Page 16 of The Refuge

The queen raised her hands to his shoulder and with efficient movements, secured the brooch to his cloak. The king bestowed a kiss on her cheek. As Margaret turned toward her ladies, Malcolm slapped her affectionately on the bottom before striding toward the door, snapping his fingers at the two hounds lying in the corner. The hounds immediately rose from the rushes and followed at their master’s heels as he swept through the door.

Margaret seemed flustered for only a moment, then a smile flickered on her face.

Catrìona felt a stab of envy at having witnessed the exchange. Malcolm had called his wife mo cridhe, my heart, and in his eyes she had seen the adoration he held for Margaret that was whispered of at court. To be loved by such a warrior, to be touched in such an affectionate and possessive way. ’Twas not unlike the love that had existed between her father and her mother. The love she hoped to one day share with Domnall.

Before the door to the hall thumped closed, Catrìona heard the king’s men, gathering outside, greeting him in a loud chorus.

She turned her attention back to her mistress. At one of the trestle tables, a group of children stood wearing broad grins and simple tunics of earthen colors. They greeted Margaret with noisy expressions of delight, pulling at the queen’s gown.

“Wait your turn,” Margaret gently reproved one very insistent young boy who could not have been more than four summers in age.

Servants bustled about, setting the table with bowls of gruel and bread. Others poured milk into small cups and set them before each place.

Margaret sat down on a bench in the middle of one table and beckoned a small girl to her. “You first, Bridget.” The child was not shy but came directly to the queen and climbed onto her lap. As Audra had told them, the queen did not eat. Instead, she picked up her own silver spoon and began to feed the girl from a bowl of gruel.

Catrìona and Fia joined the queen’s other ladies as they took their places at the table around Margaret and began to attend the remaining children clamoring to be fed from the bowls set before them.

Looking up at Catrìona and Fia while still feeding the young girl, Margaret said, “I try to give them something a child would like, sweetened with honey and raisins.”

Catrìona nodded her understanding as her rumbling stomach reminded her she was hungry. She was about to point out it was not just children who liked honey and raisins when the queen said, “I am rather fond of them myself.”

Off to the side, Catrìona saw a boy standing by himself and called him to her. Older than the others, he was slight of body, ruddy of complexion with beautiful wide set brown eyes and straight brown hair that fell to his nape.

He came toward her cautiously, wearing a serious expression, mayhap because he did not know her, but she sensed there was more behind his reluctant demeanor. The boy’s being orphaned young and having no one made her all the more grateful for Niall. Without him, she would be as alone as this boy.

When he reached her, she invited him to sit beside her. “My name is Catrìona. How are you called?”

“Giric,” he said crawling onto the bench.

Thinking he was about six or seven summers, she handed him a spoon. “I expect you feed yourself.”

He nodded vigorously and took the spoon, dipping it into the bowl. Between mouthfuls of gruel, he said, “Yer hair is pretty.”

She could not help but smile. He was adorable. “Thank you.”

He squinted up at her. “Art new?”

“Aye. My cousin, Fia,” she pointed to Fia sitting across from them feeding a young girl, “and my brother, Niall, and I have just come from Dunkeld. Like you, Niall and I are orphans.”

“Ye’re older,” he said as if that was entirely different and she supposed it was.

“Aye, but orphans still.” He did not ask how it had come to be she had no parents and she did not wish to ask about his own circumstances, knowing it would cause each of them pain to speak of it. She had only wanted him to know she and Niall understood his loss.

The sounds of eating and occasional exchanges between the children echoed about the hall. For a while, she let Giric eat. Then she thought of something that might please him. “Do you like falcons?”

His eyes lit up and he put down the spoon, wiping his mouth on his tunic sleeve. “Aye, lady! Do ye have one?”

“I do. His name is Kessog and he lives in the mews. Mayhap we can visit him this afternoon.”

He frowned. “The queen’s ladies do their sewing then.”

“I will ask the queen if she will allow me to show you my falcon. I am not so good at needlework that I will be missed. Can you be outside the door to the hall at midday?”

He nodded. Licking the last bit of gruel from his spoon, he reached for a piece of bread. “I will be there.” Taking the bread with him, he slipped from the bench and raced toward the door to join the other children who were leaving. Just as he went outside, he turned and waved to her.

She returned the gesture. Giric. Smiling to herself, she thought to ask Niall to go along on their afternoon adventure.

When the children had gone, a score of men and women came into the hall and were greeted by Margaret. They were simply dressed like the servants. All of them seemed to know the queen and warmly responded to her words of welcome. Catrìona wondered who they were. She had not seen them the evening before. Their clothing was modest but clean. Some looked more like Saxons than Scots, fair-haired and blue-eyed. A few children accompanied them.