Rebel Warrior (Medieval Warriors #3) Page 16

  As the king rounded a bend in the road leading to the tower, loud cheers ascended into the air from the boisterous crowd lining either side of the road.

  Steinar scanned the faces of the women and girls who stood waving and smiling at the returning warriors, disappointed that Catrìona’s beautiful face was not among them.

  Giric broke from the crowd and ran to him, his eyes shining and his little gray dog barking loudly at his side. “Scribe!”

  The crowd’s shouts of welcome made it too noisy to converse, but Steinar gave the boy a smile that told him he was glad to see him.

  The boy latched on to Steinar’s stirrup and walked alongside his horse as they continued on toward the tower. “Yer home!”

  The word “home” rang in Steinar’s ears. Indeed, Scotland was now and ever would be his home. Somehow he must get word to Serena of his favor with the king.

  “Aye, lad, I am home.” Reaching his arm to the boy, he said “Grab on!”

  Giric took his hand and Steinar lifted the boy into his saddle.

  “Oh…” breathed the lad, squirming in front of him. “ ’Tis grand from here.”

  “Your first time on a horse?” Steinar asked.

  The boy inclined his head to the side so Steinar could glimpse his face. “Aye.”

  Giric was not afraid, that much Steinar could see. Rather, he was excited and happy to be riding with him. “Brave lad.” Someday, Steinar was certain, Giric would be a bold warrior, a credit to his king.

  The tower came into view and Steinar caught sight of the queen and her ladies standing before the carved wooden door, their smiling faces turned toward the returning warriors. Steinar’s heart leapt at the sight of Catrìona in a green gown the color of her eyes, her face alight with a glow of happiness.

  Was she smiling at him, the king or the king’s captain?

  The king was the first to dismount and the crowd closed in to wish him well. Colbán followed, slipping from his horse in haste to plunge into the crowd, heading straight for Catrìona.

  To Steinar’s surprise, Colbán bowed before her and kissed her offered hand. From behind her she brought forth a folded cloth, copper in color, and handed it to him. They were too far away for Steinar to hear the words they exchanged, but Colbán strode into the hall a happy man.

  Steinar felt a scowl building on his face as he lifted the boy down and dismounted. Handing the reins to a waiting servant, he took off his gloves and headed to where the ladies greeted the men in front of the tower door. The muscles in his right leg cramped, reminding him he had given the leg little rest in the days he’d been gone.

  Giric walked at his side, matching his pace, chattering about the raid into Northumbria. Steinar heard only the last question.

  “Was it very bloody?” the boy asked.

  Steinar was certain the question was posed in eager anticipation of hearing a story the lad could pass along to the village children.

  He tousled the boy’s hair. “Wait till we are inside and I’ve quenched my thirst, then I will tell you.”

  Confusion reigned in front of the tower blocking his view of the ladies for a moment, but Steinar pressed on, making his way through the crowd to the front door. Catrìona’s searching gaze met his. He stepped in front of her and her face lit up with a smile that melted his heart, her eyes sparkling like emeralds. Could it be that Colbán did not yet claim her heart?

  “My lady,” he said, bowing before her. She offered her hand and he took it, wanting to pull her into his arms, but instead he placed a polite kiss on her slender knuckles.

  “I am so glad to see you returned to us,” she said, briefly looking over his body as if expecting to find a bandage, but the one he wore, like the king’s, was hidden beneath his hosen. “When no missive came from the king, I was concerned something had happened to you.”

  “You worried for me?” he asked, hoping against hope she favored him despite the intention of the king’s captain to make her his wife.

  The crowd was loud around them but he leaned in to hear her say, “Aye, I did. We worried for all of you, and prayed much, most particularly for the king. Margaret had a feeling he was in grave danger.”

  “And so he was,” admitted Steinar.

  “Tell me, tell me!” cried Giric, pulling on Steinar’s tunic sleeve.

  “All in good time, lad.”

  “There is wine and food awaiting you in the hall,” said Catrìona as she turned and headed through the open door with the queen’s other ladies.

