Chapter 12 #3
With Audra’s assistance, the queen was made to understand and replied, “Tomorrow, mayhap.” Placing her hand on her rounded belly, she said, “For now, I think I shall find my tent and rest for a while.”
Audra said a few words to the monk in Gaelic to which he replied, “Of course, My Lady.”
Margaret thanked the Culdee and accepted his invitation to dine with him and the other monks that evening. Then she took Catrìona’s arm and, together with Audra on her other side, walked toward where the cream-colored tents could be seen beneath the shelter of the trees a short distance away.
Steinar followed. At his side, Colbán said, “It seems we have accomplished our purpose here. Mayhap as soon as tomorrow we can leave for St. Andrews.”
“Aye,” said Steinar, “if the queen is feeling well enough. She appeared tired to me. The babe might be robbing her of strength.”
Colbán nodded.
Steinar thought of what must be done. “If our party is to eat this eve, we’d best hunt or the monks will be serving us one of those meager chickens.”
Colbán slapped him on the back. “Aye, a hunt is just what I need.”
* * *
As the afternoon waned, Catrìona left Audra, who was napping, to check on the queen. Assured by the maidservant that Margaret was resting and did not have need of her ladies, Catrìona headed deeper into the forest to see to her private needs.
Sunlight pierced the dark green canopy of trees, dappling the forest floor, but less so as the stands of trees grew dense before her. ’Twas not unlike the forest in Dunfermline, filled with chattering birds, but there was something more untamed about it.
Having seen to her needs, she carefully stepped around an outcropping of twisted roots.
An animal’s low growl brought the forest to a sudden silence.
She froze, her heart racing, then slowly raised her head to the source of the sound.
Above her, a giant cat, gray with black stripes, bared its teeth and hissed sharply while sinking its claws into the thick branch on which it was perched.
Its pale green eyes narrowed on her as it spit furiously, poised as if to attack.
Catrìona screamed and reared back just as the wild cat stamped forward, hissing and spitting. She reached for her knife sheathed at her hip.
Strong arms surrounded her, pulling her away from the cat. “I will protect you, my lady.” Even without turning, she recognized the voice of the king’s captain. Turning her in his arms, he held her to his hard chest. “Do not fear the beast. My sword is yours to command.”
She gazed into his brown eyes, seeing concern.
“I am grateful, sir.” Behind her, the huge cat hissed and growled.
She pressed closer to the king’s captain.
His tunic smelled of an unfamiliar man’s sweat but she was too afraid to care.
Never had she seen an enormous feline like this one baring its knife-like teeth and claws in such a menacing manner.
Colbán bent his head to bring his lips down on hers, kissing her most forcefully. Jerking her head back, she protested, “Nay, sir. Do not. I may fear the teeth of the wild animal but you are not without teeth yourself.”
She looked behind her and, seeing the animal had gone, pushed away from the tall captain. In truth, she feared him as much as the beast.
From the woods came a familiar chuckle. “ ’Twas only a wee cat, more afraid of you than you were of it.”
“Steinar?” Her eyes searched the thick growth of trees for a head of golden hair. She spotted him standing against a tree, his arms crossed over his chest. “ ’Twas no wee cat!” she insisted. “The beast was wild and fierce. It scared me.”
Steinar left the tree to indolently stroll toward her. A glance at Colbán told her the captain was not pleased.
“Tell her, Colbán,” said Steinar.
“Tell me what?” she asked, her gaze darting from one man to the other.
“Well,” Colbán said, shooting Steinar a harsh glare, “mayhap ’twas not so fierce a beast as you thought, but ’twas still wild.”
“You mean not as fierce as you wanted me to believe?” she said, feeling anger rising within her.
Colbán said nothing, but Steinar laughed. “Anything to steal the lady’s kiss, eh Captain?”
Colbán let out a sigh and bowed. “My pardon, my lady. I was sorely tempted.”
Having been fooled by the king’s captain into allowing him an intimacy she would never have otherwise, she choked back the angry words she was tempted to utter.
Too, she was annoyed beyond measure at Steinar’s finding it amusing when he should have been at least jealous given the kisses they had shared.
She gave them both a “H’mf!” and turned on her heels and stomped out of the forest.
