Rebel Warrior (Medieval Warriors #3) (21 page)

“I wish we knew who was responsible for the attack,” she said, remembering the terrifying tale Matad had brought them of the slaughter.

“You recall when Atholl first told us of the murder of his sister and Cormac, I sent inquiries to Paul and Erlend Thorfinnsson in the Orkneys. They assured me they had not knowledge of it. I have never known them to lie. After all, they are my own relations and foster my son, Duncan. But mayhap unbeknownst to them, they harbor a villain in their midst.”

“ ’Twas a terrible thing to lose Cormac and his wife like that. Catrìona and her brother were fortunate to have escaped.”

“You remind me,” he said, kissing her forehead. “When I told the English scribe I was granting him lands, he made me laugh, saying very seriously he needed a wife to go with them.”

“Did he?” She smiled, imagining the handsome scribe insisting on a wife. There would be many women at Malcolm’s court who would be proud to accept his suit.

“Aye, he is a bold one. And he was quite certain just who he wanted that wife to be.”

She looked at Malcolm expectantly.

“He asked for the hand of Cormac’s daughter.”

“Catrìona—but why? Because her father’s lands were the ones you would give the scribe?”

“Nay, I think not. The look in his eyes told me ’twas the woman herself he wanted. He would have asked for her if I had given him lands in the north instead of the west.”

Concern trickled through Margaret. She liked Catrìona and wanted her happiness, but after Domnall’s rejection, would Catrìona want any man? “What did you tell him?”

“The truth. I’ve had many offers for her, including most recently—and most importantly—one from Colbán.”

“Your captain wants Catrìona? But is it not Elspeth he favors?”

“The young, silly one? Nay. He may dally with her, but ’tis the redhead he has asked for.”

Margaret pondered a match between Catrìona and the captain, to her mind a rough warrior who would do best with a gentle bride. “Colbán is a good man, but I doubt he knows much of Catrìona’s strength and her spirit. As I recall, he allows no dissent in the men he commands or the women he possesses.”

“That is as it may be,
mo cridhe
, but he has earned such a prize. For some time, I have been thinking to raise Colbán to a mormaer and award him lands. But I would have him close to Dunfermline, not far to the west. ’Tis also possible Cormac’s daughter has no desire to return to the place where her parents were murdered. After all, the home she remembers is gone. If I give her to Colbán, he could have the woman he wants and different lands.”

Margaret let out a breath. “Oh.”

“What is it,
mo cridhe
?” He nibbled on her neck sending shivers down her throat, making it difficult to concentrate. “I have yet to speak to the girl’s uncle, which I will do before I give her to anyone.”

Margaret considered the possibilities. She wanted to give Catrìona what she never had herself. “If ’twere possible, and each man is acceptable in your eyes, I would let it be the lady’s choice.”

“Now that would be a bad precedent, Margaret, to let your ladies think they could select their husbands. Can you imagine the chaos that would ensue? Nay, ’tis best I choose them. Besides, since her father’s death, the woman is my ward and her lands mine.” He nuzzled the tender skin beneath her ear. “Still, you know I always seek your advice.”

Margaret tried not to think of his lips sliding down her neck as she pondered the problem. An idea came to her. Running her fingers over her husband’s hand now stroking her thigh, she said, “What if ’twere done so that you and I know which man she prefers, but none of the other ladies is aware and the announcement, when it comes, is yours, as always?”

Malcolm laughed. “You are a marvel,
mo cridhe
.” He kissed her on the mouth, a long lingering kiss. Then he lifted his head to stare into her eyes. “Aye, ’twould work.” He set her carefully on the bench and stood.

Margaret looked up at him. “I was going to make a trip with Catrìona to the shrine of St. Andrew to select a site for the inn on this side of the Forth and was only waiting for your return. If you agree, I could take both guards with us to observe them with her.” To remind him the building of an inn would cost him much coin, she said, “The scribe would also be helpful in accounting for your gold I intend to spend.”

Malcolm chuckled. “Clever,
mo cridhe
, but ’tis not the gold I think of. You know I would not send you even to the shrine of St. Andrew without a contingent of my men for protection, especially with the babe’s birth two months away. Yea, you can have the two guards and more. Would you take all of your ladies?”

