Chapter 12
Merewyn glanced at the yellow leaf blowing in the wind, adjusted her aim accordingly, and pulled back the string, focusing her eyes on the distant target, before loosing the arrow. It flew across the field to land with a resounding “thwack” in the center of the target.
Cecily and her two companions, watching from where they sat on their favorite rock, clapped their hands with glee. Merewyn paused to give them some advice on shooting when the wind was up and how difficult it could be to hit the target if they did not account for it.
Owain tossed Merewyn a smirk, stepped to the line and carefully took aim. With his greater strength, he brought the string of his longbow back to his chin and released his arrow in one smooth stroke. In a “whoosh”, it flew through the air and split her arrow.
The three children stared in wonder.
“Now you are making a show of it,” chided Merewyn, but she tossed him a smile. She had seen him split an arrow once before in Wales. Not many archers could match the feat.
“For your benefit, aye,” Owain said, his smirk back.
He had taken to spending his afternoons with her on the archery field.
The archers that remained behind when Alex had gone to meet the king seemed to accept her Welsh friend, often admiring his skill.
But Merewyn had observed them watching Owain closely whenever he went off by himself.
She suspected one of them followed, mayhap on the orders of Talisand’s lord.
Owain was never without his weapons. Even when he shot arrows from his horse, his wicked axe hung from his hip, an intimidating sight.
October was nearly gone when Owain began pressing Merewyn to leave Talisand.
He was right in thinking they could delay no longer.
And why should she not go? Would it not be best if she were gone when Alex returned?
She had not yet felt the child moving in her belly, but she was keenly aware it was growing.
Her body was changing, her breasts swelling.
She often thought of the babe’s father. Her mother had to bear alone the child of a man she abhorred and, while Merewyn might be alone, she would bear the child of the man she loved.
With her palm on her belly, she would sometimes speak to their child as she lay in bed or was alone in her chamber. This afternoon as she changed into a gown for supper, she told the babe, “Your father will live, do not doubt it, young wolf.”
That evening, after supper, she and Owain played chess in one corner of the hall.
With Alex and his men gone and no news from Northumbria, most evenings the mood of those gathered was somber.
Everyone waited for news. Maugris had told Lady Serena her son would return, but he did not say he would be without a wound.
This night, a minstrel played his lute softly as the candles burned and men played games on the trestle tables.
Lady Serena and Lora stitched by the hearth fire.
Bea and Alice had returned to their homes with their parents.
There had been no dancing. Any celebrations would have to await the return of Talisand’s men.
She looked at Owain across the board as she considered her next move.
He was a good chess player, though not as good as Rhodri or Alex.
Still, his skillful moves sometimes required her to consider carefully what she would do next.
She returned her attention to the board and reached for one of her knights when he said, “ ’Tis time, Merewyn. ”
She met his dark gaze. “Have I delayed my move overly long?”
“I do not speak of chess. We must be on our way.”
“Tomorrow, Owain. I will give you my answer tomorrow.”
He dipped his head. “As you wish, but I believe you will be going with me, so prepare.”
The next morning, Merewyn rose early, dressed warmly and walked through the village, heading toward the stone church.
There was a chapel in the castle, but she rarely went there.
She preferred the stone church set amidst the oak trees with its weather-beaten doors and small arched windows.
It was the only stone structure in Talisand and Lady Serena had told her it had given the old thegn much pride to build it.
As she entered through one open door, her attention was drawn to the walls, painted in bright red, blue and yellow, depicting scenes from the Bible that reminded the people of their faith. One wall depicted the seven deadly sins she had been warned about as a child.
“Did you come to see me, my child?”
She turned to see Father Bernard standing behind her, his white hair and well-trimmed beard rising above his gray cowl robe. “I was hoping you might pray with me… for Sir Alex and his men.”
“Of course. We will kneel together.”
The priest’s words comforted her as he asked God to protect Talisand’s warriors who rode with the king. And he prayed for peace in the land that had known so much war.
When she got to her feet, she felt much relieved. “Thank you, Father.”
“I am always here, my child.”
