Page 48 of Summer Warrior

He had lingered a fortnight in the north of Ireland, visiting his friends and Maurice’s kin. All the while, Gillecolum had remained by his side. Now, the boy stood next to Liadan facing into the wind as the galley sailed into the harbor.

When they beached the galley, Somerled beckoned Maurice to him. “Take this note to the princess. If she says aught of wanting to see me or appears pleased with what she has read, tell her I am here and request she come hither to the ship, that I have someone for her to meet.”

“As you wish,” said the Irishman. “Do we stay the night?”

“Possibly. I would see Olaf if he is receiving. By the look of the longships in the harbor, it appears he is here. One flies his royal banner.”

RAGNHILD RACED FAIRHAIR along the cliffs, the December wind from the Irish Sea knifing through her mantle. Despite the bitter cold, she would not trade the freedom she felt when racing over the hills for a seat next to the hearth fire.

Nearing the castle, she slowed Fairhair to a walk to admire the view. Overhead, the scattered gray clouds could not overwhelm the golden light from the morning sun. Shading her eyes, she saw a familiar man waiting by the gate, looking in her direction. Drawing closer, she recognized him as one of Somerled’s companions, Maurice MacNeill, her father’s foster brother from Ireland.

Drawing rein as she arrived next to him, she slid from the saddle. “Good day to you, sir.”

He bowed before her. “Princess, you may remember I am Maurice MacNeill. I bring a message from Lord Somerled.”

A smile crossed her face. “What is it?” He had not forgotten after all.

From his mantle of deep green, he pulled out a small rolled parchment, tied with string, and handed it to her.

She opened the missive and read.

Love made to wait grows. – Somerled

She read the one line three times. It might be short but her soul thrilled to his words that spoke of love, love delayed yet growing. Clutching the precious parchment to her bosom, she asked forlornly, “He did not come himself?”

“Would you be happy if he had?”

“Oh, yes.”

The Irishman smiled. “Then I have Somerled’s permission to tell you he awaits you at his ship in the harbor where he has someone he wants you to meet.”

Ragnhild shielded her eyes and gazed down to the harbor where some of her father’s ships were anchored. Among those beached on the sand was a galley, smaller than a longship. Her heart sped to think Somerled was here but not wishing to appear too eager, in a calm voice, she said, “I will come as soon as I have returned my horse to the stables.” She watched Maurice walk down the hill toward the harbor and turned to go, so excited she could hardly breathe.

“Fairhair,” she said to her horse, leading him to the stables, “it seems we are to have a most welcome guest.” Ragnhild had waited and wondered and hoped a message would come, desperate to know he thought of her. She had never expected the man himself to appear yet here he was and with words of love for her.

Who was it he wanted her to meet?

She handed the reins to a groom and hurried out through the postern gate, not wanting her father to know Somerled was here. A guard would bring him word soon enough.

She would have taken more care with her appearance to meet the man who made her heart race but to do so might draw the interest of her father or Affraic. No, Somerled would just have to take her windblown and ruffled.

The galley beached at the harbor’s edge was the same one she had seen off the coast of Man years before, only now its red sail was doused, ready to set should the ship leave in haste. A signal to her had she not wished to see him, he would have swiftly sailed away. Did he doubt so much her heart was his?

Somerled grinned at her from the deck of his ship where he stood, hands fisted on his hips, his fair hair confined at his nape.

“I received your message, Lord Somerled,” she said, coming closer. His crew discreetly turned away, busy with their tasks. Did anyone else know what he had written to her? She doubted it. Mayhap his men knew he was glad to see her but ’twas likely he would share his emotions with only those who needed to know. To a man like her father who would arrange her marriage for gain or strategic alliance, such a sentiment would mean little—to her, it meant everything.

“The words are true,” he said, jumping down to the sand and taking her hands in his, “every one.” His touch sent shivers through her.

Lifting her hands to his lips, he pressed a kiss to her fingers. “I have missed you, Fair Princess, and worried lest another had stolen your heart. I had thought just to send the message but then I knew I must come. I had to look upon your beautiful face.”

She could feel her cheeks heat even in the cold but this was no time for timidity. “And I have missed you, my lord, more than you can know.”

He turned back to his ship and called a name. Then to her, “I have someone I want you to meet. I hope the two of you will do well together.”

She did not have to ask to know this person was significant and that her reaction would be important for any future she and Somerled might have together.

A boy climbed down from the ship. As her gaze roved over him, she knew, without a doubt, the tall fair-haired lad was Somerled’s son.