by Regan Walker
In his mind, he shifted through the missives he had penned pertaining to the Orkneys and the brothers Paul and Erlend Thorfinnsson who ruled the islands. “I do remember something. ’Twas last summer. Malcolm sent a messenger to the brothers and asked me to write a missive for the messenger to carry, inquiring about an attack on one of his mormaers in the west. I had not thought of it because he only mentioned the hillfort’s location as being on the River Clyde.”
“My father’s hillfort was on the River Clyde,” she said anxiously. “What news did the king receive back?”
“As I recall, Paul sent a reply saying he had no knowledge of any raid on Scotland and insisted he and his brother were loyal to the king. They are his stepsons, after all. And Malcolm’s eldest son is in their care.” Gazing into her anxious eyes, he said, “The king would not hesitate to take revenge for an attack on one of his mormaers if he knew who was responsible.”
She looked down at their joined hands, one of her tears dropping onto his hand. “My father was faithful to the king. They fought Mac Bethad together.”
He squeezed her hand. “Were any saved besides you and your brother?”
“Angus, of course, and the Northmen spared some of the women, taking them on their ships when they sailed. My handmaiden was among them. She would be seventeen summers now.” Her eyes pleading, she asked, “What has become of them?”
He leaned in to press a kiss to her temple. “You cannot think of that now, little one. To worry will not bring them back.” He would not tell her the women had likely been sold like so many surplus cattle.
She turned her face and, as she did, her forehead brushed his lips.
“I have missed you,” he said, raising her chin with his finger. Her eyes were like liquid emeralds and he could not resist their power. Capturing her lips, he kissed her deeply. She responded, returning the kiss and reaching her hands into his hair.
How he wanted this woman! Not just in his bed but as his partner for life. Keenly aware she was not his to claim, he lifted his mouth from hers, speaking to himself as well as to her. “The king would not be pleased to know I claim your kisses when he may already have in mind a man for you to wed.”
She dropped her hands to her lap. “But there is no one…”
Her lips were swollen with his kisses and her eyes a darker shade of green. Wisps of auburn hair blew about her delicate face. Achingly beautiful and so innocent. Apparently she did not know of Colbán’s request for her hand. And he could not tell her.
“You do not know that,” he said with regret. “The king chooses the husbands for Margaret’s ladies. Now that you are free of the Irishman, you will be highly sought after.” He wanted to tell her he would ask for her hand but since he had already done so and been turned away, he said nothing.
She shook her head as if unable to accept the possibility. “The queen needs me in her work to build an inn for the pilgrims. Besides,” she said, giving him a sharp glance, “would the king not ask if there is one I would want?”
Could she mean him? That she might want him even though she knew him to be merely one of the king’s men caused his heart to soar with hope, but it soon died with his memory of the king’s words. He could not allow himself to think of having her. In that way lay madness. “The king gives no maiden a choice.” When she began to protest, he stood and offered his hand. “All things in time, little one. Come, we’d best return.”
* * *
Catrìona folded the traveling gowns she would take with her to St. Andrews and Steinar’s words came back to her. All things in time. The same words of dismissal Domnall had spoken when she laid her heart as his feet. But this was far worse than Domnall, for she cared deeply for Steinar. Once again, she had spoken too soon and received only rejection. He would take her kisses but shun her desire for more, for she would have his heart if she could. Mayhap it was her destiny to be loved by no man. If that were the case, she would rather serve Margaret all of her days than be given by the king to some man for whom she cared little.
Shrugging off the unpleasant thought, she placed her gowns in the small chest, glancing at Fia, trying to decipher her cousin’s true feelings about staying behind. She did not appear sad, but Catrìona had to know. “Do you mind awfully not going with the queen?”
Fia looked up from where she sat on the edge of her bed, plaiting her hair. “I do not mind at all, save that I wish you would take Isla with you. Her boasting and arrogance are most tiring, but ’tis possible Cristina will be less indulgent with her than Margaret.”
