Tosia turned her face to Shabib, who sat tall and confident on his steed. “Please.”
“Beast, monster, or man, there is something about James that seems to be touched by Allah. God. When other men might fall under the sword, blades bounce off him. When other men tire in battle, James becomes invigorated. When other men lose their concentration, James’s mind focuses ever sharper. Believe me when I tell you not only will James survive this, he may well outlive us all.”
Tosia’s lips pursed at Shabib’s pronouncement. He knew James better than anyone, even more than his kinsman, Thomas. They had walked through the fires of hell together and made it through with their scars to attest to their survival.
Yet, Shabib always tried to see the best in James. Perchance he wouldn’t permit his own mind, his heart, to think on James not returning.
As she studied the man, she realized that he, too, loved James as a man loved a brother. Maybe even more.
James was a fortunate man. Did he know how loved he was? Shabib, Tosia, his kinsmen, the very King of Scotland.
Never was a man more loved.
And perchance Shabib needed to believe his words concerning James to soothe his own worries.
Tosia gave him a tight smile.
“I believe ye are correct, Shabib. He will come home with the king by his side, as if he’d done naught more than visit the merchants in the village.”
Shabib didn’t answer, but emitted a low rumble in his throat.
Tosia shifted to face forward again. Auchinleck rose in the graying horizon.
She spoke the words, yet she didn’t believe them.
She wouldn’t believe them until James was back in her arms.
Tosia slept littlethat night, even after further assurances from Tavish and Shabib that the men would return hale and jubilant the following day.
When she did wake and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, the women of the keep busied themselves. Lady Elayne had put several of the newly arrived women to work around the castle grounds, tending gardens, sewing and needlework repair, and tending the milking cattle for cheese. This included the MacMillan lasses and the comely, agreeable Lena, whom James claimed had attracted the amorous attentions of Shabib. Tosia grinned like a wee lassie whenever she thought on the stoic Shabib ogling Lena like a simpering puppy.
Caitrin invited Tosia to collect the dried rushes for weaving. Elayne took advantage of the sunlight and warmer weather to sit on a stone bench against the wall of the keep and nurse Gabriel. The sun shone on that fine woman, creating a sunlit halo atop her head. Truly, but for the missing men, Tosia thought it was quite a domestic scene.
“The Lady Elayne seems verra content with her life, the babe in her arms. She’s a natural mother,” Tosia commented.
Caitrin pushed a lock of her own golden tresses behind her ear as she worked. Her eyes blazed with focus.
“Aye,” she said in her lilted tone. “She was no’ certain she’d even bear a babe. Her mother only had her, the one, and died shortly after. Elayne had told me that her mother had lost a bairn or two before she was born. Lady Elayne fretted over ever having children. Yet she bore a braw laddie to Declan. My mother flits about the babe like a nervous hummingbird, scarcely believing she’s got a grandchild. She missed much of Declan’s youth, and I believe she’s trying to give this babe all that she lost with Declan.”
Caitrin spoke easily as she worked, her long, thin fingers separating the dried rushes, her own kirtle well-fitted against her body. Tosia dared another question.
“What of ye? Do ye have bairns with your husband?”
Turning her chin only slightly, Caitrin acknowledged the question as she kept her attention on her task.
“Och, we have no’ yet been blessed. Torin is a bit apprehensive, having lost a hand-fast wife in child bed.” She paused, peering down that her hands, and her cheeks pinked.
Tosia exhaled. Mayhap she’d treaded too far into private matters.
“Yet, we are hopeful to be blessed soon. I’m excited to have strong, mighty lads with Torin.”
Her interest in Caitrin’s desire for babes piqued, Tosia’s mind returned to the presently absent husbands.
“But,” she stuttered out, privacy be damned, “we are in the midst of war! Why would ye risk bringing a babe into the world now?”
It seemed a silly question as Tosia spoke it. One could not really prevent children, not if a husband was as virile as James, and unless Tosia missed her mark, she believed Torin to be as virile as her own husband.
Caitrin smiled, as if to herself, and lifted her sanguine face to where Elayne sat with baby Gabriel.
