Page 3 of Summer Warrior

CHAPTER 2

Castle Rushen, Isle of Man

RAGNHILD ALWAYS BELIEVED she was safe behind the stone walls of her father’s castle but no longer. With her stepmother determined to be rid of her and Orkneymen lounging in her father’s great hall, she felt on shaky ground. Seeking to avoid them, she occupied herself with directing the servants preparing the evening meal. Now summoned by her father, she could no longer avoid what the evening portended.

Quietly, she came through the door to the great hall and paused when she heard Earl Rognvald’s deep voice reciting yet another of his tiresome poems.

In appearance, the earl made a vivid impression, for he took pains with his person. No fold of his tunic out of place, no hair of his chestnut head allowed to separate itself from the others to fly about his face. Arrogant and bold, his dark eyes gleamed as he spoke.

At nine skills I challenge—

A champion at chess:

Runes I rarely spoil,

I read books and write:

I’m skilled at skiing

And shooting and sculling

And more!—I’ve mastered

Music and verse.

To that, his kinsmen lifted their tankards and cheered, “Rognvald! Rognvald!”

Disturbed from their sleep where they lay by the hearth fire, the deerhounds that had been a gift to her father from the Lord of Galloway, raised their heads, suddenly alert.

Ragnhild silently uttered an oath and went to the hounds, whispering assurances to them as she stroked their narrow heads. ’Twas a truth that the Lord of Orkney liked to hear his own voice. His pride might be understandable for he was accomplished at many things, yet to recite his skills for all to hear made him appear the braggart.

He had accepted the Christian faith, as had the Norwegian king, and attended Mass these past several days at Rushen Abbey, but he still sought knowledge in the pagan runes, boasting of his power to read them. How could God honor such a man?

She was convinced Rognvald could not imagine anyone else as the Earl of Orkney save himself. Even murder had not been beneath him to gain the title the King of Norway wanted him to share with Earl Paul. He might not have done the deed himself. Though, if the rumors be true, Rognvald had a hand in it.

The earl and his Orkneymen had lingered on Man for nearly a week, taking advantage of her father’s hospitality. She had not been privy to all of his conversations with her father so she could not discern his entire purpose. Mayhap they spoke of the alliance that had been in place since before Ragnhild’s birth.

The King of Man and the Isles was favored by all, including the English, Irish and Scots. An alliance often involved a marriage between two families to make fast a bond. Her dowry would be a rich one and the Earl of Orkney would want sons. But if he thought to take her with him when his dragonships sailed north, he was mistaken. She had made her dislike of him known to her father. Surely Olaf would not force her to go.

Affraic, her father’s wife, gowned in pale gray silk that did nothing for her black hair and colorless eyes, sidled up to Ragnhild. “You should draw near to Earl Rognvald and smile,” Affraic whispered. “Your admiration would greatly encourage him.”

The daughter of Fergus, Lord of Galloway, and one of King Henry’s illegitimate daughters, Affraic considered herself above Ragnhild. The marriage of Affraic to Olaf made both men happy but it had changed Ragnhild’s life.

“As I would fear,” said Ragnhild with a frown, “which is why I’ll not do it. The earl has enough admirers among his men. I would not become another.”

At one end of the hall, a raised dais would welcome the royal family for dinner but, now, it was empty as her father and Earl Rognvald and his men sat at one of the trestle tables that stretched out before the raised platform.

Affraic’s face twisted in a pained expression as she spat out, “You are the Princess of Man, Ragnhild! You have a duty to wed according to the king’s will.”

“Yet the king’s will may change,” said Ragnhild. It was her fervent hope.

“Too long you have run free,” she hissed. “Marriage is honorable and expected but you will never find a husband harboring such an attitude.”

“Mayhap not.” Ragnhild raised a skeptical brow. “Did I say I wanted one?”

“Ah, Princess!” The Earl of Orkney, having spotted her, interrupted his recitation. “Come here and I will favor you with a poem. An ode to your beauty.”

With a groan, Ragnhild stepped out of the shadows. Did he think she was vain? She wanted to ask but, instead, to honor her father, she dipped her head and said, “You are too kind, my lord.” She came forward and took refuge at her father’s side where he sat enjoying his ale at the end of the table.