“I dinna have much of a choice, unless I deny Torin, which I am no’ about to do. Even more than out of wifely duties, aye? ‘Tis the same with ye and James, I presume?”
Tosia’s hot blush burned her cheeks at Caitrin’s frank assessment of her marriage bed, and she nodded quickly. A light bubble of laughter rose from Caitrin’s throat, reminding her of a chirping of a small bird.
“Och, what I mean to say is, men desire children as women do. They might show it differently, no’ carrying the babe themselves, aye? And I love Torin more than anything. I would no’ deny him, or myself, the joys of a child. I’ll just keep praying that Torin stays alive so he might know his bairns, and that he is successful in his war for a free Scotland, so our babes grow and thrive without the English yoke upon them. Why do these men fight as they do if no’ for the future of Scotland? For the future of their own laddies and lasses? What is the point otherwise?”
Tosia’s hands stilled against the slender rushes as she considered Caitrin’s words. Her gaze drifted to the Lady Elayne, who had finished nursing her son and was adjusting the neckline of her kirtle against the lad’s fair head. Then she regarded the rest of the women working at the around keep with that same pensive consideration, bustling in preparation for the king. Many of them, like herself, waited for their men to return with the Bruce.
Caitrin’s words struck as a knife of truth in her head.
Of course, what would be the point for fighting for freedom otherwise? James fought for his king, aye, and for his kinsmen, but he also fought for something greater. For his king’s children, for the children of the Douglas clan, and for the children, or future children, of every man who fought by his side.
A flash of warm pride filled her chest. While she still worried for her husband, she was more proud of what he had accomplished thus far, dark deeds though they might have been, and what he hoped to accomplish in the future.
The sun crested in the sky, and Tosia returned to her duties, her mind still working in pensive contemplation.
And if James managed to achieve a free Scotland under the Bruce, the future they would have, with possible bairns at the hearth, was as bright as the sun overhead indeed.
The few women who werein the keep for the evening meal broke bread together in the stifling main hall. The king’s table was left empty as the women decided to share a meager meal of oat bread and thin broth together at a table closer to the open hall doors. Day had stretched into gloaming, and they had an unstated, shared yearning to be as close to the bailey as possible for when the men arrived.
Though Elayne and Caitrin maintained pleasant facades throughout the day, Tosia’s discerning eye didn’t miss the strained lines of Elayne’s neck or Caitrin’s furtive glances toward the main doors. Tosia had decided to err on the side of caution and not mention the trap Simon had revealed. They were on edge as it was — learning of King Edward’s potential deceit wouldn’t make them feel any better. The chatter might have been idle and light-hearted, but their thoughts were on much heavier matters. And the thread that stitched together their concerns was one singular question.
When would the men return?
An anxious air settled into the hall, into the entire keep and surrounding crofts, as the day began its descent into darkness and the king and his men had not returned.
The low din of manly chatter in the bailey seeped into the hall like a snake, and the clansmen who’d remained at the keep at the king’s behest grumbled that the King had perchance been foolish not to take more men with him. For such an audacious meeting, surely an entire army provided a measure of security for the king that a handful of men did not?
Tosia worked to push her fretting to the side and focus on finishing her evening meal when the chatter lulled before exploding in a celebratory cacophony. Tosia’s eyes widened and caught the same wide-eyed exuberance on Caitrin’s face. On Elayne, the taut lines of her face softened into a relaxed look of authority.
Rising in a swift swishing of her skirts, Elayne raced past the main door to greet the returning Scottish warriors.
The rest of the women knocked over their benches, racing to follow Lady Elayne. By the time Tosia arrived on the top step outside the main doors, her heart threatening to pound a hole in her chest, Elayne had reached the yard, her determined silver eyes regarding the men.
The king rode at the front with Elayne’s own Declan, and Tosia’s heart ached at the look of sheer joy that crossed Elayne’s features, only to be replaced by a wry smile that, to Tosia, seemed more mocking than angry.
“Weel, for a meeting with an emissary, ye took your time!” Elayne’s commanding voice carried across the yard and to her husband’s ears. The lion that was Declan grinned widely at his wife as he slid off his mount.
“Och, we debated riding to England to bring an end to all this shite, but the king was hungry, aye?”
Then he lifted his towering wife into his arms and swung her around, planting a bold kiss on her willing lips.
Tosia’s own excitement rose from her belly to her throat as she searched the men who rode into the yard. The king had dismounted, received by the other men in the yard. Declan’s warrior, Torin, the MacMillan . . .
Where was James?
Her breathing grew heavy. James was the right hand of the king. He should have been at the king’s side when they rode through the gate. Instead, the fair Declan rode in that place of honor.
Where was James?
The rest of the men on horseback rode into the yard, appearing worn and weary, but not injured. Almost euphoric. Surely they wouldn’t be jubilant if James hadn’t made it home? They’d be downtrodden, carrying his corpse.
None of which was the case.
Where was —?
A pair of dark bay horses galloped through the gate, lagging behind the others.
Thomas, and next to him, the beast of Scotland himself, his green eyes shining as bright as the sun on a loch.
