Summer Warrior (The Clan Donald Saga Book 1)

by Regan Walker

  Somerled looked down. “A necessity in the beginning.” Raising his gaze to meet the king’s, he said, “I had but few warriors then and winning that battle was crucial. I have since killed many a Norse pirate, but I’ve not again repeated that display.”

  David laughed, shooting a glance at Fitz Alan. “For a time, I thought you as savage as the Norse pirates you chased from our shores but then I heard more. And what I heard, I liked. Moreover, I do not hold it against you for not offering an oath of fealty to me for lands you consider yours. In truth, I am busy in England and cannot be concerned with Argyll and the Isles. Too, when I became King of Scots, I denied King Henry his demand for my oath of fealty. My people would not have understood. But I gave him my word to support the claim of his daughter, my niece, the Empress Maud to the English crown. And I do to this day.”

  His jaw set in firm determination, Somerled offered his hand to David. “You have my word, Your Grace, as long as we both live.”

  The king accepted Somerled’s hand and then poured wine for the three of them.

  Somerled quaffed the wine and spoke again. “There is another matter I would discuss with you if you are willing.”

  The king looked up, his dark brows arched. “Yes?”

  “’Tis my brother-in-law, Malcolm MacHeth.”

  “A troublesome oaf,” put in Fitz Alan, frowning.

  “Aye, probably,” replied Somerled, “but for the sake of his wife, who is my sister, and my nephew, I must inquire of his welfare.”

  “He remains my prisoner,” said David, “yet he is treated as a guest at my castle at Roxburgh. Your sister and nephew may join him if they choose. You do understand why I cannot free the rebel from the house of Moray?”

  “I do and I thank you for your leniency.” Somerled well knew another, less merciful king, would have taken Malcolm’s life for he had rebelled more than once in pursuit of his lands and title. As David’s guest, Malcolm would be treated well. Somerled would assure his sister she had no cause to worry.

  Satisfied he could do no more, Somerled lifted his drink in toast and three goblets came together.

  His business done, Somerled set down his wine and rose. Bowing, he thanked the king and inclined his head to Fitz Alan before taking his leave.

  SOMERLED CELEBRATED that night, first with his men, and then in the king’s hall with Angus, Domnall, Maurice and Liadan. All were delighted they had added Arran and Bute to the isles over which he reigned and lifted many cups of ale in toast.

  “With Arran so close to Kintyre, Ruairi and those at Dunaverty will sleep more soundly,” said Domnall.

  “Aye,” agreed Somerled, “and so will I.”

  “What did you give to gain so much?” asked his brother, his expression skeptical.

  “Only my word that my ships and my warriors would come should King David have need of us.” When his companions looked at him with questioning eyes, he said, “I could not have done less. ’Tis an alliance we sought.”

  “I suppose it a fair bargain to have David as friend,” put in Maurice, “though, with his troubles in England, a call to arms might not be far away.”

  “Aye,” Liadan agreed, “even so, there is no doubt you did well, my lord.”

  Somerled dined on the haunch of venison provided by the Princess of Man, all those attending the king praising her winning shot. She had emerged into the hall as an elegant lady, making it hard to imagine one so winsome had, but a few hours earlier, galloped in the hunt.

  She took her place beside her father and stepmother at the high table, her smile wide when she glimpsed Somerled sitting at the trestles with his companions. For a moment, he could not look away.

  “I found the fletching’s owner,” said Domnall, drawing his attention, “or at least the men who have the same fletchings on their arrows.”

  Somerled turned his eyes on his cousin. “And?”

  “One of the grooms remembered seeing that fletching on the arrows in the quivers of Earl Rognvald’s men. He said they were unique to the Norsemen, the arrowheads, too.”

  “So, the earl greets me warmly and asks forgiveness for Sweyn’s treachery yet he would send one of his men to kill me.”

  “’Tis how the Norsemen from Orkney take revenge,” said Maurice. “They do not openly speak of it until accomplished. Once they have killed and burned without mercy, they claim victory. But I believe Rognvald is too concerned with how he is perceived to be directly involved in treachery.”

  “Remember, Brother,” said Angus, “he knows of your interest in Princess Ragnhild and likely resents what he deems interference in his plans for a bride with a large dowry.”

