Page 11 of The Refuge

Steinar’s stomach clenched with the rising tension roiling within him as they drew near to Dunfermline. Soon he would see the auburn-haired beauty. Anticipation warred with regret. He had found the woman he wanted and the prospect of losing her to Colbán clouded his thoughts. Steinar could only bring himself to give her up if Catrìona herself favored the match. But what if she did not? Would she defy the king should he command her to wed his captain? Could Steinar defy the king to whom he had given his oath?

He stared at the king’s back. Today, as always, Malcolm rode his white charger a little ahead of his guard, impatient to arrive at his destination, but unwilling to drive the weary men harder than they could bear.

The sky above was a clear blue for which Steinar was grateful as some of the men walked and the wounded rode in open carts that slowed the army’s pace. At Malcolm’s insistence, Duff traveled in the middle of the army in a cart watched over by the king’s physic. But even with the wounded among them, spirits were high to a man for the raid had been successful.

Next to Steinar rode the king’s captain on his dun-colored horse, a hint of a smile on the warrior’s face. Was it only the success of the raid he thought of, or did he know that the king favored his request for Catrìona’s hand?

The woman Steinar longed to see .

Colbán was a leader of men: his sword arm strong in battle, his loyalty to the king unquestioned and his voice like brass when issuing commands. And, unlike Steinar, he was a Gael. Mayhap he reminded Catrìona of her father, who had been one of Malcolm’s chiefs.

But it was Steinar’s kiss she had accepted. Unless there was more between Colbán and Catrìona than he knew. Now that Domnall was courting another, mayhap Catrìona had turned her attention to the king’s captain. Did she know of Colbán’s request for her hand? Steinar had been granted lands in the Vale of Leven, but she might not want to return to the place where she had lost all she held dear. Steinar pressed his hand to his chest where the green riband was tucked beneath mail and tunic, close to his heart. Did Colbán also carry her favor?

As the king rounded a bend in the road leading to the tower, loud cheers ascended from the boisterous crowd lining both sides of the path.

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 his sister of the favor granted him by the King of Scots.

“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 up 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 was clear. Rather, he was excited and happy. “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 to see Catrìona’s 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 had 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 pressed on, more eager than ever to reach her. As he stepped in front of her he saw she wore a green gown the color of her eyes. Her face lit up with a smile that melted his heart. Could it be that Colbán had not yet claimed her?

“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, disappointed to hear he was merely one of the many she had prayed for.

“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 the bandage, Margaret closely regarded her husband. His face, now washed clean of dirt, was lined with fatigue. His long hair was still coated with fine dust from his travels. He slumped in his chair, but the glint in his eyes told her his spirits were high.

“The raid went well, My Lord?”

He scowled at the ministrations of the physic before looking up at her. “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, another 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. 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 the life of a scribe. He will prove worthy of your trust, I am certain.”

“I ordered the scribe to say naught 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 no 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—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, Catrìona might not 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 I thought it was 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 closer 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, but 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 cross 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. “I believe Duff will recover. He is a man of great strength and determination.”

“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, he said, “Would that I could take you to my bed, mo cridhe , but that will have to wait till 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 change ere we dine.”

***

Catrìona sat at one of the long trestle tables crowded with the returning warriors, still coated in the dirt of the road they traveled. They had returned with longer beards and happy faces. The time for the evening meal was not yet upon them, but servants hurried to set platters of cold meat, cheese and bread before the hungry men. Now that they were safely home, the men dove into the food, swapping stories of the raids and quaffing pitchers of honey ale, rarely served in Dunfermline since the king preferred his red wine.

Next to her sat Steinar and across from them were Rhodri and Fia with Giric squeezed in between, his gaze fixed on the scribe. Shadow, the boy’s ever-present dog, had taken shelter beneath the table. She could hardly blame him. The hall was filled with loud, boisterous exclamations that might frighten such a wee dog, but then again, he might be hoping for a dropped scrap.

Giric sat with his elbows on the table, his head resting on his upturned palms, enraptured with Steinar’s description of Rhodri’s flaming arrows.

The bard downed his ale, blushing as the scribe richly embellished the tale.

When the story was finished, Giric stared at Rhodri in awe. “Ye really did that?”

“Aye, he did,” Steinar said before leaning across the table to launch into another story. Catrìona admired the way he gave of his time to entertain the orphan. Giric might have been his own son for all the attention he paid the boy. One day, Steinar would father sons of his own. Might they be her sons? The thought settled into her heart as a happy thought. He was only a scribe, an exile from his country, but she could not want a better man. At great risk to himself, he had saved Niall from the brute Rian and now he guarded the king. And still, he had time for the orphan boy.

“There I stood before the king,” Steinar said in dramatic fashion, “prepared to give my life were it required.”

Giric’s eyes grew wide and his mouth gaped.