  Like Giric’s dog pursuing his favorite bone, Steinar followed.

  * * *

  Alone in their chamber, except for the physic bent over the king’s leg changing his bandage, Margaret closely regarded her husband. His face, now clean of the dirt he had worn home, was lined with fatigue. His long hair was still coated with fine dust from his travels. He sat slumped in his chair, but the glint in his eyes told her his spirits were high.

  “The raid went well, My Lord?”

  He winced at the ministrations of the physic. “Well enough. Still, we lost some men to Norman swords. And Duff lies wounded.”

  The loss of his men would weigh heavy upon his shoulders, as would the wounded Duff. The mormaer was not only his loyal right arm, but his trusted friend. “Will he recover?”

  Malcolm shot the physic a glance before replying. “Aye, God willing and if you pray for him, mo cridhe.”

  “I shall, My King,” she said earnestly. “I have already.”

  As if wanting to encourage them, the physic added, “Duff’s wound is clean and the stars are favorable.”

  She accepted his words with a smile. “I will keep Duff in my prayers.”

  The physic finished and gathered up his supplies. “With your leave, My Lord, I would go to the mormaer.”

  “Aye, see to Duff, then come give me a report on his wound. I would know the truth of it ere I go to him.”

  The man nodded, bowed and departed.

  With the sound of the closing door, Margaret asked, “You count the raid successful?”

  “We made our point,” Malcolm said in a satisfied tone. “William knows we like not his dreadful timber castles that creep ever closer to Scotland. The one we attacked rises above the River Aln, a blight upon the land.”

  She poured her husband a goblet of his favorite wine and approached, remembering how the chamber had once looked before she had hung the tapestries. The weapons of war still hung on one wall but the rest bore her softer touch, a melding of their two lives as they had melded their hearts.

  Handing him the drink with one hand, with the other she touched his shoulder, wanting to feel the strength of him, wanting to know he was whole. “My ladies and I prayed for you each day.” She would not tell him of the dread that had overcome her the day she had summoned Audra and Catrìona to the cave to pray.

  Malcolm took a long draw on his wine and set the goblet aside. Taking her hand from his shoulder, he pulled her onto his lap. “It was your prayers, mo cridhe, that gave me strength as I rode into battle against the Normans.”

  She brought his rough warrior hand to her lips and kissed his palm. It would do no good to scold him for attacking William’s knights and she never had. She loved him for the man he was. The man God had given her.

  He smiled then, his dark eyes twinkling with a familiar desire. “I missed our nights together, Margaret.” Placing his hand on her rounded belly, he asked, “How fares the babe?”

  “He moves much these days, keeping me awake. Just two months more and, God willing, I will hold him in my arms.”

  His dark brows rose. “You are certain ’tis a son?”

  “He feels much like Edward did, so I plan for a male child. We named the first for my father and the king who gave us both sanctuary. How do you feel about the name Edmund for our second? ’Twas my grandfather’s name and he was a king of England.”

  Malcolm laughed, a deep belly laugh that told her he was pleased. “My wife who always thinks ahead. Aye, ano
ther English name will serve well a son who may one day have English subjects.”

  She thought of the time he had been away, of all he must have seen. It had been years since she had been in England and she was curious to hear of it. “Tell me of all that happened while you were away.”

  “If you wish to know, I will tell you, but I would see my young Edward ere this day is done. And I must hear of your plans to aid the pilgrims.”

  “Very well,” she said, nestling into the curve of his body like a child awaiting a favored story. “You first.”

  He launched into a description of his travels, beginning with Lothian. “Maerleswein seems happy with his new bride and your former lady was all aglow.”

  “I am glad. I believed he would make a good husband for Davina.”

  “Aye, you did and ’twas a wise suggestion you made.”

  He began to speak of the raid into Northumbria, his face coming alive as he drew vivid pictures of the archers’ flaming arrows and the fighting that followed at Alnwick. “That Welshman is a leader of men, a well-trained fighter, too, not just a bowman. God’s blood, some of his shots were like none I have ever seen!”

