by Regan Walker
“What do you know of her?” Catrìona asked her cousin in a whisper.
“Only what the queen told us after you left the hall with Giric. She is from Ayrshire in the west where her father has much land in oats and barley. He raises cattle, too.”
“Ayrshire lies south of the vale on the Firth of Clyde,” said Catrìona, idly thinking here was yet another woman to be bartered away by the king. She was glad she would not share such a fate.
Once they were all inside the hall, Isla was introduced to the queen’s ladies and Audra kindly offered to show their newest member to her chamber, which the two of them would share.
The king and queen set about entertaining the men. A few minutes later, Catrìona and Fia left for their own chamber to retrieve their cloaks as the queen had told her ladies they would be joining her on an outing that day. As they passed Audra’s door, the sounds of an argument could be heard.
“I will not rise before dawn, nor will I feed urchins. And I have no intention of living like a nun. I am here to gain a husband!”
Audra’s words in reply were soft and muffled. Catrìona could only imagine what she had said to Isla. Exchanging a look with Fia, she said, “It seems we are in for a storm.”
“Aye,” said Fia, as they continued down the corridor. “Isla’s concerns are all for herself. I pity the man the king gives her to wed.”
“If she is unkind to Audra, I may decide not to like her,” Catrìona said, wondering how one as selfish as Isla would fare among them. After living as one of the queen’s ladies and seeing Margaret give of herself to the poor and the needy, she had come to admire her mistress. Even the early rising and the hour of morning prayer were not so onerous as they had seemed at first.
The queen’s errand that afternoon took them to a small hill about a mile south of Dunfermline in the direction of the River Forth. It had rained during the night and the ground was soft and the grass damp.
The queen sat, reading from a small book she carried.
“Does the queen come here to read?” Catrìona asked Audra from where they stood some distance away. Isobel, the most senior of the queen’s ladies would know, but Catrìona preferred to ask Audra, who did not seem to mind her many questions.
“She comes here to meet the people, making herself available to any who would speak with her.”
Catrìona nodded. She was becoming accustomed to her mistress’ unusual behavior. She and Audra found seats on nearby rocks. Fia joined them.
Audra leaned in to say, “Sometimes the queen takes coins from the king’s treasury to give to the poor who come.”
Catrìona nodded again, remembering a story Steinar had told her of a time he had overheard the king teasing Margaret about her thievery.
“Once he even threatened to have her arrested,” the scribe said.
Knowing the king’s reputation for being harsh, Catrìona was horrified at the thought. “Would he do that?”
“Nay, but he made a great show of it before erupting into laughter. Knowing Margaret never seeks anything for herself alone, he found her theft highly amusing.”
“What did Margaret do?”
“The queen just smiled and reminded Malcolm she had brought him a good dowry and the poor needed the coins more than he did.”
Catrìona had smiled to herself at the idea of Margaret admonishing the king, but as she considered it, the queen’s logic was flawless.
“I think they both enjoyed the exchange,” Steinar concluded.
Catrìona had grown fond of her conversations with the scribe. She had often found herself looking for him when the men came into the hall to break their fast. His manner was easy and he always had something interesting to tell her. She loved his stories of his home and his sister he seemed to admire. After the morning meal, she would stop to talk to him outside the tower. Sometimes Giric joined them, hanging on the scribe’s every word, for it was clear the boy admired him.
The king also valued Steinar, ever calling for the scribe’s aid in deciphering some missive he had received. Their two heads, one dark, one light, would bend over the parchment and the king would nod his understanding as Steinar read the words. In recent days, messages had come more frequently, making Catrìona wonder what was going on.
The queen spoke just then to one of the ladies, calling Catrìona back to the present, but the thought of Steinar did not immediately leave her. Images of his golden hair shimmering in the light of the sun and the feel of his lips on hers flickered in her mind. She chided herself for thinking of the scribe when she should be thinking of Domnall. He was due back today from a trip he had made in furtherance of a matter of trade for the king.
Her musings were interrupted by a group of women, some with babes in their arms, some with small children tagging along, who walked toward the queen from the direction of the village.
Margaret invited them to join her and greeted the children.
“When is the new prince to be born?” asked one of the village women, who balanced a young child on her hip. The woman’s tunic was plain and faded beneath her thin shawl. A simple head covering bespoke her married status.
“In early September,” said Margaret, rubbing her hand over her belly.
“Do you hope for another son?” asked one woman who held the hand of a small boy.
Margaret smiled. “I will take whatever the Good Lord gives me. But the king would like another son.”
The women smiled their understanding.
As the queen spoke to the women, a group of travelers passing on the road stopped to bid her good day. By their clothing of rough woolen tunics, heavy cloaks and leather satchels the men carried, Catrìona judged them to be pilgrims.
“Where do you come from?” asked Margaret of the man who, leaning on his wooden staff, appeared to be leading the party.
“We come from Dun Edin across the Forth, bound for the shrine of Saint Andrew,” said the bearded man. His face was weather-beaten, his dark hair long and tangled.
“Did you have any problem crossing the Forth?” the queen asked.
“Nay but the boat was costly,” he replied. Catrìona was aware pilgrims often traveled with little coin and accepted charity where it was offered.
