Page 34 of Summer Warrior

Somerled’s heart sank. He had hoped for a betrothal even if the marriage took place a year hence. Disappointed once again, he asked, “What of Rognvald’s suit? Will you give her to him?”

“That is a question I have pondered since we arrived here and I discovered the earl had come to call on King David. Rognvald informed me his next stop would have been the Isle of Man. I cannot dismiss him, for he is a noble of royal descent. He continues to want Ragnhild for his countess, and my queen urges me to give the princess to him. But my daughter does not favor the man. Though he is wealthy with strong connections to Norway’s king, he is also a braggart, which does not wear well.”

“You must know that I am now stronger than Rognvald.”

“I know your fleet of ships has grown and you can call upon more of your Highlanders.”

“Aye, all that is true.” Somerled pressed his case, deciding to share with Olaf what he would not even tell the Scots king. “And there is something more I would tell you. It concerns the earl.”

Olaf’s bushy red brows lifted. “Yes?”

Somerled rolled up the sleeve of his tunic to show the bandage, the linen still bearing a small smear of dried blood. “This day, he had one of his men try to kill me on the hunt but when I bent to my saddle, the arrow hit my arm instead of my heart.”

Olaf stared at the bloodstained bandage. “Rognvald has admitted this?”

“Not yet, but I have proof and will soon confront him.”

“Why should he do this?”

“Do you not know?” At Olaf’s blank look, Somerled added, “He is aware of my feelings for Ragnhild and, I suspect, of hers for me. He would have no competition for your daughter’s hand. And murder is not above him.”

Olaf let out a sigh of resignation. “A wise man guards what he considers his.”

“And that is how I see Ragnhild, Dear King…my own.”

Olaf shrugged. “There is no reason for haste or violence in this matter, for nothing has been committed. In the meantime, I am selfishly inclined to give her to no one.”

Somerled frowned his frustration. Lacking the prize he had hoped for, he took the crumbs Olaf offered. “Very well, I accept your decision—for the meantime. Still, I will not forsake my quest to claim Ragnhild as mine.”

On Olaf’s face appeared the merest of smiles.

RAGNHILD WONDERED what Somerled had in mind when he asked her father for a private conversation. Might they speak of her? Would Somerled ask for her hand? Or, was she just hoping? They might only discuss an alliance, the kind men who commanded warships and territories might desire.

The two were not gone long. When they returned, her father went to speak to some of his friends and she turned her attention to Somerled. His mood appeared somber. What could have caused so serious an expression?

She watched as Somerled looked around him, his gaze coming to rest upon Earl Rognvald, who had just finished a game of chess with Hugh de Morville. Then he strode to where Rognvald sat before the empty board replacing the chess pieces. He must have asked the earl if he wanted to play another game for Rognvald gestured to the empty seat. They exchanged a few words and began to play.

From where Ragnhild stood next to Beatrice, Hugh de Morville’s wife, she could see well the chess game as it proceeded. Not far away, the pretty girl Somerled had brought to David’s court stood, her eyes always on her lord. Who was she?

Ragnhild had observed no whispered words between the girl and Somerled, no touches or looks like a man would give his mistress. But did that signify? Mayhap he was just being discreet.

The women’s gossip around Ragnhild did not require her attention but she did not hesitate to respond to the question Beatrice asked. “Have you enjoyed Irvine?”

Between sips of her wine and furtive looks at the chess game, Ragnhild said, “Oh, yes. There is so much more to occupy one’s time here than at home.”

Beatrice smiled, her dark eyes glinting in the fire light. “I forget you live on an island.”

Ragnhild nodded. “The Isle of Man does have its limitations. We’ve not the many shops, but I often sail with my father to Ireland and Galloway and the isles that are his.”

“My travels are mostly on land,” replied Beatrice, “and the distances across Scotland are far. Riding for long days can be wearisome.”

Ragnhild stole a surreptitious glance at the ongoing chess game. Judging by the pieces piled up next to Somerled, he was winning. The scowl on Rognvald’s face, made harsher by the candle casting him in shadows, gave proof to her assumption.

“I do love to ride,” Ragnhild said, “though perhaps not for days on end.”

“You do not mind the cold and wet weather of the Irish Sea?” asked Beatrice, seeming to shudder.

“My father takes pains to see I am comfortable, giving me the warmest of fur-lined mantles. Aside from that, I was raised as much on his longship as on land. I love the sea and the sight of the isles rising from it.”