Page 49 of The Refuge

He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Have no worry for the future, my Fia. Trust me to have guard over that as well.”

* * *

Early the next morning, before the sun had made an appearance, Catrìona joined the queen and her ladies in the chapel to pray for Malcolm and his men. Her conversations with Fia had convinced her that her cousin worried for the bard who would lead the king’s archers into battle. Catrìona was concerned for Steinar and the limp that always told her he was weary. Niall, too, would go and she feared for him, as well. She could not lose her brother.

Kneeling, she said her prayers in Latin but the rote words did not echo the cry of her heart. Kings went out to war with little thought for the women they left behind. A woman’s only weapon was prayer. But she had learned from Margaret, it was a mighty weapon.

Oh God, please bring them safely back to me.

The mood, as they broke their fast that morning, was somber. Even Giric was subdued as he stared at the men eating in their mail-clad tunics with swords and knives belted at their waists.

The men, eager to ride, were noisy in their leaving as they pushed back the benches, speaking of the coming raid and headed for the door. Catrìona watched them pass, ignoring their interested gazes. More of Malcolm’s men had begun to notice her now that Domnall openly paid court to Isla.

As the men flowed out the door, she spotted Steinar standing to the side, talking with one of the men. When he was alone, she came to stand before him. He had plaited the hair on either side of his face keeping the hair from his eyes. He wore mail and belted at his waist was a sword, marks of his new position as a king’s guard.

“Catrìona,” he said, looking glad to see her.

His unusual eyes drew her into their depths and suddenly it was hard to breathe. “I… I have yet to thank you for what you did for my brother.”

“Niall came to Giric’s rescue and I came to aid Niall. I only did what needed being done. I do not think Rian will bother him or the boy again.”

“You have my gratitude.” And more. “I have never seen any man better with a sword.”

“I grow stronger.”

“But you will be careful now that you serve as one of the king’s guards?” She could not bring herself to admit he was going to Northumbria to raid even though she perceived well enough the king’s intent.

“I will.”

“And I will pray for your safe return.”

He smiled at her words. “I am grateful, my lady, and I would ask a favor.”

“Anything,” she said.

“Your cousin has given Rhodri one of her ribands to take with him, a simple token from a queen’s lady. Might I beg one of yours?”

It was the gesture of a woman who held a tendre for a warrior to give him a token of her affection. She knew Fia had a fondness for the bard and Catrìona certainly harbored a tendre for Steinar, though she had never told him of her feelings. Still, she did not stop to consider. She would not deny the request of a man riding off to battle, mayhap to his death.

Without hesitating, she pulled an emerald silk riband from her plait and handed it to him. “To remind you that I will pray for your safe return.”

He pressed the silk to his lips, then tucked it beneath his mail. “I shall carry it next to my heart, my lady.” He bowed and followed the other warriors out of the hall.

She watched him go through the door. He takes my heart with him.

As the last of the men left the tower, with a feeling of resignation sitting heavy on her chest, she followed. Just outside, the sun was making its appearance, silhouetting the men against the gold-tinged sky.

Catrìona went to stand beside Fia, who stood in front of the tower with the other women watching the warriors mounting their horses, their shields and helms fixed to their saddles.

At the head of the column, King Malcolm sat proudly on his white charger. Beside him was Duff, Mormaer of Fife, on his chestnut-colored courser. Two battle-hardened warriors setting off again. Audra had told them her father’s place as leader of the king’s army was a privilege granted for Duff’s loyalty during the time Malcolm fought for his crown.

Steinar rode a fine black horse, a stallion strong of bone with a deep chest and long mane. She had never seen him clad in mail and mounted on a horse. Her heart ached seeing him depart with Malcolm’s warriors, heavily armed for war. But Steinar’s expression told her he was pleased to be among them.

Giric appeared beside her and slipped his small hand in hers. “Be he all right?”

She heard the tremble in his young voice and knew of whom he spoke for he and Steinar had formed a bond. “Aye, he will,” she said, assuring him as she did herself. He must return.

Fia’s gaze followed the bard, riding in front of the archers. Still holding Giric’s hand, Catrìona put her other arm around Fia. “They will return, for the queen prays for them and her prayers are surely of great effect.”