Rebel Warrior (Medieval Warriors #3) Page 28

  Loud praise sounded around the hall, for the king’s pronouncements were popular among all those gathered. Goblets were raised and wine quaffed.

  The king raised his hand and the hall quieted. “There is more, good people of Alba. Audra of Fife, please rise.” Audra, dutiful and looking as if she feared the worst, slowly rose, her eyes fixed on Malcolm as he walked to where she stood next to her father. The king took her hand and escorted her to the other side of the dais where Colbán sat. The king’s captain rose and accepted her hand. “Today these two are betrothed,” announced the king.

  Loud cheers erupted.

  Steinar sat, confused and amazed. Colbán is to have Audra?

  Tears streamed down Audra’s face as Colbán bowed over her hand. “My lady, I hope this pleases you, as it does me.”

  “Oh, aye, my lord, it does,” she said, joy evident on her face.

  Sitting beside Steinar, Duff smiled.

  A few bawdy jests sounded from the men before the king quieted them with a loud “Hist!” When the hall was silent, Malcolm said, “That leaves me with the prize long sought by my former scribe, now Mormaer of Levenach. Catrìona of the Vale of Leven, your uncle, the Mormaer of Atholl, has agreed with my decision to betroth you to Steinar.” Without waiting to hear Catrìona’s choked reply, the king raised his goblet and loudly proclaimed, “So be it!”

  Everyone in the hall raised their goblets and quaffed their red wine before slamming their goblets down on the tables and shouting the king’s words. “So be it!”

  Steinar leapt to his feet, ran to the other end of the dais and pulled a startled Catrìona into his arms, kissing her soundly in front of all. “My love,” he said to her tear-streaked face. “It was always you and only you that I wanted. Will you happily be my bride?”

  “Aye,” she said. “Oh, aye.”

  “Heirs by next summer!” someone shouted from the rear of the hall and the chant was picked up and carried around the room.

  On the dais, all three ladies blushed scarlet, even the queen.

  * * *

  That night was a blur for Catrìona as her wedding and that of Audra’s were added to Fia’s and the three of them spoke excitedly of their future. She had slept little for the joy that filled her heart at being betrothed to the man she loved. And with lands in the vale! She had not anticipated all the blessings that were now hers. But she was not slow to thank God for all He had done.

  That morning, many prayers of thanks were spoken. And after, Margaret, beaming with happiness, said, “I could not have asked God for more than to see the three of you happily wed.” Then looking at Isobel and Elspeth, the queen added, “Now I must pray for husbands for you two and the ladies who will join you in the future.”

  In the hall, Catrìona broke her fast with Steinar. Before she could tell Giric, he came running in shouting, “I heard ye will wed the scribe!”

  “Aye, ’tis true,” she said, glancing at Steinar who wore a broad grin.

  Giric joined them to eat. After the meal, they went about their separate tasks for there was much to do before the weddings that were to take place the next day.

  Catrìona and Fia worked to embellish the gowns they would wear and Audra, who now occupied her chamber alone, came to join them.

  That afternoon, servants bustled about calling for more tables and benches, village women flowed into the hall carrying baskets of flowers, and wonderful smells wafted from the kitchen to the second story, making Catrìona’s mouth water.

  Early in the afternoon, Steinar knocked at her chamber door and suggested a walk to the village to see Giric.

  “Giric was excited about our marrying,” she said as she walked with Steinar down the stairs to the hall. “Have you spoken again with him?”

  “Aye,” he said throwing her a look that told her he would say more.

  “And?” she asked, raising her brows.

  He opened the door of the tower and let her pass through. “He worries for our leaving.” She walked a little ahead of him. He caught up to say, “I wanted to ask you before I talked with the lad.” From the corner of her eye she saw him snatch a glance at her as if checking her mood. “I would like to take the boy with us to the vale and, if you are willing, raise him as our own.”

  A smile broke out on her face and, unbidden, tears filled her eyes. “Nothing would please me more than to have Giric with us and I think he will not want to be parted from you.” She hoped one day God would give them children but to have Giric as their own child now was a great boon.

