Page 15 of Summer Warrior

“Here we have the kitchens, the kitchen garden and the stables,” she said, gesturing around her.

“You supervise all of this?” he asked, willing to believe she did.

She laughed, a musical sound. “All but the stables and we have a cook who keeps a tight rein over the kitchens.”

He took in her words but felt sure she was being modest about her role. In one corner of the open space he glimpsed a swath of green. “Is that the garden?”

“Yea, ’tis the cook’s garden where she grows all manner of herbs, even a few vegetables. It will not be flourishing again until spring. And, of course, the monks in the abbey have a much larger garden.”

He had met Abbot Bernard the evening before so he was not surprised to learn there was a religious house on the isle. “I wish I had time to see the abbey.”

“It is timber now but my father means to rebuild it in stone like the castle.” Her green eyes sparkled as she spoke of her home and all her father had accomplished. It was clear she took great pride in both the castle and her role in assuring it remained a comfortable place for all.

Somerled envisioned her caring for his castles, his people. His heart swelled at the thought. She would be his lady, the Lady of Argyll and the Isles. “It seems to me you have had a large part in what I see around me, Princess.”

She smiled up at him. “The castle is only one of my interests, my lord.”

Returning her smile, he said, “I doubt not you are skilled at many things.” She was a beautiful flower just beginning to bloom, yet it was not hard to imagine the rose unfurled.

They returned to the great hall and he bowed to her. “Thank you for showing me your home, Princess. I will miss seeing your face when we sail.” Having now seen the one whose memory had lived long in his mind, he did not wish to relinquish the contact though he knew he must.

She looked up, concern on her lovely face. “Do you leave so soon?”

It gladdened his heart to know she did not want him to go. “Aye, this morning.”

“Very well,” she said with a sigh. Then she curtseyed. “I bid you Godspeed and good sailing, my lord. I go to the stables as I always greet my horse after breaking my fast before we ride.”

He watched her as she took an apple from a table and gracefully walked toward the corridor that led to the inner bailey, her head held high like the queen she might one day be.

RAGNHILD WAS NEARLY to the corridor leading to the inner bailey when Sweyn and his companion rose from their trestle table and stepped into her path. She tolerated them for a long minute ere begging off. “I was on the way to greet my horse when you stopped me,” she said. “I hope you will excuse me as my time is now short. I bid you both a good day.”

“As you wish, my lady,” Sweyn said, bowing as he returned her a treacherous smile. She felt his eyes follow her as she left the hall. It made her skin crawl. ’Twas nothing like the warm feeling she had when Lord Somerled looked at her.

The sunlight from the inner bailey fell on the clean straw where Fairhair stood in his stall, waiting for her. It was a ritual between them that after she broke her fast if no other tasks required her attention, she came to take him for a ride.

Already she was late for having shown Lord Somerled around but she did not regret the time spent with him. There was something about Somerled beyond the ordinary.

“There you are, my handsome one,” she said to her horse, running her fingers down his white forelock.

Fairhair nickered softly and raised his head over the stall door.

She touched her forehead to his. “Did you hear the sounds of revelry in the hall last night? I brought you an apple as your part of the feast.” She held out the prized fruit she had kept behind her and the horse took a large bite.

Behind her, she heard footfalls. Thinking it might be the groom, she turned to greet him but encountered instead the surly smile of Sweyn Asleifsson.

Turning back to her horse, she offered the rest of the apple to Fairhair. “Did you think it necessary to follow me, Sweyn?”

“I thought you might want company and could think of none better than myself.”

She whipped around. “You are overbold for a guest in my father’s hall. Worse, you do not honor your lord in seeking me out when you knew I would be alone.”

“Rognvald and I have often shared women,” he said coming closer, his presence like an evil omen.

“You speak lies. The Earl of Orkney would never sanction such a thing and I do not want you.” She backed away only to encounter the stall door. Fairhair must have sensed her alarm for he raised his head and gave off a loud whinny.

Ragnhild’s eyes darted to the pitchfork set against the stable wall and knew it to be out of reach. But she still had her eating knife secured at her waist. She pulled the knife free and held it in front of her. “Come no closer!”

With a swipe of his hand, he knocked the knife to the ground. “Your smile would invite the coldest of men, Princess, and I am not cold to you.”