When the nuptials had been declared, Malcolm turned with Catriona to face the company. To his enormous pleasure, it was not just Ranulf who pledged his service to Malcolm’s hand. Louis and Giorgio chose to remain, as did Gunter and Amaury, Tristan and Bertrand.
Rafael acted as if there had never been any indication he might leave. There was a new ease between his old comrade and his wife, as if each had taken the measure of the other on Midsummer’s Eve and accepted what they had each found.
It was a party filled with laughter that returned to the hall, to the confusion of new servants arrived and familiar servants trying to set matters to rights. There was more than one jest about the great bed Alexander and Eleanor had brought to Malcolm and Catriona as a wedding gift, and Catriona had been awed by the draperies upon it. Rosamunde presented Catriona with a trunk filled with beautiful lengths of cloth and vowed to bring her some fine leather slippers of the right size. She also gave cloth to Vera, who hugged it as tightly as a beloved babe.
Erik had indeed given his leave to Ruari to remain at Ravensmuir, just as Alexander had consented for Vera to remain at Malcolm’s holding. The pair intended to occupy the first house in Ravensmuir’s new village, and Ruari would be Malcolm’s master of arms. Vera had been delighted when Catriona asked her to aid in ensuring that all ran smoothly within the keep until a castellan was chosen. Ruari complained about remaining at Ravensmuir forever, but Vera teased him so much that he did not look overly displeased.
Kinfairlie’s baker sent fresh trenchers for the feast, the brewster brought ale and the dogs could not believe their good fortune that there was so much fare in the hall.
“A tale!” Ranulf roared when the meal was completed and the fires yet burning bright. He raised his cup and shouted again. “A tale!”
“A tale!” Elizabeth echoed, raising her own cup. She and Ranulf laughed at each other and drank each other’s health, even as Rafael scowled at them both.
“I know just the one,” Catriona said and rose to her feet, clapping her hands for silence. She smiled at Malcolm, then began.
“Once, there was a man, who stood heir to a holding he loved with all his heart. His treasury was bare, though, and his responsibilities were great. And so it was that he surrendered the signet ring and the seal of his holding, and custody of the steeds his family had long bred on his holding, to his loyal brother and set forth to find his fortune.”
Malcolm sat back and savored the music of his wife’s voice as she recounted his own tale. He looked over the company with pride and satisfaction, the height of his new hall, the health of Catriona’s son, and knew his life was better than ever he had hoped it might be.
There was but one gift left he would bestow upon his lady wife.
He could not wait for it to arrive.
Friday, October 23, 1428
Feast Day of Saint Severinus Boethius and Saint Romanus, Bishop of Rouen.
* * *
Epilogue
The harvest had been gathered when a ship appeared on the horizon to the east of Ravensmuir. It had not been a large harvest, for only a small increment of Ravensmuir’s fields had been tilled, and the soil had been turned late. But Alexander had supplied seed for oats that matured early, and Malcolm was well pleased.
The village of Ravensmuir already grew, for half a dozen young men had requested of Alexander that they move to Ravensmuir and Malcolm’s brother had graciously assented. With new fields, there was more opportunity to establish an income at Ravensmuir, and numerous younger sons in Kinfairlie’s village wished to wed their sweethearts. By the time the harvest was safely stored in the stables and Ravensmuir’s small chapel nearly complete, there were four weddings to be celebrated there.
Avery was a vigorous boy and one who seemed disinclined to fall ill. His easy nature made him a joy to all in the keep and already he showed his mother’s resolve to conquer all obstacles. He would be a fine knight and a finer laird, in Malcolm’s view.
Ruari and Vera did settle into the first house built in the village, which seemed to give Ruari the notion that he was in charge of all to be done there. When the village grew larger and if the need arose, Malcolm had already decided to make that man sheriff. The wet nurse Greta was a plain girl with a giving nature, and it seemed Ranulf had been lost with a single look. He courted her with a diligence Malcolm recognized well, and Malcolm did not doubt there would be a fifth wedding in Ravensmuir’s chapel by the Yule.
