Rebel Warrior (Medieval Warriors #3) (33 page)

Another sennight passed when, deep in August, Maerleswein returned to court in a cloud of dust, thundering up the slope to the tower with two of his men. Steinar had just returned from the River Forth where his ship was nearly finished, when the small group of riders pulled rein in front of the tower.

Maerleswein swung his leg over his saddle and dropped to the ground, his two guards doing the same, as he handed the reins of his horse, blowing and lathered, to a groom.

With a wave to Steinar, Maerleswein jerked open the tower door and strode into the hall. Steinar followed, curious to know what produced the frowns on the faces of the three and their hurried manner.

“I must see the king at once!” Maerleswein yelled to Nechtan, the steward, who came running.

“Aye, my lord. He is with his Lady. I shall advise him you are here.”

“ ’Tis urgent!” the former sheriff called out to the steward’s back.

A moment later, Malcolm stomped down the stairs, relaxed until he looked at the men, ruddy cheeked and wiping sweat from their brows. “What brings you from Lothian in such fevered haste?” Before Maerleswein could answer, the king demanded, “What is it?”

“My Lord,” Maerleswein said, not taking time to bow, “William and his army of French knights ride into Scotland. They will cross Lothian tonight if they keep to their pace.”

The king cursed beneath his breath. “What has stirred the nest of Norman vipers, I wonder?”

“William has always seen you as a threat,” replied the tall, stately man who had once been the Sheriff of Lincolnshire. “I am certain he has in mind your raids on Northumbria.”

“What took the Bastard so long?” asked an exasperated Malcolm, running his hand through his hair as he paced.

“Last year, you will recall, he was taken up with mutilating the prisoners he took at Ely. The first part of this year, I am told he was called to Normandy. Only now is he free to seek revenge on us. Knowing William as I do, I would say he sees you as the last and greatest threat to his crown.”

“Aye, I have known it. ’Tis a shame both Duff and my captain still recover from wounds and my army has been disbanded these last many weeks.”

“There is also the matter of your marriage to Margaret and your aid for Edgar’s claim to the throne. William has not forgotten the rebels who rose in York but two years ago.”

“The ones you led?” Malcolm said, his mouth twitching up in a grin.

“Aye, he still fears the queen’s brother. Edgar is popular with the people.”

“As is only right.” The king called for wine and food for the men. The three who had ridden so fast to Dunfermline appeared weary. “I suppose you rode straight through?” inquired the king.

Maerleswein brushed the dust from his tunic. “Aye, I came as soon as I had the news.”

“Sit and eat.” Malcolm looked about the hall and seeing Steinar standing to the side, beckoned him. “I need your scribe services. Join us and bring your quill and parchment.”

Steinar did not need to hear the urgency in the king’s voice to know this was a perilous situation. Hurriedly, he fetched the requested items and took his place beside the two men, the guards who came with Maerleswein sitting farther down the table.

A servant set goblets of wine before them and platters of bread, cheese and pears. “How many ride with William?” asked Malcolm who ignored the refreshments.

Maerleswein reached for a goblet and a hunk of cheese. “The reports say he rides with hundreds of mounted knights as well as men-at-arms following on foot. ’Tis the same way he came upon York. But there is more.”

Steinar watched the king, who appeared to be bracing for a storm, his expression dour. “What more?”

“Ships have been sighted off the coast of Lothian heading north toward the Firth of Forth.”

Malcolm cursed and slammed his fist on the table, causing the platter to jump. “Would the Bastard have the intention, do you think, of sailing to my very threshold?”

“Or farther north,” Maerleswein suggested. “If they sail to the Firth of Tay, he would have his ships behind you and his army before you.”

“ ’Tis just like the Norman invader. He would surround the lion’s very lair.”

“Delay would be our friend just now,” suggested Maerleswein as he gulped the wine.

“Aye, I must delay the invaders until I have my army with me.” Then turning to Steinar whose quill hovered over the parchment, the king said, “The missives you sent before for the raid on Northumbria. We must have them again, only this time, summon only the mormaers who are within a day’s ride. I would have all the men they can gather, not just a tithe. They must ride for Dunfermline with all speed when they get the message. Our future depends upon it.”

