Highland Burn: Guardians of Scotland Book 1 Page 4

  Finally, James gathered his thoughts before he did something he’d regret, like run down to the gallows and hang himself.

  “Yer Grace, with all due respect, I can no’ marry yer daughter.”

  “’Tis a shame.” Bruce paused and reached inside his desk drawer. He began to unroll a scroll that appeared to have a map on it. “Angus is such a beautiful piece of land, tucked between two huge lochs.”

  The king paused for a moment. “Tell me, James, how much coin do the oat fields bring in? Profitable, I assume?”

  “Aye.” James had been defeated. There was no way around it. The king always got what he wanted, one way or another. Also, there was that feeling of gratitude gnawing in his gut. He had to marry the king’s daughter, for he owed a debt.

  “So, prepare for travel?” Bruce asked.

  “Aye.”

  “Good. This makes me a happy man.” Then he began signing land deeds over to James.

  A generous and inviting dowry was too enticing to turn down. Marrying Abigale gained him not only Angus, but Bothwell Castle by the River Clyde in South Lanarkshire as well. But this newly owned land did not change the fact that James did not want a wife. With orders to take the princess to the safety of Angus and far away from the lowlands, James had to wonder if King Robert had other motives as well. Why does he remove me from the battlefield? Send me to the Highlands to live the mundane life of a clan chief? God’s Teeth! Am I more valuable behind a desk?

  Nay, he was one of the seven Guardians of Scotland, chosen to defend and protect Scotland like his fellow Dragonkine warriors. Plus, his mind was sharp when it came to strategizing attacks—the best there was. The king could not afford to lose him on the battlefield.

  Regardless of Robert’s reasoning, he now had a wife. “A wife.” He spat. A forceful hoof stomp and aggravated tail swish let James know he had tightened his saddle a little snug for his horse’s liking. He rubbed his black mare on her chest. “Sorry, Lassie.”

  He made his way toward the stable entrance. Leaning against the doorframe, he looked over at Castle Douglas. Rolling green hills surrounded his land. He remembered a time when the castle was not so pleasant. It had been seized by English filth.

  His family was outside the bailey’s protective wall, just far enough away from the brutal massacre of the Clan Douglas men. No familiar war cries were left. Only the blood-curdling sounds of the wounded being slain by the English army could be heard. Their clan had been on the verge of being defeated. Sir William, James's father and clan chief, had to make a fast decision. The enemy had fought hard and were closing in on them. An English victory for certain.

  Sir William looked into his young son’s eyes. A war-weary face—bloodied and swollen—yet he was still a man in charge. “Son do no’ fret or shed tears for me,” Sir William said.

  “Da, please let me stay and fight,” wee James begged as he swiped at a tear.

  “Nay, Clan Douglas fought well, but the odds were against us. We have lost too many good men today. I must do what’s right for our people.”

  James shook his head and tightened his fists. “Nay, we can still fight. This is our home.”

  Sir William bent down in front of his son and placed his hands on his shoulders. It was difficult for James to see his father this way, a broken man desperate to keep his family together. James raged inside just like the bloody war raging inside the walls of Castle Douglas.

  “James, listen to me. Ye are the man of the family now.” A sob from his wife caught his father’s attention. William paused and looked up at her. His beautiful wife had fought so hard to hold back her tears but had failed. Her body trembled as she covered her mouth with her shaking hand to stifle another sob. She pulled their younger son of seven years close to her.

  William turned his attention to his wee James. “Ye must take care of your mother and brother now.”

  Tears rushed down James’s face as he shook his head in denial. His face reddened with anger. What a task to bear for a boy no more than ten winters old.

  “Ye know the plan; get to Paris and there ye will be safe. Do ye understand me, lad?” Sir William asked.

  James’s anger got the best of him. He was upset with his father for sending him away. He was angry at the English filth for ripping his family apart. He raged inside and began to erupt like a spewing volcano.

  “Ye are a coward!” He began to hit his father in the chest with tiny fists. “Coward!”

