Summer Warrior (The Clan Donald Saga Book 1) Read online

  At the edge of the room, a boy appeared with handsome features and an intelligent face, his gaze appraising Somerled.

  “Come greet your father, Gille,” said Somerled’s mother. With a smile, she told his son, “They now call him ‘Somerled the Mighty’.”

  The lad of ten years stepped forward, tall for his age and straight-limbed, his blue eyes growing larger as Somerled rose to greet him.

  “I do not remember you,” said his son.

  “Aye, we will soon remedy that. Come shake your father’s hand.”

  Gillecolum boldly stepped forward, his gaze never leaving Somerled. When he grasped the boy’s forearm, he felt the lad’s strength. “You’ve a powerful grip.”

  “I suppose I need not ask,” said Somerled’s mother, “but do you intend to take Gille with you?”

  “Aye,” said Somerled, his eyes never leaving his son, “’tis time.”

  Over the next few days, Somerled reacquainted himself with his son.

  The next morning, after breaking their fast, he took Gillecolum on a long walk to his favorite places.

  Stopping at a waterfall, he invited his son to sit on a rock while they watched the falls. “On a rare summer day, this was my swimming hole. Your uncle Angus and I would take turns seeing who could stay under the water the longest.”

  “Who won?” asked Gillecolum.

  “Sometimes Angus, sometimes me.”

  “I wish I had a brother.”

  “How would you like a younger brother, one who would look up to you?”

  Gillecolum beamed at the suggestion. “Aye, I would like that very much. Do you have one you will give me?”

  Somerled laughed. “Well, mayhap not immediately, but ’tis my plan to take a bride who would be a mother to you and, together, we would give you brothers. At least that is my thought. What think you of such a plan?”

  “Would she like me?”

  “Oh, I think so. Very much. You are my son and any woman I would choose must love you or I would not marry her.”

  Gillecolum nodded. “Then it’s all right,” he said with a furrowed brow, as if pondering a great matter. Which, Somerled supposed, it was.

  The next day, though it was spitting rain, they went fishing for eels in a burn where Somerled had fished as a lad.

  “I know how to fish for eels,” Gillecolum proudly announced, staring into the water.

  “You do? Then show me,” he said, stepping back.

  The lad waded a short way into the burn and began to poke around in the mud with the tip of his spear. A cloud of dirt rose to the surface as he disturbed the water in one place. He pulled back his spear and smiled. On its tip was an eel speared and wiggling. “I found their winter nest!”

  “So you did. An excellent discovery and a good catch. Do you like to eat them?”

  “Nay,” the boy said with a look of distaste. “I don’t much like the look of them, but Grandmother likes them so I catch them for her.”

  Somerled took the eel from the spear and dropped it in the bag he carried. “Most considerate of you,” he said, realizing how mature his son was for just ten years.

  An hour later, with their bag of eels, they walked back to the manor, warriors together who had conquered the burn and brought back trophies for the woman of the house.

  “How would you like to sail with me, Gillecolum? It would mean leaving your grandmother, at least for a time, but you would be with me and your uncle.”

  “I heard grandmother ask you if you came for me. I am ready. I want to go.”

  Somerled put the bags of eels and his spear in his left hand and wrapped his free arm around Gillecolum’s shoulders. “I have long wanted you by my side, Son. It pleases me greatly to know you would take your place there.”

  A few days later, Somerled watched as Gillecolum searched the tidepools on the shore with Maurice and Liadan.

  Somerled’s mother, standing next to him, said, “He has heard many stories of your victories in the last few years and I have made certain he knew of his father’s triumphs. Because of them, he is in awe of you.”

  Somerled had thought often of his son, trying to imagine how he had grown with each passing year. “A few months with me will disabuse him of the myths.”

  “I will miss him,” said Somerled’s mother, “but I agree it is time he was with you. He needs his father…and possibly a new mother? Is the young woman with you a prospect?”

  “Nay, she is my self-proclaimed guard and the sister of one of my warriors.”

