Queen Hereafter (21 page)

She shook her head, for she never indulged in the honey-crusted almonds and hazelnuts. As Malcolm popped one handful after another into his mouth, she thought of her father and had to resist reaching out to stop her husband, who did not know quite how her father had died. Sweetmeats always made her feel ill—but her stomach had been very uneasy of late, so that she could tolerate only small helpings and mild dishes. Besides, a queen should not show too healthy an appetite in front of others, and she had always been taught to eat delicately. Malcolm ate with noisy abandon, even though his manners were improving.

He moved another piece on the board, and Margaret contemplated in silence, hands folded calmly. Nearby, Hector played his harp, while Lady Eva sat at the other end of the table, talking quietly with a Lowland thane, one of the guests who had been hunting with Malcolm that day. Margaret could not recall his name, but remembered that he owned property along the English border. He was also a leering old man who pressed closer to Eva while the girl leaned away.

Margaret beckoned to Wilfrid. “Bid Lady Eva come sit by me,”
she said, “and tell her that we would like her to grace us with a song or two.” As Wilfrid delivered the message, Margaret saw the relief on Eva’s face. Within moments, she joined Margaret and the king, though she sat on a stool near them and watched the board game in silence. Malcolm kept glancing at the Moray girl as if he was deeply curious about her, but he said nothing to her, nor she to him. Margaret sensed a cold barrier between them like a wall, and knew there must be anger on both sides.

She turned her attention back to the board. She had not yet demonstrated her skill at chess, which she had learned from her father, and had perfected with various opponents in King Edward’s court. Soon she trounced Malcolm with ease and a little thrill of pleasure.

“Aha! Excellent,” he allowed. “I did not expect that from a lady who once wished to enter a convent.” He grinned.

“Should I know only prayers and devotional quotations? I am well schooled, and chess is a scholarly game. Besides, chess skills are quite useful for a queen of Scotland.”

“Queen of Scots,” he corrected. “In Scotland we rule people, not land.”

“I have not been crowned, so I am only a consort,” she pointed out.

“Aye, but you would wear any title and crown well,” he replied, watching her for a moment, so that she felt a little thrill that had nothing to do with her chess victory. Then he rose from his seat, ignoring Lady Eva, grabbed the dish of sweetmeats, and walked over to join a few housecarls who were seated at another table, drinking wine and rolling dice.

Margaret began putting the chess pieces away in a leather bag, and Eva came to help, plucking up the pieces from the board.

“A queen should not have to do this.” Eva smiled and dropped the two queens into the sack.

“My husband reminds me that I do not even know my own title.” Margaret sighed.

“No matter. You won the game and showed the king your worth.”

“A queen cannot be found wanting in chess, or anything else.”

“Aye?” Eva glanced up. “But losing a chess game is no flaw. Many cannot play at all.”

“A queen must be exemplary in all she does.” Margaret took the bag from Eva and hung its cord on a little hook attached to the chess table where the heavy stone board rested. “Thank you. Will you give us a song?”

“Gladly, unless you think Hector would be offended. I am found wanting in his eyes, I think.” She rose to her feet. “Perhaps a lively song would help on such a dreary day.”

When Eva smiled, her lovely face turned winsome and dimpled, and lit her like a candle from within. Margaret smiled and sat back to wait as Eva walked away to speak quietly with Hector. He nodded and left the dais, and Eva took the stool and settled with her harp, which had been perched on another stool.

As the dulcet notes floated outward and filled the room, gradually the others paused to listen, smiling, turning their attention to the bard. Margaret felt the music all through her, a sense of gentle warmth like a soft cloak covering her. The next melody was exquisite and enticing, and Margaret closed her eyes for a moment as the music poured over her, cascading from the brass and golden strings of the beautiful harp.

The girl was skillful and very sure of her music, which flowed outward, entrancing. Then Margaret sat straighter, suddenly afraid to be lured in, as if the girl spun some old form of magic that might enchant those who listened. So Margaret sat stiffly, appearing impervious, smiling coolly, and though the music’s beauty made her burn with a sort of impulsive joy, she would not fold against it, but clasped her hands and kept perfectly still.

T
he king came blustering into the hall one rainy afternoon after another absence of more than a fortnight, accompanied by a dozen men and the dogs who were always excited to see the men return. The day’s mist seemed to blow inside with them, along with the chaos and noise that often surrounded Malcolm like a whirlwind. Margaret looked up from where she sat at the table with Dame Agnes and a few of her ladies, counting neatly folded linens and newly polished pewter and glass goblets. As the brawny king came toward her, she realized that since their wedding a few months earlier, she had spent more time with the courtiers and servants than with her own husband.

Well enough, she thought, for there was always much work for her to do at Dunfermline, and she had been busy of late supervising more improvements. Malcolm stopped in the middle of the room and looked
about the hall, with its whitewashed walls hung with embroidered panels, its freshly swept floors and rearranged furnishings, and she saw him note further changes since the last time he had been at home. Glowering, he spun about.

“Margaret!” he thundered.

“I’m here, my lord.” Smiling, she stood as he came toward her. On the table beside her were some goblets that were now kept available for the king’s male guests, rather than the drinking horns normally used—glass goblets banded in silver, made in Germany, that were part of Margaret’s dowry. Choosing a stemmed chalice, she filled it from a leather bladder of Rhenish wine and held it out for her husband.

Ever since the day De Lauder had spoken to her about her purpose in Scotland, she had given her role careful thought as she made changes to the king’s tower. Now she saw another way to improve the tone of courtesy at the Scottish court.

“My lord king,” she said, extending the full cup toward Malcolm. “Welcome home.”

