by Regan Walker
“Aye, but I had help from King Henry. Your plan will take time…years, if it happens at all. You might let me know when one of your castles actually rises from the earth. Then, I may again consider your request.”
Somerled clenched his teeth, holding in his anger and disappointment, certain Olaf never expected that day to come. “Do not doubt I will do this, King Olaf. I may be young but I am a man of my word. I can call upon thousands of men who, freed from the Norse, have joined my cause. In time, there will be more men and more ships. They share my vision of a kingdom of Argyll and the Isles not tied to any country save by bonds of honor and friendship.”
The king abruptly got to his feet. “Mayhap we will speak more of this in time. But, for now, I encourage you to go about your business with my blessing.”
Knowing he had been dismissed, Somerled watched the king stride across the hall, disappointed at the reaction to his offer. But since the hand of the princess had not yet been given, he refused to lose hope. There would come a time when King Olaf would need Somerled’s might and he would be there.
The princess cast him a hopeful glance, her brows raised in inquiry.
He shook his head, whereupon she rose and excused herself, an ethereal vision in blue gliding into the hall. A dream yet to be realized.
Reluctantly, Somerled turned to see his brother and Maurice had gotten to their feet and were waiting for him at the other end of the dais.
“How went the conversation with the king concerning an alliance?” asked Angus. “Your words were too whispered to be heard.”
Somerled frowned. “Not as I’d hoped. He is unwilling to give me what I want in exchange for my pledge. We will speak more of it at another time. Ready the ships. We sail in an hour.”
Acknowledging his command, Angus and Maurice stepped down from the dais and departed.
The princess hurriedly finished with the servants and came to stand before the dais, looking up at him. In a formal but gracious manner, she said, “Are you ready, my lord?”
“Eager, my lady.” He stepped down and offered his arm.
There was no more talk of alliances. She placed her hand upon his arm and began to speak of her home. “You might have noticed as you arrived yesterday that the castle is a large square tower and the walls of the keep very thick. On the west side is the Silverburn River, which forms part of the moat.”
“A natural moat is always an advantage,” he remarked. “Did your father construct the castle?”
“Nay, his forefathers. It is Norman in design. But he has improved it.” Somerled had recognized the square tower as Norman. He’d seen others like it and determined he would build the same kind of fortresses.
She swept her hand in a wide gesture, taking in the hall. “There are chambers above and you probably saw the guardhouse attached to the wall facing the gate. Between the wooden palisade and the castle is the outer bailey where the men train. But inside the square tower is another bailey. You may not have seen it as your rooms were on the outer wall. Come, I will show you.”
She led him through a door and down a corridor into the inner bailey open to the sky above. Sunlight shone down on the well-ordered space.
“Here we have the kitchens, the kitchen garden and the stables,” she said, gesturing around her.
“You supervise all of this?” he asked, willing to believe she did.
She laughed, a musical sound. “All but the stables and we have a cook who keeps a tight rein over the kitchens.”
He took in her words but felt sure she was being modest about her role. In one corner of the open space he glimpsed a swath of green. “Is that the garden?”
“Yea, ’tis the cook’s garden where she grows all manner of herbs, even a few vegetables. It will not be flourishing again until spring. And, of course, the monks in the abbey have a much larger garden.”
He had met Abbot Bernard the evening before so he was not surprised to learn there was a religious house on the isle. “I wish I had time to see the abbey.”
“It is timber now but my father means to rebuild it in stone like the castle.” Her green eyes sparkled as she spoke of her home and all her father had accomplished. It was clear she took great pride in both the castle and her role in assuring it remained a comfortable place for all.
Somerled envisioned her caring for his castles, his people. His heart swelled at the thought. She would be his lady, the Lady of Argyll and the Isles. “It seems to me you have had a large part in what I see around me, Princess.”
She smiled up at him. “The castle is only one of my interests, my lord.”
