Page 11 of The Refuge

Chapter 3

Steinar lifted his gaze from the trencher he shared with Rhodri to scan the hall when suddenly his attention was arrested by a blaze of auburn hair reflecting the light of the torches.

Who is she?

Reaching for a roast leg of duck, he chewed on the savory meat as he stared at the woman sitting beside the queen’s brother on the dais. She was as beautiful as the queen but her features more striking. Redheaded women, he remembered, had a reputation for spirit.

Leaning in to Rhodri, between bites he asked, “Do you know those dining with the king?”

Rhodri turned his eyes to the front of the hall. “The dark-haired man of middle years is Matad of Dunkeld, Atholl’s mormaer. He is a powerful relation of the king but mayhap you do not recall his last visit. I was told I would be entertaining him and his party this eve.”

Steinar assessed the king’s nobleman. “He is just as I would imagine Atholl’s mormaer.” Of stern countenance, Matad’s dark eyes looked out on those in attendance as if suspicious of all. But Steinar was not so interested in the man as the woman sitting next to the queen’s brother. “Who is the woman with the red hair sitting next to Edgar?”

“I assume the two females are Atholl’s relations,” offered Rhodri. “The auburn-haired lad sitting on the other side of the girl with dark hair must be brother to the woman you ask about. They look much alike.”

In truth, he had not noticed the youth, but looking again, he could see the resemblance. “Aye, ’tis possible.”

“The dark-haired young woman,” Rhodri murmured, “could be Welsh. Mayhap I will sing my first song for her. ’Tis a Welsh love song.”

Rhodri never ceased to surprise him. “You would offer your song to her when all the women at Malcolm’s court, save the queen and her ladies, willingly fall at your feet? ’Tis a shame to give up what is offered to seek what is not.”

“Ah, but that is ever the way of it. A bard’s task is to sing of the love that eludes a man. And what of you? Your eyes wander not to the available females in the hall, as is your wont, but alight on only a single, flame-colored flower.”

Steinar watched the auburn-haired woman as she spoke to the queen’s brother, her face lit with an inner glow. “Not a flower, I think, but a firebrand.” Not since he had come to Dunfermline had he encountered a woman who, even at a distance, captured his interest like this one. Nothing could ever come of it for he had no title, no lands and little coin to offer a woman, much less one of the king’s favored guests. But watching the redhead in the days ahead would provide a welcome diversion.

“Do not let her fiery hair deceive you,” said Rhodri. “If she is to be one of the queen’s ladies, she may be as devout as Margaret and the ones who serve her, compliant women who will not question to whom they are given. Rich dowries all, but the king will wed them only to his nobles and the men he favors.”

Steinar was certain Rhodri was wrong about the redhead being compliant. “After growing up with my sister, Serena, I could never want a woman who lacks spirit.”

Rhodri chuckled. “Your sister is unique, the best of all the archers I trained, though she did not wield a longbow.”

“Aye, she did well with that smaller bow you made her.” Remembering their happy times together before the Conqueror had come, he said, “I miss her and our sparring with words. In truth, I would wish for one like her. There is little challenge in a woman who never questions, never speaks her opinion. One could fall asleep with all the ‘Yea, my lords’ one hears from the women at Malcolm’s court.”

“True,” Rhodri agreed, fingering his scant dark beard, “but now that I think on it, the queen is not as meek as she appears. Mayhap I should not be so quick to judge her ladies.”

“You speak the truth,” said Steinar. “The queen has her say and the king supports her, though they have argued a time or two.” Noting his friend’s gaze kept coming back to the companion of the redhead, he said, “You find the dark-haired one to your liking?”

“I like the look of her, yea. Hair like a dark night on the Irish Sea and skin like fresh cream. I wager her eyes are as blue as the waters of Llyn Tegid.”

“Llyn Tegid?”

“The lake of beauty, ’tis in Gwynedd, not so far from Powys,” Rhodri said, a faraway look in his eyes.

“You sound like you are missing your home.”

Rhodri shrugged, admitting nothing.

“You’d best tread carefully,” Steinar cautioned. “If she is related to the Mormaer of Atholl, she’ll nae have a bard for a husband.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Rhodri said with feigned annoyance. “Doubt it not.”

Amused, Steinar let his friend have the last word and resumed chewing on the leg of roast duck, his eyes never leaving the woman with the bright auburn hair.

When she glanced in his direction, pausing to consider him, his mouth hitched up in a smile.

She had noticed him, too.

Immediately, she returned her interest to her trencher. A moment later, she lifted her head and gazed about the hall. He wondered what she was thinking, whether she was amazed by what she saw. Had she seen the great room before Margaret’s changes, she would have been appalled.