Free Rebel Warrior (Medieval Warriors #3) by Regan Walker Page A

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 where Giric was already waiting.
    “I thought ye’d fergot,” he said, stepping 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.
    “You will like my brother,” she encouraged. “Niall will meet us at the mews.”
    Niall was already waiting for her as she and Giric stepped into the dimly lit structure that housed the king’s falcons.
    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 the day of the Norse attack.
    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.
    “Magnificent?” Niall asked.
    “Aye!” exclaimed Giric.
    Catrìona thought so, too. Kessog was a fine example of a tiercel, brightly plumed and perfect of form.
    “I want to see him fly,” said Giric.
    “And you shall,” Catrìona assured him. “But you will have to look sharp. He is very fast in the hunt.”
    “There is a field not far from the tower,” offered Machar. “The burn runs near it. ’Twill have ducks and room for your falcon to hunt.”
    Thanking him, she took Kessog on her gauntleted hand and left the mews with Niall.
    Giric ran ahead. “I know the field!”
    She and Niall walked along, at first not saying much. Then Niall asked, “Do you ever think of Deidre? I have wondered about her and the others who were taken.”
    It had been a year but she did not hesitate. “Yea, she was more like a younger sister to me than a maidservant. Now she would be seventeen.” Catrìona felt a pang of remorse and her brow furrowed. “I have oft woken from a bad dream to see her face before me.”
    “Do you think they have made her a slave?”
    Catrìona did not like to think about what had been the fate of the pretty young woman. “ ’Tis possible, mayhap even likely.”
    “I would get her back if I could,” he said solemnly.

CHAPTER 4
    Steinar rubbed his aching thigh. He’d been sitting in an alcove at one end of the hall all morning, his head bent to the parchment crafting messages Malcolm intended for the mormaers in the provinces. The king was raising an army of foot for a raid into Northumbria. All who were sworn to him would respond with fighting men. Steinar had to acknowledge the king’s wisdom.