Read Online Rebel Warrior (Medieval Warriors #3) by Regan Walker - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Regan Walker
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the sky and we can walk to the burn.”
He bid her a good day and she wished him a successful hunt, watching him walk to his place next to Maerleswein. It had not been the longed for meeting she had hoped for. He had not even taken her hand. Had time and distance changed his feelings? Yet, she was certain it was desire she had glimpsed in his eyes.
* * *
Catrìona’s fingers, unused to embroidery, were red from her many missed stabs of the needle. It has scarce been an hour. How will I survive more of this?
Margaret, her sister, Cristina, and the queen’s ladies were tucked away in one of the chambers the queen called her own, the women bent to their needlework, each embellishing a piece of cloth or a garment.
“Tell us about your home,” said an exuberant Elspeth.
Catrìona glanced up from her needlework to see the youngest of Margaret’s ladies looking at her expectantly and sitting forward on her stool.
Happy for an excuse to lay aside her embroidery, Catrìona began to describe her home in the vale, recalling happier days, before the Norse attack. “ ’Tis the most beautiful place in all of Scotland, not that I have seen all of Scotland, but I cannot imagine any place more magnificent. Why, you can stand on Ben Lomond and gaze far ahead into the bluest loch anywhere on earth. ’Tis like gazing into… Heaven.” Without warning, a lump formed in her throat and tears welled in her eyes, making her feel foolish before the other women at the emotion the mere memory of her home roused within her.
The queen came to her rescue. Smiling kindly, she said “I have heard ’tis a wondrous place.”
“Did you come to Dunfermline to find a husband?” asked the dark-haired Isobel, the eldest of Margaret’s ladies.
The question was a bold one, and since most of them were sent to Malcolm’s court to do just that, it hardly seemed necessary to ask, but seeing the women’s sudden interest and because she was proud of her intended, she said, “My father selected a husband for me but we are not yet betrothed.” Surely the king and queen were aware of her circumstances, but Catrìona had carefully worded her reply should the others not be aware her father was dead.
“Might he be someone we know?” asked Davina timidly. Of all the queen’s ladies, the honey-haired woman from Lothian appeared the most soft-spoken.
Catrìona cast a glance at Fia before answering. “Aye,” she said proudly. “He is the Irishman from Leinster, Domnall mac Murchada.”
Isobel and Audra appeared surprised to learn she was already promised, but their reaction to her mention of Domnall’s name told her they were familiar with him.
Davina said nothing but on her face was a puzzled expression.
Before Catrìona could explain, Elspeth jumped in. “You know him, Davina. He is the one who is always with Maerleswein, the English sheriff.”
“Maerleswein is no longer a sheriff,” corrected Isobel. “He forfeited his lands and title when he led the rebels in York.”
“Well, he was a sheriff,” Elspeth insisted.
“He served William for a time,” interjected Margaret. The comment went unnoticed but Catrìona wondered what had turned the sheriff against the Norman they now called the Conqueror.
“Maerleswein and Domnall talk of nothing save ships and trade,” said Isobel as if bored by the thought.
“Trade is very important to Scotland,” said Margaret. “I have encouraged the king to pursue it for what it can mean for our people.”
“Aye, said Fia, “My father is keenly interested in being a part of the king’s plans for the sake of Atholl.”
“ ’Twas a good thing to encourage trade that brings new wares to our shores,” said the kind-hearted Audra in defense of the queen’s idea. “My father tells me that before you came to Dunfermline, My Lady, the bright colors and fine clothing the merchants bring to Dunfermline were not seen here. ’Twas only a gathering of rough-clothed warriors
He bid her a good day and she wished him a successful hunt, watching him walk to his place next to Maerleswein. It had not been the longed for meeting she had hoped for. He had not even taken her hand. Had time and distance changed his feelings? Yet, she was certain it was desire she had glimpsed in his eyes.
* * *
Catrìona’s fingers, unused to embroidery, were red from her many missed stabs of the needle. It has scarce been an hour. How will I survive more of this?
Margaret, her sister, Cristina, and the queen’s ladies were tucked away in one of the chambers the queen called her own, the women bent to their needlework, each embellishing a piece of cloth or a garment.
“Tell us about your home,” said an exuberant Elspeth.
Catrìona glanced up from her needlework to see the youngest of Margaret’s ladies looking at her expectantly and sitting forward on her stool.
Happy for an excuse to lay aside her embroidery, Catrìona began to describe her home in the vale, recalling happier days, before the Norse attack. “ ’Tis the most beautiful place in all of Scotland, not that I have seen all of Scotland, but I cannot imagine any place more magnificent. Why, you can stand on Ben Lomond and gaze far ahead into the bluest loch anywhere on earth. ’Tis like gazing into… Heaven.” Without warning, a lump formed in her throat and tears welled in her eyes, making her feel foolish before the other women at the emotion the mere memory of her home roused within her.
The queen came to her rescue. Smiling kindly, she said “I have heard ’tis a wondrous place.”
“Did you come to Dunfermline to find a husband?” asked the dark-haired Isobel, the eldest of Margaret’s ladies.
The question was a bold one, and since most of them were sent to Malcolm’s court to do just that, it hardly seemed necessary to ask, but seeing the women’s sudden interest and because she was proud of her intended, she said, “My father selected a husband for me but we are not yet betrothed.” Surely the king and queen were aware of her circumstances, but Catrìona had carefully worded her reply should the others not be aware her father was dead.
“Might he be someone we know?” asked Davina timidly. Of all the queen’s ladies, the honey-haired woman from Lothian appeared the most soft-spoken.
Catrìona cast a glance at Fia before answering. “Aye,” she said proudly. “He is the Irishman from Leinster, Domnall mac Murchada.”
Isobel and Audra appeared surprised to learn she was already promised, but their reaction to her mention of Domnall’s name told her they were familiar with him.
Davina said nothing but on her face was a puzzled expression.
Before Catrìona could explain, Elspeth jumped in. “You know him, Davina. He is the one who is always with Maerleswein, the English sheriff.”
“Maerleswein is no longer a sheriff,” corrected Isobel. “He forfeited his lands and title when he led the rebels in York.”
“Well, he was a sheriff,” Elspeth insisted.
“He served William for a time,” interjected Margaret. The comment went unnoticed but Catrìona wondered what had turned the sheriff against the Norman they now called the Conqueror.
“Maerleswein and Domnall talk of nothing save ships and trade,” said Isobel as if bored by the thought.
“Trade is very important to Scotland,” said Margaret. “I have encouraged the king to pursue it for what it can mean for our people.”
“Aye, said Fia, “My father is keenly interested in being a part of the king’s plans for the sake of Atholl.”
“ ’Twas a good thing to encourage trade that brings new wares to our shores,” said the kind-hearted Audra in defense of the queen’s idea. “My father tells me that before you came to Dunfermline, My Lady, the bright colors and fine clothing the merchants bring to Dunfermline were not seen here. ’Twas only a gathering of rough-clothed warriors
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