  His mother laughed. “I see Gille will be well-entertained.”

  “He’ll not be bored. Did he mention my conversation with him the day we fished for eels?”

  “He did and he is most anxious to have a younger brother, though I don’t think he understands such cannot be quickly delivered.”

  Meeting his mother’s sharp gaze, he said, “I do hope to take another wife and want Gillecolum to meet my choice of a bride.”

  His mother turned from watching Gillecolum, who was searching the tidepools, to face Somerled. “You have chosen a woman?”

  “Aye.”

  “Who, pray tell, is it?”

  “Ragnhild of the Isle of Man.”

  “The Norse princess?”

  “Aye, and sought after by every man of any stature from Orkney to Scotland. But her father has yet to accept any man’s suit, including my own, though I have twice asked for her hand.”

  His mother lifted her head to gaze southeast beyond the rocky shore of Ulaid toward the Isle of Man. “Olaf, King of Man, is the younger son of Godred Crovan, the King of Dublin who died before you were born. ’Tis said Olaf is a wily one. With the death of his two older brothers, I suppose he had to be.”

  “That and his small stature, for he is no warrior. Olaf is known for his shrewd alliances forged with every kingdom that could pose a threat to him. I am hoping he comes to see me as one of them so that he will grant me the hand of his daughter. Once, I could offer her nothing but that has changed.”

  “It would mean much for the task you have set for yourself to have such a bride,” said his mother. “From what I have heard about the princess, I believe I would like her.”

  “Aye, you would. But an alliance with her father is not the only reason I want the match. I love her.”

  His mother gave him a knowing smile. “Then I have no doubt Somerled the Mighty will find a way.”

  Somerled fixed his eyes on his son who proudly held up a starfish, smiling at his prize. “Father, look!”

  Somerled nodded, smiling. “Well done!” It warmed his heart to know his son had come to accept him. Now, he had only to introduce the lad to Ragnhild.

  Isle of Man, 11 December 1137 A.D.

  ANTICIPATING WHAT MIGHT come of this visit to the Isle of Man, Somerled’s gut tightened. Would Ragnhild receive his message with a glad heart?

  He had lingered a fortnight in the north of Ireland, visiting his friends and Maurice’s kin. All the while, Gillecolum had remained by his side. Now, the boy stood next to Liadan facing into the wind as the galley sailed into the harbor.

  When they beached the galley, Somerled beckoned Maurice to him. “Take this note to the princess. If she says aught of wanting to see me or appears pleased with what she has read, tell her I am here and request she come hither to the ship, that I have someone for her to meet.”

  “As you wish,” said the Irishman. “Do we stay the night?”

  “Possibly. I would see Olaf if he is receiving. By the look of the longships in the harbor, it appears he is here. One flies his royal banner.”

  RAGNHILD RACED FAIRHAIR along the cliffs, the December wind from the Irish Sea knifing through her mantle. Despite the bitter cold, she would not trade the freedom she felt when racing over the hills for a seat next to the hearth fire.

  Nearing the castle, she slowed Fairhair to a walk to admire the view. Overhead, the scattered gray clouds could not overwhelm the golden light from the morning sun. Shading her eyes, sh
e saw a familiar man waiting by the gate, looking in her direction. Drawing closer, she recognized him as one of Somerled’s companions, Maurice MacNeill, her father’s foster brother from Ireland.

  Drawing rein as she arrived next to him, she slid from the saddle. “Good day to you, sir.”

  He bowed before her. “Princess, you may remember I am Maurice MacNeill. I bring a message from Lord Somerled.”

  A smile crossed her face. “What is it?” He had not forgotten after all.

  From his mantle of deep green, he pulled out a small rolled parchment, tied with string, and handed it to her.

  She opened the missive and read.

  Love made to wait grows. – Somerled

  She read the one line three times. It might be short but her soul thrilled to his words that spoke of love, love delayed yet growing. Clutching the precious parchment to her bosom, she asked forlornly, “He did not come himself?”