  William threw his arms around his son and hugged him tight, as if he understood the boy’s outrage.

  Heavy marching grew nearer. There was no time to waste. If William wanted to keep his family safe he had to say goodbye now. Their time together had come to an end.

  Sir William let go of his son. James took a few steps back and stared at his father. No words were spoken between them.

  James watched his mother cry convulsively as she clung to the broken man. His little brother stood between his parents as if they were his shelter from this terrible nightmare. James’s vision blurred. He looked around at the mayhem of bloodied warriors fighting and the destruction they left behind. This day would be forever branded into his memories. He vowed he would come home and avenge his family’s name.

  William let go of his wife and turned to a young Robert Bruce. He trusted only one man with his family, and Robert, with his English connections, was the one who could get his family safely to Paris.

  William clasped his hand on Robert’s shoulder, “Bruce, ye make damn sure they’re on that boat to Paris. Understood?"

  “Aye.”

  James watched his father as he turned to face him. Standing tall, he took one last tender look at his family huddled together, tears streaking their faces. James knew this was his father’s way of saying their final goodbye.

  William nodded to Robert. “God speed, my friend.”

  With the last bit of pride William had, he stood tall and smiled at his wife. Like a man on a mission, he turned, unsheathed his sword, and ran back to the battle as he yelled one last war cry. “A Douglas! A Douglas!” As God was his witness, he would take down a few more Sassenach before he surrendered his home.

  James took a deep breath as a tear threatened to fall. He would take his last breath slaying the English for taking everything from him. His father, his land, and his mother. His mother never got over losing his father. Some said she died of the plague, but he knew better; she died of a broken heart.

  When James had returned to Scotland several summers ago, he reclaimed his home from the English and avenged his family’s name. As his eyes roamed to the west side of Castle Douglas, charred stone reminded him of that night. He and three other dragons beheaded the English garrison and torched them. It was the first time he had unleashed the wrath of his dragon, and he felt no remorse for the English scum. Even today, when the wind blew just right, the smell of burning flesh could still be detected.

  He sent a message that day. From then on, he was known as the Black Douglas, the Bogeyman.

  A soft female voice came from the rear of the stable and claimed his attention.

  * * *

  “Good Morn, Fergus,” Abigale greeted her fine steed.

  The brilliant white steed let out a welcoming nicker as Abigale approached.

  “I’ve a surprise for ye,” she teased. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a juicy red apple.

  Ears pricked in her direction, he bobbed his head up and down as if he approved of her surprise.

  Abigale offered the apple and held onto it as he took a bite. She found Fergus’s favorite spot to be scratched, right between his ears, and gave him a good scratch.

  “Ah, Fergus, what are we going to do?” Abigale sighed as if she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders.

  After last eve’s performance, Abigale had pondered most of the morning away as she ate stale oatcakes and picked at her black pudding. James had never returned, leaving her to a peaceful night’s rest. Why had he showed her mercy? He was
her husband now, certainly he had the right to bed his wife.

  “That really is some kind of horse ye have.”

  Abigale jumped, surprised to find she wasn’t alone. “Ye frightened me.” She held her hand over her chest. “How long have ye been there…watching me?”

  “Long enough.” James pushed off the wall and grabbed a saddle nearby. “We leave for Angus soon. ‘Tis best ye prepare for travel."

  A crease appeared across her forehead. “I thought Castle Douglas was yer home?”

  “Aye, it is. Archibald, my brother, will stay here to protect it. We head north.” James tipped his chin toward the Highlands.

  “The Highlands?”

  James huffed. “Aye.”

  Abigale followed closely behind as he set the saddle down next to Fergus’s stall. As he turned around, she almost bumped into him. His cold stare sent chills over her skin, causing her to take a step back. One look from those eyes made her feel so small, like a wee child.

  “But it’s dangerous to travel through the Highlands.” She glanced down at her clasped hands nervously. “We would be much safer here.”

  “What’s wrong lass, are ye afraid a rogue Highlander will jump out of the woods to attack ye?”