Outside, she pulled her cloak tightly around her against the wind and tugged her hood over her head. Hunched down as she walked, she nearly ran into Maugris.
“Oh!” She gave a start, looking up. “Please forgive me.”
“It is nothing, Mistress Merewyn. You come from the chapel?”
“Yea.”
“That is good. You do well to seek direction from the Master of the Heavens.”
“I was praying for protection for Sir Alex and his men. We have heard nothing.”
“Ah,” he said, nodding. “That, too, is needful. Few wounds are as painful as those of the heart.”
“Is Alex wounded?” she asked, concerned.
“Should he return and find you gone, I have no doubt he will be,” the old man said. “Your future is here, Merewyn. I have seen it.” Without another word, he bowed and took his leave.
Merewyn watched the old man go, his dark gray cloak blowing out behind him.
He did not try and stop her from leaving.
But the stab of sorrow she experienced at the prospect of causing Alex pain was enough to give her pause.
Mayhap she had been wrong to consider returning to Wales and wrong about the depth of Alex’s feelings for her.
Should she stay no matter the consequences?
* * *
Alex peered into the distance of the Lothian countryside, a mélange of colors, wide swaths of green bordered by stands of trees still bearing the autumn colors of gold and yellow. He rode with Duke Robert and Sir Duncan, heading north toward the Firth of Forth.
King Malcolm must have been warned of their approach because three riders emerged from a copse of trees to appear before them.
Alex had never met the King of Scots, but there was no doubt the imposing figure riding the white charger with his scarlet cloak thrown back from his broad, mail-clad shoulders and his dark hair and beard beneath his helm encircled by a gold crown was the man they had come to see.
Two other men flanked the King of Scots, both warriors by their appearance, garbed in mail and helm and wearing both swords and long knives at their belts.
As the three drew close, Alex could see Malcolm was no longer young, but his weathered face bore the proud look of the warrior king Alex had heard so much about.
He had led his people for decades, outliving the Conqueror.
He had the air of a man confident in his abilities, a king worthy of being followed.
Malcolm’s long legs suggested he possessed a height not shared by either Duke Robert or England’s king, both of whom were men of small stature. When standing, the Scottish king would tower over them.
On King Malcolm’s right, rode a man Alex had never met, but who had to be his Uncle Steinar from his resemblance to Alex’s mother.
Once they arrived in front of him, Alex glimpsed his mother’s violet eyes.
Forced to flee England as a rebel, fighting against the Conqueror, Steinar had been welcomed in Scotland where his fortunes had risen.
He now appeared more a Scot than an Englishman, his blond hair long with small plaits on the sides.
On his face, both a mustache and a small beard.
On the king’s other side rode Edgar AEtheling, the fair-haired brother of Malcolm’s Saxon queen, who Alex knew from his time in Normandy. He had been correct in thinking Edgar had gone home to Scotland.
“Robert, my old friend,” said Malcolm, his gaze briefly resting on the duke and then Alex before alighting on Duncan. “You bring my son to me?”
Robert smiled graciously and Alex understood the wisdom of sending the duke to bargain with Malcolm.
“The King of Scots knows well why I am here. It is true your son, Duncan, has come with me. I also bring the nephew of your chief, Steinar.” He gestured to Alex.
“Sir Alexander of Talisand. For what we have to discuss, ’tis best we are among those we trust, no? ”
Steinar dipped his head to Alex, acknowledging his presence, and Alex nodded in return.
“Welcome to Scotland, nephew of my mormaer,” said Malcolm to Alex. Then facing Duncan, the king smiled. “It has been long since my eyes have seen you, my son. I trust you have remembered all we spoke of when last we parted.”
“I have, Father.” Duncan’s words brought to Alex’s mind his conversation with Duncan in which he had said his father expected him one day to reign over the Scots.
“Well,” said Robert, “now that we have made the necessary introductions, is there somewhere we can share a cup of wine and talk? My mission is to avoid war, if ’tis possible.”
“My tent is not far,” said Malcolm. “We can talk there. You have my word you will be unharmed.”
Duke Robert rode beside King Malcolm and Duncan paired with Edgar, who he apparently knew, leaving Alex to ride beside his uncle.