Chapter 15 #2
When the king had called him back for a word, it was to tell Steinar that he was still considering what lady he might give him for a wife and expected to make his choice soon. The conversation that followed left Steinar despairing of hope.
“It will not be the redhead you asked for,” said Malcolm. “Still, I’ve a fine lady in mind.”
“But Sir, ’tis Catrìona I love.”
His face stern, the king shot back, “Love has little to do with raising sons to serve your king, but I will think on it.”
Steinar believed it more likely the king would quickly dismiss Steinar’s plea from his mind.
Thus, he had not claimed her before the despicable Domnall.
But he could protect her and vow to always do so.
And as long as a glimmer of hope remained, as long as she had yet to be betrothed, he would seek her company.
“Do you go in search of Giric?” he asked her when she had calmed.
“Yea,” she said. “I had thought to find him in the village and was on my way there.”
“If it pleases you, I would accompany you.” He was not about to leave her alone to be found again by the loathsome Irishman.
She tossed him a smile. “Aye, it would please me.”
They continued down the path that led to the village and she told him of all she had done with Margaret’s permission to improve the cottage where the orphans lived. As she talked, she seemed to shake off the incident at the stables.
“The queen sent some of the Saxons who are skilled in building to repair the cottage so it will be warm for winter. And I have enlisted some of the women to make it more of a home. Margaret gave me the services of a dear woman, Aeleva, who now cares for the orphans. She cooks and keeps house for them. They seem to love her.”
Catrìona’s green eyes sparkled as she spoke. He was glad to see Domnall’s attack did not affect her enthusiasm for what she had done for the orphans. “I expect the queen is delighted,” he said, trying to encourage her.
“I think she is. Margaret had always believed the village women cared for the orphans and they did, after a fashion. But not like Aeleva does now. She is more a mother to them and the young ones especially need that.”
At the cottage, he and Catrìona stopped to admire the changes. The stones were whitewashed, the shutters new and flowers formed a pretty border on either side of the door. A fair-haired Saxon woman, rosy-cheeked and plump, came out to greet them. “Good day to you, sir, mistress.”
“Good day to you, Aeleva,” said Catrìona. “This is Steinar, one of the king’s men.”
Aeleva curtsied and Steinar wished the woman a good day and then asked her, “Is Giric about?”
“Just around the side,” Aeleva said, pointing, “working on the pen for the chickens.”
They found Giric building a reed fence on the far side of the cottage where fat chickens were pecking at seed tossed on the ground by a small girl, younger than Giric. The boy looked up at their appearance and beamed. “Is it not grand?”
“Aye,” said Steinar. “And now you would be a builder besides a warrior?”
“I shall be both!” he announced, puffing out his small chest. The girl giggled, her fawn-colored curls falling onto her round cheeks.
Steinar laughed at the boy’s audacity but when he thought of all that would be required to make a home in the Vale of Leven, he reconsidered. “Indeed you shall be.”
“If you have the time, oh master builder,” said Catrìona in feigned sarcasm, “I would invite you to go with us to see Kessog. With all that has happened, I have not looked in on him since I returned from St. Andrews. He will be feeling slighted.”
Pounding in a last branch, Giric said, “Aye, I will go! And might there be food in the hall? Mayhap Duncan is there.”
Steinar said, “I’ve no doubt there will be food and”—he winked at Catrìona—“if the lady agrees, mayhap we might fly the falcon.”
Giric beamed and waved goodbye to the girl as he rushed to join them.
* * *
Catrìona was glad neither Domnall nor Isla was in the hall as they crossed the large space to the kitchen. Sickened by what he had attempted, she did not want to see either of them.
Sitting on a stool in the kitchen, they found Duncan nibbling on cheese.
“You and the king’s son,” the round-faced cook said to Giric, “are drawing down our reserves of cheese.” With a smile for Catrìona and Steinar, she added, “ ’Tis regrettable the lads’ stomachs need constant refilling, but ’tis always the way of it.”
“Ye will not tell the king, will ye?” asked Giric.
“Nay,” the cook assured the boy, “but ’tis not the king you need worry about, ’tis the queen. She is the one with strict rules about eating before the evening meal.”
“Oh,” said the two lads in unison, looking very worried.
Catrìona laughed and reached to where she knew they kept bits of raw meat and put some in her pouch for Kessog.