  Somerled acknowledged the truth of it. “I must speak to Olaf and see if I can delay his acceptance of the earl’s suit. There is no need for such an alliance now that we protect the Isles and, besides that, have the favor of King David.”

  As the dinner drew near its end and the trestles were taken down to allow for entertainment and dancing, Somerled watched for King Olaf to descend from the dais. Once he did, Somerled bowed to Queen Affraic and to the princess and asked if he could speak privately to Olaf.

  Ragnhild returned him an anxious expression went with Affraic to join the other women.

  Olaf suggested he and Somerled take some evening air.

  Outside the hall, the air was cold and brisk. The street was empty. Somerled drew his mantle around him, glad his men had lodgings, for the night would be colder still. The smell of sea and salt brought a welcome change from the heat and pervasive smell of wood smoke in the hall. He had posted a guard for his longship that changed every four hours so none of his crew would face the entire night on the ship.

  He paused to admire the evening sky and Olaf stopped beside him. The sun was nearly set behind the mountains of Arran. The sky was the color of the bitter oranges from Seville they sold in Dublin’s markets. Clouds had gathered since the morning, their edges now gilded with the golden light. Somerled smelled rain in the air as a man used to travel by sea senses such things. “Winter approaches.”

  “As November descends,” began Olaf, “I want to be home on Man, in my own bed and dining in my own hall. Where will you winter?”

  “I have stops to make when I leave here but I am hoping to spend the winter on Islay where I will build a new timber lodge on Findlugan’s Loch. Do you know it?”

  Olaf nodded. “Once, I sought shelter from a storm in the waters of Loch Indaal. My travel was delayed for a week and the loch you speak of was merely a good walk away.”

  “It was the large bay of Loch Indaal that I had in mind when I picked Findlugan’s Loch as the ideal place for the clan chieftains to gather. It will be one of my first strongholds, one that will not require stone to be secure.”

  “And do you still plan to build stone castles?”

  “Aye. King David has given me his blessing—and more importantly, two of his French stonemasons—for construction of castles at strategic points in my growing kingdom of the Isles.”

  Somerled would not have sounded so boastful but he wanted Olaf to know he was a man of his word and had already begun to build his chain of strongholds. Castles fit for a princess.

  “Ah, I can see where you are taking me. Now that you are building, you think to again ask for my daughter’s hand.”

  “I do. I believe she would welcome my suit and, within a year, I can offer her a home like she has on the Isle of Man. Think, King Olaf, if you gave her to me, Ragnhild would not be as far as she would be in Orkney or some other place. You could see your grandchildren often. And I would give my word to you, as I have to David, to come when you have need of my many ships and my thousands of warriors.”

  “You make it sound attractive,” said Olaf, rubbing his hand over his beard.

  Somerled considered the aging but still healthy king. With no height to compensate, Olaf had grown rounder. Surely, he desired grandchildren, and Somerled would need heirs for the kingdom he was building. “Give her to me, King Olaf
, and you will not regret it. Neither will she, for I love her.”

  The king turned from the setting sun to face Somerled, as if surprised at his bold declaration.

  Somerled felt the sun’s dying rays on his face and wondered what Olaf saw. Did he see a man in love, a man committed to one woman no matter the cost?

  “Mayhap one day I will give her to you, but not, I think, this day.”

  Somerled’s heart sank. He had hoped for a betrothal even if the marriage took place a year hence. Disappointed once again, he asked, “What of Rognvald’s suit? Will you give her to him?”

  “That is a question I have pondered since we arrived here and I discovered the earl had come to call on King David. Rognvald informed me his next stop would have been the Isle of Man. I cannot dismiss him, for he is a noble of royal descent. He continues to want Ragnhild for his countess, and my queen urges me to give the princess to him. But my daughter does not favor the man. Though he is wealthy with strong connections to Norway’s king, he is also a braggart, which does not wear well.”

  “You must know that I am now stronger than Rognvald.”

  “I know your fleet of ships has grown and you can call upon more of your Highlanders.”

  “Aye, all that is true.” Somerled pressed his case, deciding to share with Olaf what he would not even tell the Scots king. “And there is something more I would tell you. It concerns the earl.”

