Page 24 of The Refuge

“‘’Tis the court of the King of Scots and we must comport ourselves in a manner to honor him’, so the queen told me herself,” Audra had said.

Wearing fine gowns pleased Catrìona. There had been so few opportunities to wear silk and velvet at her father’s hillfort, no matter he had been raised from thegn to mormaer when Malcolm became king. The vale was remote and far from court. Unless they had visitors, the women, even Cormac’s wife and daughter, more often wore serviceable tunics. But if it pleased Margaret, Catrìona would happily don the elegant gowns her uncle had provided her.

The evening was cool and so she reached for the velvet gown, the emerald green one she thought Domnall would like.

She slipped the gown over her head and Fia laced it snug. “I miss my maidservant,” said her cousin.

“Aye, ’tis not like being the lady of Dunkeld.” Picking up the green ribands Catrìona had set on the bed, she handed them to her cousin. “Only the queen has a maidservant, but that is as it should be. The one who tends Margaret is a Saxon and not young. She may have been with the queen even before she came to Scotland.”

Fia began to wrap the silk around Catrìona’s plaits. “Once I finish with these,” her cousin said, “I’ve some blue ones for my hair. I want to look pretty this eve.”

Catrìona tilted her head to see her cousin, wondering at the excitement she glimpsed in her blue eyes. “You are not, by any chance, going to such measures for the handsome bard, are you?”

“No more than those you engage in for Domnall.”

Catrìona felt her cheeks heat at Fia’s words. “’Tis what we do, I suppose, dress to please a man.” But the moment she thought of the man she wanted to please, it had not been Domnall’s face that appeared in her mind but that of the golden-haired scribe.

“Fia, have you ever seen anyone with eyes the color of bluebells, or mayhap a blue thistle flower?”

Her cousin pondered the question for a brief moment. “Nay, I think not. Is there someone here who has eyes like that?”

“Aye. The king’s scribe introduced himself to Niall and me this afternoon as we were flying Kessog. He has blue thistle eyes. ’Twas all I could do not to stare they were so… beautiful.”

“Beautiful? Surely not a man’s eyes.”

“Yea, they are,” she said, remembering the color like none other she had ever seen.

“And the man,” said Fia. “How did you find him?”

“As you would expect a scribe to be, educated and well mannered, but this one has the body of a warrior, not that of a man who spends his days bent over parchment.” Then she remembered their conversation. “And he is a trifle overbearing.”

Fia laughed. “I daresay all the men at Malcolm’s court are overbearing.”

As she helped Fia to dress and wrapped the silk ribands around her cousin’s dark plaits, she remembered her last morning with Deidre who had laid out ribands for her to wear that night. What had become of her?

“There,” she said, “’tis done. Your blue ribands are lovely against your hair. Now I must go or I will be late to meet Domnall.”

Lifting her cloak from the peg, Catrìona left their chamber and hurried down the stairs. Domnall was standing just inside the tower door talking with Maerleswein, who, it occurred to her, was about the same height as the scribe, but a score of years older.

Domnall bowed, “Catrìona, have you yet met Maerleswein?”

“I have not had the pleasure.” She held out her hand and the tall man bowed over it. His sun-lightened hair hung just past his shoulders; his darker beard and mustache were neatly trimmed. Garbed in a fine blue tunic, he appeared every bit the nobleman. Domnall, who was slighter of build, a merchant, not a warrior, seemed much smaller in comparison.

“My lady, I bid you welcome to Dunfermline,” said Maerleswein. He spoke Gaelic but with an accent that she took as English, much like the scribe’s accent.

“Thank you,” she said. “Have you been long at Malcolm’s court?”

“Too long, I think,” he said, letting out a laugh. The two men exchanged a glance that told her they shared a secret. When her brows furrowed in question, he explained, “Malcolm is sending me away, albeit with lands and a wife. The king claims ’tis a reward for my battles against the Conqueror, but I suspect he also wants me guarding his southern border for I will be taking my men with me.”

Notwithstanding Maerleswein’s musings about the king’s motives, Catrìona was certain it was happiness she glimpsed in his expression. “You are pleased by these developments, I trust?”

“Aye. I have been too long idle. It will suit me to have lands of my own again. It has been many years since my wife died and my only child, a daughter, is now wed.” He grinned then. “I rather like the thought of taking a bride.”

Maerleswein’s face bore only a few lines despite his more than two score years. His body was still that of a warrior. Her own father had been the same age, but he had carried more weight. It was not difficult to picture the former sheriff siring more children. “Who might your betrothed be, my lord?”

“One of the queen’s ladies. I assume you know her being one yourself.”

Catrìona was suddenly anxious. She hoped it was not Audra for already she was fond of her and, selfishly, did not wish to see her go.