Summer Warrior (The Clan Donald Saga Book 1)

by Regan Walker

  “If David invades England,” said Olaf, drawing Somerled’s attention to him, “it will not be merely for his niece’s sake. To my way of thinking, he seeks to secure lands he believes are rightfully his, promised to him by old King Henry.”

  Somerled shook his head with regret. “It comes as no surprise that King Henry promised David lands that Stephen now thinks to take back. I fear the English monarchs only remember the promises that suit them. Stephen gave his oath to Henry to support his daughter, Maud, but was quick to forget it when he seized the throne.”

  IMPRESSED WITH THE WAY Somerled adroitly spoke of matters of state, Olaf sat back and listened to the young lord expound on what he thought might happen.

  “I imagine it came as a great surprise to Stephen to see the Scots king leave off his abbey building and go to war, but David has done so before and I believe he will again.”

  Olaf nodded his agreement.

  Ragnhild, who had joined them, put in, “David’s intention to hold Cumbria has never faltered. And then there is the matter of Northumberland he wants for his son whose mother was an English noblewoman, an heiress.”

  “Aye,” said Somerled, “and with Stephen now busy in the south of England, as I hear he is, it cannot be long ere David crosses the border. Only this time, I expect him to summon all his forces, including the men of Argyll and the Isles.”

  Olaf shifted his attention to his daughter, who was listening intently to the young lord with a look of concern on her face. Did she worry for Somerled’s safety? Mayhap if Somerled went to war with David and managed to survive, Olaf would consider him for the princess. Somerled had said nothing of his desire to wed Ragnhild but the day was still young.

  “How many men might you be able to muster for David’s invasion?” he asked Somerled.

  “A thousand or more,” he said with a glance at Maurice, who nodded. “Though they must sail from diverse parts of my kingdom and then there is the travel to meet the Scots king. It will take time.”

  Olaf had not missed the young lord’s use of the word “kingdom”. Indeed, from what Olaf had heard, Somerled’s conquests had made him king of an independent realm. “If David seeks to expand his army by so many, I expect he will want to add the Galwegians.”

  Ragnhild said, “Fergus’ men are an ill-disciplined gang of Picts but they are fierce fighters. David will be hard-pressed to control them. Fergus does not even try.”

  “David has his Scots, too,” offered Somerled, “all are savage fighters, save for the Norman knights. ’Twill be a vast army if he carries through with it.”

  Olaf was enjoying his conversation with the young lord and the way his daughter traded comments with him. Since Fergus had returned to Galloway, there had been few with whom he could speak of political matters. How pleasant it would be to have Somerled and his companions remain at Castle Rushen for the coming celebration. “If you four can remain with us for Christmas, I would be pleased to have you as my guests,” he said to Somerled.

  “I would eagerly accept but I promised my crew they would return to Islay for the season of Yule.”

  Olaf read disappointment in his daughter’s eyes.

  Maurice explained, “We are hoping to finish the construction on Islay this month ere the worst of winter descends.”

  “Well, at least stay the night and let us entertain you this eve,” said Olaf.

  His daughter looked at Somerled with anxious eyes. “We will make it worth your while.”

  “We thank you,” said Somerled, inclining his head to the princess, “and heartily accept.”

  As they rose from their seats, Ragnhild said, “We have lodgings for your galley’s crew away from the cold, and there will be room for them to dine in the hall this eve.”

  “Thank you. And, may they hunt this afternoon if they are inclined to do so?”

  Olaf nodded to his daughter and she gave the requested permission. He was proud of the princess. As a chatelaine, she was unsurpassed. And she easily entered into conversations many ladies would not for lack of knowledge. Today, she appeared to be putting out a special effort for this particular guest, which did not surprise him. “Who knows?” he told Somerled. “Your men might so enjoy themselves they may decide to stay here for Christmas.”

  AFTER THE MEETING ended, Ragnhild’s gaze followed Somerled as he went off to secure the lodgings for his men, his young son following on his heels. She had begun to think of the two of them as hers though she had no leave to do so. But hearts do not always wait for permission to give of themselves.