Steinar nodded and began to write with fury.

“Will you stay the night?” the king asked Maerleswein.

“Nay, I must return to Lothian. Davina is with child and happily so. I have sent her to safety, but I must join my men and those of her father to see what can be done. Mayhap the Normans do not look to plunder Lothian but we must take all steps to see they do not. I worry our coast is vulnerable.”

“If William’s army rides fast, they may pass quickly through Lothian on their way to me. Mayhap you will be spared.”

The two men grasped forearms and met each other’s gaze. “Godspeed,” said Maerleswein.

“Godspeed,” echoed the king.

Steinar was still writing when the tower door thumped closed and the king turned to him. “When you have finished, summon my guard. And best include Colbán. He will be offended if I think him too weak to have a role in this fight. I will go and see Duff about what part of my army lies close.”

Steinar stood from his writing and bowed. “As you wish, My Lord.” Then he returned to his seat and took up his quill. He would finish and dispatch the missives and then go for the guard. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Malcolm whip around and head toward the stairs. When the king reached them, he looked up and into the face of his queen.

*     *     *

Margaret walked up the stairs with her husband and waited until they were in their chamber and the door closed before turning to look into his troubled eyes. “My Lord?”

Gently, he laid his palm on her belly. “Your time draws near,
mo cridhe
?”

She stared into his warm brown eyes wondering, with Scotland at stake and the Conqueror at their doors, why he would choose now to ask. “Mayhap a month, no more.”

He sighed and led her to sit beside him on a bench. The responsibility for his people weighed heavy on him. Even his shoulders, normally so straight, appeared to sag. “I would not be at war when the lad is born. This battle must be over soon.”

Rising, he reached for his sword and belted it on, adding to his clothing other weapons he customarily wore, including the long seax he sheathed at his hip. “I’d best keep these with me now.”

Her heart raced thinking of his blood being shed again by a Norman sword. She had only one chance to call him back from the brink of death and it was now.

“My Lord, will you not first count the cost?”

He cocked his head to one side and raised a brow. “
Mo cridhe?
”

“If you do battle with William, your warriors may send the Normans from our land, but I would risk my husband and the Scots their king. Though he seems to love it, I cannot believe William wants such a war. Scotland is no easy prey. Our warriors are as fierce as the Picts that preceded them. Soon, autumn comes and winter close behind it. His knights would be mired in mud and snow. They do not know the glens like you do.”

“What is it you suggest?”

“If you but seek terms, you may give up little to gain much. Send him from our border with only words to carry home to London.” Malcolm came to her then and she stood, reaching her hands to his shoulders. “Let us have our years together, my love, so that God might give us more sons for Scotland.”

“You would have me
negotiate
with the Norman Bastard?”

She raised her head as the queen she was, the queen he had made her but a few years before. “Yea, I would. And, if you do this, my ladies and I will fast and pray for all the hours you are gone.”

Malcolm left her and walked to the window, gazing south, seeing in his mind as she did, the Normans marching toward them, their numbers too great to count.

Letting out a sigh, he turned to face her. Gone was the warrior whose mind was set on battle. In his place was the wise king she had come to love. “Your counsel is prudent,
mo cridhe
. I will speak with Duff and Matad. Should they agree, I will seek a meeting with William.” He smiled then and hope rose within her. “He thinks me to be wily, or so I have heard. If there is to be a meeting, I shall not disappoint. Pray God helps me.”

She went into his arms and embraced him, pressing her cheek to his broad chest. His strong arms tightened around her and the babe she carried. Tears filled her eyes as she looked up at him, “I shall, My Lord.”

*     *     *

In his camp in Midlothian that night, William stood by the crackling fire outside his tent, gazing north. His back rigid and his smile tight, he was vaguely aware that Eadric, the one called “the Wild”, had come to stand beside him.

“We have no desire for a pitched battle in Lothian, Eadric. Truth be said, we do not consider ourselves in Scotland until we have crossed the Forth.”

“Your orders, then?”

