Page 79 of The Refuge

“I will have a word with him when we return to the tower.”

He peeled his hosen from his legs to stand before her, his body telling her how much she was missed.

Because she perceived he was testing her resolve, she asked blithely, “How fares the Mormaer of Fife? Does Duff recover?”

“Oh, aye,” he said stalking toward her. “To my eyes, he is not well, yet in Colbán’s absence, he directs the men at their sword practice and vows to lead the next hunt.”

She laughed. “A warrior’s warrior that one,” she said, dropping all pretense of patience and holding her arms open in welcome.

He stepped between her legs and, with a hand beneath each of her knees, pulled her bottom to the edge of the bed. “And so am I, mo cridhe.”

* * *

Catrìona and Fia followed Audra and Margaret at dawn the next morning as they walked over the sandy ground to the chapel just beyond the abbey. At least it is not dark.

The chapel, perched on the edge of a flat bit of land, overlooked the North Sea. The bright circle of the sun rose in a red-gold sky over the calm waters. Small waves met the shore, subdued as if in reverence.

Catrìona had glimpsed the humble place of worship when they arrived the day before. Built in the shape of a cross, the church was simple in design. Its significance, Catrìona knew, was owing to the relics of St. Andrew long housed there.

She joined the others to silently kneel before the altar to pray. While Catrìona had much to be thankful for, she still wondered about the future. Surely the king would not give her to a man like Colbán, but the captain had made clear enough she was his choice.

When the queen had finished her prayers, Catrìona helped her to rise and waited with Audra and Fia for their mistress’ instructions.

“I am to see the bishop,” Margaret said, “but should you wish to make a confession prior to breaking your fast, any of the monks who tend the chapel can accommodate you.”

“I will come back later,” said Audra and turned to go with the queen.

Fia looked at Catrìona, her brows raised in question.

Knowing her cousin was anxious to be with Rhodri, she said, “Go ahead, I will join you shortly.”

Catrìona wanted to stay behind. It was not that she had much to confess, though she was certain she had done something that should be set before a priest, but there were questions she would ask a man of God.

Seeing no monk in the chapel, she strolled outside to gaze at the waters of the North Sea. The vastness of it somehow calmed her. The slope to the sea from where she stood was gradual and easily walked if one did not mind the loose sand. Sparse vegetation grew in places and wildflowers made their presence known here and there.

Gulls shrieked as they flew from the rocks to cross her path. On the beach, ringed plovers darted across the sand to forage among the green plants. In the distance, a flock of eider ducks glided over the blue waters, the males with their stark black and white feathers vivid against the blue, like nuns set to flight.

As she stood watching the glorious splendor of God’s creative work, she remembered the queen’s words. God has a greater plan for us. Surely He had a purpose for her and Niall since they were spared when so many were not.

“’Tis glorious, is it not?” came a soft male voice from behind her.

She turned to see a brown-haired monk in a gray cowl robe, his hands folded at his waist.

“I was just thinking that, aye.” She recognized him as one who had dined with them the night before. “You are Caerell?”

“So I am. Did you wish to speak with one of us, my lady?”

She hesitated, unsure of what to say. “There are things I would ask you if there is time.”

“I am here to listen,” came his reply. In his soft gray eyes, she saw his sincerity. His manner was kindly. She did not think he would judge her for her doubts, so when he gestured to a large rock, she went.

They sat and watched the birds and she told him of the last year of her life and how she had doubted God for all that had happened to her family and her people.

The Culdee was patient, hearing all. When at last he spoke, his words were as gentle as his voice. “The path to wisdom often leads through the valley of doubt, my child. To lose so much and still desire to trust God tells me you are already on that path. Remember Job’s question to his doubting wife, ‘Shall we receive good at the hand of God, and not evil?’. It is the work of a lifetime to trust Him through hardship and loss, but that is what we are called to do.”

His words had the ring of truth. “Queen Margaret told me I must accept whatever God allows into my life, trusting Him to use it for good.”

He nodded. “The Lady of Scotland is a wise woman, someone who has been hurt in the past, yet whose faith remains unshaken.”