“We are on our way to the mews,” she told Duncan. “Would you like to come with us to visit my tiercel and see the king’s hawks?”
The youth jumped up from his seat. He was twice Giric’s age, but the two could have been brothers. “I would!”
It was late in the afternoon when they entered the dim light of the mews.
Machar was feeding the falcons and seemed happy to see the visitors.
“Your tiercel has been pining for you, my lady, but I have kept him fat to hasten his molt. See,” he said, taking Kessog from his perch, “his tail feathers are all in now.”
“But he does not look ready to hunt,” she said with disappointment as she cast a glance over his still ruffled plumage.
“ ’Twill not be long now. Mayhap another sennight,” said the falconer.
Duncan and Giric spent some time looking at all the hawks.
Catrìona stood next to Kessog’s perch stroking his feathers as she marveled at Steinar’s patience with the boys.
He listened attentively to their questions, answering them when he could.
Machar, with his greater knowledge of the hawks, answered some.
Finally, Steinar looked up at her with raised brows as if he had read her mind.
“Aye,” she said, “we had best be off. The evening meal will soon be upon us and the king will be asking for his son.”
She waved goodbye to Giric, who ran off toward the village, and headed toward the tower, Steinar and Duncan talking of the changes Margaret had made since coming to Dunfermline.
Catrìona marveled at the friendship between the golden warrior, once a scribe, and the dark-haired youth who was destined to one day be king.
Would Steinar serve Duncan as he had his father? Would she be by his side if he did?
* * *
That night, when Catrìona and Fia arrived in the hall for the evening meal, the dais was crowded with persons of high rank and the hall filled with warriors in the service of the king and his esteemed visitors.
On the king’s left sat Matad, Mormaer of Atholl, Fia’s father. Next to him was Duff, Mormaer of Fife, still recovering from his wound gained in Northumbria. It would be awhile before the one who led the king’s army sat a horse.
On Duff’s other side was the king’s young son, Duncan.
Edgar helped the queen into her chair beside the king and then sat on her other side. Beside Edgar were the king’s stepsons, the Jarls of Orkney, Paul and Erlend Thorfinnsson.
“Your father sits next to the king,” Catrìona said to her cousin as they joined the other ladies.
Fia spoke into her ear. “Aye and Rhodri will entertain them all. He has prepared some special songs that tell of Alba’s deep past.”
Catrìona had told Fia of Domnall’s disgusting behavior earlier that day and, though Fia was horrified, she was not surprised. “Isla and Domnall deserve each other. He will never be faithful and she will never let him forget it. They will soon be a pair of squabbling ducks.”
“Aye, mayhap you are right,” said Catrìona. “I wish them well of each other.”
Not far away sat Steinar and Rhodri, who dipped their handsome heads in greeting when she looked their way.
She had been so happy to be with Steinar that afternoon.
It had helped to lessen the impact of her encounter with Domnall.
But when she thought of what the Irishman had done, her anger returned.
She did not like to think of what might have happened had Steinar not come.
The golden-haired scribe had become her champion and, if her prayers were answered, one day, he would be more.
He might be without land and title but he had courage and honor the king would not fail to reward.
Audra might be wrong in thinking Colbán was more courageous and honorable than all the king’s men.
Catrìona believed Steinar could well hold that place.
The meal of roast pheasant and boar was delicious and she vowed to save for Giric a few tasty morsels of meat and whatever sweet they would be served, for the boy would be dining on plainer fare.
When she saw a platter of berry tarts arrive at the table, she snatched one up and set it aside to keep for the lad.
Finally, it was time for the entertainment. Rhodri took up his harp and walked to the front of the room, a signal to all to quiet in anticipation of the bard’s songs.
Suddenly, the tower door burst open and in stepped a tall man clad in unusual garb with a longbow and a quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder.
He was flanked by two burly guards in similar attire who also carried longbows.
The tall man’s tunic was dark green in color, his hosen dark brown, heavier than that worn by Malcolm’s men and loose about his legs.
Over all of it, he wore a sleeveless fur cloak that fitted his body but was open down the front.
His curly brown hair reached only to his nape and was confined by a leather thong circling his head like a crown.
His eyes scanned the hall, his scrutiny finally alighting on the king.
“Come forward, stranger!” shouted Malcolm.