Catriona learned much from Eleanor, and more from Anthony’s choice of castellan, one Roger who had been brought from York. Roger was older than Malcolm but younger than Anthony, and every measure as fastidious as Kinfairlie’s castellan. He followed direction but also anticipated needs with a skill that both Catriona and Malcolm had already come to rely upon. To Malcolm’s pleasure, Roger was not a man to put aside any asset, and insisted that he had need of Vera’s considerable experience. The pair of them managed the keep and the staff with ease and authority.
Rosamunde had lent her expertise to identify a place just to the south of Ravensmuir where a ship could be docked. The fallen rock meant that a ship could not drop anchor so close to shore as had once been the case, but Rosamunde knew the coast well. She had found a mooring not so far from the one previously used and a place to land a smaller boat on the shore nearby. Although the climb was steep up the cliffs, it could be done, and she vowed that she and Padraig would use it often.
It was remarkable to Malcolm to look upon his hall and his holding, and think of how much had changed since his return in January.
He heard the jingle of keys and turned to find Catriona approaching, her sheathed dagger on one side of her belt, the keys to the pantries on the other. He loved how she had blossomed in her role and her confidence. He smiled and offered his hand to her, kissing her palm as was his wont and drawing her against his side. It would take a less observant man than Malcolm to have failed to note the slight rounding of her belly, but he left the sharing of her tidings to his lady wife.
She was not the sole one who planned a surprise, after all, and he would not disappoint her.
“There is a ship,” she said, pointing to the vessel in question. Already it had drawn closer, its sails billowed in a good wind. “Are these more relations of yours, or does it simply pass us by?”
“Have you fare for guests?”
“Of course.” Catriona smiled up at him. “But you know Roger. He wishes to plan for every eventuality in advance.”
“I believe they make for Ravensmuir,” Malcolm admitted, narrowing his eyes against the glare of the sea in sunlight as he watched the ship. “At least I hope as much, for I have been expecting someone.”
“Someone, husband?”
“Someone, lady mine.” Malcolm ignored her curiosity and kissed her brow. “I shall go to the cliffs, just in case.”
“And you will not tell me who it might be?”
“Not before I am certain.” Malcolm winked at her, noting the stern look she granted to him. “But I am not the only one with a secret, lady mine. Am I?”
Catriona flushed and smiled then, poking him with her finger. “I wanted to surprise you with news of the babe!”
“Then you should have confessed the truth before I could see it,” he replied, drawing her close to his side again. Catriona nestled against him, seemingly content with her situation.
“You are cursed perceptive,” she complained, her tone teasing. “I wanted only to wait until the time of greatest risk was past, lest you be disappointed.”
“And is it?”
“More or less. I believe you will have a new child before the spring, my lord.” She tipped her head to look up at him, her eyes sparkling with a happiness that made his heart leap. “March, perhaps.”
Malcolm nodded. “It is a good time for a birth, after the worst of winter.”
“Indeed. I might have thought you had planned it that way.”
“I could never have planned upon you, lady mine.” Malcolm coul
d not resist her smile, but bent and kissed her thoroughly. The heat rose between them as it did every time they touched, and he might have suggested they spend the afternoon alone in the solar, in the great bed that Alexander and Eleanor had given them. When he lifted his head, he saw that Catriona’s thinking was much the same, for she pursed her lips and flicked a glance at the ship. It was now clearly destined for Ravensmuir and drew quite close.
“Wretched guests,” she murmured, her eyes sparkling. “But as you have invited them, I suppose we must greet them well.”
“Indeed, we must, lady mine.” Malcolm kissed her hand again before he stepped away. “But trust me in this, Catriona. You will not regret it.” Before she could ask, he strode away, heading for the cliffs and the arrival who would make his lady’s happiness complete.
