Rebel Warrior (Medieval Warriors #3) (17 page)

The king’s next words ended Steinar’s pondering. “Prepare yourself, Scribe. We ride at dawn.”

*     *     *

Rhodri set out for the place where he had agreed to meet Fia, not far from the tower but still sheltered from curious eyes. With each step his heart beat faster in anticipation of seeing her. They had been careful about their stolen moments. Only Steinar knew they had been meeting in secret.

Never had Rhodri expected to find the woman he wanted at Malcolm’s court. He had enjoyed the favors of many since coming to Dunfermline, but none had captured his heart like the dark-haired lass from Atholl. Undaunted by what she believed was a love that could never be, she had allowed their love to grow.

This would be their last chance to be alone before he left for Northumbria. As he came through the copse of trees, he saw her waiting in the lee of a large rock, her long dark hair falling down her back over a sapphire blue gown, the same color as her beautiful eyes.

He stilled when he heard her singing. It was one of his own songs and her voice was sweet to his ears.

“You sing a pleasant melody, my love.”

Whirling around, she ran to him. “Oh, Rhodri, I thought you would never come!”

Tortured all morning because he had been unable to touch her, he took her in his arms and kissed her.

Threading her fingers through his head of curls, she pressed her young body against his own.

“I have missed you, my Fia,” he whispered in her ear as he showered her forehead and face with kisses.

In response, she pulled his head down to her and kissed him, a wild open-mouthed kiss that left him breathing heavily and his groin swelling.

When their lips finally parted, he said, “ ’Tis best we do not continue or I will be taking you to the meadow to make love to you amid the flowers.”

“You would not…”

“Nay, but that does not mean I do not think of it.” He took her hand and led her to the fallen log they often sat upon.

Changing the subject, she asked, “Why were you late?”

“I would have been here sooner but the king detained Steinar to celebrate his victory over Rian and insisted I join them. Did you see the fight?”

“I did not, but Catrìona told me of it. She is very grateful for his defending Niall. She did not say it, but I think she worries about Steinar’s joining the king’s guard. She cares for your friend, you know.”

“And he for her.”

“Will you go to Northumbria? Catrìona said the king intends you and Steinar both go.”

“I was always to go, but now I shall have Steinar with me.” Glimpsing the sadness in her eyes, he took her small hands in his. “Will you worry for me while I am gone?”

“I will not!” she said too quickly and tried to pull away.

He held on to her hands, bringing her knuckles to his lips. She turned her head to face him, blushing as he kissed her fingers. “I think you will,” he said with a grin. Letting go of her hands, he put his arm around her and drew her close. “Have no fear, my blue-eyed lass from Atholl, I shall return to you.”

“You tease me,” she said, but did not move from his embrace.

“That is only because you are so serious. ’Tis a good balance you are for me, for I am ever one to play.” Then he kissed her again. When the kiss ended, he said, “I will miss seeing your face each day.”

“Aye, and I will miss you,” she said with a pretty blush in her cheeks.

“I would have a token from you, Fia, one of your ribands to carry with me, one that is the color of your eyes.” Many women had given him such tokens but only this one was important. Only this one would he carry next to his heart.

“Aye,” she said smiling, delighted at his request. “I will bring it to the evening meal tonight.”

“We have but a little time now. You asked before about my home in Gwynedd. I will tell you about it and you can tell me about Atholl. I have seen much of England but little of Scotland and I would know of this land that gave birth to you.”

And so he sat next to her and spoke of the land of his birth. “ ’Tis a beautiful place, Gwynedd is, with mountains and—as you would call them—lochs. My home lies in the west. ’Tis not so different from Scotland. You would like it.”

She turned her face away. “I will never see it.”

“Mayhap you will one day. Now tell me of Atholl.”

As he listened to her description of her home, he did not tell her all that was in his heart. She was everything he wanted in a woman, in a wife. But to her, he was only a bard and an archer, not one who could claim a mormaer’s daughter. He admired her courage in loving a man who was beneath her station. She did not yet know he was more than a bard, more than a warrior. But one day she would.