  She turned to attend the cooks, who were beginning to prepare the evening meal. It was one she had requested so that Somerled and his men would dine well that night. She tried to put out of her mind the possibility that he would depart on the morrow and might soon go to war.

  If Somerled could not remain for Christmas, she was determined to give him a feast equal to the one they would have in celebration of the Savior’s birth. One he would remember in the months ahead.

  Since Somerled had expressed a desire to see the abbey later that day, she sent a message to Abbot Bernard to expect them and an invitation to dine with the king this night. She also sent messengers to her father’s garrison commander and the island’s chiefs asking them to come with their wives to meet their special guest.

  She had already made sure that the hall had a merry appearance with new herbed rushes and garlands of greenery. Illuminating all were the torches and candles. She had told the minstrels, who often entertained her father, to come prepared to play songs of the season. The castle bard would sing ballads that would delight. Christmas was only a fortnight hence so it would be a practice performance, one that would please their guests.

  Excited for the meal she had asked the cooks to prepare, she instructed them as to details they would not ordinarily see to. She doubted Somerled would dine so well on Islay even at Christmas.

  Because it was still Advent, the main dishes would be fish: trout baked with leeks and thyme, salmon poached in a mint and parsley sauce with dried berries and broiled pike covered in cinnamon wine sauce. Vegetables would accompany the fish: onions cooked in a rich gravy with savory herbs, and buttered beets. All would be followed by apples baked with butter, cinnamon and sweet salt. There would be mead to drink.

  On the morrow, she would not send Somerled away hungry. After Mass, he would be served a morning meal of porridge with nuts and dried berries, eggs and bread and butter. She would make sure their satchels were filled with oatcakes, dried fish and apples and their skins full of the monks’ fine ale when they sailed.

  Somerled would not soon forget the hospitality shown him on the Isle of Man. And she hoped he would not soon forget her.

  SOMERLED’S MEN WERE PLEASED to be invited to dine with the King and Queen of Man. With hours still remaining before sunset, after furling the sail and securing the ship, they donned their heavy cloaks and went off to explore the isle, some carrying bows and arrows to hunt. Ragnhild had promised him a tour of the abbey, which Maurice and Liadan also wanted to see. Though he would have preferred to be alone with the princess, he did not think an abbey full of monks would produce that result, so he told his companions and his son they were free to come along.

  The princess was waiting for them when they returned to the castle, a dark green woolen mantle over her gown. “My father is a devout man and very proud of the abbey,” she said to the four of them.

  “There are many abbeys in Ireland,” said Gillecolum. “The one in Bangor is where I took my lessons.”

  Ragnhild smiled at the lad. “In Ireland, the abbeys are ancient and many of stone. Ours is fairly new and made of timber though my father has plans to see it in stone.”

  Somerled offered his arm and Ragnhild took it entwining her arm with his. She felt right tucked in close to him. Even the dismal weather could not dampen his joy at their reunion.

  “How is your arm?” she asked, speaking, Somerled knew, of his wound gained at Irvine.

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nbsp; “It is healing well with only small scars.”

  She leaned into his right arm. “I am glad, for I worried.”

  “For me?” he asked.

  “Yes, for you, my lord.”

  They walked to the abbey, Somerled’s son and two companions following him and the princess. The wind grew colder as the day waned.

  “Do you mind the cold?” she asked.

  “Sometimes. The mild winter you have here on the Isle of Man is nothing like the weather in the north or the wind at sea that can leave the deck awash in cold salt water, even in summer.”

  “I do recall the times my father has encountered bad weather when I was with him. It happened near Islay once.”

  They reached the large abbey garden first. It was surrounded by trees and laid out in plots protected by wattle fences. Behind the large garden, the abbey rose two stories high peeking above the trees. As they ventured closer, Somerled observed a small orchard.

  A gray-robed monk met them as they entered the arched doorway. “Good day, Princess,” he said, welcoming them inside. “I will let Abbot Bernard know you are here.”

