Chapter 7
Steinar heard Catrìona’s sudden intake of breath and turned to see her rigid stance and her eyes staring straight ahead, as if preparing for an onslaught. The cause of her anxious state quickly became apparent as he followed her gaze.
The nobleman from Leinster, Domnall mac Murchada—the one to whom she was supposedly “all but betrothed”—was coming toward them, Blackwell’s daughter on his arm.
“Greetings, Catrìona, and to you, Steinar,” the Irishman said as he approached. “I understand you have met Isla of Blackwell, Catrìona.”
She nodded. “We met earlier today.”
He turned his face to Isla. “Well, since you have met Catrìona, allow me to introduce Steinar, the king’s scribe.”
“My lady,” Steinar said, bowing over Isla’s offered hand.
Isla gave him a dismissive glance. “How unusual to have a scribe who is not a man of the church.”
“Aye,” was Steinar’s only response. He did not like the superior tone in the woman’s voice and he sensed Catrìona was hurt by Domnall’s attention to the woman.
Steinar wondered what the man was about. If Domnall was to marry Catrìona, why had he been dancing with the queen’s new lady? Was the man mad? Surely his actions were beyond mere courtesy to a new arrival.
Steinar forgot the wine they had been about to have, wanting to take Catrìona away from the uncomfortable scene. “If you will excuse us,” he said to the pair, “we were just about to go outside.”
Domnall did not object. Instead, he bowed to Catrìona as they took their leave.
Steinar guided her through the door and into the night. The sky was the color of pale heather as it often was at gloaming in the long summer days.
Behind them, the door creaked open and Angus, her protector, stepped out and leaned against the stone wall of the tower, crossing his arms over his chest in an unsubtle warning.
They walked a short distance away. “None of the other ladies brings a guard to Malcolm’s court,” he said to Catrìona. “I think yours mistrusts me.”
“Do not mind Angus. He is just doing what my father would have wanted, ever faithful to his oath. He has stood by me since… since my father’s death.”
Seeing again the pain in her eyes, he did not want to speak of unpleasant things nor embarrass her about Domnall’s slight, but he would give her the opportunity to confide in him if she chose. “Did you want to tell me of it?”
“Not tonight,” she said somberly, looking at the ground.
Respecting her wishes, he would speak of something else. “The queen has told me of her plans for the ferry and the inn for the pilgrims.” And then with a smile, “Your new undertaking.”
“Did she?” Catrìona asked, her somber mood appearing to lift.
“ ’Twill be the queen’s boldest venture yet.”
“But a worthy one, do you not think?” In her eyes, he saw a fervor he’d not seen before.
“I do. The pilgrims traveling to St. Andrew’s shrine will be forever in Malcolm’s debt.”
“I rather think the pilgrims will know ’tis the queen’s ferry they ride without charge,” she said, “but I do hope the king will support Margaret in this.”
“She can be most persuasive where he is concerned. And you are right,” he admitted. “The people will know such charity, if granted, comes from the queen.”
“She told me you and I are to help her. Did she say what we are to do? I’ve not spoken with her about the details, only her vision for the completed work.”
“She intends to speak with the king,” Steinar said, laying out what the queen had told him. “Once he approves, which I expect he will, Margaret will soon have the men and materials to begin the task.”
“That will please Margaret.”
“You and I are to be her partners in this new work,” he said with a grin.
She shot him a side-glance. “That should be entertaining,”
Her teasing manner told him her mood had improved and he was glad of it. Even if she were hiding her true feelings, he would try and encourage her. “Margaret has much confidence in you. She told me of all her ladies you are the only one she would entrust with such a project.”
He was pleased when Catrìona’s cheeks turned scarlet, bringing color to her face that had been pale before and hoped she had forgotten the scene in the hall.
He felt only disgust for Domnall’s actions and what they portended.
Steinar suspected his attentions to Isla of Blackwell were more than a kindness to the new lady.
He had never considered Domnall worthy of Catrìona.
If the Irish noble were no longer in her future, she would be free to accept another.
As soon as that became known, Malcolm’s men would begin circling like wolves around a stranded fawn. What will I do if that happens?
“Let us see about that wine,” he said, offering her his arm. And then with a smile, “Mayhap Angus is thirsty.”
* * *
Catrìona had yet to break her fast and was feeding a small girl when Fia hissed into her ear, “I do not know how Margaret puts up with her!”
