Rebel Warrior (Medieval Warriors #3) (13 page)

“Do you hope for another son?” asked one woman who held the hand of a small boy.

Margaret smiled. “I will take whatever the Good Lord gives me. But the king would like another son.”

The women smiled their understanding.

As the queen spoke to the women, a group of travelers passing on the road stopped to bid her good day. By their clothing of rough woolen tunics, heavy cloaks and leather satchels the men carried, Catrìona judged them to be pilgrims.

“Where do you come from?” asked Margaret of the man who, leaning on his wooden staff, appeared to be leading the party.

“We come from Dun Edin across the Forth, bound for the shrine of Saint Andrew,” said the bearded man. His face was weather-beaten, his dark hair long and tangled.

“Did you have any problem crossing the Forth?” the queen asked.

“Nay but the boat was costly,” he replied. Catrìona was aware pilgrims often traveled with little coin and accepted charity where it was offered.

“ ’Tis a worthy pilgrimage,” Margaret remarked. She stood and walked toward the small party, pressing coins into their hands. “To help you on your way.”

They thanked her profusely and departed for the village where they said they hoped to find lodging for the night before they resumed their journey eastward.

As the pilgrims continued down the road, Margaret resumed her seat on the stone, her gaze following them until they disappeared from sight. Then the queen shifted her attention back to the village women. After some conversation, the women also turned to leave.

“Wait,” Margaret cried, holding out a hand as if to stop them. Rising from the stone bench, she took off her scarlet cloak. To the woman who drew her thin shawl tightly around her, the queen said, “You have no cloak. Take mine.”

“Oh no, My Lady,” the woman said, dismayed by the queen’s generous offer.

But Margaret would not be gainsaid. “I have others and this one I would give to you.”

It was then Catrìona realized several of the women wore no cloaks.

Audra was the first to follow the lead of their mistress, taking her own cloak from her shoulders and placing it around one of the village women.

Seized by a sudden desire to show kindness to the women, Catrìona took off her cloak. Tears came to her eyes as she walked to one of the women whose height was nearly her own and whose rust-colored tunic was simple and could not be very warm. Two young children clung to her skirts. Handing the green cloak to the woman, she said, “It will look nice on you and it will keep you warm.”

The woman accepted Catrìona’s cloak. “Thank you, my lady. ’Tis very generous.”

Catrìona sensed she had changed as a result of Margaret’s influence, for while she loved her green cloak, another lay in her chest, while this woman had none. What joy it gave her to give.

The rest of the queen’s ladies removed their cloaks and gave them to the women who had none.

All except for Isla of Blackwell.

Isla drew her beautiful blue cloak more tightly around her and turned her head away. Catrìona remembered Isla’s heated exchange with Audra that morning and what she had said about why she had come.

As the women and their children departed, Margaret resumed her seat on the flat stone and sat back staring toward the River Forth, a distant look in her eyes.

From where they were, Catrìona could see a slice of blue water above the vegetation in the distance. She and the other ladies resumed their seats around Margaret.

After some time, the queen beckoned Catrìona to her. She did not hesitate and went to sit beside the queen. Without her cloak, Catrìona felt the cold of the stone through her gown as she took her seat and knew the queen had to feel it as well. “My Lady?”

Margaret spoke in a soft voice. “I have been thinking about the pilgrims, Catrìona. I would make their way easier as they journey to the shrine of Saint Andrew.”

Catrìona waited expectantly for Margaret to explain, not understanding why the queen had singled her out.

“And I want you to help me,” said the queen.

Catrìona considered it an honor to be asked by the virtuous queen to assist her but still the question rose to her lips. “Me?”

Margaret returned her a small laugh. “It has not slipped my notice that of all my ladies, you are the one who is not happy unless challenged.” Then with a smile, “Even if you have to wander far afield to find that challenge. You take on ventures no one else would. None of my other ladies own a falcon or seeks out paths through the woods. ’Tis no wonder your father gave you one of his guards.”

Feeling heat rise in her cheeks, she dropped her gaze to her lap. “Aye.”

“I hoped this might take your mind from the events in the vale, even end the dreams you sometimes have.”

