CHAPTER1
DOUGLAS CASTLE, NORTH LANARKSHIRE, SCOTLAND, 1313
“You must wed again, Roger, if only that your wee bairns need a mother. It’s nearly six months since Sylvia’s death and you canna leave their care tae the servants forever—”
“Dinna speak of it,” Roger Douglas growled at his younger brother Evander, who sighed heavily and shook his shaven head that marked him as a priest.
William, though, wasn’t so easily deterred; he leaned forward in his chair set before the massive fireplace and scowled at Roger. There wasn’t even a full year between them in age, a fact that had chafed at William since childhood that Roger was the eldest son, and not him.
Roger had been the apple of their late father James Douglas’s eye—well, other than their youngest brother, David, who had recently married into the Campbell clan and gone to take his place as laird over a castle and lands in north Argyll. Resentment always seemed to simmer within William, and he seldom missed an opportunity to try and tell Roger what he should do.
“No, brother, wewillspeak of it,” William said in a similar growl, which made Roger curse under his breath. “The lairdship is suffering under the weight of your grief!”
“Suffering?” echoed Roger, his fingers turning white from how tightly he gripped his ale cup.
“Aye, your castle, your lands, the retainers who have tried in vain tae speak tae you, your men. You’ve paid no heed tae any of it—and now you’re leaving in the morning tae join Robert the Bruce’s delegation tae York on a fool’s mission. King Edward will never give his wife back tae him, the lass has been a prisoner for seven years. You need tae stay in Lanarkshire and show interest again in your own affairs before everything is laid tae ruin!”
William truly glaring at him now, Roger was tempted to hurl the contents of his cup in his brother’s face. Yet what good would it do him to infuriate William and further fuel his resentment? Roger knew he spoke the truth.
Since Sylvia had died in his arms within an hour of giving birth to their son, he had receded so far into his grief that he wondered for his sanity.
His two young daughters and their tiny brother utterly ignored.
The castle and lands and retainers and warriors he had been granted as the new laird after his father’s death, ignored as well—aye, barely considered.
Only King Robert’s request that Roger join the delegation to England had somehow revived him and given him something to occupy his thoughts other than all he had lost when Sylvia died.
Her love.
The lilting sound of her laughter.
Her delight in their growing family.
Her radiant smile and the softness of her lips when she kissed him…her auburn-haired beauty…the sweet scent of her skin—ah, God, the pain of her loss was excruciating and almost more than he could bear! Even the thought of thrusting his sword into his own heart had crossed his mind, God forgive him. Anything to end this crushing torment, this anguish—
“By God, Roger, I care naught if you marry, but a willing lass in your bed would surely help bring you around again tae your duties. A rousing tumble has never failed tae invigorate me.”
“Och, William,” interjected Evander, who had remained silent until now. “Must you speak so coarsely?”
“Ah, yes, forgive me, Father Petros,” William said with a mocking tone, using the name the Church had given Evander. “Though I do remember a time when you wouldna refuse a comely wench’s advances, before you took your holy vows.”
“Enough, both of you!” Roger’s chair fell backward to the floor with a crash, he had risen so swiftly to cast the last of his ale into the fire. The flames crackled and hissed, which was nothing to the fury engulfing him.
“I will grieve for my beloved wife tae the end of time, do you hear me? No woman will ever replace Sylvia or come close tae the love I held for her! If I’ve neglected my duties as laird, so be it. I have no doubt that during my absence you will do everything in your power tae set things tae rights, William, but never forget thatIam laird here, and not you. Father Petros, I expect you tae continue tae pray long and hard for me and for the mission I accepted from King Robert, will you not?”
“Aye, Roger, I will pray for you,” Evander said with a solemn nod.
As for William, he was scowling again, the ruddy flush on his face telling Roger that his words had cut him to the quick. Aye, so be it with that as well!
Both men had risen from their chairs, William standing nearly as tall and broad-shouldered as Roger and with the same brown hair while Evander, who had a fringe encircling his bald head, had grown thin and pale from fasting.
“I leave at dawn for Dumbarton Castle tae join the king’s delegation. Goodnight, brothers.” Roger heard Evander’s murmur of “Good night,” back to him as he strode from the great hall, but nothing came from William.
Nothing except the sensation of dark brown eyes that so matched his own boring into his back, which made Roger utter another curse.
The two of them could have been twins for how they resembled each other, but for the eleven and a half months separating them.
That and temperaments as different as night and day, William hotheaded and impulsive while Roger had always been deliberate and restrained in thought and deed—at least until Sylvia’s death.
