Page 58 of Summer Warrior

CHAPTER 14

The Isle of Man, January 1138 A.D.

CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEAR’S had come and gone with only a few days of frost and much celebration yet, despite this, Ragnhild’s mood had been more subdued than in past years. Not even the Feast of Epiphany was as gay a celebration as it had been before, at least not for her. One man’s absence cast a gray pall over all, much like the sky overhead.

The antics of young Godred, her half-brother, who was now two and walking on unsteady feet, never failed to cheer her, however. And Abbot Bernard’s message of hope at Epiphany had been a comfort, as was his friendship. They played chess by the fire on days with much rain and he read to her from the Gospels.

Both Earl Rognvald, whose attention was apparently still given to his cathedral building according to his message, and Uchtred of Galloway sent her gifts she had not expected.

Rognvald must not have forgotten her hair as he had sent her an exquisite comb carved from antler bone and embedded with silver. Uchtred had sent her a book adorned with beautiful pictures and colors telling a story of King Arthur. His accompanying message expressed the hope he would be there in the spring to read it with her.

They were splendid gifts but neither touched her heart like the browband Somerled had brought her for Fairhair. How could he know a gift for the horse she loved would be more treasured than a gift for herself? She could put away a comb and place a book on a shelf, but the browband Fairhair wore was before her eyes every day—a constant reminder of Somerled’s thoughtfulness and a constant reminder of the man himself.

Clever man.

The short days and often dismal weather kept her inside. But whenever the sun broke through the clouds, she and Fairhair left the castle grounds to ride across the hills to her favorite place where she would gaze at the stormy Irish Sea and wonder about the golden warrior who had come one summer and taken her heart with him when he sailed away.

Isle of Islay, late April, 1138 A.D.

SOMERLED WALKED among the yellow wildflowers blooming on the hillside nearest the loch, letting his fingers trail through the tall grass. It was that glorious time of year when, though still cold, the light was brilliant, the geese were feeding on new grass, preparing for their long journey north, and the midges were yet to arrive. That in-between, gentle season.

On the loch, new sights and sounds replaced the departing geese. At dawn, male thrushes sang for their mates. In the muddy shallows, mating frogs made their presence known with their low rumbled croaking. Water lilies at the edges of the loch gave bloom to delicate flowers. The osprey that lived in the trees fished for trout. And a stately gray heron, hunched over the water, silently watched for fish or mayhap a frog.

All around him, the isle had stirred to life from its winter sleep, making him wonder if Ragnhild was greeting the spring with thoughts of the future.

He and his men had completed the headquarters at Findlugan’s Loch and the Islesmen returned to their plowing and seeding of new crops. But, for Somerled, there were castles to build, a fleet of galleys to construct and Norse pirates to hold in check. He could not remain in one place.

To Liadan’s great joy, Domnall had arrived the day before, bringing news of Norse pirates pillaging the coast of Moidart in the far north of Argyll. Remembering their conversation, Somerled knew he must soon leave Islay.

“When word reached us at Ardtornish of the attacks,” said Domnall, standing with Liadan and Gillecolum just outside the new hall, “I gathered two ships of warriors and sailed after them. We fought them on Moidart’s western shore and chased them north.”

“Was Sweyn Asleifsson one of them?” Somerled asked.

“I did not see him. That is, he was not among the dead. The pirates still alive after the battle did not stay long enough for us to sort them out.”

Liadan swept her gaze over Domnall. “Were you hurt?”

He smiled at her concern. “Nay, just a scratch here and there.”

“What about the Morvern men?” asked Somerled. “Did we lose any?”

“Aye,” said Domnall with downcast eyes. “Two. Others were wounded but there is a healer at Ardtornish who is tending them.”

“Was my brother, Diarmad, among them?” asked Liadan, giving Domnall an anxious look.

“He was among those fighting but not among the wounded. ’Twas his galley that sailed with me, bringing some of the warriors.”

Liadan nodded, sighing in relief. “He is my only brother now.”

“Aye, lass,” said Domnall. His tone was caring, so unlike the warrior Somerled knew. “But take comfort Diarmad is well.”

Somerled cast Domnall an assessing gaze, wondering if he’d spoken to Liadan’s brother about his sister’s future. There would be time for them to talk later. “What you say makes me think we should always have a healer with us. We will soon leave here and sail north. We can ask for volunteers along the way. Mayhap an older healer has a young apprentice he has trained who is willing to sail with us. Or, there might be warriors among us who are learned in tending wounds.”

“Aye, ’tis needed,” said Domnall.

“I know a little of herbs and poultices for wounds,” offered Liadan.

“You do, lass,” said Somerled, “and I thank you for treating my arrow wound. ’Tis now healed.” Not wishing to discourage her, he did not mention he would be loath to take her into battle.