“Just as I was about to be speared by a Norman,” Steinar said, speaking slowly, drawing out the suspense, “an arrow whooshed through the air to lodge in the knight’s neck.” Steinar grasped his neck as if he’d taken the arrow himself. “I heard the Norman gasp as he fell from his horse, dead as he hit the ground. ”

Rhodri stood and bowed.

Giric clapped his hands together, his face beaming with pride at the feat.

Another story began, this one told by Rhodri. It would be even more fanciful than the ones Steinar had told, she was certain, for the bard was a good storyteller.

Just then, Catrìona noticed Audra rise from the table where she had been sitting to head in the direction of the stairs. The queen’s other ladies remained seated but Catrìona expected they would soon follow.

After Rhodri’s story ended, Catrìona pushed herself from the bench. “We must go to the wounded, Fia.” And then to the others she said, “The queen has asked us to visit the men who returned bearing wounds. ’Tis our Christ-like duty.” She smiled at the scribe and the bard. “Thank you for the most wondrous tales. Mayhap we will see you this eve.”

“You will see me afore that, my lady,” said Steinar, his blue thistle eyes shining. “We, too, must visit the men above.”

Rhodri nodded, his gaze resting on Fia. “Aye, I will join you soon.”

With Fia by her side, Catrìona crossed the crowded hall. As she passed the table where Colbán sat with the king’s guard, he stood and bowed. “My lady, the stitching you did for me is excellent. It pleases me greatly you chose a warrior’s symbol.”

Never sure what to say to the man, and mindful his companions who were listening and appeared well into their cups, she decided on a simple acknowledgment, certain he was overstating her dismal efforts at embroidery. “You… you are most welcome, good sir.”

She dipped her head and continued on toward the stairs. Fia leaned in to ask, “Does the king’s captain refer to that cloth you have been working on? Was that the piece you gave him today upon his return?”

“Aye. Before he left with the king, Colbán asked me to embroider one of his tunics. I was loath to do it, Fia. You know my attempt to embroider scrolls renders them more like twigs gathered for kindling. But ’tis not easy to say nay to that man.”

“I find it most interesting he asked you to do it.”

“’Tis possible he did not know how terrible I am at the task. I tried to tell him another of the queen’s ladies could do a better job. ”

As they reached the stairs, Fia paused and asked, “Well, how did it look when you finished? He seemed quite content. And what did he mean by a ‘warrior’s symbol’?”

“’Twas not like anything I have ever stitched before but the shape of it was something I know well and at least I did not bleed upon the cloth.” Catrìona had been most worried she would leave a trail of dark red drops on his copper cloth.

“What did you embroider?” her cousin asked impatiently.

Catrìona began to ascend the stairs and Fia followed. “Falcons, or well, the outline of them with knots for eyes and a feather or two stitched on the body.”

“ Falcons ? You embroidered falcons on the tunic of the king’s captain?”

“Do not look so surprised,” Catrìona protested. “’Tis an easier shape for me than an intricate flower, and more manly, though I cannot say the birds look much like Kessog, which had been my intent.”

“No other man’s tunic will bear the falcon, Cat. You will have the king’s captain eating from your hand. Truth be told, he seemed more than a little happy to greet you as we passed.”

“Nay, I think not. Colbán would not eat from any woman’s hand. Besides, now that I know I can do it, I have a mind to make a tunic for Steinar and adorn it with falcons and mayhap something else.” As she had worked on the tunic for the king’s captain, she had envisioned making one for the scribe to set him apart, one that spoke of his being lettered as few men were. Aye, she was excited about the tunic.

“I can hardly account for this sudden enthusiasm for needlework,” Fia said with mock sarcasm.

Catrìona ignored Fia’s remark and, at the top of the stairs, turned down the corridor. She did not wish her cousin to know how she dreamed of Steinar and wanted to do things for him only a wife would do. “I asked Margaret for some cloth and she freely gave it, a splendid blue wool that will make a worthy tunic.”

“Somehow I do not think this will turn out well,” said Fia, her brows drawing together in a frown. “What if all the king’s men begin to expect falcons?”

“They will not. My embroidery is not so fine as yours or that of the other ladies.”

Before they arrived at the chamber that was their destination, Catrìona paused in the corridor and looked down at her gown. “We should change ere we go to the wounded, else we decorate our gowns with blood.”

“Aye, and quickly,” said Fia.

Once changed, they headed toward the first of two chambers Margaret had told them were set aside for the wounded. At the door, Catrìona took a deep breath and entered.

A dozen men lay on pallets waiting for the healers. Servants bustled about bringing water, clean linen and bandages. Not since the attack on the vale had Catrìona seen so many wounded. But at least these had a chance to heal.

Moans from the men echoed around the chamber.

In one corner, the king’s physic, a man of middle years with a nearly bald pate, bent over a warrior’s arm. On the other side of the room, Audra crouched low over her father.

Catrìona went toward her and Fia followed. The mormaer lay still, his eyes closed. Placing a hand on Audra’s shoulder, Catrìona asked, “How fares your father?”