  The story went on and she listened intently, sensing he was leaving something out. “How did you get the wound?”

  She could tell he was reluctant to speak of it, but at her prodding, he said, “Sometime in the course of the fight. I do not recall precisely when, but I was suddenly on the ground with the scribe standing over me, defending me against the edge of a Norman’s blade like an avenging angel.”

  A gasp escaped her lips as she imagined Malcolm falling from his horse, vulnerable to the sharp sword of a Norman knight.

  He drew her tightly to him and picked up one of her plaits, fingering the pale hair. “ ’Tis over now, mo cridhe, so do not fear for me. My wound is minor. Steinar guarded me well.”

  “ ’Twas God’s provision, I’ve no doubt, and an answer to my prayers. I am glad the English scribe rode at your back.”

  “For his rescue of his king and for all he has suffered at the hands of William, I have offered Steinar lands in Scotland and the title mormaer. I hope you approve.”

  “Oh, I do.” It seemed right to her that it should be so. “An English thegn’s son deserves more than a life as a scribe. He will prove worthy of your trust, I am certain.”

  “I ordered the scribe to say nothing of the boon I would give him. I want to decide about Colbán first and announce my actions for both at the same time. ’Twould not do to have the scribe favored before my captain.”

  “Where are the lands you would give Steinar?”

  “I thought to have him take Cormac’s place. With Steinar’s intelligence and breeding, he will be able to forge alliances Scotland needs for the future. The men have come to respect him and willingly follow his command. I would send some of them with him to rebuild the hillfort and he will soon attract others. I like it not that the Vale of Leven has remained a great gaping crevice, unguarded since that Norse raid. ’Tis a back door into Scotland.”

  “I wish we knew who was responsible for the attack,” she said, remembering the terrifying tale Matad had brought them of the slaughter.

  “You recall when Atholl first told us of the murder of his sister and Cormac, I sent inquiries to Paul and Erlend Thorfinnsson in the Orkneys. They assured me they had not knowledge of it. I have never known them to lie. After all, they are my own relations and foster my son, Duncan. But mayhap unbeknownst to them, they harbor a villain in their midst.”

  “ ’Twas a terrible thing to lose Cormac and his wife like that. Catrìona and her brother were fortunate to have escaped.”

  “You remind me,” he said, kissing her forehead. “When I told the English scribe I was granting him lands, he made me laugh, saying very seriously he needed a wife to go with them.”

  “Did he?” She smiled, imagining the handsome scribe insisting on a wife. There would be many women at Malcolm’s court who would be proud to accept his suit.

  “Aye, he is a bold one. And he was quite certain just who he wanted that wife to be.”

  She looked at Malcolm expectantly.

  “He asked for the hand of Cormac’s daughter.”

  “Catrìona—but why? Because her father’s lands were the ones you would give the scribe?”

  “Nay, I think not. The look in his eyes told me ’twas the woman herself he wanted. He would have asked for her if I had given him lands in the north instead of the west.”

  Concern trickled through Margaret. She liked Catrìona and wanted her happiness, but after Domnall’s rejection, would Catrìona want any man? “What did you tell him?”

  “The truth. I’ve had many offers for her, including most recently—and most importantly—one from Colbán.”

  “Your captain wants Catrìona? But is it not Elspeth he favors?”

  “The young, silly one? Nay. He may dally with her, but ’tis the redhead he has asked for.”

  Margaret pondered a match between Catrìona and the captain, to her mind a rough warrior who would do best with a gentle bride. “Colbán is a good man, but I doubt he knows much of Catrìona’s strength and her spirit. As I recall, he allows no dissent in the men he commands or the women he possesses.”

  “That is as it may be, mo cridhe, but he has earned such a prize. For some time, I have been thinking to raise Colbán to a mormaer and award him lands. But I would have him close to Dunfermline, not far to the west. ’Tis also possible Cormac’s daughter has no desire to return to the place where her parents were murdered. After all, the home she remembers is gone. If I give her to Colbán, he could have the woman he wants and different lands.”

