Page 80 of The Refuge

“I am worried for my future.”

“Place your trust in God for that, my lady, and I will pray for you.”

The monk placed his hand on her head and prayed. As he spoke to God, Catrìona felt a peace such as she had never known.

* * *

Steinar had just finished breaking his fast when Malcolm rose from his seat, drew the queen up beside him and turned to the bishop.

“We have availed ourselves of your hospitality long enough, Bishop Fothad. It is time we sail.”

The bishop rose, as did Steinar and the king’s men.

“It has been my privilege to host you and your lady, My Lord,” said the bishop, bowing. “You and Queen Margaret are welcome any time you can be with us.”

“Before we go,” said the queen “there is something I have for the chapel.” A servant, who had been standing behind Margaret, brought forward a carved wooden chest and set it on the table before the queen. She opened it to reveal a jewel-encrusted gold cross. Gasps sounded from those gathered around. Steinar, too, thought it a splendid piece of great beauty, certainly worthy of the simple chapel that housed the apostle’s bones. He wondered if the cross had come from Hungary, a part of the queen’s dowry.

The bishop was quick to accept the ornate cross Margaret laid in his hands. “My Lady, ’tis a magnificent gift. We are humbled by your generosity.”

“The Lord’s house should reflect His glory,” she said in reply.

Steinar anticipated Malcolm’s next words.

“I am for Dunfermline!” the king proclaimed. “Master shipman,” he said to the steersman, “make ready my ship.” Then to Colbán, “Select those guards you need and send the rest home by land. You and Steinar will sail with me. You, too, Rhodri. And the ladies, of course.”

Eager to be away, the men set off to accomplish their assigned tasks.

“What about me?” Giric piped up.

Steinar reached his hand to cover the lad’s mouth. “Please excuse him, My Lord.”

The king chuckled. “You can see to the pup, Scribe.” Then Malcolm paused. “But now that I think of it, I have a missive I need you to draft so it can be dispatched immediately upon our arrival in Dunfermline. Mayhap you’d best leave the boy to the ladies.”

Before he left the abbey, Steinar penned the message the king had dictated to him for Matad, Mormaer of Atholl, summoning him to court. No subject was given, only the demand for the mormaer’s presence. Steinar broke out in a sweat, his hand that held the quill trembling over the parchment as he forced himself to write, knowing with certainty the mormaer was summoned for his niece’s betrothal to the captain of the king’s guard.

He had known this day was coming, but that did not help him to accept it.

Once Steinar was free of the king, with a heavy heart, he headed to the shore. Some of Malcolm’s men were loading the women’s chests, along with food for the voyage home. Those who were to travel with the king waited on shore while the ship was made ready.

He looked for Catrìona and found her standing amidst the golden gorse blooming between rocky outcroppings above the shore. Strands of her auburn hair blew about her face, rendering her achingly beautiful in the morning light as she stood talking with her cousin, the lad and Audra.

She must have sensed his regard because she broke away from the others and came toward him.

Just as she reached him, a white-tailed sea eagle soared across the sky, the spread of its huge wings, as long as a man was tall, casting a shadow over the water as it glided close to the surface, then reached its talons beneath the water to snatch a fish. They paused to stare open-mouthed at the magnificent bird and the beauty of the sea.

“I have not seen one of those since I lived in the vale,” she remarked, watching the eagle as it disappeared into the distance with its prize. “I have missed them.”

“And your home?” he asked. “Have you missed it, too?”

“Aye. Not at first, you understand, but now I do. When I left, I felt only sadness. But now I remember the happier times and the beauty of the vale.”

“You seem different today,” he said, noting her calm demeanor. Her green eyes, typically flashing like emeralds, were quiet pools. “Has something changed?” He did not like to think she was resigned to Colbán’s suit, but mayhap she was. As for him, he could only accept it if it meant her happiness.

She surprised him when she said, “’Twas a conversation I had with one of the monks. He helped me to see that good can come from loss if we but trust God. The queen had told me something similar and, since then, the truth has settled within me.” She laughed then, again surprising him, given the subject. “I have not been on very good terms with the Almighty this last year.”

“I think I understand.” And he did. “Edgar and I have shared many a conversation about being angry because we were forever exiled. It was Margaret, her devotion and her many good deeds after all she suffered, that changed me. I came to see that to be angry with God is like shouting at the sky. And revenge is lean fare on which to sustain a man’s life.”

“What you say is true, yet I long for justice.” She gripped the hilt of the knife sheathed at her hip. “And I have learned to carry a knife should I need it.”