Returning her smile, he said, “I doubt not you are skilled at many things.” She was a beautiful flower just beginning to bloom, yet it was not hard to imagine the rose unfurled.
They returned to the great hall and he bowed to her. “Thank you for showing me your home, Princess. I will miss seeing your face when we sail.” Having now seen the one whose memory had lived long in his mind, he did not wish to relinquish the contact though he knew he must.
She looked up, concern on her lovely face. “Do you leave so soon?”
It gladdened his heart to know she did not want him to go. “Aye, this morning.”
“Very well,” she said with a sigh. Then she curtseyed. “I bid you Godspeed and good sailing, my lord. I go to the stables as I always greet my horse after breaking my fast before we ride.”
He watched her as she took an apple from a table and gracefully walked toward the corridor that led to the inner bailey, her head held high like the queen she might one day be.
RAGNHILD WAS NEARLY to the corridor leading to the inner bailey when Sweyn and his companion rose from their trestle table and stepped into her path. She tolerated them for a long minute ere begging off. “I was on the way to greet my horse when you stopped me,” she said. “I hope you will excuse me as my time is now short. I bid you both a good day.”
“As you wish, my lady,” Sweyn said, bowing as he returned her a treacherous smile. She felt his eyes follow her as she left the hall. It made her skin crawl. ’Twas nothing like the warm feeling she had when Lord Somerled looked at her.
The sunlight from the inner bailey fell on the clean straw where Fairhair stood in his stall, waiting for her. It was a ritual between them that after she broke her fast if no other tasks required her attention, she came to take him for a ride.
Already she was late for having shown Lord Somerled around but she did not regret the time spent with him. There was something about Somerled beyond the ordinary.
“There you are, my handsome one,” she said to her horse, running her fingers down his white forelock.
Fairhair nickered softly and raised his head over the stall door.
She touched her forehead to his. “Did you hear the sounds of revelry in the hall last night? I brought you an apple as your part of the feast.” She held out the prized fruit she had kept behind her and the horse took a large bite.
Behind her, she heard footfalls. Thinking it might be the groom, she turned to greet him but encountered instead the surly smile of Sweyn Asleifsson.
Turning back to her horse, she offered the rest of the apple to Fairhair. “Did you think it necessary to follow me, Sweyn?”
“I thought you might want company and could think of none better than myself.”
She whipped around. “You are overbold for a guest in my father’s hall. Worse, you do not honor your lord in seeking me out when you knew I would be alone.”
“Rognvald and I have often shared women,” he said coming closer, his presence like an evil omen.
“You speak lies. The Earl of Orkney would never sanction such a thing and I do not want you.” She backed away only to encounter the stall door. Fairhair must have sensed her alarm for he raised his head and gave off a loud whinny.
Ragnhild’s eyes darted to the pitchfork set against the stable wall and knew it to be out of reach. But she still had her eating knife secured at her waist. She pulled the knife
free and held it in front of her. “Come no closer!”
With a swipe of his hand, he knocked the knife to the ground. “Your smile would invite the coldest of men, Princess, and I am not cold to you.”
“Leave now, Sweyn, else my father will kill you!”
He reached out to grab her and she yanked her arm back. “Do not touch me!”
He closed the distance between them and pressed her against the stall, his breath hot against her neck. “I can make you want me.”
Behind Sweyn, there was the flash of a sword and the edge of a blade suddenly rested against his throat. “Do as the lady says or I will remove your head from your shoulders.”
“Lord Somerled!” she exclaimed, relieved and happy to see him.
Sweyn slowly backed away from the blade at his throat. “No need to get riled, lordling. I merely came to join the princess in greeting her horse.”
“You lie!” Ragnhild and Somerled spit out at the same time.
“Leave while you have all your members, Sweyn,” said Somerled. “There is a score to settle between us and I would be happy to see it done this day.”
The Orkneyman turned and, tossing a mean look at Somerled, fled out the stable door.