* * *
Malcolm had a scheme and Catriona knew it well. Who had he invited, and why? When had he invited guests? She had no inkling of it and had to admit that he was better at planning a surprise than she. She did trust him, though, and with all her heart, so she hastened to the hall and spoke to Roger. Between the two of them, they had the servants soon bustling with preparations for a feast that evening.
Since the hall was so well maintained, being swept daily and the floor laid with new rushes twice weekly, it was in such good order that there was little to do before the guests arrived to make them welcome. Roger had more tables set up in the hall, for their numbers were as yet unknown. Catriona requested that the fire be stoked, in case the arrivals were chilled from the sea wind, and had a blaze lit on the second hearth. At Roger’s suggestion, another cask of the wine that had come from Kinfairlie as a wedding gift brought up to the pantry. Catriona opened her spice stores so that a measure of the wine could be mulled in preparation for their guests. It was a long cold climb from the sea to the hall.
Then she straightened her kirtle and adjusted her circlet and veil, taking a stance at the portal just as Malcolm strode back toward the hall. The household gathered behind her and more than a few from Ravensmuir village appeared in the bailey, clearly drawn by curiosity. Ranulf, as always, took the fore of that party.
An older man accompanied Malcolm, his hair as white as snow, a single golden ring on his finger catching the sunlight. He was tall, this man, and walked with the surety of one who had fought in his youth. When he drew near, she saw that his eyes were blue, his gaze as quick and perceptive as Malcolm’s own.
A comrade then, or old friend, and one who had seen success for his garb was most fine. She heard Ranulf’s slight exclamation and guessed that he had known this man as well.
“Lady mine, this is Ulrik of Gandevaan. Ulrik, my lady wife, Catriona.”
Catriona curtseyed before Ulrik, even as he bowed deeply. “I welcome you, sir, to our hall. There is wine mulled for you, for I expect the wind on the sea was chill.”
“Indeed it was,” the man agreed heartily. “I thank you for this kindness.” He offered his hand to her and Catriona glanced up for Malcolm’s nod before she placed her hand upon his. Ulrik led her into the hall, his step sure and his approval clear. “Most fine,” he said, pausing to turn back to Malcolm. “You have ensured the future most well, Malcolm. And you have a son?”
“Aye. Avery.”
“I should like to see the boy, when it best suits his mother.”
Perhaps they were distant kin, for it was uncommon for a man to show such interest in an infant. Catriona, though, was aware of Malcolm’s pleasure and trusted that he knew best. She invited Ulrik to take the best seat, the one closest to the fire, and ensured that both men had mulled wine. She then summoned Greta and had her fetch Avery from the solar. He was sleepy but as even-tempered as ever when she carried him to their guest.
Ulrik showed a remarkable interest in the boy, putting aside his wine to admire Avery’s vigor and his size, tickling his cheek and letting Avery seize his finger. He chuckled when Avery kicked, as indulgent as a grandparent with the son his friend had adopted. Catriona could only conclude that he had a kindly nature, particularly when he insisted that she sit with them and keep Avery, as well.
“There is a tale I would tell, Lady Catriona, and your son should know it as well as you.”
“He is very young, sir.”
“But a child hears and understands before we even know as much, and this is a tale I would never see forgotten.”
Catriona glanced at Malcolm but he only smiled at her, so at ease that she knew he had planned this very thing, Perhaps he had invited Ulrik in order that he might share this tale, though Catriona could not imagine why that should be so.
“Once there was a man,” Ulrik began. “Born as big and strong as your Avery there. His mother, though, died in the birthing of him and his father was so mournful that he could never look at a woman again. The household became one of men, of warriors and fighting men. Worse, with the lord dissatisfied, his focus changed from that of ensuring the security and safety of a family to acquiring wealth. It was in the amassing of coin alone that the father found pleasure, and he gathered it, no matter what the cost, so diligently that he became richer than Croesus himself. And so it was that the boy grew up learning only the art of war and battle, of annexation and appropriation, as his father preferred to call it, and he too found pleasure in material goods alone.”