  Olaf’s bushy red brows lifted. “Yes?”

  Somerled rolled up the sleeve of his tunic to show the bandage, the linen still bearing a small smear of dried blood. “This day, he had one of his men try to kill me on the hunt but when I bent to my saddle, the arrow hit my arm instead of my heart.”

  Olaf stared at the bloodstained bandage. “Rognvald has admitted this?”

  “Not yet, but I have proof and will soon confront him.”

  “Why should he do this?”

  “Do you not know?” At Olaf’s blank look, Somerled added, “He is aware of my feelings for Ragnhild and, I suspect, of hers for me. He would have no competition for your daughter’s hand. And murder is not above him.”

  Olaf let out a sigh of resignation. “A wise man guards what he considers his.”

  “And that is how I see Ragnhild, Dear King…my own.”

  Olaf shrugged. “There is no reason for haste or violence in this matter, for nothing has been committed. In the meantime, I am selfishly inclined to give her to no one.”

  Somerled frowned his frustration. Lacking the prize he had hoped for, he took the crumbs Olaf offered. “Very well, I accept your decision—for the meantime. Still, I will not forsake my quest to claim Ragnhild as mine.”

  On Olaf’s face appeared the merest of smiles.

  RAGNHILD WONDERED what Somerled had in mind when he asked her father for a private conversation. Might they speak of her? Would Somerled ask for her hand? Or, was she just hoping? They might only discuss an alliance, the kind men who commanded warships and territories might desire.

  The two were not gone long. When they returned, her father went to speak to some of his friends and she turned her attention to Somerled. His mood appeared somber. What could have caused so serious an expression?

  She watched as Somerled looked around him, his gaze coming to rest upon Earl Rognvald, who had just finished a game of chess with Hugh de Morville. Then he strode to where Rognvald sat before the empty board replacing the chess pieces. He must have asked the earl if he wanted to play another game for Rognvald gestured to the empty seat. They exchanged a few words and began to play.

  From where Ragnhild stood next to Beatrice, Hugh de Morville’s wife, she could see well the chess game as it proceeded. Not far away, the pretty girl Somerled had brought to David’s court stood, her eyes always on her lord. Who was she?

  Ragnhild had observed no whispered words between the girl and Somerled, no touches or looks like a man would give his mistress. But did that signify? Mayhap he was just being discreet.

  The women’s gossip around Ragnhild did not require her attention but she did not hesitate to respond to the question Beatrice asked. “Have you enjoyed Irvine?”

  Between sips of her wine and furtive looks at the chess game, Ragnhild said, “Oh, yes. There is so much more to occupy one’s time here than at home.”

  Beatrice smiled, her dark eyes glinting in the fire light. “I forget you live on an island.”

  Ragnhild nodded. “The Isle of Man does have its limitations. We’ve not the many shops, but I often sail with my father to Ireland and Galloway and the isles that are his.”

  “My travels are mostly on land,” replied Beatrice, “and the distances across Scotland are far. Riding for long days can be wearisome.”

  Ragnhild stole a surreptitious glance at the ongoing chess game. Judging by the pieces piled up next to Somerled, he was winning. The scowl on Rognvald’s face, made harsher by the candle casting him in shadows, gave proof to her assumption.

  “I do love to ride,” Ragnhild said, “though perhaps not for days on end.”

  “You do not mind the cold and wet weather of the Irish Sea?” asked Beatrice, seeming to shudder.

  “My father takes pains to see I am comfortable, giving me the warmest of fur-lined mantles. Aside from that, I was raised as much on his longship as on land. I love the sea and the sight of the isles rising from it.”

  Ragnhild diverted her gaze for a moment to the chess game where a smile suddenly appeared on Somerled’s face.

  “CHECKMATE,” said Somerled, fixing his eyes on the shocked earl. For one who had touted his prowess at the game, this must not have happened often.

  With an indifferent grimace, Rognvald tipped over his king, one of the carved pieces of walrus ivory Somerled had been admiring. “What would you have of me for your miraculous win?” A boon had been promised to the winner but it was clear to Somerled that the earl never expected to lose.