  Abigale didn’t take kindly to being teased. Being a woman and out on her own beyond the safety of the nunnery, she feared traveling to the Highlands.

  She stood with her hands on her hips. “Ye see, my laird, I’ve only met one Highlander in my life and I’m no’ impressed." She looked him up and down.

  Before she knew what was happening, James had closed the distance between them. Abigale felt giant hands grip her waist as she was pulled against a hard wall of muscle. Confused, she threw her hands to his chest in protest. She did not realize the repercussions of her actions.

  As soon as their bodies connected, she felt the heat radiating off him. Amber eyes swirled, leaving her breathless. She felt his cock harden against her stomach and instantly her body burned. He lowered his head. God help her, he was going to kiss her. She closed her eyes and waited for his kiss, but to her disappointment, it never came.

  Quickly, she was hoisted up by her waist, only to open her eyes to find James setting her down off to the side and out of his way. He walked past her and lifted a bridle off of a hook as if she had no effect on him. “Ye best hold yer tongue, lass. I have no tolerance for it,” he warned her.

  Abigale stood dumbfounded. As sure as the sky was blue, he’d been going to kiss her, she knew it. She felt it. Why did he stop? Did I do something wrong? She touched her lips, and watched him walk over and grab the bridle like nothing had happened. This maddened her to no end. Threats and intimidation would not work on her; they only added fire to her fury. She had spent the last eight years surviving Abbess Margaret’s mercilessness. Now that she was free from her, Abigale wouldn’t stand for more abuse.

  “Is that the way ye Highlanders talk to yer wives?” she bit back. “If so, my laird, I’m still no’ impressed.”

  James strode in front of her. “Lass, let’s get one thing straight, I give the orders and ye are to obey.”

  Abigale felt her blood boil up to the tips of her ears as she grabbed her skirts to prevent herself from slapping him.

  “I didnae want a wife. ‘Tis best ye keep yer distance and do as ye’re told.” James broke their gaze and began to saddle a horse.

  Abigale didn’t know where her courage came from, but this man was not going to get the best of her, nor the satisfaction of knowing how furious he’d made her. Arrogant fool. “I see ‘tis best to be seen but not heard. Like a well-trained dog?"

  James began to tighten the saddle. “See it as ye wish, just do as ye’re told.” He brushed her off like an annoying fly buzzing around.

  Before Abigale made her way back to Castle Douglas to pack, she sauntered next to James, so he had to look at her. “Ye’re an arse, James Douglas.”

  James smirked and gave the saddle strap a good yank. “Now lass, is that any way to talk to yer husband?”

  She shot him a disgusted glare. She thought better than to say anything more, so she turned on her heels and headed to the castle.

  5

  A road less traveled…

  The announcement that they were going to make camp for the night was music to Abigale’s ears. Keeping up with five mountainous Highlanders as they rode through the Highlands started to wear on her body. Breaks were few, short-lived, and the rocky, rough terrain had wreaked havoc on her backside. James had rode them hard, determined to make it at least halfway to Angus before nightfall.

  It was outlandish and well, plain rude to treat her like one of his men-at-arms. Though, never once, did she complain. She rode with grace and kept to herself, but inside, Abigale stewed.

  I dinnae want a wife, James’s voice rang through her thoughts. She huffed and rolled her eyes. Did he really think she wanted to marry the Bogeyman? Nay, she was perfectly content back at the nunnery studying to become a surgeon and help heal the sick. Most nights, she found herself nose-deep in a book, reading up on herbs or looking over notes taken during an observed surgery. As long as she stayed clear of Abbess Margaret, life was, well…predictable, safe.

  Who are ye fooling, Abigale Bruce? The nunnery was not the place she wanted to be. In fact, as of late, she had thought about wee bairns of her own. Being a mother…just the thought warmed her inside. She wanted a husband to call a friend, a lover who could make her toes curl with one kiss. Aye, she sighed, a family. A family like she had never known. Now, that desire seemed to crumble away to nothing more than a wishful dream.

