Page 51 of Summer Warrior

AFTER THE MEETING ended, Ragnhild’s gaze followed Somerled as he went off to secure the lodgings for his men, his young son following on his heels. She had begun to think of the two of them as hers though she had no leave to do so. But hearts do not always wait for permission to give of themselves.

She turned to attend the cooks, who were beginning to prepare the evening meal. It was one she had requested so that Somerled and his men would dine well that night. She tried to put out of her mind the possibility that he would depart on the morrow and might soon go to war.

If Somerled could not remain for Christmas, she was determined to give him a feast equal to the one they would have in celebration of the Savior’s birth. One he would remember in the months ahead.

Since Somerled had expressed a desire to see the abbey later that day, she sent a message to Abbot Bernard to expect them and an invitation to dine with the king this night. She also sent messengers to her father’s garrison commander and the island’s chiefs asking them to come with their wives to meet their special guest.

She had already made sure that the hall had a merry appearance with new herbed rushes and garlands of greenery. Illuminating all were the torches and candles. She had told the minstrels, who often entertained her father, to come prepared to play songs of the season. The castle bard would sing ballads that would delight. Christmas was only a fortnight hence so it would be a practice performance, one that would please their guests.

Excited for the meal she had asked the cooks to prepare, she instructed them as to details they would not ordinarily see to. She doubted Somerled would dine so well on Islay even at Christmas.

Because it was still Advent, the main dishes would be fish: trout baked with leeks and thyme, salmon poached in a mint and parsley sauce with dried berries and broiled pike covered in cinnamon wine sauce. Vegetables would accompany the fish: onions cooked in a rich gravy with savory herbs, and buttered beets. All would be followed by apples baked with butter, cinnamon and sweet salt. There would be mead to drink.

On the morrow, she would not send Somerled away hungry. After Mass, he would be served a morning meal of porridge with nuts and dried berries, eggs and bread and butter. She would make sure their satchels were filled with oatcakes, dried fish and apples and their skins full of the monks’ fine ale when they sailed.

Somerled would not soon forget the hospitality shown him on the Isle of Man. And she hoped he would not soon forget her.

SOMERLED’S MEN WERE PLEASED to be invited to dine with the King and Queen of Man. With hours still remaining before sunset, after furling the sail and securing the ship, they donned their heavy cloaks and went off to explore the isle, some carrying bows and arrows to hunt. Ragnhild had promised him a tour of the abbey, which Maurice and Liadan also wanted to see. Though he would have preferred to be alone with the princess, he did not think an abbey full of monks would produce that result, so he told his companions and his son they were free to come along.

The princess was waiting for them when they returned to the castle, a dark green woolen mantle over her gown. “My father is a devout man and very proud of the abbey,” she said to the four of them.

“There are many abbeys in Ireland,” said Gillecolum. “The one in Bangor is where I took my lessons.”

Ragnhild smiled at the lad. “In Ireland, the abbeys are ancient and many of stone. Ours is fairly new and made of timber though my father has plans to see it in stone.”

Somerled offered his arm and Ragnhild took it entwining her arm with his. She felt right tucked in close to him. Even the dismal weather could not dampen his joy at their reunion.

“How is your arm?” she asked, speaking, Somerled knew, of his wound gained at Irvine.

“It is healing well with only small scars.”

She leaned into his right arm. “I am glad, for I worried.”

“For me?” he asked.

“Yes, for you, my lord.”

They walked to the abbey, Somerled’s son and two companions following him and the princess. The wind grew colder as the day waned.

“Do you mind the cold?” she asked.

“Sometimes. The mild winter you have here on the Isle of Man is nothing like the weather in the north or the wind at sea that can leave the deck awash in cold salt water, even in summer.”

“I do recall the times my father has encountered bad weather when I was with him. It happened near Islay once.”

They reached the large abbey garden first. It was surrounded by trees and laid out in plots protected by wattle fences. Behind the large garden, the abbey rose two stories high peeking above the trees. As they ventured closer, Somerled observed a small orchard.

A gray-robed monk met them as they entered the arched doorway. “Good day, Princess,” he said, welcoming them inside. “I will let Abbot Bernard know you are here.”

Ragnhild turned to Somerled, Gillecolum, Liadan and Maurice as the monk departed. “There are twelve monks here in addition to the abbot. That small number accomplishes much.”

A moment later, the gray-haired, tonsured abbot appeared, both his hair and short beard nearly the color of his robe. Though Somerled did not favor the Roman Church, he knew they did good work and this abbot had a benevolent face.

“Princess, how nice to see you!” said the abbot. “Are these with you the guests who are the cause of the celebration this eve?”

“They are. Allow me to introduce them. This is Somerled, the Lord of Argyll, Kintyre and Lorne, his son, Gillecolum, Maurice MacNeill, the king’s foster brother, and Liadan MacGilleain of Islay.”

Abbot Bernard offered his hand in welcome. Taking it, Somerled said, “I have been eager to see your abbey.”