Page 23 of The Refuge

A look of annoyance crossed her face. “If you do not mind my being so bold, Steinar of Talisand, from what I have observed, you do not have the look of a scribe.”

“I assure you I am educated to the role,” he said, amused.

“Nay, you misunderstand. I did not mean you had not the skills, else the king would use another. But you carry yourself like one of his knights, in form a warrior, not a clerk.”

He was pleased she thought him a warrior, but he wanted to continue their wordplay, which he very much enjoyed. “Bold, indeed, to speak of a man’s form and bearing.”

Her brows drew together and her lips, previously full and lush, pressed together in a thin line. He had been right to think she had a temper. He sensed a fire simmered just beneath the surface. “I only meant—” she started to say.

“I knew what you meant,” he interrupted. “In truth, I was injured so that I now wield a quill instead of a sword.”

She was immediately contrite. “Oh, forgive me. ’Twas not my part to suggest—”

“I was not offended, my lady. I like spirit in a woman but few men do, especially those at Malcolm’s court. They will expect you to be like Margaret’s other ladies, quiet and docile.”

“They will be sorely disappointed,” she said with apparent indifference.

But I will not. The thought made him smile, but she paid no notice. He liked this woman, so different from the others.

When they arrived at the mews, she returned the falcon to his perch. Giric was nowhere in sight.

“I can see you to the tower, my lady, as I must shortly meet there with the king.”

She nodded and they walked along speaking of life in Dunfermline. It was pleasant to hear her voice, even more so to watch the expressions that crossed her beautiful face. But he had to remember she was a mormaer’s niece and he no longer had the rank to court such a woman. The stark truth of his circumstances rankled.

They approached the tower where a man with dark hair and a beard waited by the door, his arms crossed over his chest and an angry scowl aimed at Catrìona on his face.

“Angus!” she exclaimed before they reached the man.

“Milady, I was concerned,” he said, still frowning. “When I inquired about ye, I was told ye were not with the queen’s ladies, that ye had left the tower.”

“But I did so with the queen’s permission,” she assured him.

With her explanation, the man’s expression softened.

Who is he to her?

“Angus, you have yet to meet the king’s scribe, Steinar of Talisand.”

Steinar reached his open hand to grasp the man’s, showing him he had nothing to hide.

Angus grasped Steinar’s hand but returned him a skeptical look.

“He happened upon Niall and me when we were flying Kessog. I wanted to show the falcon to one of the young orphans and the queen agreed I could do so.”

“Oh.”

She turned to Steinar. “Angus came with Niall and me from the vale. He was one of my father’s guards.”

“Now yers,” Angus insisted, casting a sharp glance toward Steinar. Obviously this man considered himself Catrìona’s protector.

“Thank you for seeing me back to the tower,” she said to Steinar.

Summarily dismissed, he bowed and went through the door, heading to his meeting with the king. Malcolm was another willful Scot, but like the woman, one he respected.

* * *

Catrìona and Fia dressed for dinner in the gowns Audra had told them the queen preferred her ladies wear.