“Nay, only Catrìona and Audra, assuming Audra would be willing to leave her father. Cristina can see that my other ladies are kept busy. My travel to the shrine would also spare Bishop Fothad having to come to Dunfermline to hear my confession.”

“Very well. I regret I must stay here to see to my men and the business of the provinces that has accrued in my absence. As well, I must find a new scribe, mayhap one of the Culdee monks who serve in the chapel. How long might you be gone?”

She could see he was anxious. It was all very well for him to charge off to Northumbria to clash swords with the Normans, but he would not want her to go thirty miles to meet with the bishop at St. Andrew’s shrine. And she loved him for it. Dropping her gaze to her hands, she said, “We could ride to St. Andrews in but two days’ time, except now that I go by cart, I travel more slowly and we will need to make stops to visit the prospective sites for the new inn.” She did not look into his eyes until she said, “There and back again might take a fortnight.”

Malcolm frowned but, before he could object, she added hopefully, “Mayhap less.”

One hand was fisted on his hip as he ran the other through his mane of dark hair. “All right, but do not be surprised if I ride to join you for the return. You have been gone too long from my sight.”

Margaret smiled, pleased at her husband’s concession. “I would welcome you joining us, My Lord. And by that time I may have learned which of your two guards Catrìona would prefer as a husband.”

“You can add that to your prayers,” he said with a smile. He loved to tease her about her many hours spent in prayer. “And let us hope whichever man the redhead prefers will be acceptable to the lady’s uncle. Atholl will have his say, you can be sure.”

A knock at the door revealed the physic returned. “My Lord,” he said bowing. “God willing, Duff will recover. He is a man of strong countenance.”

“Thank you,” said Malcolm.

“Oh, and when I left,” the physic said, “his daughter was with him.”

Malcolm instructed him to see to the other wounded and the physic bowed and left.

Turning to face her, her husband sighed resignedly. “Would that I could take you to my bed,
mo cridhe
, but that will have to await until this eve. There is much to be done at the moment.” He held out his hand. “Come, we must visit Duff and the wounded. On the way, you can tell me about the sites you will visit for the new inn. Then I must bathe ere we dine.”

*     *     *

Catrìona sat at one of the long trestle tables crowded with the returning warriors, still coated in the dirt of the road they traveled. They had returned with longer beards and happy faces. The time for the evening meal was not yet upon them, but servants hurried to set platters of cold meat, cheese and bread before the hungry men. Now that they were safely home, the men dove into the food, swapping stories of the raids and quaffing pitchers of honey ale, rarely served in Dunfermline since the king preferred his red wine.

Next to her was Steinar and across from them sat Rhodri and Fia with Giric squeezed in between, his gaze fixed on the scribe. Shadow, the boy’s ever-present dog, had taken shelter beneath the table. She could hardly blame him. The hall filled with loud and boisterous exclamations that might frighten such a wee dog, but then again, he might be hoping for a dropped scrap.

Giric sat with his elbows on the table, his head resting on his upturned palms, enraptured, as Steinar described Rhodri’s flaming arrows. The bard downed his ale, blushing as the scribe richly embellished the tale. When the story was finished, Giric looked at Rhodri in awe.

“Ye really did that?”

“Aye, he did,” Steinar said before leaning across the table to launch into another story. Catrìona admired the way the scribe gave of his time to entertain the orphan. Giric might have been his own son for all the attention he paid the boy. One day, Steinar would father sons of his own. Might they be her sons? The thought settled into her heart as a happy truth. He was only a scribe, a rebel warrior who had been exiled from his country, but she could not want a better man. At great risk to himself, he had saved Niall from the brute Rian and now he guarded the king. And still, he had time for the orphan boy.

“There I stood before the king,” Steinar said in dramatic fashion, “prepared to give my life were it required.”

Giric’s eyes grew wide and his mouth gaped.

“Just as I was to be speared by a Norman,” Steinar spoke slowly, drawing out the suspense, “an arrow whooshed through the air to lodge in the knight’s neck.” Steinar grasped his neck as if he’d taken the arrow himself. “I heard the Norman gasp as he fell from his horse, dead as he hit the ground.”

Rhodri stood and bowed.

Giric clapped his hands together, his face beaming with pride at the feat.