When she had finished telling him of Dunkeld and Atholl, she faced him, her blue eyes pleading. “Oh, Rhodri, promise me you will be careful in Northumbria.”

“I am always careful, my love. Besides, I have one hundred archers under my command, many with longbows like mine. Once we let our volley of arrows fly, we seek cover in the trees to send more arrows into our enemies.”

“Is that why you always wear green and brown?”

“Aye, to blend with the forest and the land. ’Tis the manner of Welshmen who are skilled with the bow.”

“Does Niall go with you?”

“He does, and most willingly. ’Twill be his first time in battle and he will carry a new bow I will make him.”

“Cat will worry.”

“You must assure her I will see Niall safely home. He will be at my side and never away from my protection. I will guard him well.”

She laid her head on his shoulder. “Oh, Rhodri, what is to become of us?”

He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Have no worry for the future, my Fia. Trust me to have guard over that as well.”

*     *     *

Early the next morning, before the sun had made an appearance, Catrìona joined the queen and her ladies in the chapel to pray for Malcolm and his men. Her conversations with Fia had told her that her cousin worried for the bard who would lead the king’s archers into battle. Catrìona worried for Steinar and the limp that always told her he was weary. Niall, too, would go and she feared for him, as well. She could not lose her brother.

Kneeling, she said her prayers in Latin but the rote words did not echo the cry of her heart. Kings went out to war with little thought for the women they left behind. A woman’s only weapon was prayer. But she had learned from Margaret, it was a mighty weapon.

Oh God, please bring them safely back to me
.

The mood, as they broke their fast that morning, was somber. Even Giric was subdued as he stared at the men eating in their mail-clad tunics with swords and knives belted at their waists.

The men, eager to ride, were noisy in their leaving as they pushed back the benches, speaking of the coming raid as they headed for the door. Catrìona watched them pass, ignoring their interested gazes. More of Malcolm’s men had begun to notice her now that Domnall had openly paid court to Isla.

As the men flowed out the door, she spotted Steinar standing to the side, talking with one of the men. When he was alone, she came to stand before him. He had plaited the hair on either side of his face keeping the hair from his eyes. He wore mail and a sword, marks of his new position with the king.

“Catrìona,” he said, looking glad to see her.

His unusual eyes drew her into their depths and suddenly it was hard to breathe. “I… I have yet to thank you for what you did for my brother.”

“Niall came to Giric’s rescue and I came to aid Niall. I only did what needed being done. I do not think Rian will bother him or the boy again.”

“You have my gratitude.”
And more.
“I have never seen any man better with a sword.”

“I grow stronger.”

“But you will be careful now that you serve as one of the king’s guards?” She could not bring herself to admit he was going to Northumbria to raid even though she perceived well enough the king’s intent.

“I will.”

“And I will pray for your safe return.”

He smiled at her words. “I am grateful, my lady, and I would ask a favor.”

“Anything,” she said.

“I understand your cousin has given Rhodri one of her ribands to take with him, a simple token from a queen’s lady. Might I beg one of yours?”

It was the gesture of a woman who held a tendre for a warrior to give him a token of her affection. She knew Fia had a fondness for the bard and Catrìona certainly harbored a tendre for Steinar, though she had never told him of her feelings. Still, she did not stop to consider. She would not deny the request of a man riding off to battle, mayhap to his death.

Without hesitating, she pulled an emerald silk riband from her plait and handed it to him. “To remind you that I will pray for your safe return.”

He pressed the silk to his lips, then tucked it beneath his mail. “I shall carry it next to my heart, my lady.” He bowed and followed the other warriors out of the hall.

She watched him go through the door.
He takes my heart with him
.

As the last of the men left the tower, with a feeling of resignation sitting heavy on her chest, she followed. Just outside, Fia waited with the other women watching the warriors mounting their horses, their shields and helms fixed to their saddles.

At the head of the column, King Malcolm sat proudly on his white charger. Beside him was Duff, Mormaer of Fife, on his chestnut-colored courser. Audra had told them her father’s place as leader of the king’s army was a privilege granted for Duff’s loyalty.