  Ragnhild turned to Somerled, Gillecolum, Liadan and Maurice as the monk departed. “There are twelve monks here in addition to the abbot. That small number accomplishes much.”

  A moment later, the gray-haired, tonsured abbot appeared, both his hair and short beard nearly the color of his robe. Though Somerled did not favor the Roman Church, he knew they did good work and this abbot had a benevolent face.

  “Princess, how nice to see you!” said the abbot. “Are these with you the guests who are the cause of the celebration this eve?”

  “They are. Allow me to introduce them. This is Somerled, the Lord of Argyll, Kintyre and Lorne, his son, Gillecolum, Maurice MacNeill, the king’s foster brother, and Liadan MacGilleain of Islay.”

  Abbot Bernard offered his hand in welcome. Taking it, Somerled said, “I have been eager to see your abbey.”

  “They are hoping you might show them around,” said Ragnhild, as she laid back her hood. Her flushed cheeks and windswept hair drew Somerled’s gaze. He had missed the sight of her lovely face.

  “The monks finished another batch of ale a sennight ago,” said the abbot. “It should be ready to drink once we have seen the abbey. You are welcome to try it.”

  “Aye,” said Somerled, casting a glance at his companions. On their faces were eager acceptances of the priest’s offer. “I think we would like that.” Since ale was served with nearly every meal and contained only small amounts of spirits, it was suitable for his son, too.

  Abbot Bernard led them first to the large dining hall filled with light from the tall windows at one end and beckoned them to the open hearth where they reached their hands toward the flames to warm them. Somerled purposely took a place next to Ragnhild, their shoulders touching.

  Gesturing to the long table in the center of the room with a bench on either side, and a chair at the head, the abbot said, “After Lauds, we break our fast here with bread, cheese and ale before going about our work.”

  He next took them to the church. “This is the Church of St. Mary, the oldest part of the abbey and its heart.” The church had been built in the shape of a cross with an altar at the far end of the chancel. Windows set high in the wooden walls allowed shafts of light to fall on the altar. “Here, we pray and hold services for the people.”

  The princess explained, “My father established the abbey to promote the Christian faith, to educate the island’s young and to give alms to the poor.”

  “And we do all three,” put in the abbot, “as well as produce ale, raise cattle and grow vegetables and herbs.”

  “Aye,” said Somerled, “I can see you are busy. I have always thought that abbeys bring civilization to the places they inhabit, helping the people to understand God. The Gaels have them but we follow the Celtic tradition of Patrick and Columba.”

  “It might interest you to know that it was Patrick who brought Christianity to this isle,” said the abbot. “And both the castle and the abbey are named for St. Russin, who, along with your Columba, settled Iona long ago.”

  Somerled nodded, unsurprised but happy to hear it. “I know that Patrick traveled to many places, Columba, too. Iona is a sacred place to my people.” He raised his eyes to the timbered beams above him and then to the arched windows and felt the quiet stillness, the solemn majesty of the place.

  After that, the abbot took them to the room where they made the ale, the rich earthy smell filling the air. Several monks were busy mixing ingredients for the next batch.

  “What’s it made of?” asked Gillecolum.

  The abbot smiled down at Somerled’s son. “Malted grains, water and yeast for fermenting. Sometimes we add heather or spices, too.”

  Gillecolum nodded, pursing his lips.

  “Come,” said the abbot, “I will show you a small room where I entertain visitors. There, we will share the new ale.”

  The light was subdued in the corner chamber to which the abbot led them, being provided by small windows high in the walls and a brazier whose fire had burned down to coals. Still, the room was warmer than the others they had seen and inviting.

  A monk awaited them next to a table set with mugs of ale, which Somerled and his companions promptly accepted. He handed one mug to his son and then another to Ragnhild. “For you, Princess.”

  She took it, gazing into his eyes.

  The sweet, fruity taste brought a smile to Somerled’s face. “Very refreshing.”

  “I will see you have some to take with you,” she said.

