Page 42 of Summer Warrior

“Aye, that is to the good,” said MacEachern, “and we can help see it done.”

By the time they set off for the loch, Somerled had with him several village men, including those skilled in carpentry. The blacksmith insisted on coming along, giving Somerled some story about making sure his men had sufficient arrowheads. Somerled thought the smith was intrigued by the prospect of construction on the island in Findlugan’s loch.

“Has there been any news of raiders on Islay since we left?” he asked MacEachern as they walked along.

“Nay, none here and the word from the other parts of Islay is that they have gone.”

That night around the fires, they discussed all they would do on the islands in Findlugan’s Loch as well as things to come. When the wind picked up, they damped down the fires with peat and Somerled, drawing his cloak more tightly around him, talked of the future. “The battles are not over and we must remain vigilant lest the pirates return with a vengeance. Until our strongholds rise from the land, our galleys and longships must keep the sea lanes safe from the pirates.”

“Aye,” said one of the villagers. “We have heard tales of the pirates attacking to the north of Morvern.”

Somerled had heard the Norse pirates built dragonships on Skye but, despite their presence, he believed the Gaels were winning. “One day,” he said, staring into the fire, “the descendants of the ancient Dalriada warriors will again have a home that is their own, a place where they will forever be free and seas on which to sail our hundreds of galleys.”

Castle Rushen, the Isle of Man

RAGNHILD WAS RESTLESS. All Saints’ Day was approaching and Advent just behind it and she had much to do. Besides that, they were expecting a visit from Queen Affraic’s father, Fergus, Lord of Galloway.

Fergus always arrived with a great show. On his head of limp brown hair would be a golden crown, despite that he was a liege man of King David. Fergus’ face, like his beard, drooped in a weary way. Yet his apparel would be so rich as to rival an English king’s. His wife, Elizabeth, likewise would glide into the castle with her nose in the air, reminding all she was the daughter, albeit illegitimate, of Henry I, England’s dead king.

Ragnhild considered Fergus’ son, Uchtred, in a better light, for he had been her childhood friend. But Fergus’ kerns, his foot soldiers, were unruly and coarse, rivaling even Sweyn Asleifsson for outrageous behavior. Not a man among them did she trust. It was with good reason they were called the Picts of Galloway.

Her father’s guards, when hearing of their coming, had exchanged speaking glances. Nevertheless, the Wolf of Galloway would be entertained in grand style, for he was her father’s ally as well as King David’s and possessed a great fleet of longships. Hence, Ragnhild had many tasks awaiting her this day.

“You have seen to my father’s chamber?” asked Affraic in a disdainful manner.

“Of course,” replied Ragnhild. “The same one he occupied the last time he and your lady mother visited. I have asked the kitchen to prepare your father’s favorite dishes as well.” She had to wonder what Affraic would do when, one day, Ragnhild would leave the isle. She had never before looked upon such a fate as one to be desired but all that had changed with Somerled.

What would it be like to be wed to such a warrior? She suspected ’twould not be an easy life but then she did not desire a life without challenges. She would take the man no matter there would be arduous days.

“You might think to have a new bliaut made,” said the queen, giving Ragnhild’s simple green dress an appraising glance.

“The gowns I have are more than adequate,” said Ragnhild. “In one of them, you will recall, I greeted King David.”

“Very well,” said Affraic, “do as you wish.” She turned in a haughty manner and walked away, reminding Ragnhild of Affraic’s mother, the Lady of Galloway.

Several days later, two longships from Galloway entered the harbor. Watching Fergus’ men descend from the ships, Ragnhild was glad she had thought to clear one of the buildings that housed her father’s unmarried warriors across the moat and outside the palisade so that Galloway’s kerns could be housed beyond the castle. She would ask her father to build additional soldiers’ quarters so there would always be a place for the troublesome warriors of visiting nobles to lodge.

She asked the garrison commander to dispatch two of Man’s most trustworthy guards to Fergus’ ships to escort Galloway’s warriors—all save Fergus’ personal guard—to the quarters prepared for them.

With her father and stepmother, Ragnhild waited at the castle door in the mist-shrouded morning as Fergus and his retinue arrived. Above, dark clouds threatened rain, an inauspicious beginning.

Although Fergus, in his fourth decade, was younger than her father, he was Olaf’s father-in-law and addressed the King of Man as such. “Greetings to my son-in-law and to your queen and daughter,” said Fergus.

“And to you, your queen and your son,” returned Ragnhild’s father. Fergus’ son said nothing but winked at her. Uchtred had grown since she had last seen him, now taller than she, though his face, thankfully, was still more a reflection of his mother than his father. Whoever had been Elizabeth’s mother, one of King Henry’s many women, must have been a beauty.

“I hope to soon lay eyes on my grandchild, Godred,” remarked Fergus as he strolled beside Olaf into the castle.

“He is a lovely child,” Affraic remarked to Elizabeth as they trailed behind Olaf and Fergus. “The king is very proud of his heir.”

Ragnhild and Uchtred followed the two women with Fergus’ three guardsmen behind them.

“Was it very cold on the sea this morn?” she asked Uchtred.

“’Twas wretched damp and gloomy,” and then with a smile, “but the voyage was mercifully short.”

She laughed. “Then you will be happy for the fire and hot wine.”

“I will, indeed,” he said, his hazel eyes twinkling. “’Tis good to see you, Hilde.”