“You know about them?” Catrìona said, surprised. She would not have wanted the queen to be aware that the events in the vale still haunted her.

“Your fellow ladies were concerned for you when they heard your screams in the night.”

Catrìona dropped her gaze to her hands. “They are less now, My Lady.”

The queen patted her hand. “That is good.” As Catrìona raised her head, Margaret said, “I seem to recall you have befriended the king’s scribe, have you not?”

She nodded hesitantly, wondering what the queen had in mind.

“Assuming I can persuade the king to part with more of his gold, I will need to account for the expenditures and you can work with the scribe to see it done.”

Though she was delighted to have the chance to work with Steinar, Catrìona was dismayed at the prospect of spending the king’s gold, no matter what Steinar had told her.

Margaret appeared undaunted. “I would have a ferry built to take the pilgrims from Dun Edin across the Forth without cost. I know some shipbuilders who can do it. From Dunfermline to the shrine ’tis thirty miles, which means once they cross the Forth, they still have days of weary travel. I would build lodging for them on this side of the Forth. This, too, I would provide without charge.”

“So large a task…” Catrìona said, thinking aloud.

The queen laughed. “Aye, but one that would interest you more than embroidery, no?”

Catrìona nodded, looking at the tips of her fingers still scarred from the many needle pricks. Never had she imagined an undertaking like building a ferry and an inn, but she was quick to catch the queen’s enthusiasm. “There are many Saxons who do not yet have work, My Lady. Might they be called upon to serve in your inn? Some might even have skills to build and take charge of it.”

“A splendid idea!” exclaimed Margaret. “Of course, I will have to appoint a steward, someone I trust to oversee the inn, but ’tis doable. Nechtan might be of assistance.” Then with a small smile, she added, “Using the Saxons to help run the inn and serve the pilgrims should appeal to my husband, assuming I can convince him his people will love him all the more for his generosity.”

With that, the queen stood, beckoning her ladies, urging them to return with her to the tower.

On the way back, Margaret filled Catrìona’s mind with ideas for the new ferry and the inn to serve the pilgrims. The enormity of the task excited her. Finally there was something for her to do of importance.

*     *     *

That evening, when Steinar came into the hall with Rhodri, his eyes were drawn to the king standing near the tower door speaking with the family that had arrived earlier that day. The man was stout and dark-haired, of middle years. The women with him both had the same nut-brown hair, one older and one younger. Their clothing told Steinar they were people of great wealth. The man’s blue cloak was trimmed in gilted leather and the women wore silk gowns trimmed in velvet.

Steinar nudged Rhodri in the ribs. “Do you know those who speak with the king? I missed their names when they arrived earlier and I spent the afternoon holed up writing the king’s missives.”

“By the way he is dressed, I would say he is one of the king’s mormaers, but I do not know either him or the women. I’ve been on the archery field most of the day.”

The king and the family walked to the dais and were joined by the queen.

Steinar took his seat next to Rhodri, noting the young woman sitting on the dais was the same age as the queen’s ladies. “Mayhap the woman is the replacement for Davina.”

“She is comely enough,” Rhodri observed without enthusiasm.

Having found her place at the high table, the young woman’s gaze drifted about the hall, her nose tilted up. “Her manner suggests a haughty spirit.”

“Whether she is haughty or no matters little,” said Rhodri. “If she is to be one of the ladies who serve Margaret, she is likely here at her father’s bidding to make a good match. Lands and coin will produce a husband for her even if she is a witch.”

Rhodri had the right of it. Since Margaret had become queen, several of her ladies had left to marry one of the king’s favored men. Fruit ripe for the picking. As he watched Catrìona, he realized he did not want her to be given to anyone save him, and particularly not to a man such as Domnall. No doubt her powerful uncle, the Mormaer of Atholl, had a hand in the match. Steinar did not want to think of another man touching her, of taking her innocence. But there was little he could say to prevent it.

“Take care lest you become obsessed with the flame-haired one,” said Rhodri sliding onto the bench next to him.

“Mayhap you are right.” At one time Steinar might have searched the hall for a willing woman to take to his bed. Now he watched only Catrìona. Tonight her face was lit with excitement as she and her cousin spoke in lively conversation. What had given rise to her impassioned mood?