  Somerled pulled from his tunic the broken arrow shaft, the feathers still intact. He had learned more about it since Angus had told him it belonged to one of the earl’s men. “I would know which of your men thought to slay the King of Argyll with this arrow.” Though King David had called Somerled a king, it was only with a man as self-important as Rognvald that Somerled would use the title “king” for himself. Somerled was pleased to see it had the desired effect.

  If it were possible for the Earl of Orkney to be embarrassed, he was. His cheeks flamed. “I know nothing of such a plot! And my quiver is missing no arrows.”

  “Is that so?” Somerled flicked his fingers over the feathers. His left arm still ached like perdition and he had used only his right hand in the game, a fact apparently unremarked by the earl. “Mayhap ’tis not yours. Yet this is one of your Orkney arrows. The feathers may be common goose but different than ours in the way they are affixed to the shaft, a shaft made of Norway pine, a wood only Orkneymen use.”

  Rognvald abruptly rose and glared down at Somerled. “You slander me and mine!”

  Somerled relaxed in his chair, confident he had hooked the salmon. He had only to land it. He leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “The next time you try something like that, I will show no mercy. If I must kill all to get one, I will.”

  The earl’s dark eyes, full of menace, narrowed on Somerled. “The next time, I will not fail.” Abruptly, he turned and stalked off.

  Somerled sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. Well, well, well.

  OLAF STROLLED THROUGH THE HALL, greeting the men he had come to know over the many years he had been allied with the King of Scots. Raised together in the court of Henry I, he and David had learned the ways of the powerful King of England together, both his treachery and his harsh demands. Henry was a sovereign who considered his subjects playthings. For certes, the women Henry took to his bed, even the wives of his barons, fell into that category. Olaf had lost count of Henry’s bastards.

  Though he did not lament Henry’s passing, Olaf regretted the current state of affairs t
hat pitted Henry’s daughter, Maud, against his nephew, Stephen, who had seized England’s throne on the old king’s death. A civil war was threatening to ensue that would surely entangle David. Olaf might be David’s friend but he had no intention of becoming involved in England’s affairs.

  Seeing Ragnhild talking with the women of the court, Olaf let out a measured sigh. She was his jewel and not only his but that of his kingdom. His people loved her and since her mother, Ingibiorg, had died, they treated the young princess as their own. He must arrange a marriage that would serve his kingdom yet assure his daughter would be well treated and given a worthy home. After all, if anything untoward happened to his young heir, Godred, it would be Ragnhild’s sons who would inherit the Kingdom of Man and the Isles.

  His daughter did not lack for suitors but which one would be best?

  The Earl of Orkney admired the princess though, at times, it seemed his fondness for her was the same as his fondness for his dragonships. Rognvald would give her a title, jewels and poems. But would he care for her as Olaf had? Did his great view of himself leave room for a wife to dominate his heart? Mayhap not. And now that Olaf no longer needed Rognvald to keep the sea pirates from the Kingdom of Man, could there be a better choice?

  In contrast to Rognvald, Prince Henry, King David’s son, was humble as well as handsome, beloved by all. Undoubtedly, he was a young man who would treat Ragnhild well, as his father, the King of Scots, had treated his own wife, loving her even after her death. But was David inclined to have a Norse daughter-in-law when his ties had always been to England? And did Olaf want a Scot to inherit his kingdom? Besides that, while Olaf had observed the two young people dancing together and could see they had become friends, the twinkle in her eyes and the smile that lit up her face she reserved only for Somerled.

  The Lord of Argyll, Kintyre and Lorne had risen like a comet to outshine all the young lords who would pay suit to Ragnhild. Olaf was coming to see that, one day, Somerled could be lord, not just of Argyll and a few isles, but lord of far more. With King David’s blessing, and rents from the lands he controlled, Somerled could now construct the castles that would secure such a kingdom. But the Gaels were a troublesome lot, often fighting among themselves. And if not killed by a fellow Gael, Somerled could be slain on one of his many voyages attacking the Norse pirates, for he engaged in warfare on a near daily basis. No, if Somerled were to be considered for Ragnhild’s hand, Olaf must wait to see if the young lord could deliver on his many promises and survive to tell of them. After all, the princess was only nineteen summers. There was time.