by Regan Walker
Somerled cut a succulent piece of salmon from the platter before them and laid it at her end of the trencher. Then he began tasting the fish and the onions he set on his side. “You are to be commended for the dishes, my lady,” he said between bites. “They are most pleasing to the taste.”
“I am glad you find the food to your liking. Were you to come for Christmas, there would be roast beef and honeyed chicken. Knowing you could not stay for that day, I wanted to provide you with an Advent feast.”
“And you succeeded. I have not dined so well since King David’s court. But the best part is to be with you, to see your face again, to share the day and evening with you.” Beneath the linen-draped table, he took her hand. “Mayhap later we can be alone for a moment.”
“I would like that,” she said, his words bringing a smile to her face. “For me to be with you is a longed-for pleasure.”
She imagined him eating on his galley or in the woods. He seemed a man who could adapt to harsh circumstances if he must to achieve his goal. But surely Christmas would see him celebrating with his Highlanders. “Will you spend Christmas on Islay?”
“Aye, most likely. After we build the chieftains’ hall and lodgings for the lord and his men, I want to raise a chapel. Do you like the idea?”
“I do,” she said. “’Twould be a fine addition, a place to pray.”
“The island in Findlugan’s Loch is sacred ground, having served the saint and his monks centuries ago.”
“I was on Islay once with my father, that time when we encountered rough seas. It was long ago but, even now, I remember the isle’s beauty.”
“You would like it there,” he said. “The loch is private. All manner of waterfowl, birds and deer claim it as home. It will be the place the clan chiefs gather.”
Ragnhild tried to imagine the isle, the loch and the buildings Somerled spoke of. “Will the structures you build be of timber or stone?”
“Timber with thatched roofs with the possible exception of the chapel. For now, I will build in stone only the strongholds needed to protect the sea lanes. Those will be Norman in design, much like Castle Rushen,” he said, sweeping his gaze around the hall.
“You spoke of King David’s summoning you to war. Do you think it likely?”
“Aye,” he said, turning his goblet in his long fingers, the silver catching the light from the candles. “Unless King David changes his course, I think it inevitable.”
“If you will allow, I worry for your safety.”
He smiled at her, his piercing blue eyes intense in the candlelight. “I will not only allow it, Princess, I encourage it. Nothing would please me more than to know your thoughts are of me when I am gone.”
She could not look away. “I will do more, Lord Somerled. I will pray for your safe return for it means much to me.”
The look he gave her spoke of his happiness at her words.
The connection between them had grown stronger, a cord that would forever bind them to each other no matter what would come. Her heart moved for this man and no other. She could not bear to think of his falling in battle.
During the meal, as the minstrels played, a juggler entertained them. Ragnhild watched the juggler even as she felt keenly Somerled’s presence beside her. She wished they could be alone so he could kiss her again. From his looks, she thought he might be thinking the same thing.
Afterward, a bard came forward to stand before the king. “Your Grace, if you allow, I have composed a poem for your guest, Lord Somerled.”
“Say on,” said her father.
Accompanied by the lyre, the bard began to recite.
Great Somerled stands in the prow
Winds swirling, waves crashing, there is no fear now.
Lord of Argyll, Kintyre and Lorne, calm now the seas.
The foe flees before him, broken against the breeze.
Great Somerled, keep free our shore.
Invaders fear; they will come no more.
His galley skims o’er the crested wave.
Great Somerled, the warrior brave!
A roar of “Somerled!” arose from his men and was echoed about the hall. Some got to their feet and lifted tankards of ale in salute. Ragnhild knew many on the isle were grateful for Somerled’s coming, aware he was the one helping to keep the sea lanes free and the pirates from their shores.
The shouts died down as Somerled stood and bowed. “I thank you for your welcome and gracious ode.” Resuming his seat, he turned to her. “Did you have something to do with this, Princess?”
Ragnhild averted her gaze. “Only to challenge the bard. The verses were his.” Then turning back to him with a hopeful expression, “Do you like it?”
“I can hardly complain of such gallant verses though they nearly made me blush.”
She chuckled as she shifted her gaze to the table where Gillecolum was sitting, a wide smile on the boy’s face. “Your son seemed to like the poem. His was the loudest shout.”
“Aye. He sees only a father he has long missed.”
“I believe he sees more, as do I.”
After the evening concluded, Somerled asked her if she might step outside with him. Making sure they were not seen, she found their cloaks and led him through the castle door, nodding to the guard as they passed.
“There is a place at the side of the castle where long shadows will afford us privacy.”
“Lead on,” he encouraged.
Once they arrived at the place where their presence would not be detected by the guards on the ramparts, she turned to him. “Will you kiss me again?”
“Aye, if you let me.”
She nodded and he pulled her close, his mouth descending on hers. This kiss was much different than the first. With their mouths joined, sweet pleasure took hold of her. She greedily returned his kiss, slipping her hands around his neck to hold him to her.
When he broke the kiss, he did not let her go but continued to hold her close, pressing her head to his chest under his chin. “How can I live without you, my love?” he whispered. “It will take all my fortitude to leave you on the morrow.”
