Rebel Warrior (Medieval Warriors #3) (26 page)

“Not likely,” came the reply.

“In the future, Scribe, confine your words to your scribbling.”

“I am no longer merely the king’s scribe. I’m a guardsman now, one of your own.”

“Aye,” Colbán growled. “And, as I am your captain, you will mind my orders. Where the queen’s ladies are concerned, do not oppose me.”

*     *     *

Steinar was more than a little angry but he had to temper his jealousy against what he understood were the king’s wishes. His heart lurched as he reminded himself Colbán had asked for Catrìona’s hand and the king seemed only too glad to accede to the captain’s request. Tempted as he was to raise his sword tip to the back of Colbán’s neck when he came upon the captain with his hands on Catrìona, seeing her back away, he had settled for laughter instead.

That night it rained, which fit Steinar’s dour mood, and he ate in his tent where he brooded over the situation before sleep overtook him.

The next day had them slogging through wind and rain as they pressed on to St. Andrews, mud splashing to their stirrups.

In the wet weather, his leg took the opportunity to cramp, adding to his displeasure, but Catrìona, uncomplaining, pulled her cloak over her head against the rain and bore the dismal day like one of the men. She declined his invitation to be seated with the queen whose cart was now covered with an oilcloth tent.

What should have been a day’s journey turned into two, but finally, the rain subsided and the sun emerged as they reached the coast.

The smell of sea air and cries of gulls welcomed them to St. Andrews, raising his spirits. Catrìona threw her cloak off her head and tilted her face to the sun, her auburn hair glistening like a dark jewel.

Behind the stone church, where Bishop Fothad stood waiting, was the North Sea, its deep blue waters a stark contrast to the ivory sand on the shore and the white clouds billowing above them.

“ ’Tis beautiful,” she said.

With eyes only for her, he agreed. “Aye, most beautiful.”

As they pulled rein, Steinar slid from his horse and helped Catrìona to the ground.

“Have you been here before?” she asked, her green eyes focused on the bishop clothed in a white cowl robe. Behind them, Steinar glimpsed Colbán helping Margaret and Audra down from the cart.

“Nay, but I know Bishop Fothad. He presided at the marriage of Malcolm and Margaret and has come to Dunfermline more than once to hear the queen’s confession.”

“Those must have been short meetings,” she murmured.

He laughed. “You mean the confessions?”

“Aye,” she said with a smile he thought winsome. “I look forward to meeting the bishop.”

Next to the stone church with its single tower was the Culdee abbey in which the bishop lived, for Fothad was one of them.

Steinar waited until Catrìona had joined Audra and Margaret and the three proceeded toward the bishop. The queen appeared weary. “Does the queen seem tired to you?” he asked Colbán. “More than usual, I mean.”

“Mayhap you are right,” said the captain.

“I would speak to Bishop Fothad to assure a hot bath awaits in her chamber. Margaret is too gracious to ask but these last few days have been a trial. She needs to rest, and the ladies, too, will want a bath, do you not think?”

Colbán shifted his gaze to study the queen who seemed to be leaning against Catrìona while speaking with the bishop. “Aye, ’tis a good idea. The king would not be happy if he thought we had allowed her to grow overtired. While you speak with the bishop, I will organize the men to raise the tents. I expect the abbey will have room only for the queen, her maidservant and the ladies.”

Steinar nodded and strode to where Margaret and the ladies spoke to the bishop.

“Bishop Fothad,” he said dipping his head.

“Ah! ’Tis the king’s scribe,” said the cleric.

“No longer a scribe, Bishop,” said the queen. “Steinar is now one of the king’s guards.”

The monk gave him a long studying look. “Aye, I can see you have changed. Now you have the appearance of a warrior.”

As the ladies walked toward the abbey ahead of them, Steinar told the bishop of his concern for the queen. The older man nodded to all his requests. “It shall be done.”

Inside the abbey’s thick walls, it was cool. Margaret was led to a seat and given a cup of water.

Catrìona left the queen to come to him. “Margaret is exhausted from the last few days.”

“Aye, I have seen it. The bishop has agreed to ready Margaret’s chamber and have a hot bath for her. She can rest ere we dine.”

