Page 84 of The Highlander Who Loved Me

It took James a moment to realize what she was saying. “Ah, love, there’s plenty of time fer us to have a babe.”

She fell into his arms. They were strong and warm, soothing her tattered emotions. “I know ’twas foolish of me to even think it. But I had hoped.”

“If I remember correctly, it takes more than hope to create a child.” The teasing humor and love in James’s eyes softened the blow.

“There will be sons one day, with yer wicked grin and warrior’s skills,” she said with yearning.

He grinned, then whispered in her ear. “I’d also like a few daughters, please, with yer bright eyes, kind heart, and sense of honor.”

“I’ll try my best—if ye’ll do the same.”

He laughed and kissed her gently. The sorrow that had been trapped inside her leaked away, like water breaking through a dam. There would be children, she reassured herself, as many as God saw fit to give them. Spirits calmed, Davina ate a light meal, but slept well that night, cradled in James’s embrace.

On the afternoon they reached Torridon Keep, the biting wind howled, the sky darkened, and thunder rumbled in the distance. The animals were skittish and restless as they stopped on a slight rise; the humans, too. Davina felt the knot of anticipation in her belly tighten as she gazed into the valley below.

In front, the dense woods thinned, then gently sloped down. The keep was visible in the fading light, a tall, thin stone structure surrounded by a single low curtain wall. Despite the clouds, the golden stone glowed, a stark contrast to the gray of the winter sky.

There were no pennants snapping in the wind, and only a few wisps of smoke curling from the thatched cottages clustered in the meager village outside the fortress walls.

“It looks much smaller than I remember,” Davina said, reining in her horse.

“Ye were a lass when ye left,” James replied, studying the keep with interest. “Ye’ve never returned since yer parents died?”

“Nay. I asked often at first, but my uncle always said no. I suppose I simply got tired of being denied, so I ceased asking.” She sighed with poignant regret. “I wish now that I had not so easily given up the quest to return, if only to assure the villagers that I remembered and cared about them.”

“They will have no doubt of it once we greet them and they see that we mean to stay,” James said cheerfully.

Davina smiled wanly, not as confident of their reception as her husband. They spurred their horses, riding ahead of the clumsy caravan. Davina puzzled over the silence as they drew near. There were no shepherds tending the sheep, no children playing on the hills, no women gathered by the stream doing wash.

James raised his arm and a group of soldiers behind them broke ranks and came forward. A whisper of foreboding tightened her scalp.

“Do ye suspect a trap?” Davina asked nervously.

“We sent no word of our arrival, but yer uncle knows of our marriage and should have informed them to expect us at some point.”

They continued forward, riding through the silent village. She could see that James’s eyes were trained on the top of the wall. Davina raised her eyes, too, counting the soldiers. They were still too far away to clearly see features, though she knew it was unlikely that she would recognize any of them.

A sturdy wooden bridge spanned a dry moat that was mined with sharpened sticks. This defense butted against the stone curtain wall and encircled the entire keep. Davina remembered her father speaking of the need for a drawbridge, but he never found the time or coin to have one built.

Instead, he had spent his money on tall, broad oak gates, bound with iron and set with metal studs designed to split a battering ram. He had also widened the top of the walls, so his guards could stand two deep.

“I count a dozen men on the wall,” she said, when they brought their horses to a halt at the start of the bridge.

“Are any of them known to ye?” James asked, his hand resting on his sword hilt.

“Nay.”

“Then ye had best announce yerself,” James said with an encouraging smile.

She sat taller in the saddle, cloaking herself in commanding dignity. “I am Lady Davina Armstrong McKenna, daughter of Lachlan Armstrong and mistress of this keep. I come with my husband and his guard to take up residence in our home. I command ye to lower the gates and grant us entrance before the rains come and we are soaked to the skin.”

As though to emphasize her point, the sky rumbled ominously. But if she had hoped the threat of impending rain would hasten their entrance, she was sadly mistaken.

“We had no word to expect ye,” one of the soldiers called down from the wall.

“Aye, I dinnae send word. But I’m here now.” Davina peered up at the wall, noticing several of the men shifting on their feet. “Open the gate.”

“Who did ye say wants entrance?” the soldier asked.

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