She pulled back so that, inches from his face, she could look long into his eyes, dark with desire in the night’s shadows. “I do not want to be parted,” she said.
“Worry not, Princess,” he said. “I will find a way for us to be together.”
THE NEXT MORNING, Somerled thanked the king for his hospitality and proceeded outside into the mist to bid the princess farewell. She stood at the castle door dressed in green wool the color of her eyes. Her red hair, confined to long plaits, made him want to reach out and touch them. His heart ached to think he might not see her for some time, mayhap not ever again.
“I had food delivered to your ship for your travel,” she said.
“My men and I are most grateful.” Placing a small velvet package into her hand, he said, “I brought you this from Ireland. ’Tis a gift of the season.”
Her brows drew together in a look of dismay. “But I have nothing for you…”
“That you welcomed my kiss was gift enough, my lady.” He bowed and turned to go before he would be unable to do so.
She called him back. Unwinding a green riband wrapped around one of her long plaits, she offered it to him. “May this be a reminder that my prayers go with you.”
He tucked the silk into his waist. “I will treasure it, Princess. ’Twill be a reminder not only of your prayers but of you.”
Somerled was in high spirits as he joined his son to descend the hill to the harbor where Maurice and Liadan waited by the galley. It seemed no one else had claimed Ragnhild’s heart. He only wished that would be enough but he knew better.
“What did you give the princess, Father?” his son asked.
He tousled the lad’s hair. “A trinket for her horse.” He hoped the princess liked his gift, a black leather browband with white Celtic scrolling that would dip to a point when placed on the horse’s forehead. Such a handsome horse, much lo
ved by his mistress, should have a unique adornment. Ragnhild had been his first thought when he had seen it in the marketplace. He believed she would be pleased with the gift.
Once all had boarded his galley, they left the mist-filled harbor and rowed into the Irish Sea where a strong wind filled the sail, allowing them to pick up speed as they headed north to Kintyre. He’d been away longer than he had planned but he wanted to stop there before going on to Islay to see how his brother fared and to convey to him their mother’s good wishes.
By the end of the day, they had reached Dunaverty Bay and beached the galley just as the sun was setting. On the western horizon, the gray clouds were silhouetted against a lavender and gold sky.
Assured the galley was secured, Somerled climbed down and saw his brother approaching. “I brought someone who is eager to see you,” he said to Angus.
His brother looked up to where Gillecolum stood on deck, poised to jump down. After considering him for a moment, Angus shouted, “My nephew! Come here, Gille, and let me look at you!”
“I sail with my father now,” the boy proudly replied as he vaulted over the gunwale to the sand.
“How you have grown!” exclaimed Angus, gazing down at the lad. “Aye, you are a man now.” Then turning to Somerled, Angus said, “How goes the building on Islay?”
“Well enough that I could leave it to pay a visit to our mother who was anxious to hear news of you.”
Maurice joined them to shake Angus’ hand. “Aye, the building goes well enough for our leader to make a stop on the Isle of Man after that.”
Somerled’s brother gave him an inquiring look. “And how is the princess?”
“Busy with preparations for Christmas,” was all he would say. He did not wish to share his time with her but his memories of that night were firmly implanted in his mind and heart.
“And our mother?” inquired Angus. “She is in good health?”
“Aye,” said Somerled. “You will have to make the trip to see her.”
The crew, released to enjoy themselves, hurried up the beach to join the men returning from the day’s labor.
Liadan, garbed in tunic, trews and short boots, left the ship to join Somerled, Gillecolum, Maurice and Angus as they walked toward Ruairi’s house where Angus was staying while Ruairi and his family were in the north.
“How goes the work on the castle?” asked Somerled.
“The stonemason de Mares directs the work cutting stone,” said Angus. “He praises the sandstone on Kintyre.”
“Ah, that is good,” said Somerled, running his hand through his hair, tangled from the wind. “Mayhap the spring will see the start of construction.” He wondered how d’Harcourt was faring in the north where he had sailed with Ruairi to look at castle sites. “I hope to be in Morvern in the spring with our Master Mason.”
After dinner with his son and companions, he joined his men around the bonfire to talk of their work and his growing concern about the civil war in England.
“Cutting stones is hard work, carrying them more so,” said one. “But it builds strength and I like to think that, one day, I’ll see those stones I carry in a castle rising from that rock.” He shifted his gaze to the looming headland just waiting for the castle.
“When we left Islay for our trip to Ireland,” said Maurice, “the hall where the chiefs will one day gather was coming along nicely.”
The men nodded their approval, their faces set aglow by the flames rising into the night. All had their mantles drawn about them. Somerled waited until the conversation quieted to raise a difficult subject. “I must tell you I believe the King of Scots may invade England next year. And, if he does, we will likely be summoned to join him.”
“Let us hope if that happens,” said one man, who Somerled knew to be a farmer, “he does not call upon us until the spring seed is sown.”
“Aye, we can pray for that,” said another.
The men would do their duty but, by their dour expressions, Somerled could see none were pleased at the thought of fighting a war in England when they were still fighting Norse pirates in the Isles.
“If you go to war for the Scots king, we go with you,” said Maurice.
