Page 31 of The Highlander Who Loved Me

James shut the door and returned to sit on the edge of his bed. The piney scent of rosemary, mixed with a dash of lavender, wafting from the sheets called to him. ’Twould be so easy to turn and rest his aching head against the downy soft pillow, but James refused to succumb to the lure.

It would take more than his mother’s sweet-smelling linens to break his discipline. Training and conditioning were always his first order of business and that would not change just because he was home.

Besides, a morning of tough physical activity would keep him away from Davina. The events of last night had made him clearly see that he needed to banish Davina from his thoughts, for he could not stomach the notion of reawakening his feelings toward her. That would only lead to disillusionment and shattered dreams.

Yet it would be no easy task when he would see her each day.

The door reopened and the lad stepped inside, his skinny arms straining under the weight of all he carried. James moved forward to help, but then pulled back. The boy seemed to lack confidence. Successfully accomplishing this duty on his own would build character.

The youngster nervously drew his bottom lip back and forth between his teeth as he carefully set down the tray of food. Next came the pitcher of ale, then a none-too-clean-looking tankard. The final item was the bowl of water for washing, which the lad balanced precariously on the inside of his left arm.

“Put the water on the table near the window,” James commanded.

The lad jumped, barely muffling a yelp of distress. Eyes wide, he hurried to the table and hastily set down the bowl. It wobbled unevenly, spilling a good half of the contents.

James’s jaw tightened in exasperation as he watched the precious hot water drip onto the floor. Though he prided himself on being an intimidating warrior, the lad’s obvious fear was making him clumsy.

“What’s yer name?” James asked.

The lad’s chin trembled. “Co . . . Colin, sir.”

“And what day is it, young Colin?”

Confusion darkened the lad’s face. “’Tis Tuesday, sir.”

“Aye.” James absently rubbed his fingers over the thin scar under his jaw, remembering the feel of the knife blade as it was pressed against his throat. Remembering, too, the look of surprise on the enemy’s face when he had slipped a blade between the man’s ribs and twisted. “Well, I dinnae eat pages fer breakfast on Tuesdays.”

“No, sir.”

“I reserve that delight fer Fridays. Best ye remember it.”

The hoped-for smile never emerged. Instead, Colin seemed even more uneasy, his eyes growing as round as a lost kitten. Taking pity of the lad, James dismissed him with a curt wave of the hand.

“I can go?” Colin asked hopefully.

James nodded. The lad gave a ragged shudder and ran from the chamber, even as James was sure he spied a spark of gratitude in the lad’s eyes.

James felt his lip curl as a familiar guilt mingled with the anger brewing inside his gut.The lad’s grateful I gave him permission to leave me. First, Davina and now Colin. Seems I’ve mastered the art of frightening women and children. God’s teeth, what’s next?

James splashed his face and upper body with the now lukewarm water, then used the rest to wash the tankard. His stomach rebelled at the idea of food, but he ate the oatcakes and hard cheese anyway, washing it down with the ale.

He took his time getting dressed, wanting to ensure that the great hall would be empty. He was in no mood to make small talk with anyone, especially his family.

As he picked up his sword, he wondered again if he had made the right decision to leave the Holy Land. The life of a Crusader was fraught with danger, but it was in many ways a simple, uncomplicated existence. You practiced, you fought, you cleansed your wounds, buried the dead, ate a hearty meal, slept, awoke, and began again.

It was a methodical, isolating life that James had come to accept. He had grown accustomed to the physical discomfort of his body and learned to ignore the suffering that plagued his spirit.

The sun struggled to emerge from behind a large, billowing gray cloud as James walked purposefully through the bailey. He felt his blood stir as he glanced at the horizon and beheld the rugged hills soaring into the distant mists. They had been shrouded in darkness when he arrived last night. Seeing them now in all their regal splendor reminded him that there was no place on earth more beautiful than the Highlands.

Even the air smelled different, he mused, as he inhaled deeply. Filled with tangy pine and a crisp dampness, it lifted the spirits even as it seeped into the bones.

Lord, how I’ve missed it!

The bailey was alive with activity at this hour of the morning. Women with baskets of clean, wet laundry on their backs hurried to hang the items out to dry before the temperatures dropped low enough to freeze the garments. The fragrant smoke of fresh baked breads and savory treats streamed out from the kitchen, contrasting mightily with the scents emanating from the stables and barns.

The practice yard was crowded with men, though the usual sounds of metal clanking against metal were missing as most were engaged in conversation rather than training. When James approached, an eerie hush filled the practice yard. He spied Malcolm sparring with a young man whose chin barely sported any whiskers and suddenly knew how to banish his conflicted mood.

His brother turned, then greeted him with a broad, toothy smile. “Och, ye’ve finally left the warmth and comfort of yer chamber. We were wondering if ye were going to spend the entire day abed.”

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