“Her brother practices with the archers every day,” Rhodri remarked, distracting him from Catrìona.

“Is Niall any good?”

“Quite good. Like your sister, Serena, skill with a bow comes easily to him and I expect he will ride with the archers on Malcolm’s next raid.”

“It will not be long now,” Steinar remarked. “The king has summoned men from the provinces for that very purpose.” Any day, Steinar expected to see warriors pouring in to Dunfermline in response to the king’s missives to his chiefs.

The servants began setting pitchers of wine on the tables. Once the king’s goblet was filled, he shot up from his seat and raised his goblet in toast to the new arrivals.

“To our guests, the Mormaer of Blackwell and his wife and daughter. Welcome to Dunfermline.”

Goblets all around the hall were raised and wine quaffed as shouts of “Aye!” ascended from the crowd.

Servants set haunches of roast venison before them, the spicy aroma making Steinar’s mouth water. A Saxon serving wench poured wine into their goblets, aiming a slow smile at Steinar as she did so. Long flaxen plaits complemented her round face and form, but he was not interested. He had eyes for only one woman.

“Will you entertain us this eve?” he asked Rhodri.

“Not tonight.” He grinned. “I am to have the evening free.” The bard sliced off a piece of meat and brought it to the trencher they shared. “The king has arranged for a group of minstrels for dancing.”

*     *     *

“Dancing!” Catrìona exclaimed with pleasure. “I have not danced in a very long time. Not since before…” Her words trailed off as she remembered her parents had arranged for music and dancing the evening she and Domnall were to be betrothed. The vision of the planned gaiety faded from her mind, reminding her she and Domnall were not yet betrothed.

Across from her, Fia’s blue eyes glistened excitedly. “I can hardly eat for the thought of dancing in King Malcolm’s court. Do you think the bard will play with the minstrels? I would so like to dance with him.” Her cousin’s gaze shifted to where the bard sat with Steinar. “Rhodri is so handsome tonight in his green velvet tunic.”

“You will have to wait and see,” said Catrìona. “I expect there will be several instruments. Mandolins, flutes, mayhap even drums. He may be asked to join them.”

Elspeth, the youngest of the queen’s ladies, sat nearby flirting with one of the king’s guards and giggling when he returned her smiles with a lusty glance.

“She had best contain her smiles,” Fia whispered to Catrìona, “else she will soon be devoured by that one.”

Her cousin’s eyes were narrowed on a muscled warrior Catrìona had not noticed before, but now she could see there was a fierceness about his person. He had dark, intense eyes and a warrior’s chest and arms. His long hair was neither blond nor brown but somewhere in between, held in place by a strip of leather encircling his head. Unlike his hair, his short beard and mustache were red.

“He is Colbán of Moray,” said Fia, “captain of the king’s guard and a man known for stealing young women’s virtue.”

Catrìona looked at her cousin. “How could you know that?”

“When you are off with Giric flying your falcon, I hear things and Niall sometimes passes to me what he learns from the men at archery practice. He thought to warn us.”

Catrìona watched the one called Colbán as his dark eyes narrowed on Elspeth, like a wolf leering at a lamb. “He appears more man than a silly girl like Elspeth can handle,” she whispered to Fia.

“He has an eye for the queen’s ladies,” said Fia in a low voice. “ ’Tis said the king will give him one of us to wed.”

Catrìona shrugged. It was no concern of hers, unless he desired her cousin. Inwardly, she feared he might, for Fia was very pretty.

Fia looked at her pointedly. “I have seen him watching
you
more than once.”

“He can watch me all he wants,” Catrìona pronounced defiantly. “I am promised to Domnall.”

When the meal was concluded, the tables were pushed to the walls leaving a large space in the middle of the room for dancing on either side of the central hearth where the fire had been reduced to glowing embers.

Three minstrels took their places in front of the dais facing into the hall where men and women anxiously waited for the music to begin.

They had only begun to pluck at their instruments when Fia nudged her in the side. “Look! Rhodri is not among the musicians. Mayhap he will dance after all.”

Catrìona grew anxious as she looked around the crowded hall, searching for Domnall. She had expected him to come to her when the music began, but he had not. “I wonder where Domnall is.”