Page 97 of The Refuge

He cocked his head to one side and raised a brow. “Mo cridhe?”

“If you do battle with William, your warriors may send the Normans from our land, but I would risk my husband and the Scots their king. Though he seems to love it, I cannot believe William wants such a war. Scotland is no easy prey. Our warriors are as fierce as the Picts that preceded them. Soon, autumn comes and winter close behind it. His knights would be mired in mud and snow. They do not know the glens like you do.”

“What is it you suggest?”

“If you but seek terms, you may give up little to gain much. Send him from our border with only words to carry home to London.”

Malcolm came to her then and she stood, reaching her hands to his shoulders and looking into his dark eyes.

“Let us have our years together, my love, so that God might give us more sons for Scotland.”

“You would have me negotiate with the Norman Bastard?”

She raised her head as the queen she was, the queen he had made her but a few years before. “Yea, I would. And, if you do this, my ladies and I will fast and pray for all the hours you are gone.”

Malcolm left her and walked to the window, gazing south. She supposed he was seeing in his mind the Normans marching toward them, their numbers too great to count. He was a man of great courage but he cared deeply for his people. She knew it was for their sake he pondered.

When he turned to face her, gone was the warrior whose mind was set on battle. In his place was the wise king she had come to love. “Your counsel is prudent, mo cridhe. I will speak with Duff and Matad. Should they agree, I will seek a meeting with William.” He smiled then and hope rose within her. “He thinks me to be wily, or so I have heard. If there is to be a meeting, I shall not disappoint. Pray God helps me.”

She went into his arms and embraced him, pressing her cheek to his broad chest. His strong arms tightened around her and the babe she carried. Tears filled her eyes as she looked up at him, “I shall, My Lord.”

* * *

In his camp in Midlothian that night, William stood by the crackling fire outside his tent, gazing north. His back rigid and his smile tight, he was vaguely aware that Eadric, the one called “the Wild”, had come to stand beside him.

“We have no desire for a pitched battle in Lothian, Eadric. Truth be said, we do not consider ourselves in Scotland until we have crossed the Forth.”

“Your orders, then?”

William was unsurprised by Eadric’s lukewarm attitude toward their current endeavor given the Saxon’s history. At the outset, he had joined with his Welsh neighbors to inflict great damage on Herefordshire. He had only become William’s man two years before, and that forcibly. “By the splendor of God, tomorrow our army will cross the Forth near the place they call Strivelyn, east of Dunfermline. We will meet our ships on the Tay, deeper into Scotland than Malcolm will have imagined, and there we will engage the wily Scot.”

Eadric remained silent, but it mattered little to William. The Saxon had no alliance with the Scots and would offer no objection.

“We will yet have all of this island in our grasp,” said William. He could taste the fruit of his ambition. He had not conquered England to lose this northern bit. But, as he reflected on the vastness of this northern land, he thought again, frowning as he stared into the fire. Malcolm Canmore was not a foe so easily conquered as the rest. Even the Romans had feared the Picts.

* * *

By the time the evening meal arrived, all of Dunfermline had heard of the Conqueror’s march on Scotland. Steinar listened to the men speculating on where the battle would take place and the numbers of Norman knights they would encounter. Fear among the women was tangible, worry etched deep in their faces. He looked often at Catrìona, trying to tell her without words to have faith.

The queen and her ladies were the first to depart the hall that night. Catrìona stole a glance at him as she rose to leave. He gave her an encouraging smile, which she returned. They both knew what lay ahead.

Once the ladies had departed, the steward drove everyone from the hall, save those the king desired to speak with in private council.

Gathered to the king were his closest advisors, the mormaers whose lands were nearest, who had ridden with all haste at the receipt of the king’s summons, bringing a portion of the king’s army with them. Among the highest ranking, Steinar knew Duff and Matad best, but there were others he had seen only once or twice. In addition to his guard, the king had also invited Rhodri and his uncle, Cillyn, to stay for the meeting, presumably because of the Welsh hatred for William and the alliance Malcolm hoped to gain.

They sat at one of the trestle tables, the king in the center and the others around him, some sitting, and some standing. The hall grew quiet; the king had their attention to a man. Steinar was curious to know what Malcolm’s strategy would be.

“I have a proposition to discuss with you,” the king began. “It is my intention to keep William waiting wherever he alights until the rest of our army can reach us. In a day or two, when they have arrived and William, ever impatient, is cursing me beneath his breath, I would send a messenger asking for a meeting to discuss his requests.”

Mumbles echoed around the table as the men considered the king’s plan.

“Do you intend to submit to William or grant him some part of Scotland?” asked a disbelieving Duff, his bushy brows drawn together in a frown, his hazel eyes so like his daughter’s suddenly looking fierce.

“Nay,” said a smiling Malcolm. “I intend to give him naught but a few scraps from my table.”

“What might those be?” asked a serious Matad.

“I have lands in England and others in Cumbria and Northumbria granted me by King Edward. Mayhap William can be satisfied to have authority over those. In truth, I would not oppose granting him such if, in return, I can gain something I want, which is more land.”