“Aye,” said Angus.
The men gathered around the fire nodded their agreement.
Somerled was touched by their loyalty. “As soon as winter is over,” he said, “we will travel north to deal with any Norse who linger in the Isles with plunder in mind.”
The next morning, Somerled said goodbye to Angus and his men and sailed with Maurice, Liadan and Gillecolum back to Islay where they would spend the rest of the winter.
The voyage, though short, was not pleasant due to harsh winds and pelting rain. By the time they reached Loch Indaal, they were sodden and happy to be ashore. Barnacle Geese, still there in large numbers, sent their clamorous calls into the air from where they roosted on the flat, muddy land near shore. Otters, indifferent to the weather, gamboled together in the bay.
Somerled’s crew beached the galley and they all headed inland, taking the well-trodden path to Findlugan’s Loch. Fallow deer in thick winter coats stared at them from the brown hills. As they came over the rise, Somerled gazed down at the loch surrounded by wind-swept peat bog, grasses and gently rolling hills.
In the distance, he saw buildings standing on the largest of the islands in the loch.
Anxious to observe the progress of the construction, with his young son at his side and Maurice and Liadan following, he strode toward the north end of the loch, passing curlews wading near shore, their long down-curved bills searching for food in the mud.
The wintering ducks and geese apparently approved of the new human tenants as they were floating on the rippling waters of the loch in great numbers.
Once he was close enough to see what had been accomplished since he’d been gone, Somerled stood amazed. From the largest island rose the tall wooden great hall with a new thatched roof. New, too, were outbuildings and what looked like a small stone chapel with a thatched roof.
Smoke rose into the air from three of the roofs ere it was swept away in the wind.
“Do you think Domnall has returned?” asked Liadan, betraying her interest.
“Since his ship wasn’t at Loch Indaal,” replied Somerled, “we will have to wait and see. If he is here, he may have entered on the east coast, sailing up the sound.” He watched his charge for signs of disappointment, but she gave none. “They must have been hard at work to have done so much,” he said, gazing in awe at what appeared to be a small village on the island.
In time, he would build other, more magnificent strongholds in Argyll and the Isles but none would be more significant for the future of his lordship than this secret place. Here the council of chiefs would meet. Here new lords would be installed. And here, peace would be celebrated and God would be praised.
He took out Ragnhild’s green riband and fingered the soft silk, bringing to mind the image of her handing the riband to him. Mayhap it would be here, too, that the woman who held his heart would join him.
“They wanted to meet your goal to be finished by winter’s onset” said Maurice, “and it seems they have done so.”
“Father,” said Gillecolum, pointing to the smoke rising from the buildings, “they have lit hearth fires. Can we go inside and get warm?”
Somerled looked at the earnest expression on his son’s face and smiled. “Aye, we shall. ’Tis a good idea. Forgive me,” he said, turning to Liadan, “for not thinking of you and the lad.” He glanced at his men standing behind them. “My crew surely feels the same.”
“I minded not pausing to admire all that is here,” said Liadan, taking Gillecolum’s hand as they crossed the wooden path from the shore to the large island. His men, who crossed after, remarked at how much they liked the raised path that allowed their boots to stay dry when they were so often wet.
They were met by Duncan MacEachern, the village smith from Keills, whose powerful chest appeared even large
r draped in his brown woolen mantle. Beaming his pleasure, he said, “Greetings, Lord. Welcome back! As you see,” he gestured behind him, “the men have done much in your absence.”
“You and the men are to be commended,” said Somerled. Then putting his arm around Gillecolum’s shoulders, “Duncan, meet my son. I have just retrieved him from Ireland.”
A handshake was exchanged and the smith said, “A fine lad, indeed.”
“Now,” said Somerled, “lead on. We are eager to be where a fire burns.”
“Since winter is upon us and the principal structures are up,” said Duncan, walking ahead of them toward the great hall, “we build inside, finishing the walls and the furniture. The village men have offered their carpentry skills. Most of those have left for the day but they will return tomorrow.”
Inside the great hall, Somerled was surprised to set his foot on stone, the same gray-green stone used to construct the chapel. As they shed their mantles, he inhaled the smell of newly cut timber and the wood smoke from the hearth fire. Windows high in the walls on each side allowed the afternoon’s pale light to flood the large space.
The men who had been working laid down their tools to greet him, obviously proud of their accomplishments.
“I thank you all for what you have done here,” said Somerled. “I could not have hoped for more. Even a chapel.”
“Aye,” nodded Duncan. “The priest at Keills has agreed to hold services here until another of his brethren can be found.”
“I can always bring one back from Ireland,” offered Maurice.
Somerled acknowledged the offer with a smile. “A Celtic priest would be good.” Then to Duncan, “Will the hall be warm enough for the men this winter?”
“We keep the fire burning through the night,” said Duncan, “so the men can sleep here on pallets.”
Somerled nodded. “That is good, a warm place to shelter.”
“Already there is a table with benches,” remarked Maurice, glancing toward the long table before them.
“That will become the high table,” explained Duncan. “There will be two more, longer tables when we are finished. Then all the men and those who come from the village to help us can eat here.”