Page 76 of Summer Warrior

She crossed to where her father stood. “You are planning a voyage?”

“I am,” he said, smiling at her. “’Tis time to call upon my tenants and to visit that elusive Earl of Orkney. You will come?”

Ordinarily, Ragnhild would the thrilled to be included in one of her father’s voyages but this one boded ill for her if her father expected her to accompany him to the murderer’s den Rognvald called home. “If you wish it, Father.”

“I do. You have not sailed with me since we called upon King David. ’Twill do you good to venture outside of Man.”

Ragnhild thought of the stark Orkney coast of high, rugged cliffs, the rest of it flat, and sighed. “Very well, Father.” She would go but she would find a way to thwart any marriage plans involving Rognvald.

It was only days later when a longship arrived in the harbor one morning that she knew was not her father’s nor any Norse ship for the stem posts were plain and the rudder was in the stern where Somerled had cleverly moved all of his. Could it be him? Did he live?

Shielding her eyes, Ragnhild stood in front of the castle, gazing down the hill, the grass still green from the last rains. In the harbor, a lone figure jumped down from the beached longship. She recognized him as the Irishman who was Somerled’s man. His curly dark hair and beard and his Celtic dress gave him away as her father’s foster brother, Maurice MacNeill.

Her heart sank to think he might have come alone because his lord no longer lived.

The guard at the palisade gate, by now familiar with the Irishman, allowed him entrance.

She met him halfway down the hill.

“Princess,” he said, dipping his head, “I come with a message for you from Lord Somerled.”

“He lives!” she exclaimed, relieved beyond all measure. “I am happy he survived King David’s war when so many did not, but I am disappointed not to see him. Is he injured?”

“Nay, he is well, my lady. He has sailed to Argyll’s north coast and to Moidart where his stonemason is surveying castle sites. He was forced to leave there when he received King David’s summons.”

Her disappointment was too keen to hide.

Maurice held out a parchment, sealed in red wax. “He sent this, my lady, knowing you would be worried since he was in the battle where thousands died. He did not want to leave you wondering about his fate.”

Accepting the letter, she asked, “Will you stay the night?”

“I cannot, for Somerled is expecting my return. Is there a message for him?”

“A moment,” she said. Breaking the seal on the letter, she opened it to read.

Princess,

Some months past, I sailed to Scotland with forty galleys and longships at King David’s summons and fought with him in England. ’Twas the price of his favor and could not be denied. I oft looked at your green riband and thought of you and your prayers that I welcomed but did not deserve. Surely, God has answered them, for all of us lived to return.

– Somerled

He did not speak of love or any future they might have together. She looked up to encounter Maurice’s expectant gaze. “You may tell him I am grateful for his kindness in sending you so far to deliver his message.” She thought carefully of the next before adding, “And you may tell him my father leaves in a few days’ time for Skye and then he will pay a visit to the Earl of Orkney for Rognvald has extended him an invitation.”

“I see.” His brows drew together. “And do you sail with him?”

She met his inquiring gaze. “I do.”

He bowed. “Then I bid you Godspeed and farewell, Princess.”

She watched him walk down the hill to the gate and from there to the harbor, knowing the underlying message had been conveyed. If Somerled was ever to claim her, it must be now. He had once spoken of love. Did he still feel the same or, with the passage of time, had his heart changed?