  He stopped in the path and turned to face her, ignoring the looks of those passing by. Taking both of her hands in his, he said, “We are of one mind, little cat. ’Tis a good sign of the days to come, is it not?”

  She kissed him on the cheek, a light peck. “A good sign, yea.” Then, thinking of the name he had called her, she said, “You called me ‘little cat’.”

  “Aye, ’tis how I think of you. ’Tis an affectionate term. Should I call you something else?”

  “Nay. ’Tis the name my father called me. I have always loved it.”

  “Then little cat you shall be.” He squeezed her hand, kissed her on the forehead and ignored the knowing smiles of those passing them as they held hands and continued down the path.

  “What of Angus and Niall?” she asked, just realizing she had yet to speak to either about returning to the vale.

  “I assumed you would want both to go with us so I asked if they would come.”

  Her anxious gaze met his.

  “They said yes; they will both come.”

  “Oh, I am glad!” she exclaimed.

  “Niall wants to be near Wales to visit Rhodri, and both miss the vale as much as you do. Except for Niall, who used his time here to perfect his skill with the bow, I think neither is fond of life at court. And Angus has a fancy for your handmaiden. Did you know?”

  “Nay, Deidre has been most secretive about who she steals away to see, but Angus is a fierce protector and I can see how she would respond to him. Mayhap she liked him before and I just did not see it.”

  When they got to the village, the men and women greeted them with broad smiles. “ ’Tis one of the brides,” said one woman, waving from where she swept the short path leading to her cottage.

  At the door of the orphans’ cottage, fair-haired Aeleva welcomed them. “All the women are picking flowers for the chapel and the hall.”

  “Everyone knows they are invited?” Steinar asked.

  “Aye, ’tis going to be a grand celebration. The women who were in Dunfermline ere I came say nothing like it has occurred since the king wed Lady Margaret.”

  Happiness welled up inside Catrìona. She would share one of the most important days of her life with Fia and Audra, as well as the queen who meant so much to her.

  “Is Giric about?” Steinar asked, peering around the side of the cottage at the now finished chicken pen. “We have something to tell him.” He squeezed Catrìona’s hand, sending tingling sensations through her body.

  “Let’s see,” said Aeleva, one fist braced on her generous hip. “After doing his chores, the boy skipped off. Said something about finding the two of you and flying the falcon.”

  They thanked her, said they would see her at the wedding and went in search of Giric. They found him in the mews.

  “There ye are!” said Giric, rushing to them.

  Machar congratulated them on their betrothal and took Kessog from his perch. “Once the lad came, I thought you would be here soon,” he said to Catrìona. “Your tiercel is just ending his molt and is anxious to fly.”

  Giric jumped up and down. “Oh, can we?”

  Catrìona looked at Steinar and seeing him nod, she said, “Aye, we will fly him and we have something to ask you on our way to the field.”

  When they told the boy of their desire to take him with them and raise him as their own, he stopped and stared, great tears falling from his thin face before they crouched before him and he leapt into their
open arms. “I had hoped ye would,” Giric said. “I even asked the queen if she would pray for me. And she did!”

  The hours they spent with Giric in the meadow that day were ones Catrìona would always remember. The sky above was a brilliant blue, the grass a deep emerald green, the flowers yellow and white at the edge of the forest.

  Kessog flew from the gauntlet, happy to be streaking through the air once again, searching out a mallard.

  Steinar wrapped his arm around her shoulder and drew her close as Giric stood nearby watching the falcon.

  “This is all I desire, little cat. You and the home we will make together.”

  “ ’Twas my dream, too, even when I thought you only an English scribe.” He slapped her bottom and though she properly chided him, she was secretly happy, remembering the time she had seen Malcolm do the same to his queen. Then remembering the tunic she had made, she said, “I have something for you when we return to the tower.”

  * * *

  A feeling of exuberant joy seemed to permeate the very walls of the tower on the day of the wedding. Everyone’s face bore a smile.

