Page 9 of The Refuge

The woman’s pleasant face and unassuming air contrasted with what Catrìona knew of the Mormaer of Fife, the warrior who led the king’s army. Since Dunfermline was in Fife, to make conversation, Catrìona said, “You did not have far to travel.”

“Nay, not far,” Audra said with a smile.

Next in the circle of women was Davina. “I come from Lothian to the south.” Her sweet smile was set in a round face with brown eyes framed by honey-colored hair. By her expression, Catrìona judged her to have a genial nature. “Welcome,” was all Davina said.

Mayhap she is shy.

Isobel, darker in both hair and skin than the others, was quick to inform them she had served Margaret since she became queen two years ago. Catrìona thought she heard Isobel say she was from Ross in the north.

Lastly, there was Elspeth. “I am from west of Fife near Loch Tay.” To Catrìona’s mind, by her giddy demeanor, Elspeth appeared to be the youngest of the ladies, especially after seeing the flirtatious looks she flung at the men with her large brown eyes that were the same color as her hair.

“We passed Loch Tay as we traveled to Dunkeld a year ago,” said Catrìona. “’Tis very beautiful.” She resisted the urge to say Loch Lomond was far more resplendent. She was very proud of the beauty of the vale.

“Aye, Loch Tay is grand,” said Elspeth, stretching out the word “grand”.

Catrìona thanked the women for their welcome. She could scarce recall their names, much less which one came from where. In time I will know them well.

Fia had told her the queen’s ladies were rumored to be pious to a woman, making Catrìona wonder if she would be accepted into their company. Pious was not a word she would have used to describe herself. What little faith she had possessed had been shaken by the attack on the vale and the deaths of her parents.

“We lose ladies from time to time,” offered Audra once they were all acquainted.

“Lose them?” Fia repeated, startled.

“Yes. Lose them to their new husbands,” she said in a teasing manner, “as one of us is married off by the king. You two replace ones we lost in such a manner.”

The others laughed but the queen remained quiet, leaving Catrìona curious as to whether Margaret considered herself one of those who had been “married off”.

She was inwardly relieved that her own betrothal was soon to be secured, sparing her such a fate. The prospect of being bartered to one of the king’s men she did not even know sounded dismal.

When those gathered in the hall began to take their seats, the queen bid Catrìona and Fia to follow her to the dais, explaining as special guests, along with Matad and Niall, they were invited to dine with the king and his family.

The queen introduced them to her younger sister, Cristina, whose fair coloring was like Margaret’s, and then seated Catrìona beside Edgar, Margaret’s brother, with Fia on Catrìona’s other side. Niall took his place beyond Fia, while Matad sat on the king’s left with the queen’s sister. The queen then joined the king in the place of honor on his right.

Smells of roast game and spiced vegetables filled the air as servants set platters and bowls before them laden with food. Bread, smelling fresh from the oven, was added to the table along with goblets filled with red wine.

Casting an indifferent glance at the trencher she shared with Edgar, Catrìona tried to muster an appetite and found she was more weary than hungry. Voices rose around her but her mind wandered and she did not attend the conversations. She was relieved to see Edgar conversing with his sister, the queen, and Fia occupied with her meal. Niall, on Fia’s other side, was staring into the hall.

Catrìona’s gaze drifted over the men and women conversing in low voices as they ate. The variety of those in attendance surprised her. Some, who must be the king’s warriors, had a rough appearance, their long hair and beards unkempt. Powerfully built with swords under their seats, their arms displayed bulging muscles. Their tunics were sewn in shades of brown, dark blue and green, more suitable to hiding from their enemies than for a king’s court.

Other men stood out like brightly plumed birds in richly colored velvets and woolens. Sitting among them she spotted Domnall and her heart sped. She tried to catch his eye but was not successful. He had not changed much in the months since he’d last come to Dunkeld. Always well attired, tonight he looked the part of the successful trader. One with like apparel sat next to him: a man of middle years with sun-streaked hair to his broad shoulders. When they had first taken their seats, she had heard the king address him as Maerleswein and wondered if he was a Dane as his name suggested.

Her eyes paused on a servant woman setting dishes before the men. One of the warriors wrapped his arm around the woman’s waist and she pulled away. Like many of the servants in the king’s hall, this one appeared to be Saxon in both style of tunic and speech when she chided the man. Some of the female servants carried themselves like ladies, making Catrìona wonder at their origins.

Edgar urged her to eat, gesturing to their shared trencher that he had piled high with meat and vegetables. “You must be hungry after the journey from Dunkeld. ’Tis a far ride and hard on a woman, all day in the saddle.”

Catriona swallowed a defensive reply. He must not be accustomed to women who rode. Reining in her nagging concerns she wondered just what her uncle had committed her to. But then she chided herself. Edgar is just being polite. Tonight I must be agreeable.

“You have the right of it, of course. It was a far ride and I expect the queen will have much for us to do on the morrow.”

Edgar burst into laughter, nearly spewing his wine. Wiping his mouth with a cloth, he said, “My sister will have you up to pray while ’tis still dark. Trust me, to keep pace with her, you will need your strength. Best eat while you can.”

“You persuade me,” she said, smiling at the handsome young man. For the first time, she noticed the golden curls and blue eyes so like the queen’s and the way he held his head, as if he wore an invisible crown. She had heard that two years prior, thousands of Northumbrians fought the Normans in York to try and win the throne of England for Edgar. But they had failed.

How disappointed he must be.

With her eating knife, Catrìona speared a small piece of roast boar and brought it to her mouth. The combination of aromas from spices and herbs and the taste of the succulent meat roused her appetite. “’Tis very good.”

“Aye,” Edgar said, spearing a piece of meat with his eating knife. “Margaret demands a well-run kitchen. ’Tis what she was used to before we came here.”