“I did not expect to see such a large house. Do you have so much family that you need such a large dwelling?”
Giric laughed. “No, lass. Those two towers offer a vantage point to allow the guards to see anyone approaching. Would you like to see?”
“I would like to see that very much.”
Once dismounted, he took her hand and led her to the winding staircase leading to the east tower. From up there they would be able to view the Firth of Clyde and beyond to the Isle of Arran.
At the top she placed her hands on the stone ledge and gasped. She looked down to the ground and gripped the ledge tighter. “You can see so much up here.” When she looked back at him, light danced in her eyes. “You would know when ships are entering the port and when riders are approaching your lands.”
“Aye, that’s exactly the purpose. Not everyone who passes this way wants to share in a goblet of ale.”
She turned to him, concern filling her eyes. “This castle was built to keep my people out.”
“Aye. But others as well. I have enemies enough both here and across the sea.”
“Am I still your enemy?” she asked with an impish grin.
Giric shook his head. “You are not, and neither are your kin. Our marriage will bring peace to our people. I know it in my heart.” He paused and drew a breath before letting it out slowly. “But we must be patient.”
“I can be patient, husband,” she said.
“Are you out of your mind?” a stern voice asked from behind them.
A small knot formed in his guts. Placing his hand at the small of his wife’s back, he turned and said, “Sister. How do you fare?”
“How doIfare?” she asked with her hands on her hips. “Some word would have been helpful, brother. Half the castle is in uproar at your display and the other half is in shock.”
“Saga, this is my sister, Aislin. And sister, this is my wife, Saga. Mayhap we can sit by the fire in the great hall and discuss this matter.”
“You are quite welcome at Castle Domnail, my lady,” she said. “To speak true, it is not I who have any issue with you or any of your people so long as you do not invade our lands. But there are many here who are not so open-minded as my brother.”
“You did not tell anyone you were bringing me here?” Saga asked.
Giric put his hands up. “I sent a rider ahead of us once we reached Prestwick. Now, can we please continue this in the hall so we may eat and celebrate my nuptials and I can properly introduce my wife.”
Giric watched Aislin’s expression soften. She regarded Saga for a moment and smiled. “My dear it is a good thing you appear strong. I fear you may need to draw from that strength it in the days ahead. Lord help us when Donnan finds out.” As she said this she touched Saga’s arm and the fabric of her gown, her gaze resting on the sword strapped to her side.
Saga stepped back. “My brother will adjust, like everyone else.” Giric squeezed Saga’s elbow; she regarded it with a quizzical expression. “What are you doing to my arm?” she asked in a low voice.
“’Tis a way to offer comfort.”
Shaking her head, Saga said, “You people have strange ways.”
“I’m beginning to see that,” he said.
As they followed Aislin to the great hall, Giric took note of those they passed along the way. She was right. He’d been somewhat blinded to the shock of what the sight of Saga and her sister might evoke in his people. He’d have to tread carefully and with clarity if this was going to work. Of one thing he was certain, ignorant people conjured strange ideas especially when fear was added into the mixture.
Chapter Thirteen
The great hall was nothing like the hall from her village. Large woven images adorned the stone walls depicting various scenes though the colours were not overly bright, they were fascinating stories told through the weaver’s talent. Some were images of fields and flowers, whilst others appeared to tell the story of these people in battle. Upon closer inspection, she noted the conquered warriors of one tapestry wore furs and wielded axes. The Scots were the clear victors in this scene. Vikings lay scattered about the beach in pools of pink or red oozing from their bodies and in the distance the unmistakable sail of her grandfather’s longship.
“’Tis a story told through fabric,” Giric said from behind her.
“It is meant to send a message to your people. And not one of peace. This tapestry of yours does not depict us sharing a horn or shaking hands. This is about conquering us.”
Her body recoiled from the sight of it. If that was the mentality promoted here, she would never have a chance to fit in.
“Saga, look at all the tapestries in order,” he said and pointed at the others adjacent to this one.