  I dinnae want a wife.

  The more she pondered the more blame she placed on James. He’d made it perfectly clear she was nothing more than a nuisance…a bump in the road…a thorn in his backside. Well, she would show him who the thorn was. At this point, she could not decide what burned her arse more, James or the bloody saddle.

  “We’ll camp here for the night,” James said.

  Abigale winced when they came to a halt. Dismounting was going to be a challenge. She had no feeling in her legs.

  James hopped off of his black mare and looked for a place to set up camp while two of his men went to search for wood to build a fire. Abigale noticed how he commanded his men and the way they respected him. A natural leader indeed. She respected him for that, but his manners on the other hand, well, they were left to be desired.

  After she realized she was on her own, Abigale slowly slid from the saddle onto numb legs. Pain crept across her face as she steadied herself against Fergus. The white steed turned his head and nudged her with his wet nose as if to ask how she fared. Patting him on the head, she smiled and reassured him that she was fine.

  Desperately needing to set up a spot so she could get some rest, she began to untie a rolled-up blanket and fur. As she took her first step, her legs buckled. Strong arms caught her from behind before she hit the hard ground.

  “Ye all right, lass?” James asked.

  Are ye all right? What kind of question was that? Of course, she was not all right; her backside throbbed and her legs stung. She was exhausted, famished, and in desperate need of a bath. Besides, she really did not want his help. She would be fine on her own, just like she had been her whole life. Alone.

  “I’m fine.” Abigale brushed him off and tried to walk away only to stumble back into his arms.

  “Here, let me help. Ye can take my pallet.” Before Abigale could protest, James scooped her up in his strong arms and walked her over to his pallet.

  He set her gently down on soft fur, then reached into a satchel and handed her an oatcake. “Here, eat this.”

  Abigale eyed him curiously. “Thank ye.”

  She ate in silence. Wondering why he was treating her with kindness, she watched him closely. Walking back to the black mare, he retrieved a waterskin. Oh, thank Heavens…water. She was parched.

  “Drink this,” James demanded.

  Abigale gladly took the skin and d
rank vigorously. A strong, overbearing taste burned her throat. She spat the amber liquid and coughed.

  “What’s wrong?” His lips curled up into a smile. “Have ye no’ had whiskey before?”

  His wife shot him a cross look as she wiped her mouth off on her sleeve. “Nay. ‘Tis awful.”

  “’Tis an acquired taste, but trust me, it will help.”

  After the wretched liquid settled in her stomach, Abigale watched James tend to the fire.

  She could get used to this side of James. It made her wonder why he didn’t want a wife. He was honorable, which she knew, because of his loyalty to her father.

  At times, he seemed to be far away, deep in thought. Perhaps a love gone bad or had he lost a lover? If unlucky in love, she could understand wanting to protect his heart from the pain. Then again, what did she know? She had never been in love.

  Her body warmed. Looking up, her eyes met James’s. She swallowed hard past the lump in her throat. She’d been found out, for James now stood over her with his arms crossed over his chest.

  “What?” Her husband stood firm.

  Quickly, she looked down into her lap, not wanting to make eye contact. “’Tis nothing.”

  “Lass, say what’s on yer mind before ye worry yer bottom lip off.”

  Abigale sighed in defeat. She had been told before that she was easy to read. Sister Kate had voiced that many times. Abigale Bruce, ye wear yer heart on yer sleeve. Surprisingly, Abigale wished Sister Kate was there now. She needed her words of wisdom.

  She looked up at the towering warrior. “Why do ye no’ want a wife?”

  James clenched his jaw as if this question irritated him. “Abigale, get some rest.” He began to walk off toward his horse.

  “My laird, if I may—”

  James stopped abruptly and turned to face her. “Nay, ye may not.”

  “It’s just…ye’ve been kind and ––“

  “Lass, dinnae mistake my concern for yer wellbeing as an act of kindness.” Sternness swept across his face. “I’m no’ the monster everyone makes me out to be.”