Page 34 of The Refuge

“What do you know of Isla?” Catrìona asked her cousin in a whisper.

“Only what the queen told us after you left the hall. Her family is from Ayrshire in the west where her father has much land in oats and barley. He raises cattle, too.”

“Ayrshire lies south of the vale on the Firth of Clyde,” said Catrìona, idly thinking here was yet another woman to be bartered away by the king. She was glad she would not share such a fate.

Once they were all inside the hall, Isla was introduced to the queen’s ladies and Audra kindly offered to show their newest member to her chamber, which the two of them would share.

The king and queen set about entertaining the men and Isla’s mother. A few minutes later, Catrìona and Fia left for their own chamber to retrieve their cloaks, for the queen had told her ladies they would be joining her on an outing that day. As they passed Audra’s door, the sounds of an argument could be heard.

“I will not rise before dawn, nor will I feed urchins. And I have no intention of living like a nun. I am here to gain a husband!”

Audra’s words in reply were soft and muffled. Catrìona could only imagine what she had said to Isla. Exchanging a look with Fia, she said, “It seems we are in for a storm.”

“Aye,” said Fia, as they continued down the corridor. “Isla’s concerns are all for herself. I pity the man to whom the king gives her.”

“If she is unkind to Audra, I may decide not to like her,” Catrìona said, wondering how one as selfish as Isla would fare among them. After living as one of the queen’s ladies and seeing Margaret give of herself to the poor and the needy, she had come to admire her mistress. Even the early rising and the hour of morning prayer were not so onerous as they had seemed at first.

The queen’s errand that afternoon took them to a small hill about a mile south of Dunfermline toward the River Forth. It had rained during the night and the ground was soft and the grass damp.

The queen sat on a large stone bench, reading from a small book.

“Does the queen come here to read?” Catrìona asked Audra from where they stood some distance away. Isobel, the most senior of the queen’s ladies would know, but Catrìona preferred to ask Audra, who did not seem to mind her many questions.

“She comes here to meet the people, making herself available to any who would speak with her.”

Catrìona nodded. She was becoming accustomed to her mistress’ unusual behavior. She and Audra found seats on nearby rocks. Fia joined them.

Audra leaned in to say, “Sometimes the queen takes coins from the king’s treasury to give to the poor who come.”

Audra’s words reminded Catrìona of a conversation she’d had with Steinar about a time he had overheard the king teasing Margaret concerning her thievery.

“Once he even threatened to have her arrested,” the scribe said.

Knowing the king’s reputation for being harsh, Catrìona had been horrified at the thought. “Would he do that?”

“Nay, but he made a great show of it before erupting into laughter. The king is well aware that Margaret never seeks anything for herself alone. He found her theft highly amusing.”

“What did Margaret do?”

“The queen just smiled and reminded Malcolm she had brought him a good dowry and the poor needed the coins more than he did.”

The idea of Margaret admonishing the king brought a smile to Catrìona’s face. The queen’s logic was flawless.

“I think they both enjoyed the exchange,” Steinar concluded.

Catrìona had grown fond of her conversations with the scribe. She had often found herself looking for him when the men came into the hall to break their fast. He always had something interesting to tell her. She loved his stories of his home and his sister he seemed to admire. After the morning meal, she would stop to talk to him outside the tower. Sometimes Giric joined them, hanging on the scribe’s every word, for it was clear the boy admired him.

The king also valued Steinar, ever calling for the scribe’s aid in deciphering some missive he had received. Their two heads, one dark, one light, would bend over the parchment and the king would nod his understanding as Steinar read the words. In recent days, messages had come more frequently, making Catrìona wonder at the cause.

The queen spoke just then to one of the ladies, calling Catrìona back to the present, but the thought of Steinar did not immediately leave her. Images of his golden hair shimmering in the light of the sun and the feel of his lips on hers flickered in her mind. She chided herself for thinking of the scribe when she should be thinking of Domnall. He was due back today from a trip he had made in furtherance of a matter of trade for the king. Mayhap with his return, she would think more about him.

Her musings were interrupted by a group of women who walked toward the queen from the direction of the village. Some carried babes in their arms, others were accompanied by small children tagging along beside them.

Margaret invited them to join her and greeted the children.

“When is the new prince to be born?” asked one of the village women, who balanced a young child on her hip. The woman’s tunic was plain and faded beneath her thin shawl. A simple head covering marked her a married woman.

“In early September,” said Margaret, rubbing her hand over her belly.