the morning. Exhaustion claimed me, and I fell asleep.
Twenty-Three
TRAQUAIR HOUSE
1286
“David.” Mairi’s eyes glowed with pleasure. Quickly, she hid the honey-coated criachan behind her back. “Why have you returned so soon from London?”
“I came to witness the wedding of Alexander and Jolande of Dreux,” he explained. “Edinburgh is so close. I’d not miss an opportunity to see you, lass.” Casually he reached behind her, his hand closing over the sweet clutched in her fist. He removed it from her hand and frowned. “You promised me you wouldn’t do this. Is your word worthless, Mairi?”
“The batch was made fresh this morning, and I’ve only had one. ’Tis my first in a very long time. Truly, David.”
He relented. “I suppose one will do you no harm. But ’tis dangerous to indulge yourself.” The lines around his mouth deepened with worry. He would never forget the first time he’d witnessed one of Mairi’s spells. They were children, and it was the first warm day of spring. Armed with a basket of food from the kitchen, they’d spend the afternoon in the marshes. Generously, David had offered Mairi the additional sweet bun the cook had packed and more than half of the criachan. She’d hesitated only a moment and then greedily consumed it all. Less than an hour later, her skin had paled and around her lips was a frightening blue shadow. He’d carried her halfway to the house before her father found them. Taking one look at his nearly unconscious daughter, the laird had lifted her to the back of his stallion and galloped back to Traquair, leaving David on the moor, a forlorn heap of misery, praying more desperately than he’d ever prayed before in his life. It had never happened again, but the experience had terrified him to such an extent that he’d never forgotten it.
She touched his cheek. “If it upsets you that much, I won’t eat it.”
“Please don’t.”
Looking up at him through her lashes, she tactfully changed the subject. “I’ve heard the women are lovely at the English court.”
David caught his breath. This was a new, flirtatious Mairi. Perhaps she had grown up at last. Hope flooded through him. “There is no one for me but you, Mairi. You should know that by now.”
She laughed with the crystalline purity of a choirboy. “What I know is that you’ve mastered the art of flattery, my friend. Tell me of Jolande of Dreux. Is she as beautiful as they say?”
David looked down at the face he was sure had been sculpted by God Himself and swallowed. “Aye. I’ve heard that she’s lovely enough, but it matters little. Alexander needs an heir of his own body. Jolande is young. There is a chance now.”
“What does the English king think of Alexander taking another bride?”
“Edward is no fool. He knows that ten years is long enough for a man to mourn his wife, especially if that man is a king.”
“Still,” Mairi reflected, “Alexander has an heir.”
“A child hidden away in Norway is hardly an heir,” David protested. “Besides, Scotland has never been ruled by a woman.”
She tilted her head to one side, a pose she adopted whenever her thoughts ran deep. David knew better than to interrupt her. “Until the matter is settled, Edward is overlord of Scotland,” she said at last. “What manner of man is the English king?”
“He is a warrior,” David replied promptly. “No one mistakes Edward for anyone other than he is. I would such a man could be found for Scotland.”
Mairi shook her head. “I didn’t ask if you admired him, David. What is he like?”
David frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Is he tall and well favored? Are his teeth straight? Does he laugh often?”
“Only a woman would notice those things,” David protested, laughing, “although I’m sure the lassies find him well favored enough. I’ve heard he keeps a mistress in every castle in England and finds time to satisfy his wife as well.”
“’Tis possible his rank keeps him well supplied with women,” Mairi suggested.
David shrugged. “Perhaps.”
Mairi sighed and slipped her arm through David’s. “How long can you stay?”
“Only the night.” He hesitated and pressed her hand. “I’m sorry about your father, lass.”
The winged brows drew together, and her chest constricted. Her father’s death was still very new. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Will you stay here, at Traquair?”
She nodded. “My father’s holdings belongs to the crown, but Shiels and Traquair belonged to my mother. They are mine.”
David lifted a lock of silken hair and wound it around his finger. “I’ll always think