  Margaret let out a breath. “Oh.”

  “What is it, mo cridhe?” He nibbled on her neck sending shivers down her throat, making it difficult to concentrate. “I have yet to speak to the girl’s uncle, which I will do before I give her to anyone.”

  Margaret considered the possibilities. She wanted to give Catrìona what she never had herself. “If ’twere possible, and each man is acceptable in your eyes, I would let it be the lady’s choice.”

  “Now that would be a bad precedent, Margaret, to let your ladies think they could select their husbands. Can you imagine the chaos that would ensue? Nay, ’tis best I choose them. Besides, since her father’s death, the woman is my ward and her lands mine.” He nuzzled the tender skin beneath her ear. “Still, you know I always seek your advice.”

  Margaret tried not to think of his lips sliding down her neck as she pondered the problem. An idea came to her. Running her fingers over her husband’s hand now stroking her thigh, she said, “What if ’twere done so that you and I know which man she prefers, but none of the other ladies is aware and the announcement, when it comes, is yours, as always?”

  Malcolm laughed. “You are a marvel, mo cridhe.” He kissed her on the mouth, a long lingering kiss. Then he lifted his head to stare into her eyes. “Aye, ’twould work.” He set her carefully on the bench and stood.

  Margaret looked up at him. “I was going to make a trip with Catrìona to the shrine of St. Andrew to select a site for the inn on this side of the Forth and was only waiting for your return. If you agree, I could take both guards with us to observe them with her.” To remind him the building of an inn would cost him much coin, she said, “The scribe would also be helpful in accounting for your gold I intend to spend.”

  Malcolm chuckled. “Clever, mo cridhe, but ’tis not the gold I think of. You know I would not send you even to the shrine of St. Andrew without a contingent of my men for protection, especially with the babe’s birth two months away. Yea, you can have the two guards and more. Would you take all of your ladies?”

  “Nay, only Catrìona and Audra, assuming Audra would be willing to leave her father. Cristina can see that my other ladies are kept busy. My travel to the shrine would also spare Bishop Fothad having to come to Dunfermline to hear my confession.”

  “Very well. I regret I must stay
here to see to my men and the business of the provinces that has accrued in my absence. As well, I must find a new scribe, mayhap one of the Culdee monks who serve in the chapel. How long might you be gone?”

  She could see he was anxious. It was all very well for him to charge off to Northumbria to clash swords with the Normans, but he would not want her to go thirty miles to meet with the bishop at St. Andrew’s shrine. And she loved him for it. Dropping her gaze to her hands, she said, “We could ride to St. Andrews in but two days’ time, except now that I go by cart, I travel more slowly and we will need to make stops to visit the prospective sites for the new inn.” She did not look into his eyes until she said, “There and back again might take a fortnight.”

  Malcolm frowned but, before he could object, she added hopefully, “Mayhap less.”

  One hand was fisted on his hip as he ran the other through his mane of dark hair. “All right, but do not be surprised if I ride to join you for the return. You have been gone too long from my sight.”

  Margaret smiled, pleased at her husband’s concession. “I would welcome you joining us, My Lord. And by that time I may have learned which of your two guards Catrìona would prefer as a husband.”

  “You can add that to your prayers,” he said with a smile. He loved to tease her about her many hours spent in prayer. “And let us hope whichever man the redhead prefers will be acceptable to the lady’s uncle. Atholl will have his say, you can be sure.”

  A knock at the door revealed the physic returned. “My Lord,” he said bowing. “God willing, Duff will recover. He is a man of strong countenance.”

  “Thank you,” said Malcolm.

  “Oh, and when I left,” the physic said, “his daughter was with him.”

  Malcolm instructed him to see to the other wounded and the physic bowed and left.

  Turning to face her, her husband sighed resignedly. “Would that I could take you to my bed, mo cridhe, but that will have to await until this eve. There is much to be done at the moment.” He held out his hand. “Come, we must visit Duff and the wounded. On the way, you can tell me about the sites you will visit for the new inn. Then I must bathe ere we dine.”