As she left, she heard Colbán say to Steinar, “You might have waited.”
“Not likely,” came the reply.
“In the future, Scribe, confine your words to your scribbling.”
“I am no longer merely the king’s scribe. I’m a guardsman now, one of your own.”
“Aye,” Colbán growled. “And, as I am your captain, you will mind my orders. Where the queen’s ladies are concerned, do not oppose me.”
* * *
Steinar was more than a little angry but he had to temper his jealousy against what he understood were the king’s wishes.
His heart lurched as he reminded himself Colbán had asked for Catrìona’s hand and the king seemed only too glad to accede to the captain’s request. Tempted as he was to raise his sword tip to the back of Colbán’s neck when he came upon the captain with his hands on Catrìona, seeing her back away, he had settled for laughter instead.
That night it rained, which fit Steinar’s dour mood, and he ate in his tent where he brooded over the situation before sleep overtook him.
The next day had them slogging through wind and rain as they pressed on to St. Andrews, mud splashing to their stirrups.
In the wet weather, his leg took the opportunity to cramp, adding to his displeasure, but Catrìona, uncomplaining, pulled her cloak over her head against the rain and bore the dismal day like one of the men.
She declined his invitation to be seated with the queen whose cart was now covered with an oilcloth tent.
What should have been a day’s journey turned into two, but finally, the rain subsided and the sun emerged as they reached the coast.
The smell of sea air and cries of gulls welcomed them to St. Andrews, raising his spirits. Catrìona threw her cloak off her head and tilted her face to the sun, her auburn hair glistening like a dark jewel.
Behind the stone church, where Bishop Fothad stood waiting, was the North Sea, its deep blue waters a stark contrast to the ivory sand on the shore and the white clouds billowing above them.
“ ’Tis beautiful,” she said.
With eyes only for her, he agreed. “Aye, most beautiful.”
As they pulled rein, Steinar slid from his horse and helped Catrìona to the ground.
“Have you been here before?” she asked, her green eyes focused on the bishop clothed in a white cowl robe. Behind them, Steinar glimpsed Colbán helping Margaret and Audra down from the cart.
“Nay, but I know Bishop Fothad. He presided at the marriage of Malcolm and Margaret and has come to Dunfermline more than once to hear the queen’s confession.”
“Those must have been short meetings,” she murmured.
He laughed. “You mean the confessions?”
“Aye,” she said with a smile he thought winsome. “I look forward to meeting the bishop.”
Next to the stone church with its single tower was the Culdee abbey in which the bishop lived, for Fothad was one of them.
Steinar waited until Catrìona had joined Audra and Margaret and the three proceeded toward the bishop. The queen appeared weary. “Does the queen seem tired to you?” he asked Colbán. “More than usual, I mean.”
“Mayhap you are right,” said the captain.
“I would speak to Bishop Fothad to assure a hot bath awaits in her chamber. Margaret is too gracious to ask but these last few days have been a trial. She needs to rest, and the ladies, too, will want a bath, do you not think?”
Colbán shifted his gaze to study the queen who seemed to be leaning against Catrìona while speaking with the bishop.
“Aye, ’tis a good idea. The king would not be happy if he thought we had allowed her to grow overtired.
While you speak with the bishop, I will organize the men to raise the tents.
I expect the abbey will have room only for the queen, her maidservant and the ladies. ”
Steinar nodded and strode to where Margaret and the ladies spoke to the bishop.
“Bishop Fothad,” he said dipping his head.
“Ah! ’Tis the king’s scribe,” said the cleric.
“No longer a scribe, Bishop,” said the queen. “Steinar is now one of the king’s guards.”
The monk gave him a long studying look. “Aye, I can see you have changed. Now you have the appearance of a warrior.”
As the ladies walked toward the abbey ahead of them, Steinar told the bishop of his concern for the queen. The older man nodded to all his requests. “It shall be done.”
Inside the abbey’s thick walls, it was cool. Margaret was led to a seat and given a cup of water.
Catrìona left the queen to come to him. “Margaret is exhausted from the last few days.”
“Aye, I have seen it. The bishop has agreed to ready Margaret’s chamber and have a hot bath for her. She can rest ere we dine.”