Rebel Warrior (Medieval Warriors #3)

by Regan Walker

  Slowly, she turned to meet his intense gaze, so like that of the fierce bear she had thought him to be. “Surely the king will honor your wish.” To forestall him saying the words his eyes were speaking, she said, “Have you considered Audra? Duff’s daughter is a kind woman and her father is a great warrior, favored by the king. She would make a wonderful wife.”

  “Aye, mayhap she would. I like her well enough. But her mother and younger brothers were murdered by Mac Bethad…”

  Catrìona hesitated, the truth dawning on her.

  “…of Moray,” he finished.

  “Oh,” she said, and then remembering when it had happened, she added, “But surely Audra would not charge you with their deaths. You must have been very young.”

  “I was twelve summers that year. I did not fight with Mac Bethad.” He turned to face her. “But he was our king and before that, he had been the mormaer of Moray. Many in my family fought at his side. They might have been among the men who killed Duff’s wife.”

  A deep sigh escaped her. What she had seen in Audra’s eyes bespoke a longing for the king’s captain, mayhap even love, not loathing, but it would take more than Catrìona’s words to persuade this stubborn man Audra cared for him no matter he was from Moray.

  “ ’Tis no matter,” he said, interrupting her thoughts, “for I have another in mind to take as my wife.”

  He paused then, his eyes boring into her and then he stared at her lips. Catrìona sensed he wanted to kiss her, might even try to repeat the demanding kiss he had given her in the woods. She could not tell him her heart belonged to another, one whose kisses robbed her of breath, nor would he hear of Audra’s desire for him. It was all such a muddle.

  Wanting to discourage him, she said, “ ’Tis best to choose one who is willing, sir.”

  In a tone she had heard him use in commanding his men, he said, “All women are willing in time.”

  She couldn’t resist the laughter that bubbled up in her chest for the arrogance of his pronouncement. “You do not lack for confidence, good sir.”

  He clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes. “Confidence, madam, comes from skill, practice and experience, as any warrior will tell you.” Raising his head and thrusting his shoulders back, he said, “When it comes to women, I possess all three.”

  She huffed out a breath. How could she make such a man understand? “I do not think you would like a woman who defies you at every turn,” she insisted, refraining from pointing out that she would be just such a woman.

  “Nay, I would insist on compliance,” he threw back, his forehead furrowing.

  She was searching her mind for a sharp retort when, behind him, she saw a pale sail catch the last rays of the dying sun. “A ship!”

  Colbán whipped around. “The king’s ship.”

  * * *

  It was gloaming when the king strode down the plank from his ship to meet Margaret who, by then, was waiting on the sand. One of the guards carried a torch, allowing Catrìona to see the gleam in the king’s eyes, matched by that in the eyes of his queen.

  “My Lord, I had no idea you would sail to St. Andrews!” exclaimed Margaret.

  Malcolm swept her into his arms. “Mo cridhe, I only wanted to give you an easier ride home, one you could share with your husband.”

  Margaret’s cheeks flushed. “I am glad you came, my husband.”

  The company that had traveled with the queen had gathered on the shore to welcome Malcolm. At his words to the queen, smiles broke out on every face.

  Catrìona felt a pang of envy at the warmth of Margaret’s relationship with the king.

  “I see you all made the journey,” said Malcolm when it became clear he could no longer ignore his men.

  “Aye,” said Colbán, stepping forward and speaking for the others. “The queen is safely delivered to St. Andrews.”

  Behind the king, bounding down the plank leading from the ship a score of feet away was Giric, heading straight for Steinar who had come to stand beside Catrìona.

  Reaching Steinar, the boy took his hand. “Did ye miss me, Scribe?”

  “I might have,” Steinar said with a wink at the boy. “How did you talk the king into letting you come?”

  With one arm still wrapped around Margaret, Malcolm gave the boy a sharp glance. “He did not ask but sneaked onto the ship as it was being loaded. Small mite that he is, he was well hidden behind a crate of altar cloths. We were already in the Forth when he was discovered.”