“ ’Tis a worthy pilgrimage,” Margaret remarked. She stood and walked toward the small party, pressing coins into their hands. “To help you on your way.”
They thanked her profusely and departed for the village where they said they hoped to find lodging for the night before they resumed their journey eastward.
As the pilgrims continued down the road, Margaret resumed her seat on the stone, her gaze following them until they disappeared from sight. Then the queen shifted her attention back to the village women. After some conversation, the women also turned to leave.
“Wait,” Margaret cried, holding out a hand as if to stop them. Rising from the stone bench, she took off her scarlet cloak. To the woman who drew her thin shawl tightly around her, the queen said, “You have no cloak. Take mine.”
“Oh no, My Lady,” the woman said, dismayed by the queen’s generous offer.
But Margaret would not be gainsaid. “I have others and this one I would give to you.”
It was then Catrìona realized several of the women wore no cloaks.
Audra was the first to follow the lead of their mistress, taking her own cloak from her shoulders and placing it around one of the village women.
Seized by a sudden desire to show kindness to the women, Catrìona took off her cloak. Tears came to her eyes as she walked to one of the women whose height was nearly her own and whose rust-colored tunic was simple and could not be very warm. Two young children clung to her skirts. Handing the green cloak to the woman, she said, “It will look nice on you and it will keep you warm.”
The woman accepted Catrìona’s cloak. “Thank you, my lady. ’Tis very generous.”
Catrìona sensed she had changed as a result of Margaret’s influence, for while she loved her green cloak, another
lay in her chest, while this woman had none. What joy it gave her to give.
The rest of the queen’s ladies removed their cloaks and gave them to the women who had none.
All except for Isla of Blackwell.
Isla drew her beautiful blue cloak more tightly around her and turned her head away. Catrìona remembered Isla’s heated exchange with Audra that morning and what she had said about why she had come.
As the women and their children departed, Margaret resumed her seat on the flat stone and sat back staring toward the River Forth, a distant look in her eyes.
From where they were, Catrìona could see a slice of blue water above the vegetation in the distance. She and the other ladies resumed their seats around Margaret.
After some time, the queen beckoned Catrìona to her. She did not hesitate and went to sit beside the queen. Without her cloak, Catrìona felt the cold of the stone through her gown as she took her seat and knew the queen had to feel it as well. “My Lady?”
Margaret spoke in a soft voice. “I have been thinking about the pilgrims, Catrìona. I would make their way easier as they journey to the shrine of Saint Andrew.”
Catrìona waited expectantly for Margaret to explain, not understanding why the queen had singled her out.
“And I want you to help me,” said the queen.
Catrìona considered it an honor to be asked by the virtuous queen to assist her but still the question rose to her lips. “Me?”
Margaret returned her a small laugh. “It has not slipped my notice that of all my ladies, you are the one who is not happy unless challenged.” Then with a smile, “Even if you have to wander far afield to find that challenge. You take on ventures no one else would. None of my other ladies own a falcon or seeks out paths through the woods. ’Tis no wonder your father gave you one of his guards.”
Feeling heat rise in her cheeks, she dropped her gaze to her lap. “Aye.”
“I hoped this might take your mind from the events in the vale, even end the dreams you sometimes have.”
“You know about them?” Catrìona said, surprised. She would not have wanted the queen to be aware that the events in the vale still haunted her.
“Your fellow ladies were concerned for you when they heard your screams in the night.”
Catrìona dropped her gaze to her hands. “They are less now, My Lady.”
The queen patted her hand. “That is good.” As Catrìona raised her head, Margaret said, “I seem to recall you have befriended the king’s scribe, have you not?”
She nodded hesitantly, wondering what the queen had in mind.
“Assuming I can persuade the king to part with more of his gold, I will need to account for the expenditures and you can work with the scribe to see it done.”
Though she was delighted to have the chance to work with Steinar, Catrìona was dismayed at the prospect of spending the king’s gold, no matter what Steinar had told her.
Margaret appeared undaunted. “I would have a ferry built to take the pilgrims from Dun Edin across the Forth without cost. I know some shipbuilders who can do it. From Dunfermline to the shrine ’tis thirty miles, which means once they cross the Forth, they still have days of weary travel. I would build lodging for them on this side of the Forth. This, too, I would provide without charge.”
“So large a task…” Catrìona said, thinking aloud.
The queen laughed. “Aye, but one that would interest you more than embroidery, no?”
Catrìona nodded, looking at the tips of her fingers still scarred from the many needle pricks. Never had she imagined an undertaking like building a ferry and an inn, but she was quick to catch the queen’s enthusiasm. “There are many Saxons who do not yet have work, My Lady. Might they be called upon to serve in your inn? Some might even have skills to build and take charge of it.”
“A splendid idea!” exclaimed Margaret. “Of course, I will have to appoint a steward, someone I trust to oversee the inn, but ’tis doable. Nechtan might be of assistance.” Then with a small smile, she added, “Using the Saxons to help run the inn and serve the pilgrims should appeal to my husband, assuming I can convince him his people will love him all the more for his generosity.”