  “This is good,” said Maurice, “better than what we often drink.”

  “And better than what we have on Islay,” put in Liadan.

  The abbot was obviously pleased. “We work hard to make it the best. I will send some to the castle for tonight’s celebration.”

  “We are fortunate that the monks produce enough for all,” said Ragnhild.

  As they were leaving, Somerled thanked the abbot. “Your abbey has inspired me, Abbot Bernard.”

  On the way back to the castle, he again walked next to Ragnhild, “One day,” he said to her, “I hope to found an abbey, mayhap on Kintyre.”

  She turned to him, her green eyes sparkling. “I believe you will.”

  He knew she would favor such an idea. He had not mentioned it to the abbot but, when the abbey was built, Somerled would invite Culdee monks to dwell there.

  CHAPTER 13

  BUSTLING ABOUT THE HALL, checking the preparations for that night’s feast, Ragnhild was careful to see all was done well. It might be a long while before she would again see Somerled’s face. A face she had come to love.

  He was everything she had longed for but never expected to find, a man of even temperament, quiet courage and love for his people. Yet she knew all too well his life could be forfeit in King David’s war. And though her fate would be decided by others, still she prayed Somerled would be the man chosen for her.

  By the time their guests began arriving, it was full dark outside with the shortened days of December. Though some chieftains arrived by ship, those who came by land carried torches to light their paths. All gave thanks for the warm hearth fire, the mead and the monks’ ale that awaited them. Merry sounds filled the hall from the minstrels’ pipes, rebec, lyre and lute.

  Somerled, his son and his companions descended the stairs to the hall, their attire changed to that fitting to dine with the king and his chieftains. She was glad of it for she wanted the leaders of the Isle of Man and their wives to think well of him.

  She had chosen her own gown with care. The golden bliaut and the circlet of gold holding in place her long hair were the same ones she had worn in Scotland to meet King David. She had not worn them for Lord Fergus, as Affraic might have preferred, but she would wear them for the Lord of Argyll, Kintyre and Lorne.

  “Good evening, my lord,” she greeted Somerled, “and to you, Gillecolum, Liadan and Maurice.”

/>   “The hall is beautiful,” remarked the auburn-haired young woman in her blue bliaut.

  “And smells of a feast like to enthrall a man,” put in Maurice.

  “Will we eat soon?” asked Somerled’s son.

  She chuckled. “Aye, lad. As soon as all the guests are here, the servants will bring out the food. I promise you the feast will be worth waiting for. It was with you and your father in mind that it was prepared.”

  Somerled gave her a look of approval.

  As the chieftains entered the hall, Ragnhild attended to her hostess duties, introducing Somerled and his companions to the ones he had not met previously. Abbot Bernard arrived with his monks and were hailed by all. Many of the sons and daughters of the chieftains who lived close were being educated by the monks and thus they were held in high esteem.

  Once everyone had arrived, Ragnhild directed Somerled, Abbot Bernard and the highest ranking chieftains and their wives to the high table where they would join her and the king and queen. The other chieftains, the garrison commander, the monks and Somerled’s men, she directed to the trestle tables set at right angles to the dais. Liadan, Maurice and Gillecolum she gestured to seats reserved for them at the end of the trestle table nearest the dais.

  At the head table, Queen Affraic sat on the king’s right with Maurice on her right and Chieftain Truian and his wife Fritha next to Maurice. On the king’s left sat Abbot Bernard. Next to him was the seat Ragnhild would occupy. On her left, by her own plan, was Somerled. And, on his left, Chieftain Conyll and his wife Eithne.

  Her father signaled the musicians to pause and asked Abbot Bernard to give thanks. The abbot rose and bowed his head.

  “O Lord, thou giver of gifts, light of the world, our blessed Comforter, we are grateful for another year of peace and a good harvest. Thank you for this bounty, and its sweet refreshment.”

  With that, the abbot took his seat and the minstrels began to play again. Servants set platters of steaming food on the tables from which rose enticing smells. Ragnhild was happy to hear the exclamations of delight at the food.