  Catrìona’s work in the village had brought her many friends; Audra’s kindness garnered the people’s love; and Fia was admired for having snagged the bard all the women wanted, many saying the fairies must have aided her.

  When Catrìona told Fia of the rumors, she laughed. Rhodri, when he heard of it, vowed to compose an ode to the fairies that had helped him win his bride.

  In her chamber, Deidre and a servant, sent by the queen to help the brides, brought out the gowns they had decided to wear: sapphire for Fia because it was Rhodri’s favorite color for her and matched her eyes, gold for Audra for it brought out the gold in her hazel eyes and green that was the color of the forest for Catrìona because Steinar told her he would ever think of her as his tree nymph.

  Each wore a circlet of silver and gold around her crown, gifts from the queen, leaving their long tresses free down their backs. After this day they would wear the circlets over the headscarves that would mark them married women.

  The night before, Catrìona had given Steinar the blue tunic she made for him, embroidered with silver and gold falcons and quills. “ ’Tis the color of your eyes,” she told him as she proudly placed it into his hands. “It may not be the fine stitching of the other ladies, but know that I did it myself.”

  “In truth, I was worried when I saw the tunic you embroidered for Colbán,” Steinar had said. “I believed it a sign you agreed with his request for your hand.”

  “At the time, I knew nothing of it,” she had assured him. “Colbán asked me to embroider the tunic. His request, so unforeseen, quite startled me. But the doing of it gave me the idea to make this one for you.” She looked into the face of the man she loved. “The one for Colbán was something I did as one of the queen’s ladies. This one I did for love of the man who would wear it.”

  Beaming, he had held it up and studied the silver and gold threads that marked the quills and outlined the falcons, filled in with flaxen thread. She had labored much to get the design just right. “You are too modest, little cat,” he had said. “ ’Tis truly magnificent. I will wear it proudly.”

  * * *

  Margaret stood with her husband, watching her three ladies and the men who would soon be their husbands take their places in front of the chapel door. The Culdee monk in his gray cowl robe who was to perform the ceremony seemed a bit overwhelmed by having to wed three couples, but he managed, in spite of it, to pronounce the words that saw them wed.

  All of Dunfermline looked on, smiling their pleasure.

  As the couples walked back to the tower for the feast that would follow, Margaret slipped her arm through her husband’s and leaned in to ask in a whisper, “What was it Colbán said to you that made you switch the brides at the last moment?”

  “He apologized for being remiss in telling me that Audra had declared she loved him no matter he was from Moray. It seems he returns her affection.”

  “What about Catrìona?”

  “At the same time he became aware of Audra’s feelings, he realized the redhead favored the scribe. Colbán’s words were, ‘Hurled herself into the scribe’s arms when he rescued her from the Northman, not a glance for me though I lay wounded and bleeding on the deck!’.”

  “Ah,” said Margaret, “so my first instinct was correct. ’Twas Catrìona for Steinar all along.”

  He pulled her close and kissed her on her cheek. “Just so, mo cridhe.”

  The celebration that day brought a warm gladness to Margaret’s heart, seeing her ladies happily wed to good men. And that night when she said her prayers, she had much to be thankful for.

  * * *

  The feasting had gone on for some time when, ignoring the jests from the men in the hall, Steinar led Catrìona to the stairs, eager to be alone with his bride. The celebration in the hall would continue late into the night but not with them. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Rhodri and Colbán coming behind him, their brides in tow.

  Catrìona’s hand was cold in his as they ascended the stairs. She is nervous. He gave her a reassuring look. “Trust me, little cat. I will see my beautiful bride happy this night.”

  “You promise?”

  He expected to see mirth dancing in her green eyes but, instead, he saw uncertainty and, mayhap, a little fear. “Aye, I promise. Have I not waited months for you, desperate to have you for my own even though I believed the king would give you to another?”

  “Yes.” Her green eyes sparkled like jewels. “Oh, yes, you did.”

