Page 38 of The Refuge

Catrìona’s brows drew together, first in confusion, then in dismay, as she saw her intended kiss the hand of Blackwell’s daughter and lead her to a group of dancers. “Why does Domnall seek her out?”

“You need look no farther than her father’s fortune,” came Fia’s retort. “My father once told me the Mormaer of Blackwell has much land and many ships.”

Would Domnall seek the hand of another for greater fortune? Shamed that the man to whom she had promised her heart had chosen another to partner, Catrìona turned to go. “I cannot stay,” she said.

She was in such a hurry to get away she did not see the tall blond scribe step into her path until she nearly collided with him. His chest was suddenly before her face and she came to a sudden stop, raising her head to look into his eyes.

He grinned broadly. “Will you grant me a dance, my lady?”

Swallowing hard, she blinked back the tears she had been holding in. “Of… of course.” She took his offered hand and they joined the dancers forming one of the circles. His hand was large and warm and his grip sure. Somehow knowing he had hold of her gave her comfort. Too, it might be good for Domnall to see she was not bereft of admirers.

The steps of the dance took them around the circle to the left. Given his limp, she was surprised how agile Steinar was at the quick steps. The dance forced her to concentrate and she smiled stiffly at the others, for inwardly she was hurting. The pain of Domnall’s defection gnawed away at her. Appearing to be gay when she was downcast was not easy, but Steinar’s seeming delight at being her partner helped to soothe the hurt Domnall’s rejection had caused.

She stole a glance at the circle of dancers that included Domnall and Blackwell’s daughter along with Elspeth and the king’s captain.

Steinar drew her attention back to him when he said, “I have not had such a beautiful partner since the queen condescended to dance with me some months ago.” Catrìona saw laughter in his beautiful blue thistle eyes.

She did not hide her gratitude. “To compare me to Margaret is high praise, indeed. You exaggerate, of course.” Giving him a small smile, she added, “But I will allow it.”

The pace of the dance quickened as the minstrels played faster. When Fia and the bard joined their circle, Catrìona reached up to speak into Steinar’s ear so he could hear her over the music. “Your friend partners with my cousin.”

Watching the two, Steinar said, “Rhodri is much taken with her. He imagines she is Welsh.”

“I have not known any Welshmen, save the bard, but Fia’s roots are in Alba; she is a true Gael.”

“Aye, he knows it, but he is smitten all the same.”

Catching glimpses of Fia and the Welshman holding hands and dancing, their smiles only for each other, Catrìona admitted, “And she with him.”

“Rhodri is an unusual man,” said Steinar.

“Because, like you, he is educated?”

“That and more. Even I do not know his whole story. He rarely speaks of his past.”

The song ended and their hands dropped to their sides as they waited for another round to begin. Without meaning to, Catrìona’s gaze caught Isla of Blackwell’s hand reaching to Domnall’s chest as she laughed. Pulling her thoughts back to the man standing beside her, she listened as he went on.

“Rhodri was in England for several years before coming with me to Scotland.”

“Why did he come here?”

“’Twas for friendship’s sake. I could not stay in England but my wound made travel difficult. Rhodri helped me. I have always known someday he would return to Wales but I would not wish it to be soon.”

The music began again and he took her hand, joining with the new circle forming. Forcing her gaze away from the circle where Domnall danced with the woman from Blackwell, Catrìona kept her eyes on the golden-haired scribe and her mind on the steps of the dance.

When the music stopped, she realized Steinar had not limped while they were dancing. “Your leg is better.”

“Aye, ’tis better every day.”

The circle of dancers Catrìona and Steinar were a part of made room for the king and queen who had decided to join in the dancing. They were a handsome couple with his kingly presence and her graceful bearing. On his dark head, he wore a golden crown. Her flaxen plaits hung long beneath her gold-crowned headscarf. Margaret was years younger than her husband and very pretty as she smiled up at the king. It was obvious they had danced together many times for they moved as one through the steps.

When the song ended, Catrìona was standing near the queen. Margaret put a hand to her chest, breathing deeply. “I am out of breath but I did love it so!”

On Margaret’s other side, the king said, “Aye, mo cridhe, it has been too long.”

A servant brought the king and the queen goblets of wine. Margaret sipped hers. Malcolm took a large swig and handed the goblet back to the servant. Bowing to the queen, the king walked to the center of the room, the eyes of the crowd upon him.

Margaret drew near Catrìona. “You must see this.” Then the queen moved to the side of the room, her eyes on her husband.