Page 33 of Summer Warrior

“I suppose it a fair bargain to have David as friend,” put in Maurice, “though, with his troubles in England, a call to arms might not be far away.”

“Aye,” Liadan agreed, “even so, there is no doubt you did well, my lord.”

Somerled dined on the haunch of venison provided by the Princess of Man, all those attending the king praising her winning shot. She had emerged into the hall as an elegant lady, making it hard to imagine one so winsome had, but a few hours earlier, galloped in the hunt.

She took her place beside her father and stepmother at the high table, her smile wide when she glimpsed Somerled sitting at the trestles with his companions. For a moment, he could not look away.

“I found the fletching’s owner,” said Domnall, drawing his attention, “or at least the men who have the same fletchings on their arrows.”

Somerled turned his eyes on his cousin. “And?”

“One of the grooms remembered seeing that fletching on the arrows in the quivers of Earl Rognvald’s men. He said they were unique to the Norsemen, the arrowheads, too.”

“So, the earl greets me warmly and asks forgiveness for Sweyn’s treachery yet he would send one of his men to kill me.”

“’Tis how the Norsemen from Orkney take revenge,” said Maurice. “They do not openly speak of it until accomplished. Once they have killed and burned without mercy, they claim victory. But I believe Rognvald is too concerned with how he is perceived to be directly involved in treachery.”

“Remember, Brother,” said Angus, “he knows of your interest in Princess Ragnhild and likely resents what he deems interference in his plans for a bride with a large dowry.”

Somerled acknowledged the truth of it. “I must speak to Olaf and see if I can delay his acceptance of the earl’s suit. There is no need for such an alliance now that we protect the Isles and, besides that, have the favor of King David.”

As the dinner drew near its end and the trestles were taken down to allow for entertainment and dancing, Somerled watched for King Olaf to descend from the dais. Once he did, Somerled bowed to Queen Affraic and to the princess and asked if he could speak privately to Olaf.

Ragnhild returned him an anxious expression went with Affraic to join the other women.

Olaf suggested he and Somerled take some evening air.

Outside the hall, the air was cold and brisk. The street was empty. Somerled drew his mantle around him, glad his men had lodgings, for the night would be colder still. The smell of sea and salt brought a welcome change from the heat and pervasive smell of wood smoke in the hall. He had posted a guard for his longship that changed every four hours so none of his crew would face the entire night on the ship.

He paused to admire the evening sky and Olaf stopped beside him. The sun was nearly set behind the mountains of Arran. The sky was the color of the bitter oranges from Seville they sold in Dublin’s markets. Clouds had gathered since the morning, their edges now gilded with the golden light. Somerled smelled rain in the air as a man used to travel by sea senses such things. “Winter approaches.”

“As November descends,” began Olaf, “I want to be home on Man, in my own bed and dining in my own hall. Where will you winter?”

“I have stops to make when I leave here but I am hoping to spend the winter on Islay where I will build a new timber lodge on Findlugan’s Loch. Do you know it?”

Olaf nodded. “Once, I sought shelter from a storm in the waters of Loch Indaal. My travel was delayed for a week and the loch you speak of was merely a good walk away.”

“It was the large bay of Loch Indaal that I had in mind when I picked Findlugan’s Loch as the ideal place for the clan chieftains to gather. It will be one of my first strongholds, one that will not require stone to be secure.”

“And do you still plan to build stone castles?”

“Aye. King David has given me his blessing—and more importantly, two of his French stonemasons—for construction of castles at strategic points in my growing kingdom of the Isles.”

Somerled would not have sounded so boastful but he wanted Olaf to know he was a man of his word and had already begun to build his chain of strongholds. Castles fit for a princess.

“Ah, I can see where you are taking me. Now that you are building, you think to again ask for my daughter’s hand.”

“I do. I believe she would welcome my suit and, within a year, I can offer her a home like she has on the Isle of Man. Think, King Olaf, if you gave her to me, Ragnhild would not be as far as she would be in Orkney or some other place. You could see your grandchildren often. And I would give my word to you, as I have to David, to come when you have need of my many ships and my thousands of warriors.”

“You make it sound attractive,” said Olaf, rubbing his hand over his beard.

Somerled considered the aging but still healthy king. With no height to compensate, Olaf had grown rounder. Surely, he desired grandchildren, and Somerled would need heirs for the kingdom he was building. “Give her to me, King Olaf, and you will not regret it. Neither will she, for I love her.”

The king turned from the setting sun to face Somerled, as if surprised at his bold declaration.

Somerled felt the sun’s dying rays on his face and wondered what Olaf saw. Did he see a man in love, a man committed to one woman no matter the cost?

“Mayhap one day I will give her to you, but not, I think, this day.”