Page 8 of The Refuge

“Well then,” she said, “mayhap ’twill be my brother who will fly Kessog most often in the time remaining before his summer molt.”

Catrìona felt better for leaving her falcon in the care of another, knowing Machar and Niall would keep Kessog happy when she could not attend him.

With a nod toward her brother, she left them to seek out her cousin. Her uncle had told her that she and Fia would likely share a chamber in the tower, as did the queen’s other ladies.

Just inside the tower, she paused to admire the great hall. Two long trestle tables flanked a central hearth. At the head of the two tables was another table set upon a dais. The king’s table. All the seats were benches save two high-backed chairs on the dais where she imagined the king and queen would sit tonight.

Several servants were in the hall, going about their business. One of them, observing Catrìona looking around, told her the ladies’ chambers were on the second floor as were the chambers of the king and queen and offered to show her the one assigned to her and Fia.

Catrìona followed the servant up the stairs to a long corridor with many doors. At the end, a window shed light on the wooden floor. When she asked, the servant told her the corridor wrapped around the square tower. “That allows the hall to be two stories high.”

The servant stopped in front of one chamber midway down the corridor and gestured to a door on the left. Catrìona thanked her and entered to find Fia bent over her chest, digging through garments.

Lifting one of her gowns, Fia looked over her shoulder to where Catrìona stood appraising the room. “They brought your chest,” Fia said, pointing to the end of the other bed. “There are pegs for our cloaks, too.”

The chamber was sparsely appointed but more than adequate to Catrìona’s mind. Two narrow beds took up most of the space. Atop them were well-stuffed bed cushions with blue woolen covers. The only other furniture was a small table between the beds, a brazier for warmth, a side table and a stool. Catrìona walked to the one window. Its shutters open, she looked down on the burn that flowed around the tower like a moat.

“’Tis not as large as your bedchamber in Atholl,” she said, “but will serve us well.”

“Aye,” Fia agreed. “’Tis clean and at least we are alone.”

Catrìona sat upon the bed that would be hers, the one on the left side of the window. “’Tis comfortable.”

“Mine, as well. Oh, a servant brought us water to wash.” Fia pointed to a pitcher and a bowl sitting on the side table.

“I noticed several servants speaking the Saxon tongue to each other on my way here,” Catrìona remarked. “I wonder why there are so many.”

“They are among the English who fled the Normans,” said Fia, “and thankfully, the ones I spoke with can speak a bit of Gaelic, too.”

Feeling quite gritty from the day’s ride, Catrìona walked to the side table and proceeded to wash the dust from her face. “I would love a bath but I suppose it will have to wait.”

Fia refolded her gowns into the chest. “Even with a great number of servants it must be difficult to provide baths for all.”

“Mayhap there is a stream that affords privacy.” Catrìona spoke her thought aloud. The water would be cold but at least she would be clean.

“With so many men around, only you would think of bathing in a stream.”

Catrìona opened her chest, mumbling to herself about preferring to be clean even if she had to wash in the woods surrounded by men.

Soon they were both somewhat refreshed and had helped each other to don proper gowns.

“We do not really need a servant to help us,” observed Catrìona, “and I doubt one will be provided. Here, I will help you do your plaits and you can help me with mine.”

By the time they arrived in the hall, the cavernous room was filling with those attending the evening meal. Torches set in sconces, a fire in the stone hearth and a myriad of candles provided ample light.

Catrìona and Fia stood to one side watching those assembled. Boisterous conversations erupted in laughter, some in Gaelic but others in the Saxon tongue. Most of those in attendance were men but some women mingled among them, which was a comfort to Catrìona. Spotting the queen surrounded by several other women, Catrìona tugged on Fia’s sleeve.

“’Tis the queen and her ladies. Let us join them.”

They launched forth, passing clusters of men and drawing interested stares. Catrìona attributed their curious gazes to the fact she and Fia were new. Or, it could be her bright auburn hair. Her father had once told her, “Anyone would know you are mine by that thick head of dark red hair, little cat.” She felt, but did not return, the men’s stares as she guided Fia through the throng to where the queen stood.

Margaret had changed into another beautiful gown, this one azure silk embroidered in golden thread at the neck and sleeves. Seeing Catrìona approach, the queen raised her head to greet them. “My new ladies, Catrìona and Fia. Did you find all you needed in your chamber?”

“Yea,” said Catrìona, “and we thank you, My Lady, for your kindness.”

Margaret gestured toward the women standing with her. “These are your fellow ladies. I will allow them to introduce themselves.”

First came Audra with light brown hair and hazel eyes. “I am the daughter of Duff, Mormaer of Fife. I bid you welcome.”