control. Good!” He smacked the table, looking pleased.
“Sire … it is neither right nor courteous to make a prisoner of a young girl!” Margaret said.
“Girl? She is old enough to be married.” Malcolm looked keenly at her, eyes bright with wine and a sort of glee. “Now Lady Gruadh will have no choice! The girl-bard will be hostage for her grandmama’s pretty behavior. And you, Lady Margaret, are canny as a general!”
“ BUT I LIKE the little Scottish chapel,” Margaret protested one morning by the gate as Father Otto stopped her from leaving the compound. “It is a pleasure to walk through the glen to visit Brother Micheil.” Beside her, Finola nodded.
The Benedictine scowled. Margaret knew he did not consider a Culdee to be a worthy priest for the royal Saxons. “I conduct morning and evening masses in our chapel room in the tower, in proper Latin form,”he reminded her. “The priests of the Scottish Church had better start doing so themselves to bring their flocks under Rome’s protection. Otherwise what relief from sin do they offer their parishioners? There will be no redemption on the Day of Atonement for the Scots.”
“I understand that, Father. I simply wish to bring Brother Micheil an altar cloth that I have embroidered.” She lifted the cloth bundle in her arms.
“Very well. If he offers to confess you and assign penance, decline. I will absolve you later.”
As Margaret went with Finola through the little glen, called Pittencrieff by the locals, she saw two horses, a black and a bay, munching grass near the little church. She felt a bit disappointed, for she had looked forward to private, tranquil time to pray while there.
The door of the church opened and she saw De Lauder exit, followed by Malcolm Canmore, who towered over Brother Micheil as they all paused on the front step. The king handed Micheil a pouch, which the brother weighted in his hand as if it held coins. Just then De Lauder saw Margaret and spoke quickly to Malcolm, who turned.
“Good day, Lady Margaret,” the Norman called in French. “How nice to meet on such a fine day.” Malcolm said nothing to her but continued to speak with the Celtic priest.
“Sir Robert. My lord king,” Margaret added in English, bowing her head slightly. “Brother Micheil. We brought a gift for the chapel, if you will allow.” She held out the folded cloth.
“This is very fine,” Brother Micheil said, accepting it to examine part of the embroidery.
“It is indeed. We will leave you, then. Good day,
ma princesse
,” Robert De Lauder said. The king only stared at her oddly, then stepped away with the leader of his guard. As Brother Micheil held the door open, Margaret waved Finola through with him and remained on the step, obeying a sudden impulse.
“Sire,” she called. Malcolm turned. “May I speak with you?”
He gestured for De Lauder to wait with the horses. “Aye. What is it?”
“Sire, my family and I are grateful for your hospitality,” she began.
“You are welcome. Good day.” He began to walk away.
“Sire, may I have permission to speak my mind?” she asked hastily.
He turned back, folded his arms. “You will do so regardless, I suspect. Say what you will.”
“My brother Edgar is young and has a great burden on his shoulders. But he is sometimes easily influenced by those who could gain from the success of a rebellion in England.”
He cocked a brow. “No doubt you think me among them. Go on.”
“Edgar sets great store by your example, sire. We are indebted to you, but the recent attacks in Northumbria …” She paused. “I sometimes wonder at the nature of your loyalty toward my brother’s cause.”
“Is it the habit of Saxon ladies to concern themselves with such matters?”
“What affects her kinsmen is any woman’s concern. If you support my brother’s rights as king, then consider supporting his people as well. And please advise my brother wisely—”
“Shall I advise him that
“Sire … it is neither right nor courteous to make a prisoner of a young girl!” Margaret said.
“Girl? She is old enough to be married.” Malcolm looked keenly at her, eyes bright with wine and a sort of glee. “Now Lady Gruadh will have no choice! The girl-bard will be hostage for her grandmama’s pretty behavior. And you, Lady Margaret, are canny as a general!”
“ BUT I LIKE the little Scottish chapel,” Margaret protested one morning by the gate as Father Otto stopped her from leaving the compound. “It is a pleasure to walk through the glen to visit Brother Micheil.” Beside her, Finola nodded.
The Benedictine scowled. Margaret knew he did not consider a Culdee to be a worthy priest for the royal Saxons. “I conduct morning and evening masses in our chapel room in the tower, in proper Latin form,”he reminded her. “The priests of the Scottish Church had better start doing so themselves to bring their flocks under Rome’s protection. Otherwise what relief from sin do they offer their parishioners? There will be no redemption on the Day of Atonement for the Scots.”
“I understand that, Father. I simply wish to bring Brother Micheil an altar cloth that I have embroidered.” She lifted the cloth bundle in her arms.
“Very well. If he offers to confess you and assign penance, decline. I will absolve you later.”
As Margaret went with Finola through the little glen, called Pittencrieff by the locals, she saw two horses, a black and a bay, munching grass near the little church. She felt a bit disappointed, for she had looked forward to private, tranquil time to pray while there.
The door of the church opened and she saw De Lauder exit, followed by Malcolm Canmore, who towered over Brother Micheil as they all paused on the front step. The king handed Micheil a pouch, which the brother weighted in his hand as if it held coins. Just then De Lauder saw Margaret and spoke quickly to Malcolm, who turned.
“Good day, Lady Margaret,” the Norman called in French. “How nice to meet on such a fine day.” Malcolm said nothing to her but continued to speak with the Celtic priest.
“Sir Robert. My lord king,” Margaret added in English, bowing her head slightly. “Brother Micheil. We brought a gift for the chapel, if you will allow.” She held out the folded cloth.
“This is very fine,” Brother Micheil said, accepting it to examine part of the embroidery.
“It is indeed. We will leave you, then. Good day,
ma princesse
,” Robert De Lauder said. The king only stared at her oddly, then stepped away with the leader of his guard. As Brother Micheil held the door open, Margaret waved Finola through with him and remained on the step, obeying a sudden impulse.
“Sire,” she called. Malcolm turned. “May I speak with you?”
He gestured for De Lauder to wait with the horses. “Aye. What is it?”
“Sire, my family and I are grateful for your hospitality,” she began.
“You are welcome. Good day.” He began to walk away.
“Sire, may I have permission to speak my mind?” she asked hastily.
He turned back, folded his arms. “You will do so regardless, I suspect. Say what you will.”
“My brother Edgar is young and has a great burden on his shoulders. But he is sometimes easily influenced by those who could gain from the success of a rebellion in England.”
He cocked a brow. “No doubt you think me among them. Go on.”
“Edgar sets great store by your example, sire. We are indebted to you, but the recent attacks in Northumbria …” She paused. “I sometimes wonder at the nature of your loyalty toward my brother’s cause.”
“Is it the habit of Saxon ladies to concern themselves with such matters?”
“What affects her kinsmen is any woman’s concern. If you support my brother’s rights as king, then consider supporting his people as well. And please advise my brother wisely—”
“Shall I advise him that
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