go well.
Lady Elayne, a woman who waited for naught and left nothing to chance, dictated that the household begin to prepare for winter at Auchinleck, and with a presence and force of nature that rivaled the Bruce himself, set the house maids and the sisters, daughters, and wives who’d accompanied their men to the king’s banner, to work.
Gathering eggs, cleaning the chambers, boiling linens and clothes, scrubbing the chambers and kitchens, and preparing food for the winter sent the women scurrying to please the iron-willed Lady Elayne. Even when softened by the sweet voice of her sister-by-law, Caitrin, none dared to fall behind in their work.
To avoid mucking up the gardens and tracking mud into the clean kitchens (and invoke the wrath of the chatelaine!) Tosia dragged each heavy bucket of murky water to the far end to the gardens where the grasses waved in the breeze. It was a long, laborious process, and Tosia’s arms were beginning to ache from her exertions.
The king and his men had left that morning, and Lady Elayne had wasted no time. Tosia had toiled for hours and by late afternoon, her arms and back throbbed in agony.
She set the bucket on the ground and wiped her damp, chestnut locks from her face. Tightening her kerchief to hold the rogue strands in place, she grimaced as she bent to grasp the bucket again. A crunching sounded in the trees, and Tosia froze where she was.