“You may not have to put up with Isla for long. She will depart soon after Domnall returns, do you not think?”
“Aye, mayhap.” Her cousin’s eyes narrowed on Catrìona, as if watching for a sign of sadness.
“Nay, Fia, I do not wish to have Domnall back. He could not have loved me, betraying me for the sake of coin as he did.” What she did not tell Fia was that she had found more comfort in the scribe’s arms than ever she had with Domnall’s scant attempts to comfort her after her loss.
Rising from the bed, her cousin came toward her and gave her a hug. “Good. I am glad you do not pine for Domnall.”
Looking into Fia’s eyes, Catrìona said, “It is just as well I go with the queen. Mayhap Domnall will come for Isla while I am away and then I will be free of them both. I will miss you, but at least I will have Audra for company.”
Catrìona closed the chest. She had not packed the cinnamon-colored gown she would wear tonight. There was to be a celebration for the king and his returning warriors and she wanted to dress for it. In truth, she dressed to please Steinar even though he had not encouraged her.
Fia resumed her seat on the bed and reached for a second riband to tie off her other plait. “Has Audra said anything about her father?”
“Only that he insists she travel with the queen and since Audra is willing to go, I assume he recovers.”
Fia rose from the bed to help her dress. “Just think, Cat, you will be with the handsome scribe all the while you are gone. ’Tis a pleasant thought for you, no?”
Slipping the gown over her head, Catrìona nodded. “Aye.” Her cheeks burned with the memory of his kiss, but her countenance fell as she remembered how things had been left between them.
“I am hoping Cristina does not keep us at our embroidery all day while you are away,” said Fia. “I want to be able to watch Rhodri at archery practice.”
“Do be careful, Fia. Cristina would not approve of your sneaking away to meet the bard.”
“Aye, she is a hard one, but more easily fooled than Margaret, who sees into the hearts of her ladies. I think the queen knows I care for Rhodri.”
“No doubt she does. One would have to be blind to miss it. ’Tis all over your face when you look at him.”
“As are your feelings for Steinar when you look at him. I think he has replaced Domnall in your heart.”
She would not deny it. “Aye,” was all she said. Then remembering the orphan boy, she asked, “Will you look after Giric while I am gone? I will ask Niall to see to Kessog as well as the lad but you will be there when Giric comes to break his fast. I would not want him to be lonely.”
“Gladly. I will enjoy breaking my fast with the boy and his little dog. Shadow never barks at the meal.”
Catrìona could not resist the smile she returned her cousin. “ ’Tis because Giric feeds the whelp beneath the table. I saw him doing it when the men ate upon their return from Northumbria.”
“I should have noticed that, but the lad is quick with his hands.” Reaching for her own gown, Fia said, “You and Audra enjoy your travel. I am content to stay in Dunfermline and see to the boy.”
Satisfied Fia was not feeling left out, Catrìona helped Fia with her gown and turned her mind to the evening. “There will be a celebration tonight. Mayhap the bard will entertain. There must be many tales from Northumbria he can set to song.”
“Aye and some of them could tell of the archers’ flaming arrows.
My heart pounded in my chest as Steinar spoke of them rushing through the air like a great wind!”
“You are as bad as Giric. His eyes grew huge as Steinar told the stories.”
“The lad is very fond of the scribe,” observed Fia.
Catrìona reflected on the time they had spent in the hall listening to tales from the raid. “Aye, and with good reason. Both Steinar and Rhodri are warriors and so would Giric be one day if he has his way.”
“I wonder what happened to render the lad an orphan,” said Fia.
Catrìona had wondered the same thing many times. “The queen never speaks of the orphans’ beginnings and I have been too much the coward to ask.”
* * *
That night, as Catrìona descended the stairs, there was a festive mood among the crowd gathered to celebrate the king’s return. Warriors, now bathed and shaved, carried on lively conversations with the women from the village who came to share the meal.
At the bottom of the stairs, the king’s captain waited, wearing the copper-colored tunic.
“My lady,” he said, bowing before her, “allow me to escort you and your cousin to your table.”
