Lord of the Isles (Coronet Books) (31 page)

“I do not fear. I am a king’s daughter and do not fear that I can hold my own with such as Cathula MacIan. It is you that I warn.” But she smiled as she said it. “Do you still want me?”

Tight-lipped he nodded.

“Then we shall do very well, I think. I . . .” She stopped. “Listen! Did you hear? Yes—they come! Sooner than I thought. Oh, Sorley—this will be bad. I, I . . . you must help me!” For a moment or two she seemed almost to give way to panic; then, as he put an arm around her, he felt her steady and straighten up. “Now . . .!”

Voices sounded clearly outside; and then without any knocking, the door of their chamber was thrown violently open. Framed therein were Olaf, a cloak over his night attire, Affrica, Ronald of Dublin and, shrinking behind, the girl Berthe. They stared in.

Somerled sprang to his feet, in wrath and embarrassment—and did not have to adopt either emotion for the occasion. Half-undressed as he was, he undoubtedly looked the part of guilty lover disturbed.

“What is this!” he exclaimed. “How dare you! Fore God, here is an outrage . . .!”

But it is to be doubted whether any heard him. They were gazing past him, with varying expressions of shock, astonishment and frankest prurience. Olaf raised a trembling finger to point.

Somerled turned momentarily. Ragnhilde had also started up from the bed—and in doing so had managed to let her blanket fall to the floor and at the same time allowed the top folds of her robe to drop. She had caught it at the waist and was hastily stooping to retrieve the blanket. But meantime all her upper parts were completely bare—and a most delectably improper sight she made as she leaned forward, one arm reaching out, full and shapely breasts free, white shoulders gleaming under the cascade of her hair, her face upturned in agitation towards the intruders.

“Look at her!” Affrica all but screeched. “Bitch! Hellcat! Harlot! See the virtuous Ragnhilde now!”

Somerled did not require to act any role. He strode to the bedside, snatched up another blanket and draped it over her, straightening her up. He kept an arm round her protectively. With the other, he pointed.

“Go!” he commanded. “Leave us. Leave us, I say!”

Olaf found his tongue. “Hilde! Hilde!” he quivered. “My child! Dear God—Hilde!” There was hurt and bewilderment more than wrath in that.

“Father!” Ragnhilde got out. “Father—I love him!” That was no mummery either.

“Love him! Love—hear her!” Affrica cried. “He came but yesterday. She loves him, she says! Somerled the Mighty! Lusts after him,
I
say . . .”

“Silence!” Olaf exclaimed, with some access of strength. “Hilde—how could you do this? How shame yourself? And me? I would not have believed . . .”

“The more fool you then, old dotard!” his wife burst out, working herself into a sort of frenzy. “Why think you she brought him to this her house? Put him above her own chamber? Away from his own people. I tell you, she is no better than a trull!”

“Enough, woman—enough, do you hear! Begone—begone, I say.” Olaf pointed back whence they had come, an imperious gesture, odd in so small a man so weirdly garbed. “And you, Hilde—cover yourself. Aye, and go to your own chamber. No—not there. Go to
my
chamber.” He turned to Berthe. “Girl—take the princess to my house. Forthwith. As for you, sir,” he swung back on Somerled, “I will deal with you in the morning. Aye, in the morning.”

The younger man inclined his head, unspeaking.

Ragnhilde hitched her robe and blanket securely around her, shook her hair free, and touched Somerled.

“Goodnight, my love,” she said quietly. “I am not sorry—regret nothing. I . . .”

Her father snatched at her and hurried her away.

Somerled closed the door behind them—then opened it again and went to look into his son’s closet. The boy had slept soundly through all. Back in his own room, the man went to stare out of the window into the summer dusk, seeing nothing.

It was late in the forenoon before the expected summons to Olaf’s apartments came. Somerled went in some apprehension, not out of fear of an angry father but in anxiety as to the outcome of Ragnhilde’s device. He had not been convinced of its efficacy last night; he was less so in the morning light.

He found Olaf alone, in an anteroom off his bedchamber. There was no sign of wife nor daughter. The two men eyed each other in silence for a little, two sub-kings of such very different character, calibre and appearance.

“This is a hard matter,” Olaf said, at length. “Unhappy. Ill to deal with. I am much troubled. I am greatly fond of my daughter.”