Another story began, this one told by Rhodri. It would be even more fanciful than the ones Steinar had told, she was certain, for the bard was a good storyteller.

Just then, Catrìona noticed Audra rise from the table where she had been sitting to head in the direction of the stairs. The queen’s other ladies remained seated but Catrìona expected they would soon follow.

After Rhodri’s story ended, Catrìona pushed herself from the bench. “We must go to the wounded, Fia.” And then to the others, “The queen has asked us to visit the men who returned bearing wounds. ’Tis our Christ-like duty.” She smiled at the scribe and the bard. “Thank you for the most wondrous tales. Mayhap we will see you this eve.”

“You will see me afore that, my lady,” said Steinar, his blue thistle eyes shining. “We, too, must visit the men above.”

Rhodri nodded, his gaze resting on Fia. “Aye, I will join you soon.”

With Fia by her side, Catrìona crossed the crowded hall. As she passed the table where Colbán sat with the king’s guard, he stood and bowed. “My lady, the stitching you did for me is excellent. It pleases me greatly you chose a warrior’s symbol.”

Never sure what to say to the man, and mindful his companions who were listening and appeared well into their cups, she decided on a simple acknowledgment, certain he was overstating her dismal efforts at embroidery. “You… you are most welcome, good sir.”

She dipped her head and continued on toward the stairs. Fia leaned in to ask, “Does the king’s captain refer to that cloth you have been working on? Was that the piece you gave him today upon his return?”

“Aye. Before he left with the king, Colbán asked me to embroider one of his tunics. I was loath to do it, Fia. You know my attempt to embroider scrolls renders them more like twigs gathered for kindling. But ’tis not easy to say nay to that man.”

“I find it most interesting he asked
you
to do it.”

“ ’Tis possible he did not know how terrible I am at the task. I tried to tell him another lady could do a better job.”

As they reached the stairs, Fia paused and asked, “Well, how did it look when you finished? He seemed quite content. And what did he mean by a ‘warrior’s symbol’?”

“ ’Twas not like anything I have ever stitched before but the shape of it was something I know well and at least I did not bleed upon the cloth.” Catrìona had been most worried she would leave a trail of dark red drops on his copper cloth.

“What did you embroider?” her cousin asked impatiently.

Catrìona began to ascend the stairs and Fia followed. “Falcons, or well, the outline of them with knots for eyes and a feather or two stitched on the body.”

“
Falcons
? You embroidered falcons on the tunic of the king’s captain?”

“Do not look so surprised,” Catrìona protested. “ ’Tis an easier shape for me than an intricate flower, and more manly, though I cannot say the birds look much like Kessog, which had been my intent.”

“No other man’s tunic will bear the falcon, Cat. You will have the king’s captain eating from your hand. Truth be told, he was more than a little happy to greet you as we passed.”

“Nay, I think not. Colbán would not eat from any woman’s hand. Besides, now that I know I can do it, I have a mind to make a tunic for Steinar and adorn it with falcons and mayhap something else.” As she had worked on the tunic for the king’s captain, she had envisioned making one for the scribe to set him apart, one that spoke of his being lettered as few men were. Aye, she was excited about the tunic.

“I can hardly account for this sudden enthusiasm for needlework,” Fia said with mock sarcasm.

Catrìona ignored Fia’s remark and, at the top of the stairs, turned down the corridor. She did not wish her cousin to know how she dreamed of Steinar and wanted to do things for him only a wife would do. “I asked Margaret for some cloth and she freely gave it, a rich blue wool that will make a worthy tunic.”

“Somehow I do not think this will turn out well,” said Fia, her brows drawing together in a frown. “What if all the king’s men begin to expect falcons?”

“They will not. My embroidery is not so fine as yours or the other ladies.”

Before they arrived at the chamber that was their destination, Catrìona paused in the corridor and looked down at her gown. “We should change ere we go to the wounded, else we decorate our gowns with blood.”

“Aye, and quickly,” said Fia.

Once changed, they headed toward the first of two chambers Margaret had told them were set aside for the wounded. At the door, Catrìona took a deep breath and entered.

A dozen men were laid out on pallets waiting for the physic and his healers. Servants bustled about bringing water, clean linen and bandages. Not since the attack on the vale had Catrìona seen so many wounded. But at least these had a chance to heal.