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Joan’s expression hardened to stone. “I caught a chill, which necessitated a longer stay.”

“Ye seem perfectly healthy to me.” James scowled. “Why haven’t ye gone? And where, may I ask, is yer husband?”

The smoldering flame of resentment in Joan’s eyes didn’t surprise Davina. Joan had always objected to answering questions about what she said and did. Apparently, that hadn’t changed. “Archibald had Fraser business that needed his attention.”

“Where?” James wanted to know.

“At court.”

Davina shot a disbelieving look at her cousin. Her husband was at court and Joan elected to be here, instead of with him? The tale did not ring true. Joan thrived on the intrigue and gossip of court life, speaking often of how she hated being stuck so far from anything of interest, wasting away in the Highlands.

James offered Joan a sad, suspicious smile and Davina knew he also doubted her words. He opened his mouth to question her cousin further, when Davina’s belly rumbled with hunger.

“Milady, forgive me,” the steward exclaimed. “I’ll have food and drink brought to ye immediately.”

Davina took a deep breath to stay her fraying nerves. James had been ready to string the poor steward up by his thumbs for refusing them entrance, but Davina had convinced him that the man was just trying to do his duty. He, too, had been duped by Joan; they must give the steward a chance to redeem himself.

Unfortunately, the food they were served was cold, tough, sour, and smelled faintly of mold. Even though he had taken a small mouthful, James seemed unable to swallow it. Instead, he spit it out on the rushes that covered the floor.

Joan lifted her brows, then smirked. “Apparently, one loses all sense of manners and civility when they become a Crusader.”

“Please bring us something we can eat without becoming ill,” Davina commanded, embarrassed by the poor showing.

She had wanted James to feel a connection, a commitment to their home, to be proud of it. Instead, this homecoming had been nothing short of disastrous.

The steward returned with a thin broth with bits of stringy chicken floating in it. Davina took one look at the grease congealed on the top and pushed her bowl away.

“I’m not very hungry,” she lied.

“Ye need to eat,” James insisted. “I’ll get something from the stores we brought.”

He stormed out, calling for his men, the steward doggedly following on his heels. Davina could hear the man apologizing profusely, insisting that the larder was poorly stocked, but he was certain with fresh food he would be able to set a table worthy of them.

“My, my, isn’t James the solicitous husband,” Joan clucked, reaching for a goblet of wine.

When she moved, her sleeve rode up, revealing her forearm. Davina gasped when she saw the line of yellow and blue bruises marring the flesh. Joan, feeling her cousin’s eyes upon her, hastily pulled her arm back so the fabric would conceal the discolored flesh.

Joan’s eyes met hers. “The floors in this keep are an abomination. ’Tis very easy to lose yer footing and tumble down on the hard stone.”

“That doesn’t look anything like a bruise from a fall,” Davina said quietly. “Let me see the rest of yer arm.”

Joan hesitated. Then averting her gaze, she slowly lifted first one sleeve, then the other. Davina winced. Joan’s arms were grossly streaked with yellow and purple bruises that Davina was certain went even farther up her body. Even after three weeks of healing they were still vivid and looked painful.

Joan’s eyes flashed and she raised her chin. “I dinnae want yer pity or yer judgment. Ye have no notion of what it’s like to live with a man like Archibald Fraser.”

“Have ye run away from him? Is that the real reason ye are here, pretending to be me?”

Joan let out a hollow burst of laughter. “Ye cannae hide from the Frasers.”

“There must be something ye can do,” Davina insisted.

The mirthless smile remained on her cousin’s lips. “Archibald is my lawful husband. No one has the right to censure his behavior.”

“Ye deserve to be treated with dignity and respect,” Davina said, reaching forward to place her hand upon Joan’s. “Not beaten like an animal.”

Joan’s head tilted. “Ye’ve changed, Davina. Ye used to run from yer own shadow and now ye’re ready to challenge a man as powerful and ruthless as Archibald.” Joan’s voice turned bitter. “I thank ye fer yer efforts, but there’s naught to be done.”

Stiffly, Joan rose to her feet. Her face was flushed as she struggled to maintain her dignity.How lowly the mighty have fallen.Ashamed of her unkind thoughts, Davina lowered her gaze, realizing that she was unable to control the stab of pity she felt as she watched her proud cousin stride away.