Page 66 of The Refuge

In his mind, he shifted through the missives he had penned pertaining to the Orkneys and the brothers Paul and Erlend Thorfinnsson who ruled the islands. “I do remember something. ’Twas last summer. Malcolm sent a messenger to the brothers Thorfinnsson and asked me to write a missive for the messenger to carry, inquiring about an attack on one of his mormaers in the west. I had not thought of it because he only mentioned the hillfort’s location as being on the River Clyde.”

“My father’s hillfort was on the River Clyde,” she said anxiously. “What news did the king receive back?”

“As I recall, Paul sent a reply saying he had no knowledge of any raid on Scotland and insisted he and his brother were loyal to the king. They are his stepsons, after all. And Malcolm’s eldest son by his first wife is in their care.” Gazing into her anxious eyes, he said, “The king would not hesitate to take revenge for an attack on one of his mormaers if he knew who was responsible.”

She looked down at their joined hands, one of her tears dropping onto his hand. “My father was faithful to the king. They fought Mac Bethad together.”

He squeezed her hand. “Were any saved besides you and your brother?”

“Angus, of course, and some of the women. The Northmen took them on their ships when they sailed. My handmaiden was among them. She would be seventeen summers now.” Her eyes pleading, she asked, “What has become of them?”

He leaned in to press a kiss to her temple. “You cannot think of that now, little one. To worry will not bring them back.” He would not tell her the women had likely been sold like surplus cattle.

She turned her face and, as she did, her forehead brushed his lips.

“I have missed you,” he said, raising her chin with his finger. Her eyes were like liquid emeralds and he could not resist their power. Capturing her lips, he kissed her deeply. She responded, returning the kiss and reaching her hands into his hair.

How he wanted this woman! Not just in his bed but as his partner for life. Keenly aware she was not his to claim, he lifted his mouth from hers, speaking to himself as well as to her. “The king would not be pleased to know I claim your kisses when he may already have in mind a man for you to wed.”

She dropped her hands to her lap. “But there is no one…”

Her lips were swollen with his kisses and her eyes a darker shade of green. Wisps of auburn hair blew about her delicate face. Achingly beautiful and so innocent. Apparently she did not know of Colbán’s request for her hand. And he could not tell her.

“You do not know that,” he said with regret. “The king chooses the husbands for Margaret’s ladies. Now that you are free of the Irishman, you will be highly sought after.” He wanted to tell her he would ask for her hand but since he had already done so and been turned away, he said naught.

She shook her head as if unable to accept the possibility. “The queen needs me in her work to build an inn for the pilgrims. Besides,” she said, her gaze meeting his, “would the king not want to know if there is a man I would want?”

Could she mean him? That she might want him even though she knew him to be merely one of the king’s men caused his heart to soar with hope, but it soon died with his memory of the king’s words. He could not allow himself to think of having her. In that way lay madness. “The king gives no maiden a choice.” When she began to protest, he stood and offered his hand. “All things in time, little one. Come, we’d best return.”

* * *

Catrìona folded the traveling gowns she would take with her to St. Andrews and Steinar’s words came back to her. All things in time. The same words of dismissal Domnall had spoken when she laid her heart as his feet. But this was far worse than Domnall, for she cared deeply for Steinar. Once again, she had spoken too soon and received only rejection. He would take her kisses but shun her desire for more, for she would have his heart if she could. Mayhap it was her destiny to be loved by no man. If that were the case, she would rather serve Margaret all of her days than be given by the king to some man for whom she cared little.

Shrugging off the unpleasant thought, she placed her gowns in the small chest, glancing at Fia, trying to decipher her cousin’s true feelings about staying behind. She did not appear sad, but Catrìona had to know. “Do you mind awfully not going with the queen?”

Fia looked up from where she sat on the edge of her bed. “I do not mind at all, save that I wish you would take Isla with you. Her boasting and arrogance are most tiring, but ’tis possible Cristina will be less indulgent with her than Margaret.”

“You may not have to put up with Isla for long. She will depart soon after Domnall returns, do you not think?”

“Aye, mayhap.” Her cousin’s eyes narrowed on Catrìona, as if watching for a sign of sadness.

“Nay, Fia, I do not wish to have Domnall back. He could not have loved me, betraying me for the sake of coin as he did.” What she did not tell Fia was that she had found more comfort in the scribe’s arms than ever she had with Domnall’s scant attempts to console her after her loss.

Rising from the bed, her cousin came toward her and gave her a hug. “Good. I am glad you do not pine for Domnall.”

Looking into Fia’s eyes, Catrìona said, “It is just as well I go with the queen. Mayhap Domnall will come for Isla while I am away and then I will be free of them both. I will miss you, but at least I will have Audra for company.”

Catrìona closed the chest. She had not packed the cinnamon-colored gown she would wear tonight. There was to be a celebration for the king and his returning warriors and she wanted to dress for it. In truth, she dressed to please Steinar even though he had not encouraged her.

Fia resumed her seat on the bed and reached for her blue ribands. “Has Audra said aught about her father?”

“Only that he insists she travel with the queen and since Audra is willing to go, I assume he recovers.”

Fia tied her ribands onto the ends of her plaits and rose from the bed to help Catrìona dress. “Just think, Cat, you will be with the handsome scribe all the while you are gone. ’Tis a pleasant thought for you, no?”

Slipping the gown over her head, Catrìona nodded. “Aye.” Her cheeks burned with the memory of his kiss, but her countenance fell as she remembered how things had been left between them.

“I am hoping Cristina does not keep us at our embroidery all day while you are away,” said Fia. “I want to be able to watch Rhodri at archery practice.”