Page 74 of The Refuge

Steinar left the tree to stroll toward her. A glance at Colbán told her the captain was not pleased.

“Tell her, Colbán,” said Steinar.

“Tell me what?” she asked, her gaze darting from one man to the other.

“Well,” Colbán said, shooting Steinar a harsh glare, “mayhap ’twas not so fierce a beast as you thought, but the creature was still wild.”

“You mean not as fierce as you wanted me to believe,” she said, anger rising within her.

Colbán said nothing, but Steinar laughed. “Anything to steal the lady’s kiss, eh Captain?”

Colbán glowered at Steinar, then bowed to her. “My pardon, my lady. I was sorely tempted.”

Having been fooled by the king’s captain into allowing him an intimacy she would never have otherwise, she choked back the angry words she was tempted to utter. Too, she was annoyed beyond measure at Steinar’s finding it amusing when he should have been at least jealous given the kisses they had shared. She gave out a huff and turned on her heels, stomping out of the forest.

As she left, she heard Colbán say to Steinar, “You might have waited.”

“Not likely,” came the reply.

“In the future, Scribe, confine your words to your scribbling.”

“I am no longer the king’s scribe, remember? I’m a guardsman now, one of your own.”

“Aye,” Colbán growled. “And, since I am your captain, you will mind my orders. Where that lady is concerned, do not oppose me.”

* * *

Steinar was more than a little angry but he had to temper his jealousy against what he understood were the king’s wishes. His heart lurched as he reminded himself Colbán had asked for Catrìona’s hand and the king seemed only too glad to grant the request. Tempted as he was to raise his sword tip to the back of Colbán’s neck when he came upon the captain with his hands on Catrìona, seeing her back away, he had settled for laughter instead.

That night it rained, which fit Steinar’s dour mood, and he ate in his tent where he brooded over the situation before sleep overtook him.

The next day had them slogging through wind and rain as they pressed on to St. Andrews, mud splashing to their stirrups.

In the wet weather, his leg took the opportunity to cramp, adding to his discomfort, but Catrìona, uncomplaining, pulled her cloak over her head against the rain and bore the dismal day like one of the men. She declined his invitation to be seated with the queen whose cart was now covered with an oilcloth tent.

What should have been a day’s journey turned into two. Only when they reached the coast did the rain subside and the sun emerge.

The smell of salty, sea air and cries of gulls welcomed them to St. Andrews, raising Steinar’s spirits.

Catrìona threw her hood off her head and tilted her face to the sun, her auburn hair glistening like a dark jewel.

Behind the stone church, where Bishop Fothad stood waiting, was the North Sea, its deep blue waters a stark contrast to the ivory sand on the shore and the white clouds billowing above them.

“’Tis beautiful,” Catrìona said.

With eyes only for her, he agreed. “Aye, most beautiful.”

As they pulled rein, Steinar slid from his horse and helped her to the ground.

“Have you been here before?” she asked, looking at the bishop clothed in a white cowl robe. Behind them, Steinar glimpsed Colbán helping Margaret and Audra down from the cart.

“Nay, but I know Bishop Fothad. He presided over the marriage of Malcolm and Margaret and has come to Dunfermline more than once to hear the queen’s confession.”

“Those must have been short meetings,” she murmured.

He laughed. “You mean the confessions?”

“Aye,” she said with a smile he thought winsome. “I look forward to meeting the bishop.”