Ulrik sipped of his wine. “Until one day, his entire life changed. He had been dispatched by his father to lead an army, to attack and claim a town. This town was known as a halting place for pilgrims, and it was located just beyond the boundaries of the father’s holding—which in truth grew in size with every passing day. It was during Lent, and the father knew that the pilgrims would be passing through this village as they began their journey to Compostela. He knew that they would place coin in the coffers of the church as they prayed for protection on their journey. He knew that their purses would be full, for they would have just embarked upon their pilgrimages. And he knew that they would not be well-armed, much less prepared to defend themselves.”
“But they were pilgrims, protected under God’s grace!” Catriona protested.
“Indeed they were, but the father cared little for such detail. He thought only of the coin and riches he could claim for his own.” Ulrik shrugged. “And the son knew only his father’s thinking, for none in that holding dared protest against a lord. The son did not realize that his father was considered to be violent and greedy, for he had never known a man to be otherwise.” Ulrik turned his cup on the board. “And so the son did as he had been bidden. He led his army into the town, sealed the gates, and began to claim what he perceived to be his father’s due.” Ulrik smiled. “But there was a woman who challenged him.”
“Good,” Catriona murmured beneath her breath, winning a glance of approval from Ulrik.
“Indeed, it was good. She was a beauty, and a resolute one. She stepped out of the crowd, unarmed and undefended, and shouted at him. She called him a wretch and a scoundrel, she told him that he had no right to steal from others, no matter who had bidden him to do so. She spat on the ground in front of his horse, her eyes flashing and her disdain clear, and then she turned her back upon him and walked away.”
“He did not injure her!” Catriona whispered when Ulrik paused.
“Nay, not he! He had never seen such a beauty and never had a woman speak to him thus. He was touched and he was changed. He wanted to know more of this woman, who was both bold and foolish, and so he dismounted and dropped to one knee, calling after her. He said he would lead his army away in exchange for a single kiss from her. She called him a liar and they argued his merit. Though the son knew he would lose this battle, he did not care. He wanted only to speak with her, even if she was disparaging of him. In the end, he coaxed her smile in admitting his shortcomings, blamed his instruction and asked for her tutelage. She gave him that kiss, and it set his heart afire with a desire for more than gold.” Ulrik smiled. “It was a fortnight before he returned to his father’s home, and he only di
d as much because the woman, who had become his wife by mutual consent, sent him away.”
Malcolm refilled the cups of mulled wine, his gaze so warm upon Catriona that she smiled at him. She noted how Ulrik glanced between them, and she imagined that he was so pleased because Malcolm, his friend, was happily wed. She guessed already that Ulrik’s marriage had not fared so well as that.
“When the son returned home, he felt that scales had been lifted from his eyes, and truly, they had. He saw that his father’s life was empty and not worth the living, for there was no love or solace in it. He could not see the point of his father’s gathering of wealth, for it brought him far less joy than a mere moment in his lady’s company had brought to the son. And so, inevitably, the son challenged the father, hoping to provoke a change. Instead, they fought, bitterly, for the father perceived that the son rejected all that he had gathered in order to pass to the son’s hand. The son was exiled from his father’s hall, such words exchanged that he did not regret it. He returned to his lady, intent upon beginning anew. And so they did.”
Ulrik smiled. “They were happy in their own way, though they had little to their name. I suppose another might have anticipated that this lack of coin in their lives would come to trouble the son, especially when his lady wife rounded with child. He began to see the reasoning behind his father’s choice, for he feared the future. He feared to lose his wife, and he feared that his child would be hungry. And so it was that he returned to his old trade, for fighting was all he knew to do, though he did not speak to his wife of it. She was not a fool and he feared she had her suspicions but as her time was drawing near, he did not wish to fight with her. He was leery of provoking any dissent that might affect either her survival or the health of the child.” Ulrik clicked his teeth. “One might say that he was deceptive.”
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