Page 92 of The Refuge

“Ye will not tell the king, will ye?” asked Giric.

“Nay,” the cook assured the boy, “but ’tis not the king you need worry about, ’tis the queen. She is the one with strict rules about eating before the evening meal.”

“Oh,” said the two lads in unison, looking very worried.

Catrìona laughed and reached to where she knew they kept bits of raw meat and put some in her pouch for Kessog.

“We are on our way to the mews,” she told Duncan. “Would you like to come with us to visit my tiercel and see the king’s hawks?”

The youth jumped up from his seat. He was twice Giric’s age, but the two could have been brothers. “I would!”

It was late in the afternoon when they entered the dim light of the mews. Machar was feeding the falcons and seemed happy to see the visitors. “Your tiercel has been pining for you, my lady, but I have kept him fat to hasten his molt. See,” he said, taking Kessog from his perch, “his tail feathers are all in now.”

“But he does not look ready to hunt,” she said with disappointment as she cast a glance over his still ruffled plumage.

“’Twill not be long now. Mayhap another sennight,” said the falconer.

Duncan and Giric spent some time looking at all the hawks. Catrìona stood next to Kessog’s perch stroking his feathers as she marveled at Steinar’s patience with the boys. He listened attentively to their questions, answering them when he could. Machar, with his greater knowledge of the hawks, answered those Steinar could not.

A moment later, Steinar glanced up at her with raised brows as if he had read her mind.

“Aye,” she said, “we had best be going. The evening meal will soon be upon us and the king will be asking for his son.”

She waved goodbye to Giric, who ran off toward the village, and headed toward the tower, Steinar and Duncan talking of the changes Margaret had made since coming to Dunfermline. Catrìona marveled at the friendship between the golden warrior, once a scribe, and the dark-haired youth who was destined to one day be king. Would Steinar serve Duncan as he had his father? Would she be by his side if he did?

* * *

That night, when Catrìona and Fia arrived in the hall for the evening meal, the dais was crowded with persons of high rank and the hall filled with warriors in the service of the king and his esteemed visitors.

On the king’s left sat her uncle, Matad, Mormaer of Atholl. Next to him was Duff, Mormaer of Fife, still recovering from his wound. It would be awhile before the one who led the king’s army sat a horse.

On Duff’s other side was the king’s young son, Duncan.

Edgar helped the queen into her chair beside the king and then sat on her other side. Beside Edgar were the king’s stepsons, the Jarls of Orkney, Paul and Erlend Thorfinnsson.

“Your father sits next to the king,” Catrìona said to her cousin as they joined the other ladies.

Fia spoke into her ear. “Aye and Rhodri will entertain them all. He has prepared some special songs that tell of Alba’s deep past.”

Catrìona had told Fia of Domnall’s disgusting behavior earlier that day and, though Fia was horrified, she was not surprised. “Isla and Domnall deserve each other. He will never be faithful and she will never let him forget it. They will soon be a pair of squabbling ducks.”

“Aye, mayhap you are right,” Catrìona had replied. “I wish them well of each other.”

Not far away sat Steinar and Rhodri, who dipped their heads in greeting when she looked their way. She had been happy to be with Steinar that afternoon and his company had helped to lessen the impact of her encounter with Domnall. But when she thought of what the Irishman had done, her anger returned. She did not like to think of what might have happened had Steinar not come. The golden-haired scribe had become her champion and, if her prayers were answered, one day, he would be more. He might be without land and title but he had the kind of courage and honor the king would not fail to reward. Audra might be wrong in thinking Colbán was more courageous and honorable than all the king’s men. Catrìona believed Steinar could well hold that place.

The meal of roast pheasant and boar was delicious and she vowed to save for Giric a few tasty morsels of meat and whatever sweet they would be served, for the boy would be dining on plainer fare. When she saw a platter of berry tarts arrive at the table, she snatched one up and set it aside to keep for the lad.

Finally, it was time for the entertainment. Rhodri took up his harp and walked to the front of the room, a signal to all to quiet in anticipation of the bard’s songs.

Suddenly, the tower door burst open and in stepped a tall man clad in unusual garb with a longbow and a quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder. He was flanked by two burly guards in similar attire who also carried longbows. The tall man’s tunic was dark green in color, his hosen dark brown, heavier than that worn by Malcolm’s men and loose about his legs. Over all of it, he wore a sleeveless fur cloak that fitted his body but was open down the front. His curly brown hair reached only to his nape and was confined by a leather thong circling his head like a crown.

His eyes scanned the hall, his scrutiny finally alighting on the king.

“Come forward, stranger!” shouted Malcolm.

The man spoke a word to his guards, who remained at the door, and strode toward the dais. Once there, he took his bow and quiver of arrows from his shoulder and bowed, all eyes upon him.

Rhodri, who was standing before the king, moved to one side, an expression of keen interest on his face as he regarded the stranger.