“As am I, sir.”

“You?” The small man frowned. “How can you say that? After last night. You have abused her. Abused my house and hospitality also. Have you no shame?”

“No.” That was simple as it was blunt.

The older man searched his face. “You put me to much difficulty. As well as make ruin of her name. She is promised to Ronald of Orkney. Now . . .!”

“I think that she was not promised to Orkney for long! She knew nothing of it. Was it not all hatched up between you and these churchmen? None so long ago? I swear that the Earl Ronald will get over his disappointment as swiftly!”

“What do you mean?”

Somerled reckoned that perhaps he might be going too fast. “The news will reach Orkney, no doubt. I suppose, however, that Ronald may forgive the . . . indiscretion?”

“God’s Death, man—do you think that I can send her to Orkney now? After this? All this castle, and town no doubt, are ringing with the shame of it already. All Man by nightfall. It will reach Orkney, yes. Can I offer Ronald my daughter, soiled by another man? He seeks a wife to bear him sons. Not
your
son!”

Somerled’s heart leapt. Was it going to work, then?

“There may be no such,” he said, carefully—and not liking the sound of it.

“Damn you—do not trifle with me, Somerled MacFergus! This is no time for light cozening. What are you going to do?”

“Me? I . . . ah . . . I do not know.”

“You do not? Then I do, man!
You
will marry her, not Ronald! Do you hear? That is what you will do. You have made your bed—you will lie in it!”

“Ah,” Somerled said, seeking to keep his voice level.

“No ahs or doubts. I insist. I will not have my daughter misused, and then abandoned. Marry she will, and quickly. You have ruined what I had planned as well as her good name. Now you will make good the ill done—or some of it.”

He cleared his throat. “Do Ragnhilde’s wishes not enter into it?”

“She, she is reconciled to it. She will do as she is told. This time. But . . . it must be done discreetly. With care.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes. It is difficult. The Archbishop, these bishops. This will not please them. They will be much disquieted, disappointed. When they hear.”

“They have not heard yet, then?”

“I hope not, I have given straightest command that they be not told. They go tomorrow.”

“Must you please these churchmen?”

“I must, yes. Holy Church is . . . pressing. But it is Stephen also. He desires this of Orkney.”

“Do not tell me that Stephen of England concerns himself with the marriage of your daughter to the Earl Ronald!”

“He desires that Orkney adheres to his cause. He requires Orkney’s fleet. This of the marriage is to aid in the alliance.”

“Devised by the Norman Raoul, for a wager!”

Olaf brushed that aside. “It is important, therefore, that the bishops do not hear of this, meantime. Once they are gone . . .”

“I see it. But once they, and Stephen, learn of it—what then?”

The older man took small strutting strides back and forth. “If you, Somerled, would agree to this of the bishopric of the Isles, there would be no need for the Orkney fleet. And therefore for the marriage.”

“Ah! So that is it! But no, my friend—no Romish bishopric. Marriage, if you will. But no creeping into Scotland by that door!”

“It would save much trouble. No need for this alliance.”

“Whose alliance? Yours or Stephen’s? Has it not come to you, Olaf Godfreysson, that instead of alliance with Orkney, you will now have alliance with
me
? Also with many longships. And closer at hand. Forby, David of Scotland likewise. Return to your due allegiance to David, with myself as your goodson, and you may snap your fingers at Stephen and his bishops.”

The other rubbed at his wispy, greying beard. “But Holy Church . . .?” he said. “The Pope . . .?”

“The Pope is far away. And with much else on his mind, I vow! And his anathemas, or Thurstan’s will break no bones, on Man! Whereas David, with my fleet, is very near-at-hand. Could break bones a-many!”

“I must think on this, man . . .” Olaf took another turn of his chamber. “But, the marriage. This must be done circumspectly. You must leave today, as you said. Sail off in your ships for a day or two. Sail round Man, if you will. Then, when the bishops are gone, tomorrow, return. To wed. Quietly and in some haste. You have it?”

“What of Wimund?”

“He returns to York with Thurstan, meantime.”

“And Fergus?”

“They sail in his ship. He brought them from Galloway and will take them back.”

“And Ragnhilde? She will be here when I return? She will not, perhaps, be on her way to Orkney? Or elsewhere?”