Catrìona popped a last berry into her mouth, noticing the fading light coming through the window. The evening meal was over and intent on having a view of the sea before the sun’s light was gone, she asked the queen if she might be permitted a walk outside.

Margaret looked at her with an understanding expression. “Go. ’Twill do you good.”

Catrìona thanked the bishop for a fine meal and headed toward the peg where her cloak hung near the door, but before she reached it, the king’s captain sprang to his feet and snatched up the green woolen garment and draped it over her shoulders.

“Might I accompany you, my lady?”

She had hoped Steinar would go with her. He had said little since their encounter in the forest and she was hoping for some time alone with him to clear the air between them. The constant rain and wind they had experienced on their way to St. Andrews had left them no time for anything save trying to keep dry. However, in the stern set of Colbán’s jaw, she sensed “nay” was not going to be an acceptable reply. “Of course. Your company is welcome, sir.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the queen smile.

If Catrìona was less than enthusiastic, Colbán did not appear to notice. But she was certain Audra did. A glance in the lady’s direction revealed Audra’s hazel eyes following her and the king’s captain as they left the abbey. To Catrìona’s disappointment, Steinar’s gaze was focused on his wine.

Outside, she and Colbán strolled in silence beyond the abbey to the edge of the grass-covered land, looking seaward across the sand. Waves gently rushing to shore a stone’s throw away hissed as they met the sand, the sound soothing to her ears.

In the distance, darkening clouds hung heavy over the sea. She turned to see the sky behind her. At the horizon, slashes of rose and gold intruded between layers of gray and blue as the sun gave a parting glance to the land.

Taking in the beauty of the setting sun, she turned back to the sea. “I was raised on Loch Lomond and the River Clyde. This is my first glimpse of the North Sea.”

Colbán spoke in his deep, warrior’s voice. “Then I am pleased you are seeing it with me.”

“You are from Moray?” She knew little of his home except it was the land of Mac Bethad, King Malcolm’s old enemy.

“Aye. My youth was spent far to the north. But during the last ten years I have served Malcolm, we have sailed many of Scotland’s waters together.”

Catrìona shot him a sidelong glance, thinking he could not yet have seen thirty summers. “You were a young warrior when you came to Dunfermline?”

He stared into the distance. “Aye, it seems a very long time ago.”

“Will you return to your home some day?” she asked, wondering at the same time if she wanted to return to the Vale of Leven. The land was now the king’s and there was no home to return to.

“Nay, I think not. I have made my home with Malcolm and my loyalties are here. I expect to serve him for the rest of my days.” He turned from staring at the sea to stare at her. Even without looking at him she felt the heat of his gaze. “But I do want a wife and sons.”

Slowly, she turned to meet his intense gaze, so like that of the fierce bear she had thought him to be. “Surely the king will honor your wish.” To forestall him saying the words his eyes were speaking, she said, “Have you considered Audra? Duff’s daughter is a kind woman and her father is a great warrior, favored by the king. She would make a wonderful wife.”

“Aye, mayhap she would. I like her well enough. But her mother and younger brothers were murdered by Mac Bethad…”

Catrìona hesitated, the truth dawning on her.

“…of Moray,” he finished.

“Oh,” she said, and then remembering when it had happened, she added, “But surely Audra would not charge you with their deaths. You must have been very young.”

“I was twelve summers that year. I did not fight with Mac Bethad.” He turned to face her. “But he was our king and before that, he had been the mormaer of Moray. Many in my family fought at his side. They might have been among the men who killed Duff’s wife.”

A deep sigh escaped her. What she had seen in Audra’s eyes bespoke a longing for the king’s captain, mayhap even love, not loathing, but it would take more than Catrìona’s words to persuade this stubborn man Audra cared for him no matter he was from Moray.

“ ’Tis no matter,” he said, interrupting her thoughts, “for I have another in mind to take as my wife.”

He paused then, his eyes boring into her and then he stared at her lips. Catrìona sensed he wanted to kiss her, might even try to repeat the demanding kiss he had given her in the woods. She could not tell him her heart belonged to another, one whose kisses robbed her of breath, nor would he hear of Audra’s desire for him. It was all such a muddle.

Wanting to discourage him, she said, “ ’Tis best to choose one who is willing, sir.”