“Lady.” Malcolm looked surprised, tipping his head, but he took the cup from her hands and swallowed a few times, handing it back to her with a low rumble of thanks. He shoved down the mailed hood of his mesh hauberk and began to turn away.

Margaret set a hand on his arm, cool woven steel under her fingers. “Sire, take the cup and share it round with the others. It is a
poculum caritatis
.”

“A what?” He cocked a thick eyebrow. “A love cup? What the devil—”

“It is a loving cup when shared before a meal, and a grace cup when shared afterward.” She handed the goblet back to him. “It was a tradition much honored in King Edward’s court,” she said.

“Aye?” Instantly he looked interested. Whatever a Saxon king had done, Malcolm cared to do also, Margaret knew. The king’s own ambition would facilitate her self-appointed task of improving Malcolm’s manners and household.

“Please, sire, pass it along to the next man. Let it go from lip to lip
and back again to us, as our gesture of welcome when guests come to our hall.”

Malcolm snugged his brows together like a child determined to master something new as he took the cup and passed it to Angus, the mormaer of Mar, who stood within arm’s reach. The man was as heavily armored, sweaty, and muddy as the king and the others, but he took the cup, looking slightly puzzled as well.

“Drink and give it to the next man,” Malcolm urged.

The cup went from man to man, and once it was returned to her, Margaret drained the last few drops of wine and set the cup down. She caught De Lauder’s gaze as he nodded approval.

“Welcome home to Dunfermline, sire, and everyone,” she said, offering her arm to Malcolm. Looking pleased, he led her toward the dais and the two high-backed carved chairs there.

The hour was too early for supper, so the trestle tables were not yet set up. The amber glow of a lingering sunset poured through narrow open windows, and some of the housecarls and courtiers who had business with the king entered the hall. Margaret looked at Malcolm.

“Sire, did my brother return with you?” she asked, for she had not seen him.

“Edgar is riding with Ranald mac Niall and others, not far behind us. They will arrive before midnight, I think.” He glanced around the room. “You have changed things again, and for the better. But—Margaret—where the devil are my grandfather’s swords?”

“I had those moved, sire. I did not think they should hang here, over our heads.”

“Ah,” he murmured. “You could be right. The improvements are … good, my dear.”

She smiled, a little surprised by that. Then she noticed that some of those gathered in the hall now looked toward her as if waiting for her to signal what would come next, whether audiences or a meal. Malcolm, too, looked toward her expectantly.

With sudden clarity, she realized that she was truly regarded as a wife and a queen now. That status had not begun with the wedding,
or on the marital night, or with the assigning of household responsibilities. Rather it seemed to have taken hold just moments ago, when she had acted deliberately as both chatelaine and queen. She felt a little stirring of purpose, an elation similar to praying, and far more than rote responsibility. That revelation filled her like a light.

MALCOLM AND HIS MEN
rode out almost daily and otherwise remained closeted with his council, a group that included Edgar and the Saxons, most of whom came and went from Dunfermline now, having renewed ties in England with their journeys south; they included Morcar, his brother Edwin, and others. Margaret was glad to see the Saxons’ influence over Edgar lessening as he spent more time in Malcolm’s company; the king was now his brother by law and so Edgar turned to him for advice and tutoring in leadership. Relieved somewhat in her natural worry over Edgar, she still fretted for his safety and because of his gullibility.

When the men gathered with the king, whether Scots or Saxons, a cleric wrote out documents to which Margaret was rarely privy, for the matters were either Scottish or, if Saxon, highly secret. Priests and bishops arrived, too, though more often than not, Malcolm discussed taxes and laws, judicial rights, and legal disputes in meetings that at times went deep into the night.

Debates would grow so hot, particularly if Normans were mentioned, that Margaret could hear the men shouting either from the anteroom that also served as a chapel, or in the king’s bedchamber, or in the great hall, where they gathered late at night. In the small hours when she rose for prayers, she could hear voices still rumbling like thunder.

She usually slipped from bed to take to her knees in the bedchamber, whether alone or if Malcolm slept beside her. When she felt a need for a deeper, more fervent appeal, she would send a maid to fetch Lady Eva. The Scottish girl would come bleary-eyed and uncomplaining from bed, a plaid wrapped around her shoulders, her raven gloss hair mussed, her cheeks pink, so lovely even in that state—and so unaware of it—that Margaret tried to avoid the men who might wander out of the intense meetings with the king. Eva of Moray could be temptation for a man,
Margaret knew, and so she decided to cast a watchful eye over her newest lady, summoning her into her company more often. Besides, she enjoyed the girl’s forthrightness as much as her harp music.

Daily, Margaret attended to managing the royal household, ordering changes, and reviewing written records that Dame Agnes and Wilfrid, too, presented for the accounting of the so-called queen’s gold, the income from properties in Scotland now assigned to her keeping. She received individuals and small groups who arrived at Dunfermline to request the queen’s mercy and generosity, and she continually relied on the advice and the company of her expanding circle of ladies. More women had arrived at court since the wedding, and they were often invaluable in helping with Margaret’s responsibilities in reviewing storage rooms and evaluating linens and blankets, dishes, and household items. Gradually, with the help of Dame Agnes, her women, and Agnes’s husband, Arthur, a stern and acerbic steward who rarely spoke, Margaret was becoming familiar with the contents of every room, chest, and cupboard in the king’s tower. And Malcolm had made it clear that he did not much care what changes and decisions she made, so long as the needs of court and king were satisfied.

“I believe,” she told her ladies one day, “that Dunfermline needs more elegance. Finer plate for table and hall, more tapestries and cushions, and new furnishings to suit a royal household.”