  “Then trust me to be patient this night and make our joining a sweet one.”

  They turned down the corridor, her smile telling him all he needed to know.

  When they reached the chamber assigned to them, he was glad to see all had been made ready. Candles and a fire in the brazier warmed the room, dominated by the bed, much larger than the one he normally slept in. For that he was grateful. ’Twould give them more room to move about.

  His eyes followed Catrìona as she went to the small table set with a pitcher of wine, two silver goblets and a trencher of bread, cheese and fruit. “I love pears and cherries,” she said, idly fingering one of the pears.

  My innocent firebrand is stalling. He smiled to himself, knowing he would make it good for her.

  Casting her gaze about the chamber, his bride looked at the two chests at the foot of the bed, hers next to his. “My chest,” she remarked.

  “Aye, my love. While we were being wed, the servants moved all of our things here. See, your cloak and mine hang on pegs next to the door. ’Twill be our chamber until we leave for the vale.”

  He came up behind her and slid his arms around her slim waist, pulling her back against his chest, loving the feel of her and her scent, as fresh as the forest. Running his lips down the side of her neck, he felt her shiver. “Do not be afraid, little cat. Have I not held you before? And do I not love you?” He turned her in his arms and met her emerald gaze. “Since the king gave me your hand, I have dreamed of this night. Truth be told, mayhap even before.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “I, too, have dreamed of this night, though ’twas all shrouded in mist. I knew not what to expect. The queen had a few words with the three of us yesterday and that helped calm my fears.”

  He drew her close and nibbled at her ear. “Would you like some wine?”

  “A sip, mayhap,” she said, stepping back.

  He poured her some wine and handed her the goblet. As she reached for it her gaze fixed on the gold band on her finger.

  “The ring is a sign to all you are mine.” He took her goblet and set it aside and pressed his lips to the back of her hand, then pulled her into his arms and brushed his lips over hers. They were soft and warm and tasted of the wine. “Let me show you the joys of love.”

  He turned her slowly so he could unlace her gown, brushing aside her thick auburn hair to kiss her neck from ear to nape.

  “Ah,” she breat
hed, inclining her head and giving him greater access to her neck. “You give me shivers.”

  “My intention exactly,” he said, running his tongue around the edge of her ear.

  Soon he would have her naked and next to him but he intended to take his time, winning her trust, stroking her like a wary falcon.

  Once he had removed her belt, he pulled her gown from her shoulders and let it slide to the floor. While he doffed his own tunic and loosened the cross straps around his hosen, she kicked off her shoes and removed her stockings. The glimpses he caught of her bare legs made him eager to touch them. Now she was left in only her undertunic and he in only his hosen.

  Her eyes darted to his bare chest reminding him that she had never before seen him like this.

  “Aye, I know I have a scar or two. ’Tis a warrior’s fate.”

  “I do not mind,” she said. “To me you are beautiful.” She came near and reached out her hand to run her fingers down a scar that crossed one side of his chest. Her eyes grew wide and the pupils darkened when her fingers brushed his nipple causing it to harden.

  He covered her hands with his. “I love your fingers on my chest, little cat, but if you continue to touch me like that I may lose the control I vowed to have this night.” Taking her hand, he led her to the bed and pulled back the cover. “In you go. Our nest awaits.”

  She climbed in, carefully it appeared to him, as if unsure of the bedding. When she lay back on the pillow and gave him a small smile, his heart melted. “From the first time I glimpsed your fiery red tresses, Catrìona of the Vale, I was lost.”

  Climbing onto the bed, he lay beside her and drew her length against his.

  She placed her hand on his shoulder, her lips close to his. “You were only a scribe to me then, but I wanted you, too.” Her hand moved over his shoulder and even her tentative touch made him harden in anticipation. “You are warm,” she said, looking into his eyes.

  “You have no idea, my love.” Unable to hold back all he was feeling, he kissed her, relieved when she pulled him closer and slipped her hand behind his neck as if to hold him to her.