  Margaret smiled at the boy, as if amused by his daring, then looked at her husband. “We only arrived today ourselves.”

  The king turned to his captain as if for an explanation.

  “The weather slowed our progress,” said Colbán. “But the queen found what she was looking for.”

  “Aye,” said Margaret, “a proper site for the inn and a church beside it. Come, let us retire to the abbey and I can tell you about it.”

  Bishop Fothad, who had been standing behind the king’s guard, strode forward to offer Malcolm a bow. “My Lord, we have food ready if you are hungry.”

  “Good eve,” said the king to the white-cowled bishop. “Yea, food is welcome. My men on the ship are ever hungry. And I have brought the bard to entertain us.”

  Catrìona cast her gaze on the ship. Rhodri stood on the deck, his arm lifted in a gesture of greeting. At his side was a grinning Fia.

  “I wonder how she managed that,” Catrìona muttered to herself.

  “What?” whispered Steinar.

  “ ’Tis nothing.” However Fia had done it, Catrìona felt her spirits rise at the prospect of having her cousin with her again.

  The king beckoned Rhodri to join him and the bard complied, descending the plank with his harp under one arm and his other hand extended to help Fia.

  Once the ship’s oars were stowed and the sail furled, the men who worked the lines and rigging joined the party on shore and everyone followed the torch-bearer to the abbey.

  Catrìona delighted in the merriment that filled the abbey’s large chamber as platters of fish were served to the king and his crew, along with vegetables, warm bread and much wine. After the meal, there were berries and honeyed cakes for all who wanted them.

  The abbey’s table that had earlier comfortably accommodated the queen’s party was now crowded and seating on the benches cramped, but no one seemed to mind. Laughter echoed around the chamber, followed by Rhodri’s songs of the seas and ships, which lulled them all into a contented state.

  Happy to have been spared the further attentions of the king’s captain, Catrìona sipped her wine and leaned toward Fia. “How did you manage to be included while the other ladies were not?”

  “ ’Twas simple. I asked the king.” At Catrìona’s look of incredulity, Fia added, “I told him you and I are quite close and I knew you would want to see me. ’Tis true, is it not?”

  “Aye, I am glad you are here.”

  “Then I thought of what you might say, so, I told the king that I had never been on a ship and I was certain my father would be pleased should I have the experience.”

  Barely able to control her laughter, Catrìona exclaimed, “Fia, you did not!”

  “I did. ’Tis likely true. And you know you would have said it. Besides, I had no intention of being left behind when the king called for Rhodri. If Malcolm had not given his consent, I might have stolen aboard with the boy.” Glancing at the end of the table where Steinar and Giric sat together talking, Fia asked, “What has happened with the scribe? He wears a grim expression whenever he looks at you.”

  Catrìona shrugged. “In truth, I do not know, but he has been in an unpleasant mood ever since he came upon me in the woods with the king’s captain. I was furious with both of them.”

  Fia raised her brows.

  “Not here,” whispered Catrìona. “I will explain later when we are alone.”

  “You tease me beyond measure.”

  * * *

  Giric rambled on excitedly about his trip
on the king’s ship. All the while, Steinar watched Catrìona, desperate to know what happened between her and Colbán before the king arrived. Had she succumbed to the king’s captain as so many women did?

  Interrupting his thoughts, Giric asked, “Have ye ever sailed with the king?”

  Steinar looked down at the boy’s face, shining with the joy of his adventure. “Nay but mayhap I will for the return to Dunfermline.”

  “I would like that. I was not ill either.”

  “If you are to one day be a great warrior and travel to the distant parts of Scotland, ’tis good you are at ease on the sea.” Already, Steinar knew he wanted the boy to come with him when he claimed his lands in the vale, but mayhap Catrìona would want the lad to go with her. Steinar could not bear to think of her staying behind with the king’s captain.