William was unsurprised by Eadric’s lukewarm attitude toward their current endeavor given the Saxon’s history. At the outset, he had joined with his Welsh neighbors to inflict great damage on Herefordshire. He had only become William’s man two years ago, and that forcibly. “By the splendor of God, tomorrow our army will cross the Forth near the place they call Strivelyn, east of Dunfermline. We will meet our ships on the Tay, deeper into Scotland than Malcolm will have imagined, and there we will engage the wily Scot.”

Eadric remained silent, but it mattered little to William. The Saxon had no alliance with the Scots and would offer no objection.

“We will yet have all of this island in our grasp,” said William. He could taste the fruit of his ambition. He had not conquered England to lose this northern bit. But, as he reflected on the vastness of this northern land, he thought again, frowning as he stared into the fire. Malcolm Canmore was not a foe so easily conquered as the rest. Even the Romans had feared the Picts.

*     *     *

By the time of the evening meal, all of Dunfermline had heard of the Conqueror’s march on Scotland. Steinar listened to the men speculating on where the battle would be and the numbers of Norman knights they would face. Fear among the women was tangible and worry etched deep in their faces. He looked often at Catrìona, trying to tell her without words to have faith.

The queen and her ladies were the first to depart the hall that night. Catrìona darted a glance at him as she rose to leave. He gave her an encouraging smile, which she returned. They both knew what lay ahead.

Once the ladies had departed, the steward drove everyone from the hall, save those the king desired to speak with in private council.

Gathered to the king were his closest advisors, the mormaers whose lands were nearest, who had ridden with all haste at the receipt of the king’s summons, bringing a large portion of the king’s army with them. In addition to his guard, the king had also invited Rhodri and his uncle, Cillyn, to stay for the meeting, presumably because of the Welsh hatred for William and the alliance Malcolm hoped to gain. Among the highest ranking, Steinar knew Duff and Matad best, but there were others he had seen only once or twice.

They sat at one of the trestle tables, the king in the center and the others around him, some sitting, and some standing. The hall grew quiet; the king had their attention to a man. Steinar was curious to know what Malcolm’s strategy would be.

“I have a proposition to discuss with you,” the king began. “It is my intention to keep William waiting wherever he alights until the rest of our army can reach us. In a day or two, when they have arrived and William, ever impatient, is cursing me beneath his breath, I would send a messenger asking for a meeting to discuss his
requests
.”

Mumbles echoed around the table as the men considered the king’s plan.

“Do you intend to submit to William or grant him some part of Scotland?” asked a disbelieving Duff, his bushy brows drawn together in a frown, his hazel eyes so like his daughter’s suddenly looking fierce.

“Nay,” said a smiling Malcolm. “I intend to give him nothing but a few scraps from my table.”

“What might those be?” asked a serious Matad.

“I have lands in England and others in Cumbria and Northumbria granted me by King Edward. Mayhap William can be satisfied to have authority over those. In truth, I would not oppose granting him such if, in return, I can gain something I want, which is more land.”

“And what about Scotland?” asked the Mormaer of Ross, father of the queen’s lady, Isobel.

“What of it?” the king tossed back. “Do you think I would give that loathsome usurper any part of Alba? Nay, never think it. I will not!”

Steinar listened to the murmuring that was set off by the king’s suggested course of action. All were skeptical, untrusting of the Norman who had stolen Edgar’s crown. But eventually, heads began to nod.

Duff spoke for all of them. “Aye, ’tis worth a try. But the army must be at your back, My Lord.”

“You will not ride with me, old friend,” the king said to the Mormaer of Fife. “I would that you heal. Days in the saddle would only slow your progress.”

Duff opened his mouth to protest but the king raised his hand. “Nay and let that be an end to it.” The king shifted his gaze to Colbán. “You, too, shall remain behind, my captain.”

Colbán nodded, his expression showing he was disappointed but resigned.

Steinar spoke up. “I would lead your guard for Colbán, should you desire it, My Lord.”

“And I would lead your army in Duff’s absence,” said Matad.

The king returned them a tight smile. “Then I look only to the one who leads my archers,” said Malcolm. “Rhodri?”