Page 60 of The Refuge

“He feels much like Edward did, so I plan for a male child. We named the first for my father and the king who gave us both sanctuary. How do you feel about the name Edmund for our second? ’Twas my grandfather’s name and he was a king of England.”

Malcolm laughed, a deep belly laugh that told her he was pleased. “My wife who always thinks ahead. Aye, another English name will serve well a son who may one day have English subjects.”

She thought of the time he had been away, of all he must have seen. It had been years since she had been in England and she was curious to hear of it. “Tell me of all that happened while you were away.”

“If you wish to know, I will tell you, but I would see my young Edward ere this day is done. And I must hear of your plans to aid the pilgrims.”

“Very well,” she said, nestling into the curve of his body like a child awaiting a favored story. “You first.”

He launched into a description of his travels, beginning with Lothian. “Maerleswein seems happy with his new bride and your former lady was all aglow.”

“I am glad. I believed he would make a good husband for Davina.”

“Aye, you did and ’twas a wise suggestion you made.”

He began to speak of the raid into Northumbria, his face coming alive as he drew vivid pictures of the archers’ flaming arrows and the fighting that followed at Alnwick. “That Welshman is a leader of men, a well-trained fighter, too, not just a bowman. Some of his shots were like none I have ever seen!”

The story went on and she listened intently, sensing he was leaving something out. “How did you get the wound?”

She could tell he was reluctant to speak of it, but at her prodding, he said, “Sometime in the course of the fight. I do not recall precisely when, but I was suddenly on the ground with the scribe standing over me, defending me against the edge of a Norman’s blade like an avenging angel.”

A gasp escaped her lips as she imagined Malcolm falling from his horse, vulnerable to the sharp sword of a Norman knight.

He drew her tightly to him and picked up one of her plaits, fingering the pale hair. “’Tis over now, mo cridhe, so do not fear for me. My wound is minor. Steinar guarded me well.”

“’Twas God’s provision, I’ve no doubt, and an answer to my prayers. I am glad the English scribe rode at your back.”

“For his rescue of his king and for all he has suffered at the hands of William, I have offered Steinar lands in Scotland and the title mormaer. I hope you approve.”

“Oh, I do.” It seemed right to her that it should be so. “An English thegn’s son deserves more than the life of a scribe. He will prove worthy of your trust, I am certain.”

“I ordered the scribe to say naught of the boon I would give him. I want to decide about Colbán first and announce my actions for both at the same time. ’Twould not do to have the scribe favored before my captain.”

“Where are the lands you would give Steinar?”

“I thought to have him take Cormac’s place. With Steinar’s intelligence and breeding, he will be able to forge alliances Scotland needs for the future. The men have come to respect him and willingly follow his command. I would send some of them with him to rebuild the hillfort and he will soon attract others. I like it not that the Vale of Leven has remained a great gaping crevice, unguarded since that Norse raid. ’Tis a back door into Scotland.”

“I wish we knew who was responsible for the attack,” she said, remembering the terrifying tale Matad had brought them of the slaughter.

“You recall when Atholl first told us of the murder of his sister and Cormac, I sent inquiries to Paul and Erlend Thorfinnsson in the Orkneys. They assured me they had no knowledge of it. I have never known them to lie. After all, they are my own relations and foster my son, Duncan. But mayhap unbeknownst to them, they harbor a villain in their midst.”

“’Twas a terrible thing to lose Cormac and his wife like that. Catrìona and her brother were fortunate to have escaped.”

“You remind me,” he said, kissing her forehead. “When I told the English scribe I was granting him lands, he made me laugh, saying very seriously he needed a wife to go with them.”

“Did he?” She smiled, imagining the handsome scribe insisting on a wife. There would be many women at Malcolm’s court who would be proud to accept his suit.

“Aye, he is a bold one. And he was quite certain just who he wanted that wife to be.”

She looked at Malcolm expectantly.

“He asked for the hand of Cormac’s daughter.”

“Catrìona—because her father’s lands were the ones you would give the scribe?”

“Nay, I think not. The look in his eyes told me ’twas the woman herself he wanted. He would have asked for her if I had given him lands in the north instead of the west.”

Concern trickled through Margaret. She liked Catrìona and wanted her happiness, but after Domnall’s rejection, Catrìona might not want any man. “What did you tell him?”