  * * *

  As soon as the door to their chamber closed, her husband pulled Margaret into his arms. He smelled of salt and the sea and she was very glad to have him with her. His strength was a comfort she had learned to draw upon. “You dismissed my maidservant,” she said teasingly, as she fumbled with her laces.

  A slow smile spread across Malcolm’s face, his dark eyes twinkling. “You will need no servant tonight for I have much experience with your laces, madam.” With his arms wrapped around her, he reached behind her to pull the laces free as he kissed his way down her throat, sending shivers coursing through her.

  “You will wake the babe,” she said in feigned objection.

  Malcolm turned her in his arms so that her back was to his chest and placed his large palms on her rounded belly. “Aye, he will have no sleep for a while, mo cridhe, for I have learned to pleasure you with only slight jostling of the babe.” Sliding her gown from her shoulders, he helped her to step from it as it sagged to the floor and led her to the bed, the bishop’s own she suspected, for it was large.

  He removed his crown and then hers, setting them and her headcloth aside.

  She sat on the edge of the bed cushion, watching as Malcolm shed his clothes, providing a feast for her starving senses.

  “How goes the contest to win the affections of the redhead?” Malcolm asked as he pulled off his tunic and began to unwrap the leather strips crossing his hosen.

  “Catrìona and Steinar have exchanged words more than once and, in the last few days, he has paid little attention to her. But just this eve, she went most willingly with your captain on a walk along the shore. It may be that ’tis Colbán she would prefer after all.”

  “Either man is worthy,” he observed.

  He pulled his inner tunic off, revealing his muscled chest. At two score years, he was still a warrior to be reckoned with. Margaret’s mouth watered as he began to loosen the ties that held his hosen to his waist.

  “If I match the redhead with my captain,” said Malcolm, slowing his disrobing, which she was certain was intentional, “what think you of Duff’s daughter for the scribe? Might not such a gentle woman appreciate his lettered ways and his knowledge of so many languages? Together they could make a formidable pair in winning us the friendship of the western isles.”

  “Yea, the match could work if Duff would agree to let Audra go so far from Fife. She is his only daughter and dearly beloved.”

  “I will have a word with him when we return to the tower.”

  He peeled his hosen from his legs to stand naked before her, his manhood telling her how much she was missed.

  Because she perceived he was testing her resolve, she asked blithely, “How fares the Mormaer of Fife? Does he recover?”

  “Oh, aye,” he said stalking toward her. “To my eyes, he is not well, yet in Colbán’s absence, Duff directs the men at their sword practice and vows to lead the next hunt.”

  She laughed. “A warrior’s warrior that one,” she said, dropping all pretense of patience and holding her arms open in welcome.

  He stepped between her legs and, with a hand beneath each of her knees, pulled her bottom to the edge of the bed, pressing his hardened flesh against her woman’s center. “And so am I, mo cridhe.”

  * * *

  Catrìona and Fia followed Audra and Margaret at dawn the next morning as they walked over the sandy ground to the chapel just beyond the abbey. At least it is not dark.

  The chapel, perched on the edge of a flat bit of land, overlooked the North Sea. The bright circle of the sun rose in a red-gold sky over the calm waters. Small waves met the shore, subdued as if in reverence.

  Catrìona had glimpsed the humble place of worship when they arrived the day before. Built in the shape of a cross, the church was simple in design. Its significance, Catrìona knew, was owing to the relics of Saint Andrew long housed here.

  She joined the others to silently kneel before the altar to pray. While Catrìona had much to be thankful for, she still wondered about the future. Surely the king would not give her to a rough man like Colbán, but the captain seemed to be focused on her as his choice.

  When the queen had finished her prayers, Catrìona helped her to rise and waited with Audra and Fia for their mistress’ instructions.

  “I am to see the bishop,” Margaret said, “but should you wish to make a confession prior to breaking your fast, any of the monks who tend the chapel can accommodate you.”

  “I will come back later,” said Audra and turned to go with the queen.

  Fia looked at Catrìona, her brows raised in question.