An uncomfortable feeling swept over Catrìona as she placed her hand on his offered arm. She was certain his request was in the nature of an order. Shooting a glance at her cousin, she said, “We would be honored.”
He deposited them at their table and strode away.
Fia whispered, “I told you those falcons would mean trouble. I have the feeling that man was marking territory.”
“Surely you are wrong, Fia. He was merely being gracious to one of the queen’s ladies who did him a kindness.” Even as she said the words, she hoped she was correct. At first she had been glad he had not found fault with her stitchery, but his attendance on her now caused her to wonder.
While the warriors had been away, Catrìona had begun the blue tunic for Steinar, oddly happy to be sewing for him when she had not liked the task when done for others.
“Apparently the king’s captain did not look closely at my stitches,” she remarked to Fia, “or he would have been frowning.”
“From what I could see,” said her cousin, “the work was not lacking. Besides, ’twas not the stitches that garnered his attention, ’twas you.”
“But you said he looks at all the queen’s ladies. Surely it is Elspeth who holds his attention, not me. He seems to bask in her flirtations.”
“ ’Tis certain Elspeth showers him with attention, but I cannot imagine a man like Colbán content with her for long.”
A few seats away, Elspeth laughed merrily. “She is yet young,” said Catrìona. “You remember how we were three years ago.”
“Incorrigible,” said Fia, “and mayhap you still are.”
That brought a smile to Catrìona’s face. “Aye, mayhap I am.”
The food that night was an amazing array of fish, game and roast boar. The kitchen must have been preparing the various dishes since the messenger had come with news of the king’s imminent return. Despite that the men had eaten when they returned, they devoured all on their trenchers and consumed many goblets of wine.
Catrìona sipped her wine, catching glimpses of the golden-haired scribe at the other table. His words about her now being free to wed came back to her, causing her to worry. She hoped the king had no plans for her. What would she do if he did?
When Rhodri’s entertainment concluded and all the stories had been shared, Margaret slowly rose and, begging leave from the king, stepped down from the dais. Her searching gaze fell upon her ladies and Catrìona rose with the others, relieved to leave the boisterous noise of the male celebration behind her.
* * *
Steinar checked Artair’s saddle and the pack he had slung over the horse’s back, eager to be on the road. He had never been very far east of Dunfermline and certainly not as far as St. Andrews, but now that Scotland was his acknowledged home, he was glad for the chance to see more of it. And he was glad to have days with Catrìona away from court even if the king’s captain would be accompanying them.
It took some time for the party to be loaded. Malcolm himself insisted on inspecting the cart his queen was to ride in, scolding a servant for insufficient pillows. Once that situation was remedied and the provisions and chests secured, the king settled Margaret into the cart and Colbán assisted Audra to sit beside her.
Steinar was unsurprised to see a servant leading Catrìona’s horse from the stable. While Colbán was issuing orders to the other guards, Steinar helped Catrìona to mount her horse next to the queen’s cart.
Checking the stirrup, he glanced around but did not see the ever-present Angus. “Your guard does not go with us?”
“Nay,” she said settling herself in the saddle, “the king’s captain persuaded him that I would be well protected by the guards attending the queen.”
“Why do you not ride with the queen and her other lady?” he asked, knowing the answer but hoping he could tease her into some spirited reply.
“I would not be so gently seated.” Shooting a glance at the queen whose maidservant was assisting her efforts to get comfortable, Catrìona said, “I can see more from my horse and enjoy the diversions the road has to offer.”
“Well, then, you can ride beside me as I’m to lead the party while the king’s captain and most of the guard will ride on either side of the queen.”
“If I must,” she said, as if greatly affronted. Her smile told him she was not.
The queen gave Catrìona an odd look but then Margaret was unused to the back and forth exchanges he enjoyed with her lady.
Today, the weather was warm and Catrìona had chosen to wear a simple linen gown, her cloak slung over the back of her saddle. Her hair was formed into one long plait that hung down her back like a crimson rope, the end of it dangling tantalizingly below the edge of her saddle.
