Chapter 4 #2
“They will be sorely disappointed,” she said with apparent indifference.
But I will not. The thought made him smile, but she paid no notice. He liked this woman, so different from the others.
When they arrived at the mews, she returned the falcon to his perch. Giric was nowhere in sight.
“I can see you to the tower, my lady, as I must shortly meet there with the king.”
She nodded and they walked along speaking of life in Dunfermline.
It was pleasant to hear her voice, even more so to watch the expressions that crossed her beautiful face.
But he had to remember she was a mormaer’s niece and he no longer had the rank to court such a woman.
The stark truth of his circumstances rankled.
They approached the tower where a man with dark hair and a beard waited by the door, his arms crossed over his chest and an angry scowl aimed at Catrìona on his face.
“Angus!” she exclaimed before they reached the man.
“Milady, I was concerned,” he said, still frowning. “When I inquired about ye, I was told ye were not with the queen’s ladies, that ye had left the tower.”
“But I did so with the queen’s permission,” she assured him.
With her explanation, the man’s expression softened.
Who is he to her?
“Angus, you have yet to meet the king’s scribe, Steinar of Talisand.”
Steinar reached his open hand to grasp the man’s, showing him he had nothing to hide.
Angus shook Steinar’s hand but returned him a skeptical look.
“He happened upon Niall and me when we were flying Kessog. I wanted to show the falcon to one of the young orphans and the queen agreed I could do so.”
“Oh.”
She turned to Steinar. “Angus came with Niall and me from the vale. He was one of my father’s guards.”
“Now yers,” Angus insisted. Obviously this man considered himself to be Catrìona’s protector.
“Thank you for seeing me back to the tower,” she said to Steinar.
Summarily dismissed, he bowed and went through the door, heading to his meeting with the king. Malcolm was another willful Scot, but like the woman, one he respected.
* * *
Catrìona and Fia dressed for dinner in the gowns Audra had told them the queen preferred her ladies wear.
“‘ ’Tis the court of the King of Scots and we must comport ourselves in a manner to honor him’, so the queen told me herself,” Audra had said.
Wearing fine gowns pleased Catrìona. There had been so few opportunities to wear silk and velvet at her father’s hillfort, no matter he had been raised from thegn to mormaer when Malcolm became king.
The vale was remote and far from court. Unless they had visitors, the women, even Cormac’s wife and daughter, more often wore serviceable tunics.
But if it pleased Margaret, Catrìona would happily don the elegant gowns her uncle had provided her.
The evening was cool and so she reached for the velvet gown, the emerald green one she thought Domnall would like.
She slipped the gown over her head and Fia laced it snug. “I miss my maidservant,” said her cousin.
“Aye, ’tis not like being the lady of Dunkeld.” Picking up the green ribands Catrìona had set on the bed, she handed them to her cousin. “Only the queen has a maidservant, but that is as it should be.”
“The one who tends Margaret is a Saxon, who may have been with her since she came to Scotland.”
Fia began to wrap the silk around Catrìona’s plaits. “Once I finish with these,” her cousin said, “I’ve some blue ones for my hair. I want to look pretty this eve.”
Catrìona tilted her head to see her cousin, wondering at the excitement she saw dancing in her blue eyes. “You are not, by any chance, going to such measures for the handsome bard, are you?”
“No more than those you engage in for Domnall.”
Catrìona felt her cheeks heat at Fia’s words. “ ’Tis what we do, I suppose, dress to please a man.” But the moment she thought of the man she wanted to please, it had not been Domnall’s face that appeared in her mind but that of the golden-haired scribe.
“Fia, have you ever seen anyone with eyes the color of bluebells, or mayhap the color of a blue thistle flower?”
Her cousin pondered the question for a brief moment. “Nay, I think not. Is there someone here who has eyes like that?”
“Aye. The king’s scribe introduced himself to Niall and me this afternoon as we were flying Kessog. His eyes are the color of the bluebells in the woods around Dunfermline. Blue thistle eyes. ’Twas all I could do not to stare they were so… beautiful.”
“Beautiful? A man’s eyes?”
“Yea,” she said, remembering the color like none other she had ever seen.
“And the man,” said Fia. “How did you find him?”
“As you would expect a scribe to be, educated and well mannered, but this one has the body of a warrior, not that of a man who spends his days bent over parchment.” Then she remembered their conversation. “And he is a trifle overbearing.”
Fia laughed. “I daresay all the men at Malcolm’s court are overbearing.”
As she helped Fia to dress and wrapped the silk ribands around her cousin’s dark plaits, she remembered her last morning with Deidre who had laid out ribands for her to wear that night. What had become of her?
“There,” she said, “ ’tis done. Your blue ribands are lovely against your hair. Now I must go or I will be late to meet Domnall.”
Reaching for her cloak on the peg, Catrìona left their chamber and hurried down the stairs. Domnall was standing just inside the tower door talking with Maerleswein, who, it occurred to her, was about the same height as the scribe, but a score of years older.
Domnall bowed, “Catrìona, have you yet met Maerleswein?”
“I have not had the pleasure.” She held out her hand and the tall man bowed over it.
His sun-lightened hair hung just past his shoulders; his darker beard and mustache were neatly trimmed.
Garbed in a fine blue tunic, he appeared every bit the nobleman.
Domnall, who was slighter of build, a merchant, not a warrior, seemed much smaller in comparison.
“My lady, I bid you welcome to Dunfermline,” said Maerleswein. He spoke Gaelic but with an accent that she took as English.
“Thank you,” she said. “Have you been long at Malcolm’s court?”
“Too long, I think,” he said with a laugh.
The two men exchanged a glance that told her they shared a secret.