“A plague on you, no! I tell you, she is of no use to Orkney now.
You
she must wed. And at the soonest. I am not waiting for months, for you to come back, when she begins to show! She will be here, and awaiting you.”

“Very well. I shall sail this day. Not round your Man, but for Scotland. The Solway. I go tell David of my, my bliss! Seek his blessing! and inform him that Olaf of Man is still his loyal vassal! You would wish me to do that? Give me four days and I shall be back. For my bride!”

The small man looked at him, varying expressions chasing each other across his cherubic features. Then he nodded. “So be it,” he said. “Four days . . .”

As it transpired it was only three days before Somerled returned to Man, for when he had reached Eskmouth on Solway it was to learn that King David was meantime far from Rook’s Burgh, gone to endow a new abbey, or priory, at Urquhart in Moray. So he had sent the Abbot of Glendochart, Dermot Maguire and Cathula MacIan—deeming the last to be more conveniently absent from any nuptial celebrations, in the circumstances—on a mission to the High King, to inform him of the situation and of the threat posed by Stephen and Thurstan and suggesting their joint action to deal with any developments; but adding that he, Somerled, believed that Olaf could be kept approximately loyal if David made a show of strength along the West March, and especially in the Solway area—for instance by taking suitable measures to discipline Fergus of Galloway. The three envoys must find their own way back to Argyll by land.

Back at Rushen, although they found no wedding-fever—except perhaps on the bride’s part, well disguised—preparations were well in hand. However unsuitable for so distinguished a couple, in the fortunate absence of Bishop Wimund, and not wishing to involve the new Abbot, the wedding ceremony would be performed by Wilfrith, the same lowly parish priest at St. Michael’s Haven who had conducted the Isles party to the castle on their first visit. This was to have been two days hence, but Olaf appeared to be only too pleased to put it all forward a day, seemingly for some reason anxious to get it all over at the earliest possible. Neither of the principals made the least objection.

They did not manage to see each other alone and could make only restrained and conventional converse in the presence of others; but their glances and surreptitious arm-squeezings and the like were eloquent enough of mutual congratulation and a sort of unholy glee. Such manifestations had to be most heedfully brief and hidden, for Ragnhilde was supposed to be in a state of shame and contrition, necessary before approaching God’s altar for His blessing on their premature union—and presumably the same ought to apply to the bridegroom. It was as well that Affrica kept herself at a distance, indeed largely out-of-sight, no doubt in general disapproval. She still had Ronald of Dublin for company; and it dawned on Somerled that it was probably on this account that Olaf was in such haste to get the wedding over and the guilty pair forth of Man; for once Ronald left the island, either to Ireland or to Galloway, the cat would be very certainly out of the bag.

So, the next day, not in Rushen Abbey but in the small private chapel of the castle, in a simple, short and almost hurried ceremony, they exchanged their vows and were declared man and wife, in the sight of Almighty God and the presence of a remarkably small congregation as witnesses, more actually from Argyll than from Man itself, Saor MacNeil acting as groomsman and Olaf presenting his daughter in distinct embarrassment, Affrica absenting herself. It was a humble, not to say hole-in-corner nuptials for Somerled the Mighty of Argyll and the Isles and the Princess of Man; but neither found cause for complaint. Indeed it was the happiest occasion of Somerled’s life; and from her flushed loveliness and the shine in her eyes, Ragnhilde was nowise despondent.

Feasting thereafter being considered unsuitable, only a comparatively small company sat down to a bridal repast, with no speech-making—although Olaf did eventually drink to the future well-being of his daughter, if not of his new goodson. All, in fact, seemed equally eager for a move to be made and the entire affair rounded off and tidied up. In the end Olaf and Ragnhilde did display some emotion at their leave-taking, clutching each other wordlessly for a few moments. For the rest it was mere formality, and not noticeably formal at that. Affrica was still elsewhere.

And then, in great relief, the Argyll party were on their way, on borrowed horses, to St. Michael’s Haven, the newly-weds hardly able to believe that they were in fact man and wife for all time coming. They raced their mounts almost as though subconsciously they feared that they might yet be pursued and dragged back and all somehow undone.

There was no delay at the haven and as the dragon-ship and its escorts pulled out towards the open sea, bride and groom embraced each other, on the high stern platform, clinging.