Somerled gave Ragnhild a look of concern. “Are you unhurt, my lady?”
Flushed but unharmed, she said, “I am well but I thank you for intervening. You spared me an ugly scene or worse.”
“I saw him follow you from the hall, and knew he intended mischief. That snake is not to be trusted.”
“A vile man,” she agreed, wrapping her arms around her. “I like him not.”
“It would be well to stay clear of him. Come,” he said, offering his arm, “I will see you safely to the hall and then I must meet my men at the shore.”
As they walked back to the hall, she said, “Say nothing of this, my lord. Some would not think kindly of me. They would say it was my fault.”
He gave her an enigmatic look. “Aye, some might but I never would.”
The blue of his eyes was clear, his demeanor sincere. Had she gained a champion, a protector? Or mayhap more?
Once they entered the hall, he faced her and, taking her hand, pressed a warm kiss to her knuckles. “I will see you again, Princess. Once I have set my mind to something, I never falter.”
She did not know how to respond. Should she be flattered? Insulted at the possessive gleam she glimpsed in his eyes? In truth, she felt none of those things, only an inner warmth at his words. She very much wanted to see him again.
His companions approached and, after greeting her, they walked with Somerled and her to the castle door where she bid them “Godspeed”. From the top of the rise, she raised a parting hand to Somerled as he looked back at her one last time.
CHAPTER 6
BY THE TIME Somerled returned to the shore, Sweyn’s dragonship had gone. “Did he leave in haste?” he asked Domnall as he stepped on deck.
“Aye, and very angry.”
“He was shouting at his men,” said Angus, raking a hand through his windblown hair.
“He would have been angry,” Somerled muttered under his breath, looking into the harbor. “The King of Man is well rid of him.”
“A menacing character,” said Maurice, who had been listening to their conversation. “One day, you will have to kill him.”
Somerled recognized the truth of the Irishman’s words. “Indeed, but not today.”
“To where do we sail?” inquired Domnall, as the men readied the ships.
Somerled stared out to sea. “I had thought to go to Irvine on the shores of the Firth of Clyde where King David holds court. There are many things I would discuss with him.”
“You might want to alter your plans,” said Domnall. At Somerled’s raised brow, his cousin added, “One of our men heard Sweyn speak of Islay, no doubt with pillaging in mind for they have no base there.”
Somerled frowned at this news. Irvine could wait but Islay could not. “Aye, Sweyn would be one to inflict his anger on the people. We sail to Islay.”
As they left the harbor, they met the rest of the longships and galleys Somerled had brought to the isle. Those captains, too, had watched Sweyn sail away from Man. “They were joined by two other dragonships as they entered the Irish Sea,” Ruairi MacInnes, now one of his captains, shouted from the deck of the galley he commanded.
Somerled decided to take four of his longships with him to Islay and send the rest of those here with Ruairi to Kintyre to check on the settlement there. “We’ll meet you at Dunaverty Bay ere we sail to Irvine.”
The winds from the southwest were with them as Somerled sailed north, arriving at Islay late that afternoon. Covered by a gray sky filled with dark clouds and spitting rain, Islay lay due west of Kintyre and contained both sea and freshwater lochs. The isle was essential to Somerled’s strategy, for, along with Argyll, Kintyre and Lorne, it had been part of the ancient kingdom of Dál Riata, his family’s royal lands. It must remain free.
The island’s coast had always been plagued by winds and Somerled knew the approach from the south to be difficult. There were many places from which Sweyn could launch an attack but there were settlements on the east coast, bordering the narrow straight between Islay and the Isle of Jura that was the main route to the rest of the Isles. Though the tides ran fast and had to be carefully navigated, Somerled believed the pirates would set their course for Askaig, a secure haven, for a mile inland lay the settlement of Keills. It was there Somerled directed his four ships.
They came upon Sweyn’s dragonships beached in a cove set into the wooded coast just south of Askaig. They could not have been there long as the afterguard was taking down the sails, their shields still hanging from the rails.
