Page 19 of The Refuge

Catrìona could only imagine what it must have been like for the young queen amid the king’s rough warriors. Margaret had changed many things, bringing a civility to Malcolm’s court apparently absent before. “He must love you all the more for it.”

Margaret blushed. “I am happy he loves me at all, but in truth, he was willing to make the changes because he saw the wisdom in them.”

“And because they were important to you,” said the queen’s sister.

“Well, I for one am glad for the hearty fare your kitchen prepares,” said an enthusiastic Elspeth. “I can only imagine what the king’s men dined on before you came to Dunfermline.”

The queen seemed amused. “They did not use many spices or sauces in those days. The fare was simple and the meat cooked in the hall over the central hearth fire and not always well.”

The queen’s ladies, who had come after the changes were made, laughed at the queen’s description of men tearing great chunks of meat off haunches of venison and boar roasted over an open fire in the hall.

Cristina huffed. “’Twas hardly acceptable.”

After that, the women went back to their needlework and Catrìona did the same, enduring the stabs of her needle for another hour. Finally, she looked up at the light coming through the window, thinking it must be time to meet Giric. Desperate for a change and longing for the diversion flying Kessog would bring, she glanced at Margaret whose deft fingers were working small, perfect stiches of golden thread into a large square of ivory silk. An altar cloth.

“My Lady,” Catrìona said, setting aside her embroidery. The queen paused in her needlework and lifted her brows in inquiry. “Would it be permitted for me to show one of the orphans my falcon? The lad seemed most eager to see it when we broke our fast together this morning.”

The other women, Fia among them, kept their heads down, their busy hands pausing only briefly with Catrìona’s question.

The queen’s sister frowned, clearly disapproving of the request. A few years younger than Margaret, Cristina was not so pretty or, Catrìona sensed, so kind as the queen. “Your falcon? Surely that is no seemly pet for a lady.”

“Kessog is no pet,” said Catrìona. “He is a wild bird of prey raised to hunt.”

Thankfully, the queen was not as rigid as her sister and intervened before an argument could begin. “Of course you may go. While I encourage my ladies in their embroidery to adorn the chapel’s altar and to make beautiful their clothing, we do much more than needlework at Dunfermline. In time you will see, but for today, bringing joy to a small orphan shall be your devotional. ’Twas the lad, Giric, was it not?”

“Aye, My Lady.”

“He is a most unusual boy,” said the queen. “Misfortune has not dulled his young spirit. Your time with him will be well spent.”

Catrìona thanked her new mistress and hurried out of the chamber and down the long set of stairs to the hall below. Grabbing the pouch of meat she had earlier begged from the kitchen servants, she raced through the front door to find Giric already waiting.

“I thought ye’d fergot,” he said, pushing away from the tower wall. In his voice she heard the resignation of one used to being disappointed.

“Nay, I did not forget. Come,” she extended her hand and he took it. “I will show you Kessog. Mayhap we can fly him. Would you like that?”

His eyes glistened in delight. “Oh, aye! Be it allowed?”

She nodded and they walked toward the mews, the boy asking her questions about the falcon, what he looked like, how big he was, how long she had trained him and, finally, “Does he hunt?”

“Aye, of course. For birds, mostly; ducks are a particular favorite of Kessog’s.” Again, she had the urge to ask him how he lost his parents. She hoped eventually he would tell her of his own accord. Instead, after she’d answered his questions about the falcon, she asked, “Where do you stay?”

“In the village with the others. ’Tis not far.” Catrìona had yet to see the village but was glad the boy had company and a place to sleep.

“One day I will see it, but now we must meet my brother,” she encouraged. “You will like him.”

Niall was already waiting for her as she and Giric stepped into the structure that was home to the king’s hawks.

Machar retrieved Kessog from his perch. “Good afternoon, my lady.”

She returned Machar’s greeting and said to her brother, “Niall, this is my new friend, Giric.”

She was certain she had done the right thing in bringing the boy when he looked up at Niall and enthusiastically asked, “Do ye fly falcons, too?”

Niall tousled the boy’s hair. “Aye, ’tis a sport our father favored. Once, we had many more than just Kessog.” He shot Catrìona a glance, regret in his eyes, for his own peregrine falcon had been taken as plunder by the Northmen.

Machar handed the hooded Kessog to Niall, who lowered the bird for Giric to stroke the falcon’s breast feathers. “Gently,” her brother instructed.

Awestruck, Giric said, “He is…” The boy hesitated as if searching for a word.