Page 12 of Summer Warrior

“Aye,” he said sheepishly, looking into his wine. “He is a good man save he was impatient for his lands in Moray to be restored to him. He rebelled and King David captured him to hold as a prisoner these past three years.”

“My father is King David’s ally and good friend. Mayhap he can help.”

“I am glad to know of it as it makes any alliance between us all the more auspicious.”

“Has my father spoken of an alliance?” Abbot Bernard had suggested such an alliance could forestall the need for her father to give her hand to the Earl of Orkney.

“He wants to discuss the prospect on the morrow when we break our fast.”

“I wish you luck in your pursuit of such an alliance. It could prove helpful to both you and my father.”

His only response was a knowing smile.

IF THERE WERE OTHER women in the king’s hall that night favored with beauty, Somerled could not have said. For him, there was only one whose brilliance shone as the morning star the Norse called Aurvandil. Her mother must have been tall for the flame-haired, green-eyed lass garbed in emerald silk, whose smile made his heart race, was not short like her father. She was all he had envisioned that day he had observed her on her white horse.

King Olaf had not misspoken. Ragnhild was the true jewel of Man and, if God were with him, Somerled meant to one day have her by his side.

As she was beginning to speak further, a Norseman approached, his walk more a swagger. The first thing Somerled noticed about him was the large gold Thor’s hammer hanging from a cord around his neck. Somerled had seen the same item of jewelry on the Norse warlord who led the attack on Drimnin, the one Somerled drove away.

Grinning broadly at the princess, the Norseman said, “Would you favor me with a dance, Princess? Surely, you cannot mean to allow this foreign Gael to dominate your evening.”

The princess frowned at the Norseman and turned to Somerled. “Forgive Sweyn’s rudeness and allow me to introduce you.” Then to the Norseman, she said, “This is Somerled, Lord of Argyll, Kintyre and Lorne, my father’s invited guest.”

The Norseman called Sweyn stared at Somerled as if he were seeing a ghost, his eyes growing large. “Ah, the Norse-Gael from Morvern. I have heard much of you.”

Somerled imagined Sweyn had not only heard of him but had personally witnessed Somerled rip out the heart of one of the raiders manning Sweyn’s longships on a distant shore nearly two years prior. Had he not been a guest in Olaf’s court, Somerled would have considered killing Sweyn in retribution for the innocent lives he had taken. But courtesy restrained him and, because he was interested to know where the man dwelled when not pillaging Argyll, he asked, “Where do you call home?”

The Norseman hesitated, mayhap reluctant to divulge his hiding place to his enemy. The princess answered for him. “Sweyn Asleifsson is an Orkneyman in service to Earl Rognvald.”

“So that is your longship in the harbor?” Somerled asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Aye. I come on business for the Earl of Orkney who has every hope of becoming betrothed to Princess Ragnhild. While I am here, I guard his interests.”

Somerled’s heart sank to hear this news yet he reminded himself there was no betrothal as yet. He liked not that Sweyn referred to Ragnhild as if she were another longship, one of Rognvald’s “interests”, and he felt her bristle at his side as Sweyn spoke.

Without a word more, Sweyn reached for Ragnhild’s hand. Somerled took a step forward, thinking to thwart him but she waved Somerled away. “’Tis all right. As hostess, it is my duty to dance with those guests in my father’s hall who bid me do so.”

Somerled did not like the way the man looked at Ragnhild as he led her to the dance just beginning as if she were his possession and not the sought-after bride of his master.

With Olaf retired to his bed, Somerled joined his two companions and told them all that had occurred.

“Olaf’s guards watch her,” said Maurice, “but it might be wise for us to do so as well.”

“That is the man we fought in Morvern?” asked Angus.

“And defeated,” Somerled reminded them. “Get word to Domnall and our crew in the harbor to be wary of treachery this night. Sweyn knows who we are.”

“As you wish,” replied Angus, as he turned to leave.

SOMERLED ROSE WITH the dawn the next day and dispatched Angus to check on his ships and Maurice to survey their surroundings from the ramparts where he could also see their ships outside the harbor. Then he went to the hall.

Olaf’s warriors who had drunk too much ale and wine the night before still lay asleep in the rushes or on pallets next to the walls. The servants were stirring them to wake so the trestles could be set up.

Somerled strode past them to the castle door open to the morning light. “Is the king about?” he asked the guard stationed there.

“’Tis Lauds, sir, when the monks say their morning prayers. Ofttimes, the king joins them. But he should be returning now.”

Somerled thanked the guard and stepped into the light of the rising sun that had turned the blue waters of the harbor and the sea golden. In the distance, he caught sight of the king and one of his guards ascending the hill toward the castle.