Page 44 of Summer Warrior

Maurice smiled. “A message for the princess?”

There was no sense in denying what was obvious to all. “Aye.”

“Of course, I’ll carry the message.”

An idea came to Somerled that afternoon as he continued to work and he realized that he had his own need to sail to Ireland. In Ulaid, not far from Maurice’s family, Somerled’s mother cared for his son, Gillecolum, still a boy but of an age to be with his father.

Over dinner that night, he spoke of his idea to Maurice. “I have been thinking that since the smith, MacEachern, has shown great leadership over the construction and will soon see it accomplished, I would sail to Ireland with you to retrieve my son.”

Maurice smiled. “I would welcome your company. And then you could deliver your own message to the Isle of Man.”

The Isle of Man

RAGNHILD LED FAIRHAIR from the stables into a rare day of sun. Lord Fergus had remained on the isle for a fortnight and, in that time, the rain had been unrelenting. She was glad when he sailed back to Galloway, taking his unruly warriors with him. Fortunately, she had not been forced to deal with them but her father’s men complained bitterly of their fighting and harrying the isle’s young women.

Now that they were gone and the sky was clear, she wanted to ride to her favorite spot, the cliffs above Niarbyl Bay, where she could think without the incessant duties that dogged her in the castle.

Confined to the inner bailey and the stables for some time, Fairhair was eager to run. So, they galloped over the hills, Ragnhild’s mantle blowing behind her, whipped by the wind. Exhilarated, she felt more alive than she had in days.

Arriving at the bay, she reined in Fairhair and looked down from the cliff. The rain of the past few weeks had painted much of the landscape green. Against the blue-gray waters of the bay and the white-topped waves breaking on the shore, it was breathtaking.

She slid from the saddle to walk Fairhair forward where they stood looking out to sea. Stroking his broad neck, she listened to the waves and watched the fulmars as they wheeled effortlessly in front of the cliffs, taking advantage of the onshore winds.

She inhaled deeply the smell of ocean and salt, an elixir to her soul after so many days confined to the castle.

Ragnhild had believed she would be content to stay on the Isle of Man for the rest of her life. Yet, sometime in the last year, she had begun to think otherwise. Now, a longing had grown within her to stand by the side of a golden warrior.