Chapter 5 #3
“Fia,” breathed Rhodri in his deep voice. “A lovely name for a lovely woman.”
Ignoring his friend’s besotted state, Steinar offered his arm to Catrìona. “May I escort you to your table?”
Placing her hand on his arm, she flashed him a smile and whispered, “How could I refuse a gallant scribe who only this afternoon saved a drowning lady?”
He laughed. “ ’Tis difficult to drown in a few feet of water, my lady, but aye, how could you refuse?”
Steinar guided Catrìona to where the queen’s ladies were taking their seats at one end of a trestle table set with candles and pitchers of wine.
Rhodri and Catrìona’s cousin followed closely behind them.
Steinar leaned down to whisper in Catrìona’s ear, “I like your hair like that. It reminds me of how it looked when you ran through the woods.” The way it would look spread on my pillow.
Before she could reply, he bid the ladies good eve and pulled a reluctant Rhodri toward their seats farther down the table.
On the dais, the king’s family took their seats along with Maerleswein and Davina. An older man sat on Davina’s other side. On the opposite side of the queen sat her brother, Edgar, and her sister.
“I wonder why Maerleswein sits with the king tonight,” said Steinar.
Rhodri leaned in to whisper. “ ’Tis the betrothal of Maerleswein and Davina we celebrate. The man on her other side is her father.”
A servant set a large platter on the table, drawing Steinar’s attention.
“That explains our fare. ’Tis not often we dine on more than fish, duck and boar.
Tonight they serve us swan and peacocks.
” The birds, adorned with some of their own feathers, were surrounded by roasted vegetables and flowers set upon large serving dishes.
In the rising aromas, he detected garlic and fennel.
There were also peas in cream sauce, one of his favorites.
Once the hall quieted, the king rose to his feet, goblet in hand. “This eve we celebrate a great man and his betrothal to a noble Scotswoman. I bid you raise your goblets to Maerleswein and Davina, betrothed this day!”
The hall erupted in shouts as goblets were raised and their contents downed with many smiles, for the two were popular with both the men and the women. The jests, Steinar knew, would come later, after the ladies retired from the hall.
“I’m to sing them a love song,” said Rhodri. “Orders from the king. I am quite certain ’tis a match made for land and loyalty but I will try to encourage them to more.”
“You have such a song?”
“Aye, a timeless one.”
“I can hardly wait to hear it,” Steinar teased.
“The queen will like it,” Rhodri said with a shrug. “ ’Tis all that matters.”
“Now you have me intrigued.” Steinar waited expectantly but Rhodri said nothing more.
Throughout the dinner, Steinar watched Catrìona, her long auburn hair flowing in waves down her back like a fiery waterfall.
Her face glowed in the candlelight, making him want to claim another kiss.
But it was the memory of her running in the forest like one of the wild creatures that filled his mind.
Then he saw her raising her hand to sound a shrill whistle calling her falcon to her gauntlet as if one with the hawk.
Yet with the orphan boy, her words were tender.
A most unusual woman. And one who stirred his heart as well as his loins.
She laughed at something one of the women said and her laughter made her face shine with joy.
“My friend,” Rhodri said in somber tone, “be careful on whom your gaze rests. I have heard she is all but betrothed to Domnall mac Murchada, the Irishman from Leinster.”
Inwardly, Steinar scowled. “I have met the man and so have you,” he threw back. “I am not fond of his ways. A man who is promised to a lady should not be so quick to indulge in common rutting.”
The meal drew to a close as more wine was poured.
Rhodri left the table and headed toward the stool set before the dais.
On the way, he stopped to bow before Catrìona’s cousin, making his interest known to all.
There had been other ladies who had garnered the bard’s interest in the past, but none like this one.
Steinar could only hope Rhodri’s attentions to Atholl’s daughter did not result in a scolding from the king.
Rhodri picked up his harp and sat on a stool facing the king and queen, the hearth to his back. The fire had died to coals but the flickering torches set the hall aglow.
“In honor of the occasion,” Rhodri said plucking a few strings, “I sing an ancient song of love adapted for the betrothed couple.” He sang softly in Gaelic, the words weaving their magic as tendrils of ethereal sounds echoed from his harp.
Like a lily among thorns is Davina among women.
Like an apple tree among the trees of the forest is her beloved among men.
Let him lead her to the banquet hall.
And let his banner over her be love.
Your love is more delightful than wine.
Pleasing is the fragrance of your perfumes.
Take me away with you—let us hurry!
For I will praise your love more than wine.
The king whispered a translation to Margaret and Steinar noted the slow smile that spread across her face. When the song finished—and there was more of it—Rhodri sang a song in Welsh, mayhap another love song. Finally, he stood and bowed. The queen gave the bard a knowing smile.
Rhodri returned to their table and Steinar greeted him with, “Very well done.” Once his friend was seated, Steinar asked, “Where did you get the song you sang for the betrothed couple?”
“I borrowed it from a very old source. ’Tis Solomon’s song. I am certain the queen recognized it. Mayhap she is the only one in the hall who did.”
“You are a clever bard.”
Rhodri said not a word but the look in his eyes told Steinar he owned the compliment.
* * *
“That first song the bard sang was somehow familiar,” Catrìona said to Fia as she drank the last of her wine, “but I cannot think of where I have heard it.”
“They were lovely words and so romantic. Did you see Davina blush?”
“Aye, especially when Maerleswein grinned.”
Fia sighed. “The bard is quite talented. And handsome.”
Catrìona gave her cousin a sharp glance. “His song seemed to please the queen. Did you see her smile at the bard?” Catrìona had observed the subtle exchange between Margaret and the bard and wondered what lay beneath it. She had also noted the glances Rhodri exchanged with her cousin.
“Nay, I was watching Rhodri.”
Catrìona let out a sigh. Fia’s attraction for the bard was as hopeless as his was for her. “Do not allow your heart to wander in that direction, Fia. You know your father would have the king wed you to some favored mormaer.”
Fia ignored the warning and picked up her goblet of wine. “ ’Twas a fine meal.”
“Aye, it was.” Thinking out loud, Catrìona added, “Margaret lingers in the hall tonight, mayhap for Davina’s sake.”
“She and Maerleswein are to leave on the morrow to be married in Lothian,” said Fia.
Catrìona considered again the vacancy Davina’s departure would leave. “I wonder who will take her place.”
Fia shrugged. “We can only hope whoever she is, she is as sweet as the lady she replaces.”