Steinar rode a fine black horse, a stallion strong of bone with a deep chest and long mane. She had never seen him clad in mail and mounted on a horse. Her heart ached to see him depart with Malcolm’s warriors, heavily armed for war. But Steinar’s expression told her he was pleased to be among them.

Giric appeared beside her and slipped his small hand in hers. “Be he all right?”

She knew of whom he spoke for he and Steinar had formed a bond. “Aye, he will,” she said, assuring him as she did herself.
He must return
.

Fia’s gaze followed the bard in front of the archers. Still holding Giric’s hand, Catrìona put her arm around Fia. “They will return, for the queen prays for them and her prayers are surely of great effect.”

Then, spotting Niall behind Rhodri, Catrìona silently prayed for her brother. This was the first time he rode into battle and, though Fia had assured her Rhodri would protect him, Catrìona could only see his youth. God had spared him once. She prayed Niall would be spared again.

Margaret stood with her ladies in the chill of the early morning, a hand raised in goodbye to her husband, as the sun made its appearance silhouetting the men against the gold-tinged sky. The queen’s face bore a look of pain. How many times, Catrìona wondered, had Margaret sent the king off to battle? How many times had she waited for him to return?

After the line of men disappeared down the road, Giric raced off, saying he would follow them as they would ride through the village.

Catrìona and Fia turned toward the hall. Angus was standing just outside the door wearing no mail.

“You did not go?” she asked him, suddenly happy that her beloved guard’s life would not be risked for such a venture.

“Nay, the king asked fer those willing to stay behind as guards and I stepped forward. ’Tis not Normans I want to be killing, ’tis Northmen.”

“It comforts me, dear Angus, to know you remain.”

He bowed and opened the tower door for her and Fia.

Domnall came to bid her a hasty goodbye. She could tell he wanted to say more but Isla approached to claim his arm, giving Catrìona a smug smile. Catrìona watched them as they slipped through the open door together, surprised that she felt no regret.

Domnall would leave Dunfermline today, bound for Isla’s home in Ayrshire. While he rode west, the king and his men would ride south, first to Lothian and then to Northumbria. Catrìona tried not to imagine the raid. Instead, she set her mind to the new task the queen had given her. There would be much to do if Margaret was to have her ferry and inn ready for the pilgrims before winter.

She would try not to think of Steinar facing the swords of Norman knights. Instead, she hoped her riband kept her in his thoughts for he would surely be in her prayers.

*     *     *

Northumbria

Steinar pulled off his helm and wiped the blood from his mail, then accepted the flask of wine Rhodri offered him. Taking a long draw, he swept his sleeve over his mouth. “Much appreciated,” he said, handing the flask back to Rhodri. “I was fair thirsty.”

Rhodri returned the flask to his satchel and extended his palms to the fire around which Malcolm’s men had pitched their tents. “I do not think the king expected the fighting to last all day.”

“There were Normans among the Northumbrians,” Steinar observed, “trained knights William has placed in the north. Their involvement extended the fight. I took great pleasure in seeing to the end of some.” He felt drained by the daylong battle and his leg ached. Seeing the log rolled near the fire, he sank onto it. The heat of the blaze chased away the chill. Riding into Northumbria had affected him more than he had expected. It was not Talisand, which lay to the west, but it was more of England than he had seen in three years.

Rhodri joined him on the log and pulled his quiver into his lap, inspecting his remaining arrows. “ ’Twas a wet, dismal day for July,” he observed. “The dampness caused my arrows to drop low.”

Mist crept along the ground, hiding Steinar’s view of the River Tweed. The hills in the distance were shrouded in clouds. He looked at the leather straps crossing his hosen. “I wear as much mud as I do blood.” He brushed the dirt and dried mud from his legs.

Steinar thought back over the king’s raiding campaign. To his relief, the summer weather had held as they rode south into Lothian, gathering more of Maerleswein’s men. Thankfully, Rian had given them no more trouble after the king’s scolding.

Once they arrived in Northumbria, the weather had turned foul.

Despite the rain, Malcolm happily took his revenge for the Conqueror’s intrusions into Cumbria. Steinar knew from past messages he had composed for Malcolm that the king considered Cumbria and parts of Northumbria to be his.