Isla of Blackwell had turned away from the orphans, refusing to join the ladies in feeding them and walked to the hearth reaching her hands toward the fire. The woman had missed the morning prayers with the queen, keeping to her chamber until it was time to break her fast.
Catrìona did not like to think of Isla else the tears would begin to fall. In the fortnight since the woman had arrived at Dunfermline, things had changed with Domnall. He now paid open court to the lady from Blackwell and she often spoke of him, bragging of her conquest.
Catrìona had believed Isla was unaware Domnall had been intended for her, but when she had suggested as much to Fia, her cousin was quick to disagree.
“Oh, she knows you were Domnall’s intended.
’Twas common knowledge around the hall. That is why the other men kept their distance from you, well, all save the scribe.
And none of the men worried much over him.
No, Isla is merely indifferent to another’s pain. ”
To think Isla knew and did not care made it all the worse as the conversation at the ladies’ table continued.
“Why, only last eve,” Isla said to Audra, “Domnall described his home in Leinster to me and told me how much he wants me to see it. He plans to speak to my father on his way home.”
“Domnall goes home?” asked Audra, shooting a glance at Catrìona.
“Only for a time. He has family matters to see to and he is negotiating a trading venture between Leinster and King Malcolm.”
That Domnall had shared his business with this new lady—things he had never told her—caused a deep hurt within Catrìona. She felt the tears well in her eyes. Unable to stand more of the woman’s boasting, with a hasty apology to the queen, Catrìona fled the hall as her tears began to flow.
She ran from the tower into the forest not realizing she had come to the place next to the burn where she had sat with the queen. The only sounds were those of the water rushing over stones and the birds in the trees above her.
She sat on a fallen log crossing her arms tightly around her, rocking back and forth, as the tears fell. How could he do this? And without a word to me!
Hearing footfalls behind her coming closer along the path, she brushed the tears from her face and turned her head toward the stream, hoping whoever it was would pass her by.
“Catrìona.”
The queen.
Catrìona turned to face her mistress.
“It occurred to me you might come here. I think I know why you weep but I would listen if you would speak of it,” said Margaret.
Catrìona got to her feet, unwilling to keep all that was in her heart from the queen. “The man my father chose for me, the man I thought to wed, has now chosen another.”
“Ah,” Margaret said knowingly as she beckoned Catrìona to sit and eased herself down beside her. “Domnall mac Murchada. I have observed his actions toward Isla of Blackwell. ’Twould seem he has at last found someone much like himself.”
“What do you mean?”
“In the year he has been in Dunfermline, I have become aware of ill-favored character. He is not one I would have chosen for you.”
Catrìona drew little comfort from Margaret’s words.
All she could think of was Domnall’s rejection.
Beneath the hurt he had caused was the pain from the loss of her parents.
The deep wounds had not healed. Mayhap they never would.
“ ’Tis not just Domnall, My Lady. My heart is broken; I am distraught for all that I have lost.”
Margaret took Catrìona’s trembling hand in hers. “I know you have suffered much, Catrìona, and I am very sorry for your pain. It was my hope when you came to us that you would find healing. You will, in time.”
Catrìona looked into the queen’s gentle sky-colored eyes. “I hope so, My Lady.”
Margaret gave her an understanding smile. “There is no soul so damaged, no heart so broken, it cannot be healed by God, Catrìona.”
Tears flowed from Catrìona’s eyes in a great rush as she turned into Margaret’s comforting arms wanting desperately for the words to be true.
The queen stroked her back. “I know what it is to experience loss, Catrìona. I was still young when my father died. Then, my country was torn from me and my family’s lives threatened so that we had to flee. I know fear.”
Guilt crept over Catrìona. How could she wallow in self-pity when the queen had lost her father and her home, even her country? Catrìona sat up and blinked back the tears filling her eyes. “I am sorry, My Lady.”
“Few among us have not known tragedy. I, too, once doubted God.”
She could not believe this devout queen had ever doubted God. “You?”
A smile crossed her face. “ ’Tis quite human, I have discovered. God understands your grief, Catrìona, as He did mine. Did not evil men kill His Son? But that terrible loss was part of a greater plan.”
Catrìona nodded as Margaret spoke, seeing truth in the queen’s words.
“God has a greater plan for us, as well. Sometimes His plans are different than ours.” The queen looked into her eyes. “We must accept whatever He allows into our lives, trusting Him to use it for good.”