“And what of your falcon?” he asked. “Did you leave the bird behind?”
She frowned, her disappointment evident. “Alas, I must. I just looked in on Kessog this morning. He is never too happy in the middle of a molt but today he was quite disgruntled. His feathers were all askew and he bristled on his perch as I left. ’Twas as if he knew I was going somewhere without him and was chiding me for not taking him despite his untidy appearance.”
Steinar chuckled but he well understood the falcon’s discomfort. He, too, would bristle should he be forced to wave her goodbye as she hied off to some distant place without him. Nay, he would not think of the day that might come to pass. For now it was enough they rode together. He would relish his moments with her and wait to see if she welcomed the attentions of the king’s captain before he lost all hope.
Bowing his head to the queen, he bid Catrìona to follow as he kneed his horse toward the front of the score of riders. Soon, they left the tower behind and took the path leading northeast from Dunfermline.
Above him, the sky was a cloudless blue. The path took them through green meadows edged with wood sorrel and butter-colored flowers. On either side of the meadow tall pines rose high above them. In the distance he could see low hills.
“Where will we lodge tonight?” she asked, her eyes sweeping over the grass-covered hills stretching before them bounded by the deep woods.
“Would you be disappointed if I said in an open field?”
She laughed. “Would you be surprised if I said, ‘Nay’?”
“My lady, after your jaunt in the woods and dip in the burn, nothing you do would surprise me. But lest you worry, the king maintains a manor house in Ballingry. ’Tis only a few miles southeast of Loch Leven. From the sketch I looked at of where we were headed, ’twill bring us about a third of the way into our journey.”
“I have not had such a long ride since coming to Dunfermline,” she said wistfully. “I am enjoying it.”
“Then you have no complaints?”
“Quite the opposite, sir. I am pleased beyond measure to be outside, free of the tower’s small chambers a
nd, dare I add, free of my needlework.”
He smiled. “You do not love your stitching as the other ladies do?”
“Rarely. But recently I have found a new interest in embroidery, a design of my own.”
Immediately he pictured the copper-colored cloth she had presented to Colbán. He had seen the captain wearing a tunic of the same color that evening in the hall, embroidered with what looked like falcons. Only she would have stitched such a design. The thought she might have enjoyed sewing for Colbán made him regret having asked the question.
A short while later, his mood darkening, Steinar called a halt to the procession. “We break here for a short while. The queen will be weary and we’ve the horses to water.” Gesturing to a nearby stand of oak, he said, “There is shade among the trees, my lady.”
* * *
Catrìona could not imagine what had come over Steinar. Without another word, he abruptly turned his horse and swept back toward the queen’s cart. The shade of the trees could wait. She would not be directed to the woods when her mistress might need her. Following the moody scribe, Catrìona urged her horse back to where the main group had stopped.
“Allow me to help you,” said the king’s captain turning to her, having just helped the queen down from the cart. While Colbán reached to help her down, Steinar assisted Audra. Catrìona fought the feeling of jealousy that washed over her.
Reaching her hands toward the captain’s shoulders, she felt his powerful hands circling her waist as he lowered her to the ground. “Thank you, sir. You are most gracious.”
“Why not ride in the cart with the queen for the rest of the day, my lady? ’Tis likely more comfortable and you might enjoy the company of the other women. Riding all day on a horse is not for a lady such as you.”
She let out an exasperated sigh as she handed the horse’s reins to a waiting servant. “Nay, sir. I prefer to ride. I am quite used to it and I daresay, Audra can keep the queen well entertained.”
He frowned, his displeasure clear, but he did not challenge her further as they walked together to join the others. A short time later, a cloth was spread beneath the nearby trees and they sat in the shade enjoying a bit of food. ’Twas a small meal but welcome and Catrìona was happy to see the queen ate the bits of cooked game, cheese and berries. Margaret often ate little but mayhap for the sake of the babe she carried, Audra had convinced her to eat.