  “Would you be happy if he had?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  The Irishman smiled. “Then I have Somerled’s permission to tell you he awaits you at his ship in the harbor where he has someone he wants you to meet.”

  Ragnhild shielded her eyes and gazed down to the harbor where some of her father’s ships were anchored. Among those beached on the sand was a galley, smaller than a longship. Her heart sped to think Somerled was here but not wishing to appear too eager, in a calm voice, she said, “I will come as soon as I have returned my horse to the stables.” She watched Maurice walk down the hill toward the harbor and turned to go, so excited she could hardly breathe.

  “Fairhair,” she said to her horse, leading him to the stables, “it seems we are to have a most welcome guest.” Ragnhild had waited and wondered and hoped a message would come, desperate to know he thought of her. She had never expected the man himself to appear yet here he was and with words of love for her.

  Who was it he wanted her to meet?

  She handed the reins to a groom and hurried out through the postern gate, not wanting her father to know Somerled was here. A guard would bring him word soon enough.

  She would have taken more care with her appearance to meet the man who made her heart race but to do so might draw the interest of her father or Affraic. No, Somerled would just have to take her windblown and ruffled.

  The galley beached at the harbor’s edge was the same one she had seen off the coast of Man years before, only now its red sail was doused, ready to set should the ship leave in haste. A signal to her had she not wished to see him, he would have swiftly sailed away. Did he doubt so much her heart was his?

  Somerled grinned at her from the deck of his ship where he stood, hands fisted on his hips, his fair hair confined at his nape.

  “I received your message, Lord Somerled,” she said, coming closer. His crew discreetly turned away, busy with their tasks. Did anyone else know what he had written to her? She doubted it. Mayhap his men knew he was glad to see her but ’twas likely he would share his emotions with only those who needed to know. To a man like her father who would arrange her marriage for gain or strategic alliance, such a sentiment would mean little—to her, it meant everything.

  “The words are true,” he said, jumping down to the sand and taking her hands in his, “every one.” His touch sent shivers through her.

  Lifting her hands to his lips, he pressed a kiss to her fingers. “I have missed you, Fair Princess, and worried lest another had stolen your heart. I had thought just to send the message but then I knew I must come. I had to look upon your beautiful face.”

  She could feel her cheeks heat even in the cold but this was no time for timidity. “And I have missed you, my lord, more than you can know.”

  He turned back to his ship and called a name. Then to her, “I have someone I want you to meet. I hope the two of you will do well together.”

  She did not have to ask to know this person was significant and that her reaction would be important for any future she and Somerled might have together.

  A boy climbed down from the ship. As her gaze roved over him, she knew, without a doubt, the tall fair-haired lad was Somerled’s son.

  “Your son?” she asked.

  “Aye. Gillecolum, make your bow to the Princess of Man.”

  The boy must have been given instruction for he executed a perfect bow and, rising, said, “My lady.”

  She smiled. What else could she do in the face of so much charm? “I knew you had been widowed, my lord, and that you had a son. I am happy you have brought him to meet me.” To the boy, she said, “Gillecolum, you are a most handsome lad and clearly resemble your famous father.”

  The boy smiled, obviously happy for any comparison to the man he so admired.

  Somerled put his arm around the boy’s shoulders. “You honor us with your kind words, Princess. I have just retrieved Gillecolum from Ireland where he has been sojourning with my mother.”

  The boy gazed up at his father with a look of adoration.

  “Ireland is not far,” she said. Then facing Gillecolum, she asked, “Would you like to come into the castle and have some refreshments?”

  The boy nodded enthusiastically.

  To Somerled, she said, “’Tis sure my father will ask you both to stay the night. He lacks for male company just now as Christmas approaches and we women are dominating the hall with our preparations. He has his garrison commander, of course, and the isle chieftains but not one, such as yourself, who travels far and brings news. Such a man’s company would be most welcome.” Then with a glance at the Irishman with his ebony hair and beard, smiling down at them from the deck of the ship, she added with feigned sarcasm, “Do bring the king’s foster brother.”