Seeing Somerled’s four longships rowing hard toward them, filled with two hundred warriors, Sweyn’s men shouted to each other and scurried about, readying a longship to sail. Before Somerled’s lead ship reached them, the Orkneymen jumped into that dragonship and hastily rowed north with the tide, abandoning their fellow pirates to their fate.
“Let the cowards go!” Somerled shouted to his captains who were about to pursue. “We have their two ships. Sweyn and the bulk of his warriors may already be attacking Keills. We must aid the people. I’ll take most of our warriors and the archers and go after them. The rest of you stand guard and deal with any of Sweyn’s men fleeing this way.” To Maurice, he said, “You are in command here.”
“As you wish,” said the Irishman, though Somerled could see he relished the thought of engaging the pirates.
“Sweyn is a wily one, Maurice, and I trust you to manage him should he get away.”
Maurice nodded and Somerled grabbed his shield, hurrying inland with Angus and Domnall and their well-armed men.
Screams rent the air as they neared Keills and the pungent odor of smoke drifted to Somerled’s nostrils. It was always the same with these Norse invaders. Some might come for slaves but Sweyn was not one of those. Mayhap unwilling for his master to know of his pursuits, Sweyn came only for plunder and mayhem, leaving cinders and corpses behind. Still holding to pagan beliefs, he would burn all in his wake to make sure the spirits of the dead did not follow him home.
Somerled was glad to see only one building had been set afire. He motioned his warriors from the path into the woods. “Surround the village,” he ordered. “When I give the war cry, attack from all sides. They will have no time to think of strategy. Protect the chapel where innocents may be sheltering. Save as many as you can.” To his archers, standing nearby, he said, “Get to high ground and mark your targets well for time to save the innocents will be short.” He looked into the eager faces of his men. “Show the courage I know you have.”
His warriors hurried into place. Somerled sounded his war cry, a shout above the fray heard by all. It must have sent chills through the pirates, for they turned with shocked expressions to see who was descending upon them. Clearly, they expected no one to come to the aid of Keills for t
hey wore no mail, only helms and light armor.
Somerled plunged into the battle, his men behind him a screaming tempest come to harvest pirate blood. With sword, spears and wooden shields, they attacked the Norse raiders with a vengeance.
Taken by surprise, the pirates turned from seeking plunder to defending their own skins.
As he had once hunted wild boar in the forests of Morvern, Somerled now hunted the Norse who preyed upon his people. He slashed his sword right and left, cutting a swath through the stunned invaders. His shield gathered more than one enemy arrow but he took comfort in seeing his own archers claiming the lives of Sweyn’s men. Some of the pirates were just drawing their swords when they were cut asunder.
Hard Norsemen screamed, grabbing gashed faces and severed limbs, as they dropped to the ground, vomiting gulps of blood.
The violent clash of fierce Gaels and raiding Norse lasted more than an hour for there were more than two hundred Norsemen pillaging the village. When he had a moment’s respite, Somerled gazed down the length of the village, pleased to see his men were gaining the victory.
At the far end of the village in front of the chapel, he spotted a young villager swinging his sword with practiced skill in a magnificent fight against a taller, more powerful Norseman. The lad was holding his own, but Somerled knew the boy lacked the power in his arms to continue the fight against so fierce a foe.
Such courage had to be aided. Somerled rushed to the fight, hacking away at the Norse raiders who stood between him and his goal. Arriving at the lad holding back the pirate’s attacks, Somerled drew the Norseman’s attention with a shout. “You will die this day!”
Equally met, their swords clashed, once, twice. Somerled hammered him with his solid round shield then turned in a circle, his sword flashing silver around him. Stooping low, he swept his blade over the Norseman’s legs.
The pirate screamed, stumbled and fell. Somerled seized the opportunity, piercing the pirate’s flesh above his leather jerkin and thrusting his sword deep.
