Page 51 of The Refuge

“Ho! You carry the lady’s favor. The redhead was wearing ribands that color when we broke our fast.”

“’Twas your idea but it seemed a good one. By her own words, ’tis a reminder she prays for me. Mayhap her prayers will bring me success.”

Rhodri tossed Steinar a knowing smile. The bard did not miss much, but was friend enough to say no more about Steinar’s fondness for the queen’s lady.

He returned to his seat on the log. His leg throbbing, he kneaded the muscles before they cramped up on him.

“How much longer do you think we will remain here?” Rhodri asked.

“The king took much plunder today, but he will not turn the men toward home until he has prodded the backside of William’s man at Alnwick.”

“Gilbert de Tesson?”

“Nay, his son, another William,” said Steinar. “Colbán told me Gilbert’s son retained the land and the title after his father died at Senlac Hill. Now the son has erected one of those timber castles overlooking the River Aln.”

“Like the one at Talisand?” Rhodri asked.

“Aye.” Steinar did not like to think of the timber castle that now stood over what had been his home, but he comforted himself with the knowledge his sister, Serena, had found a new life there. “The Norman Conqueror insists on his castles wherever he perceives a threat. Maerleswein told me there are now two in York.”

Soon, more of Malcolm’s men straggled in to warm themselves by the fire and speak of the day’s events. They had lost only three, Coinín, Tòmas and Gillis, all good men. But others were wounded, keeping busy the king’s physic and the healers who aided him.

As weary as he was, Steinar knew this had been only a skirmish. The battle looming ahead—an attack on a wooden fortress full of Norman knights—would be different.

* * *

The next morning Steinar left Rhodri and Niall where they sat wrapping linen strips around the tips of their arrows and, donning his helm, urged Artair toward the place where the warriors were gathering.

Colbán rode up to him on his dun-colored horse. “The king has requested you ride at his back, Scribe.”

Steinar nodded and turned his horse toward the front of the column. That the captain of the guard addressed him as “Scribe” did not rankle. Since the fight with Rian, the men spoke the byname with respect, even acceptance, and it pleased him to have gained a place among them. He might have lost the status of a thegn’s son, but at least he could again count himself a warrior. For too long, the only marks on his hands had been the stains of ink. He was glad his hands now bore calluses from his sword.

Wending his way through the confusion of men and horses, Steinar pulled up behind Malcolm on his white charger. He looked every bit the king, his broad shoulders filling out his mail and his thick dark hair resplendent beneath his gold-crowned helm. Duff rode beside Malcolm, leading the army, his bushy brows showing beneath the edge of his helm.

The king welcomed him with a nod over his shoulder. “We ride to Alnwick to poke at the pride of the Norman Bastard who calls himself the Conqueror. ’Tis a task you should relish, Scribe.”

Steinar smiled. “I do.”

* * *

“Catrìona!” called Audra from the tower’s open door. “You are wanted by the queen.”

Catrìona left Giric with his dog in front of the tower and ducked back inside the hall. Once there, she went to where Audra stood with the queen next to the hearth. As soon as she glimpsed the queen’s face, Catrìona perceived something was gravely amiss. “What is it?”

Facing her two ladies, Margaret said, “I want you to come with me to the cave to pray. Malcolm is in terrible danger. I feel it.”

The queen had often walked with Catrìona in the woods but she had never before asked her to come with her to pray in the cave. “Of course, My Lady.”

Audra nodded her agreement.

They did not even stop to get their cloaks but followed Margaret out of the tower and down the path that led to the cave where, it was said, the queen did her most serious praying.

With so many men gone, the banter and rough speech around the tower were absent, but as they entered the forest, the canopy above them teemed with life. The distinct “kaah” of rooks pierced the air. She looked up to see the black birds with their pale beaks occupying the trees above them.

Margaret, just ahead of her, appeared to falter. Catrìona reached out to support the queen’s elbow. “Is it the babe, My Lady?”

“Nay. I just need to rest for a moment.”

Catrìona helped her to sit on a rock outcropping. “My Lady, should we turn back?”