When her brows furrowed in question, he explained, “Malcolm is sending me away, albeit with lands and a wife. The king claims ’tis a reward for my battles against the Conqueror, but I suspect he also wants me guarding his southern border for I will be taking my men with me. ”
Notwithstanding Maerleswein’s musings about the king’s motives, Catrìona was certain it was happiness she glimpsed in his face. “You are pleased by these developments, I trust?”
“Aye. I have been too long idle. It will suit me to have lands of my own again. It has been many years since my wife died and my only child, a daughter, is now wed.” He grinned then. “I rather like the thought of taking a bride.”
Maerleswein’s face bore only a few lines despite his more than two score years. His body was still that of a warrior. Her own father, the same age, had carried more weight. She could envision the former sheriff siring more children. “Who might your betrothed be, my lord?”
“One of the queen’s ladies. I assume you know her being one yourself.”
Catrìona was suddenly anxious. She hoped it was not Audra for already she was fond of her and, selfishly, did not wish to see her go.
“ ’Tis Davina of Lothian,” he said.
Catrìona inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. She did not know Davina well, but remembered the quiet woman with honey-gold hair and soft brown eyes, a woman of few words who was content with her needlework. “She is lovely.”
“Aye, she’ll do,” said the former sheriff, obviously pleased with the match.
“If you will excuse us, Maerleswein,” Domnall interjected, “I promised Catrìona a walk ere the evening meal begins.”
“Of course.” Maerleswein bowed and strode off to join the king’s men.
“Come.” Domnall offered his arm. “We have just enough time.”
She placed her hand on his forearm and they walked out the open door into a summer evening. The sky was gray with clouds and she smelled rain in the air. Angus was nowhere in sight. For at least a little while, they would be alone except for the people who came and went from the king’s tower.
She wanted to ask Domnall about his plans for the future and more precisely, when he would speak to her uncle about their betrothal, but she did not wish to appear anxious, or as the scribe would say, overbold.
“You look lovely this evening,” he said. “That color becomes you.”
He had said as much of her other gowns in former days. She was pleased but it seemed such a common remark when she wanted to hear so much more. “I am glad you approve.” If he would speak of mundane things, so would she. “How went the hunt?”
He smiled. “We will dine on roast boar and venison tonight. ’Twas a vigorous battle to bring the boar down. The king loved it. Malcolm is never more content than when he is in battle, be it against the Normans or more natural beasts.”
“Aye, he is quite the opposite of Margaret. But I think she complements him well.”
Domnall seemed to consider her words. “The Scots have accepted her.”
“How could they not?”
“Yea, the Lady of Scotland is well liked. Malcolm made a wise match, gaining a princess as well as a rich dowry.”
“I would rather speak of you,” said Catrìona, “Will you linger in Dunfermline?”
“For a while yet.” The look in his eyes told her ’twould not be long. Mayhap they would marry here and he would take her with him when he returned to Leinster. It was her most fervent wish.
“I am glad. I would not want you to leave.” With a laugh, she added, “Unless, of course, you took me with you.” When she saw Domnall’s gaze slip to the ground, she instantly regretted disclosing her thoughts.
“In time, Catrìona. All things in time.” Then looking up, he said, “You only just arrived. There is much to learn from the queen.”
Mayhap the king’s scribe had the right of it. She did tend to be too direct. More like her father than her mother. But she was not slow. Domnall had put her off and his words made her squirm inside. Something was holding him back. What could it be?
“Are things well with your family?”
He was silent for a moment telling her she had hit upon a sensitive subject.
“My grandsire has passed.”
“I am sorry. Were you close?”
“Not for a long time,” was all he said. Then he changed the subject and returned to the topic of the day’s hunt, describing the fight the boar had given them.
She listened attentively while her mind spun with possibilities.
Finally, placing his hand over hers, he said, “We had best go in.”
Again he had refrained from speaking of their betrothal. Why?
* * *
The River Clyde loomed before her, cloaked in swirling mists. A woman’s scream pierced the air, raising a scream in her own throat. She tried to run but her feet seemed to be stuck in the sand. With great effort, she pressed forward. And then she was running, running.
Behind her, Catrìona heard the roar of a harsh voice and the panting of a huge beast. On she ran as screams erupted around her.
Suddenly she was grabbed and wrenched to the ground. A brutal hand clenched her arm, dragging her over the sand and pebbles. She fought to break free, kicking out with her feet but was held fast in a powerful grip.
In a tongue she did not recognize, the savage beast shouted and lifted her over the side of a ship, thrusting her to the hard wooden deck.
Sobbing, she scurried away, but the beast leaped over the side of the hull and stalked toward her. Grabbing her, he bound her hands, bruising her tender skin. She cried out and tried to crawl away but was hauled back.
A dark shadow loomed above her.
“Nay!” she cried out, sobbing.
“Cat! Cat, wake up!”
From deep in the dream, Catrìona’s mind cleared of mist as Fia shook her awake. Opening her eyes, she stared unblinking into the darkness, her heart pounding in her chest. Soaked in sweat, she panted out breaths as if she were suffocating. “What—?”
“ ’Twas only a dream, Cat,” said Fia, drawing Catrìona into her arms.
“Oh, God, Fia. ’Twas so real,” she gasped.
“You are all right now,” her cousin crooned softly, gently brushing the wet strands of hair from Catrìona’s face. “ ’Tis over.”
She clung to her cousin, a tether to what was real. “In the dream,” she murmured, as she regained her senses and her heart settled in her chest, “I was one of the captured.”
Silence hung in the air, then Fia said, “You only imagine what it must have been like for Deidre and the others.”
“Aye,” Catrìona said, thinking it must be so. “ ’Twas horrible.”