With that, the queen stood, beckoning her ladies, urging them to return with her to the tower.
On the way back, Margaret filled Catrìona’s mind with ideas for the new ferry and the inn to serve the pilgrims. The enormity of the task excited her. Finally there was something for her to do of importance.
* * *
That evening, when Steinar came into the hall with Rhodri, his eyes were drawn to the king standing near the tower door speaking with the family that had arrived earlier that day. The man was stout and dark-haired, of middle years. The women with him both had the same nut-brown hair, one older and one younger. Their clothing told Steinar they were people of great wealth. The man’s blue cloak was trimmed in gilted leather and the women wore silk gowns trimmed in velvet.
Steinar nudged Rhodri in the ribs. “Do you know those who speak with the king? I missed their names when they arrived earlier and I spent the afternoon holed up writing the king’s missives.”
“By the way he is dressed, I would say he is one of the king’s mormaers, but I do not know either him or the women. I’ve been on the archery field most of the day.”
The king and the family walked to the dais and were joined by the queen.
Steinar took his seat next to Rhodri, noting the young woman sitting on the dais was the same age as the queen’s ladies. “Mayhap the woman is the replacement for Davina.”
“She is comely enough,” Rhodri observed without enthusiasm.
Having found her place at the high table, the young woman’s gaze drifted about the hall, her nose tilted up. “Her manner suggests a haughty spirit.”
“Whether she is haughty or no matters little,” said Rhodri. “If she is to be one of the ladies who serve Margaret, she is likely here at her father’s bidding to make a good match. Lands and coin will produce a husband for her even if she is a witch.”
Rhodri had the right of it. Since Margaret had become queen, several of her ladies had left to marry one of the king’s favored men. Fruit ripe for the picking. As he watched Catrìona, he realized he did not want her to be given to anyone save him, and particularly not to a man such as Domnall. No doubt her powerful uncle, the Mormaer of Atholl, had a hand in the match. Steinar did not want to think of another man touching her, of taking her innocence. But there was little he could say to prevent it.
“Take care lest you become obsessed with the flame-haired one,” said Rhodri sliding onto the bench next to him.
“Mayhap you are right.” At one time Steinar might have searched the hall for a willing woman to take to his bed. Now he watched only Catrìona. Tonight her face was lit with excitement as she and her cousin spoke in lively conversation. What had given rise to her impassioned mood?
“Her brother practices with the archers every day,” Rhodri remarked, distracting him from Catrìona.
“Is Niall any good?”
“Quite good. Like your sister, Serena, skill with a bow comes easily to him and I expect he will ride with the archers on Malcolm’s next raid.”
“It will not be long now,” Steinar remarked. “The king has summoned men from the provinces for that very purpose.” Any day, Steinar expected to see warriors pouring in to Dunfermline in response to the king’s missives to his chiefs.
The servants began setting pitchers of wine on the tables. Once the king’s goblet was filled, he shot up from his seat and raised his goblet in toast to the new arrivals.
“To our guests, the Mormaer of Blackwell and his wife and daughter. Welcome to Dunfermline.”
Goblets all around the hall were raised and wine quaffed as shouts of “Aye!” ascended from the crowd.
Servants set haunches of roast venison before them, the spicy aroma making Steinar’s mouth water. A Saxon serving wench poured wine into their goblets, aimin
g a slow smile at Steinar as she did so. Long flaxen plaits complemented her round face and form, but he was not interested. He had eyes for only one woman.
“Will you entertain us this eve?” he asked Rhodri.
“Not tonight.” He grinned. “I am to have the evening free.” The bard sliced off a piece of meat and brought it to the trencher they shared. “The king has arranged for a group of minstrels for dancing.”
* * *
“Dancing!” Catrìona exclaimed with pleasure. “I have not danced in a very long time. Not since before…” Her words trailed off as she remembered her parents had arranged for music and dancing the evening she and Domnall were to be betrothed. The vision of the planned gaiety faded from her mind, reminding her she and Domnall were not yet betrothed.
Across from her, Fia’s blue eyes glistened excitedly. “I can hardly eat for the thought of dancing in King Malcolm’s court. Do you think the bard will play with the minstrels? I would so like to dance with him.” Her cousin’s gaze shifted to where the bard sat with Steinar. “Rhodri is so handsome tonight in his green velvet tunic.”
“You will have to wait and see,” said Catrìona. “I expect there will be several instruments. Mandolins, flutes, mayhap even drums. He may be asked to join them.”
Elspeth, the youngest of the queen’s ladies, sat nearby flirting with one of the king’s guards and giggling when he returned her smiles with a lusty glance.
“She had best contain her smiles,” Fia whispered to Catrìona, “else she will soon be devoured by that one.”
Her cousin’s eyes were narrowed on a muscled warrior Catrìona had not noticed before, but now she could see there was a fierceness about his person. He had dark, intense eyes and a warrior’s chest and arms. His long hair was neither blond nor brown but somewhere in between, held in place by a strip of leather encircling his head. Unlike his hair, his short beard and mustache were red.
“He is Colbán of Moray,” said Fia, “captain of the king’s guard and a man known for stealing young women’s virtue.”