Audra looked up, a small smile on her kind face, which Catrìona took as an attempt to be brave. “He is sleeping now and soon will be taken to the chamber they are preparing for him. He will stay in Dunfermline till he is well.” Brushing an errant strand of hair from Duff’s forehead, Audra’s brow wrinkled in concern. “The wound pains him much, but he refuses to admit it. After the king left, I asked the physic to give him a potion. When it wears off, I imagine he will be blustering about all the attention he is getting, but for now, it allows him to rest.”

“I am glad the news is good.” Then, pushing up her tunic sleeves, Catrìona asked, “How can we help?”

Audra eyed their practical tunics and linen aprons. “The servants have removed the old bandages and cleaned the wounds. The physic has directed the bandages be changed and the servants do that now. If you are up to it, you might help them, but the men like to hear a soft voice and have something to drink. Just to see your faces will cheer them. ”

“Are the other ladies in the second chamber?” Fia asked.

“All save Isla,” replied Audra. “I will join you to help after I see how things are going there.”

Catrìona consulted with the king’s physic before he quit the room to go with Audra. She and Fia set about the work of helping to comfort the wounded and, where needed, apply clean bandages. The smell of blood was strong in Catrìona’s nostrils, but the grateful smiles of the men kept her working.

It was not long before the heat in the room caused the sweat to rise on her forehead. After she had seen to several men and asked the servants to bring them water to drink, she sat back on her heels and surveyed those yet to be tended. Spotting one she recognized, she looked over to Fia. “Is not that one of Rhodri’s archers?”

Fia raised her head from where she bent over a man’s shoulder and followed Catrìona’s gaze. “Aye, ’tis Brian.” Tying off the bandage she was working on, Fia rose and walked the short distance to where the archer lay, still wearing the green and brown colors favored by Rhodri’s men. “How are you, Brian?”

The archer slowly opened his eyes. “I am well, my lady. ’Tis only my arm that suffered a scratch. ’Twould have been worse but Rhodri’s arrow felled the Norman who sought to end my life. The French knight plucked me right from the tree, he did.”

“Has the wound been stitched?” Fia asked. At the man’s nod, she said, “The servants have gone but I can check to see if ’tis healing.”

Catrìona watched as Fia carefully lifted the bandage and then replaced it.

“It seems in good order,” her cousin said, smiling at the archer.

“’Tis only a wee scratch, lady. Were it not for the Welshman and his God-blessed bow, those Normans would have laid me open like a cod, me and many of the king’s men besides. Rhodri is as slippery as an eel and his aim deadly keen.”

Catrìona saw a smile spread across her cousin’s face.

“The bard is a wonder,” said Fia, lifting a cup of water to the man’s mouth. “A voice to soothe a wild beast and skill with a bow to bring one down. A man good at many things.”

“Aye, he is,” echoed the archer as he laid his head back and closed his eyes. “Aye, he is.”

Catrìona pushed to her feet, rubbing the cramp in her lower back and twisting her neck to relieve the stiffness. A feeling of being watched made her look toward the door where the golden-haired scribe stood staring at her, his expression unfathomable. Like the sunlight falling on the waters of Loch Lomond, his golden hair reflected the light coming through the window, almost shimmering.

“You make a very pretty picture, my lady. I would ask you to change my bandage but alas, ’tis already done.”

Fia snorted beneath her hand and Catrìona gave her cousin a sharp glance.

“I did not know you were wounded,” she said, worried he might still be hurt. But there was no evidence of a wound. He stood tall and straight, every bit the strong warrior, yet somehow he seemed a different man than when he left for Northumbria. There was an air of confidence about him she had not observed before.

“’Tis nothing, yet I would have made much of it to have your gentle hands wrapping linen about my leg.”

“If you could see the way I wrap bandages, you might reconsider.”

“Is Rhodri about?” Fia interjected, looking at Steinar.

“Aye,” he said. “In the other chamber, seeing to some of his wounded archers.”

“If ’tis all right with you,” Fia faced Catrìona, “since we are done here, I would offer my help in the next chamber.”

“Go,” Catrìona said. “Audra must need help since she did not return.”

Steinar moved to one side of the door, allowing Fia to pass.

Now that they were alone, well, except for the sleeping wounded, she remembered hearing some of the returning men speak of the scribe’s saving the king’s life in Alnwick. “Is it true what they say? That you saved the king?”

“’Twas my job to defend his back and I did.”

“You make it sound a simple thing but the men tell a different story.”

He shrugged, apparently unwilling to say more.

“Whatever you did, you have earned the praise of the king’s men. ”

He did not respond to her statement but asked instead, “Must you stay here?”

She gazed about the room. “Most of the men sleep, but I must fetch a servant to keep watch before I could leave them.”

“I will fetch the servant,” he said. “Then I would speak with you alone.”