In a tone she had heard him use in commanding his men, he said, “All women are willing in time.”

She couldn’t resist the laughter that bubbled up in her chest for the arrogance of his pronouncement. “You do not lack for confidence, good sir.”

He clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes. “Confidence, madam, comes from skill, practice and experience, as any warrior will tell you.” Raising his head and thrusting his shoulders back, he said, “When it comes to women, I possess all three.”

She huffed out a breath. How could she make such a man understand? “I do not think you would like a woman who defies you at every turn,” she insisted, refraining from pointing out that she would be just such a woman.

“Nay, I would insist on compliance,” he threw back, his forehead furrowing.

She was searching her mind for a sharp retort when, behind him, she saw a pale sail catch the last rays of the dying sun. “A ship!”

Colbán whipped around. “The king’s ship.”

*     *     *

It was gloaming when the king strode down the plank from his ship to meet Margaret who, by then, was waiting on the sand. One of the guards carried a torch, allowing Catrìona to see the gleam in the king’s eyes, matched by that in the eyes of his queen.

“My Lord, I had no idea you would sail to St. Andrews!” exclaimed Margaret.

Malcolm swept her into his arms. “
Mo cridhe
, I only wanted to give you an easier ride home, one you could share with your husband.”

Margaret’s cheeks flushed. “I am glad you came, my husband.”

The company that had traveled with the queen had gathered on the shore to welcome Malcolm. At his words to the queen, smiles broke out on every face.

Catrìona felt a pang of envy at the warmth of Margaret’s relationship with the king.

“I see you all made the journey,” said Malcolm when it became clear he could no longer ignore his men.

“Aye,” said Colbán, stepping forward and speaking for the others. “The queen is safely delivered to St. Andrews.”

Behind the king, bounding down the plank leading from the ship a score of feet away was Giric, heading straight for Steinar who had come to stand beside Catrìona.

Reaching Steinar, the boy took his hand. “Did ye miss me, Scribe?”

“I might have,” Steinar said with a wink at the boy. “How did you talk the king into letting you come?”

With one arm still wrapped around Margaret, Malcolm gave the boy a sharp glance. “He did not ask but sneaked onto the ship as it was being loaded. Small mite that he is, he was well hidden behind a crate of altar cloths. We were already in the Forth when he was discovered.”

Margaret smiled at the boy, as if amused by his daring, then looked at her husband. “We only arrived today ourselves.”

The king turned to his captain as if for an explanation.

“The weather slowed our progress,” said Colbán. “But the queen found what she was looking for.”

“Aye,” said Margaret, “a proper site for the inn and a church beside it. Come, let us retire to the abbey and I can tell you about it.”

Bishop Fothad, who had been standing behind the king’s guard, strode forward to offer Malcolm a bow. “My Lord, we have food ready if you are hungry.”

“Good eve,” said the king to the white-cowled bishop. “Yea, food is welcome. My men on the ship are ever hungry. And I have brought the bard to entertain us.”

Catrìona cast her gaze on the ship. Rhodri stood on the deck, his arm lifted in a gesture of greeting. At his side was a grinning Fia.

“I wonder how she managed that,” Catrìona muttered to herself.

“What?” whispered Steinar.

“ ’Tis nothing.” However Fia had done it, Catrìona felt her spirits rise at the prospect of having her cousin with her again.

The king beckoned Rhodri to join him and the bard complied, descending the plank with his harp under one arm and his other hand extended to help Fia.

Once the ship’s oars were stowed and the sail furled, the men who worked the lines and rigging joined the party on shore and everyone followed the torch-bearer to the abbey.

Catrìona delighted in the merriment that filled the abbey’s large chamber as platters of fish were served to the king and his crew, along with vegetables, warm bread and much wine. After the meal, there were berries and honeyed cakes for all who wanted them.

The abbey’s table that had earlier comfortably accommodated the queen’s party was now crowded and seating on the benches cramped, but no one seemed to mind. Laughter echoed around the chamber, followed by Rhodri’s songs of the seas and ships, which lulled them all into a contented state.

Happy to have been spared the further attentions of the king’s captain, Catrìona sipped her wine and leaned toward Fia. “How did you manage to be included while the other ladies were not?”