  Knowing her cousin was anxious to break her fast with Rhodri, she said, “Go ahead, I will join you shortly.”

  Catrìona wanted to stay behind. It was not that she had much to confess, though she was certain she had done something that should be set before a priest, but there were questions she would ask a man of God.

  Seeing no monk in the chapel, she strolled outside to gaze at the waters of the North Sea. The vastness of it somehow calmed her. The slope to the sea from where she stood was gradual and easily walked if one did not mind the loose sand. Sparse vegetation grew up amidst the sand with wildflowers making their presence known here and there.

  Gulls shrieked as they flew from the rocks to cross her path. On the beach, ringed plovers darted across the sand to forage among the green plants. In the distance, a flock of eider ducks glided over the blue waters, the males with their stark black and white feathers vivid against the blue, like nuns set to flight.

  As she stood watching the glorious splendor of God’s creative work, she remembered the queen’s words. God has a greater plan for us. Surely He had a purpose for her and Niall since they were spared when so many were not.

  “ ’Tis glorious, is it not?” came a soft male voice from behind her.

  She turned to see a brown-haired monk in a gray cowl robe, his hands folded in front of him.

  “I was just thinking the same thing.” She recognized him as one who had dined with them the night before. “You are Caerell?”

  “Aye, so I am. Did you wish to speak with one of us, my lady?”

  She hesitated, unsure of what to say. “There are things I would ask you if there is time.”

  “I am here to listen,” came his reply. In his soft gray eyes, she saw he was sincere. His manner was kindly. She did not think he would judge her for her doubts, so when he gestured to a large rock, she went.

  They sat and watched the birds and she told him of the last year of her life and how she had doubted God for all that had happened to her family and her people.

  The Culdee was patient, hearing all. When at last he spoke, his words were as gentle as his voice. “The path to wisdom often leads through the valley of doubt, my child. To lose so much and still desire to trust God tells me you are already on that path. Remember Job’s question to his doubting wife, ‘Shall we receive good at the hand of God, and not evil?’. It is the work of a lifetime to trust Him through hardship and loss, but that is what we are called to do.”

  She knew his words to be truth. “Queen Margaret told me I must accept whatever God allows into my life, tr
usting Him to use it for good.”

  He nodded. “The Lady of Scotland is a wise woman, someone who has been hurt in the past, yet whose faith remains unshaken.”

  “I am worried for my future.”

  “Place your trust in God for that, my lady, and I will pray for you.”

  The monk placed his hand on her head and prayed. As he spoke to God, Catrìona felt a peace such as she had never known.

  * * *

  Steinar had just finished breaking his fast when Malcolm rose from his seat, drew the queen up beside him and turned to the bishop.

  “We have availed ourselves of your hospitality long enough, Bishop Fothad. It is time we sail.”

  The bishop rose, as did Steinar and the king’s men.

  “It has been my privilege to host you and your lady, My Lord,” said the bishop, bowing. “You and Queen Margaret are welcome any time you can be with us.”

  “Before we go,” said the queen “there is something I have for the chapel.” A servant, who had been standing behind Margaret, brought forward a carved wooden chest and set it on the table before the queen. She opened it to reveal a jewel-encrusted gold cross. Gasps sounded from those gathered around. Steinar, too, thought it a splendid piece of great beauty, certainly worthy of the simple chapel that housed the apostle’s bones. He wondered if the cross had come from Hungary, a part of the queen’s dowry.

  The bishop was quick to accept the ornate cross Margaret laid in his hands. “My Lady, ’tis a magnificent gift. We are humbled by your generosity.”

  “The Lord’s house should reflect His glory,” she said in reply.

  Steinar anticipated Malcolm’s next words.

  “I am for Dunfermline!” the king proclaimed. “Master shipman,” he said to the steersman, “make ready my ship.” Then to Colbán, “Select those guards you need and send the rest home by land. You and Steinar will sail with me. You, too, Rhodri. And the ladies.”

  Eager to be away, the men set off to accomplish their assigned tasks.