Page 30 of The Refuge

“Men do prefer the queen’s coloring, I suppose. Margaret’s flaxen locks are lovely but your hair is unusual. Men notice it.”

Fia’s compliment made Catrìona glad they were friends as well as cousins.

While Fia plaited Catrìona’s hair, she recalled her meeting with Domnall and Maerleswein. She had forgotten to tell Fia about Davina’s coming betrothal. “Had you heard that Davina will be leaving the queen’s service to marry?”

“Nay, but then she is not one to speak much about herself. Who is it to be?”

“Maerleswein, the nobleman who was once an English sheriff. Domnall introduced us. Maerleswein told me the king has given him lands in Lothian and Davina for his bride.”

“Do you think she will be pleased?” Fia inquired.

“He is a fine looking man, of noble lineage and seems well mannered. He might be older than she would have hoped for, but no doubt he is a better man than some the king could have chosen.”

“I wonder if Malcolm conferred with the queen. Margaret knows her ladies.”

“Whether he did or not, Davina does not seem like one who would object.”

Remembering what Audra had told her when they had first come to Dunfermline, Catrìona said, “I expect there will be a new lady joining us when Davina leaves.”

“Aye, most likely.”

In no time at all, Fia had woven the sides of Catrìona’s hair into two narrow plaits and gathered them to the back of her head to entwine them together in one long plait resting on top of her free-flowing tresses. The change in the way she typically wore her hair pleased her.

Once Fia was dressed, they left the chamber for the hall where they would meet the other ladies. Uncle Matad had departed for Atholl the day before, but even before he had gone, she and Fia had joined the queen’s ladies at one of the tables for meals and no longer ate on the dais. Catrìona was glad for the change. Though she missed Edgar’s company, she did not wish to be on display. Sitting with the queen’s ladies allowed her to hide among them, hopefully avoiding the leering eyes of the king’s men.

* * *

Steinar stood next to Rhodri at the bottom of the stairs, swapping stories about their day. Behind them, the hall was already noisy with the crowd gathering for the evening. Light from the open shutters spoke of the long summer days that had come to Scotland.

He had not told his friend of his encounter with the auburn-haired tree nymph and her plunge into the burn. He would keep that meeting and the memory of their kiss to himself, delighting in the one thing he had learned: she was not indifferent to him.

As he searched the crowd for the queen’s ladies, Steinar heard Rhodri’s sharp intake of breath. Following his friend’s gaze to the top of the stairs, Steinar saw Catrìona and her cousin slowly descending. Catrìona was clothed in a deep crimson gown that dipped low, exposing her ivory skin and hinting at her enticing breasts, the same breasts he had felt through her wet gown that afternoon. Her long auburn tresses hung free, one thick strand cascading over her shoulder.

Rhodri dug an elbow into Steinar’s ribs. “Introduce me to the dark-haired one.”

Steinar had noticed the tendre Rhodri held for the girl and was unsurprised at the request.

“Ladies,” he said as the two reached the last step. “Might we detain you for a moment?”

The women paused with expectant expressions. “Aye,” said Catrìona, her green eyes shimmering.

“Allow me to present my friend, Rhodri of Gwynedd and Powys in Wales, the king’s bard and master of the bow.”

“Rhodri, this is Catrìona of the Vale of Leven and her cousin, Fia of Atholl.”

Each of the young women held out her hand to the bard.

Rhodri bowed low, first over Catrìona’s hand. “A rare vixen,” he said smiling up at her. Then he took the hand of Catrìona’s cousin and placed a kiss on her knuckles. “The rarest of jewels. Your midnight hair, fair skin and dark sapphire eyes make me think you Welsh, my lady, and cause me to long for the land of my youth.”

The dark-haired girl blushed, seemingly flattered, as Steinar was certain Rhodri had meant her to be. His friend had won the heart of many a woman at Malcolm’s court. But the bard’s lingering kiss on Fia’s hand and his intense gaze told Steinar this woman was more to Rhodri than just another pretty girl.

“Fia,” breathed Rhodri in his deep voice. “A lovely name for a lovely woman.”

Ignoring his friend’s besotted state, Steinar offered his arm to Catrìona. “May I escort you to your table?”

Placing her hand on his arm, she flashed him a smile and whispered, “How could I refuse a gallant scribe who only this day rescued a drowning lady?”

He laughed. “’Tis difficult to drown in a few feet of water, my lady, but aye, how could you refuse?”