  “May I also bring Liadan? She is in my care until I return her to her brother.”

  Satisfied at last to know the lovely girl’s place in Somerled’s life, she said, “Of course. I am sure she would be happy to spend some time in the castle.”

  THE KING MUST HAVE BEEN apprised of their arrival for he met Somerled at the castle door and invited him, his son and Maurice inside. As Ragnhild had predicted, the king appeared happy to see them. “Come in, come in. ’Tis a chill day and the fire burns brightly.”

  Somerled had decided he would not again raise his desire to wed the princess with the King of Man. Let Olaf wonder at his intentions. Instead, he would allow Olaf to believe he had come solely on a matter of business. In truth, there was a matter of importance he wanted to discuss. Rumors had reached him in Ireland of a storm brewing in the north of England, one that might embroil them all.

  Inside the great hall, Somerled scanned the large chamber, now rendered festive with torches set into iron brackets and greenery mixed with red berries adorning them, the tapestries and the tables. The scent of fresh herbed rushes lingered in the air. Doubtless, ’twas Ragnhild’s doing.

  The deerhounds, sleeping near the hearth fire, rose to greet Somerled as he and his companions handed their mantles to a waiting servant.

  Gillecolum had told Somerled he liked hounds and spent some time ruffling the wiry fur of the two who came toward him, wagging their tails.

  The king offered his hand to Maurice. “I am favored with two visits in one year!”

  The Irishman shook the king’s hand. “You can thank Lord Somerled for that.”

  Somerled then proceeded to present Liadan to Olaf. “Liadan was with me at Irvine,” he reminded the king. It took a few minutes to explain why she was with him now but Olaf seemed satisfied.

  Finally, Somerled introduced his son. “Gillecolum has been in Ireland and is just now joining me.”

  The boy met the king’s inquiring gaze as they faced each other, for Olaf was the same height as Somerled’s son.

  “He’s a fine looking lad,” said the king, smiling at Gillecolum. Then to Somerled, “You were married?”

  “Aye, Gillecolum’s mother died in childbed.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Somerled saw Ragnhild turn aside to speak to the servan
ts, and heard her ordering them to bring hot mead for their guests.

  He and his companions followed the king to the circle of benched seats set around the hearth fire.

  “The queen is above stairs with her ladies,” said Olaf, “but she will join us for dinner. Now is a good time to tell me, what brings you to my kingdom?”

  He did not look at Ragnhild, who had joined them at the fire, when he answered. She knew the answer was that he had come to see her but, for her father, he could honestly say, “The civil war in England.”

  Maurice knew the real reason Somerled had come to the Isle of Man but his expression disclosed nothing. As yet, Gillecolum had no idea of Somerled’s feelings for the princess.

  Olaf seemed surprised at his answer. “England? What care we for that?”

  “I assume you are aware that the six-month truce King David negotiated with Archbishop Thurstan in Stephen’s absence has just expired. If the rumors be true, David is preparing to again invade Northumberland for his niece, the Empress Maud.”

  Olaf’s brow furrowed and his hand swept over his beard as if in contemplation. “Well, then, we have much to discuss. Has David said aught of it to you?”

  “Nay, but I fear he will. I am his ally, bound to come at his call. For such an invasion, he will need an army of warriors.”

  Olaf pursed his lips. “My wife’s father, Fergus, Lord of Galloway, is sworn to the King of Scots. And though I am David’s ally, I have told him I will not fight in England’s wars.”

  Somerled laughed. “I should have thought to say that. But David gave me too much to expect nothing in return.”

  Cups of spiced mead were handed around by the servants. “The lad’s is watered,” Ragnhild whispered to Somerled. Her nearness brought with it the smell of her rose perfume and the memory of their kiss.

  He lifted his gaze to her and, for a moment, their eyes met and neither looked away. A powerful urge to take her hand and run outside swept over him. Instead, he thanked her for her thoughtfulness and patted his son’s shoulder. “’Tis best.”