The Iron Lance by Stephen R. Lawhead

slightly toward the lady in question. Niamh smiled, but Murdo recognized the cat-like smile as that which usually preceded a stinging reply.
    Before she drew breath, Lord Ranulf interposed swiftly, saying, “Of course, bishop, that is why my son Murdo is staying behind. He is a steady young man, and knows his work. Also, our tenants will continue to provide their share of labor.” The lord glanced approvingly at his lady. “I have given the matter a great deal of thought, as you can see,” he concluded. “And, I am certain you will agree that since Jarl Erlend is to remain in Orkneyjar, my short absence will occasion but little remark. Also, I would not like to cause anyone the slightest hardship. I know you will have care enough to look after all the lands which will be delivered to your keeping. I could not rest easy in the thought that my affairs had become a burden on anyone.”
    So saying, the lord bade the bishop good day; Lady Niamh added her farewell and thanks for a magnificent feast worthy of the namesake saint. Bishop Adalbert delivered a benediction of parting, and, even as they turned to leave, added that should anything occur to change his mind, the lord would find him ready and willing to shoulder the responsibility of looking after his lands.
    Torf and Skuli made their farewells, Murdo muttered his regards, and then they were escorted once more through the cathedral and outside the church wall. They made their way to the bay below the low church hill and boarded the boat for the homeward voyage. The wind was light, but steady out of the northeast and the seas calm; the sailing would be pleasant, and they would be home in no time at all.
    Ranulf woke Peder, his boatman, who was asleep on the tiller bench, and ordered Torf and Skuli to ready the sail, while he and Murdo untied the boat and, taking up two long oars, pushed away from the quay. Then all four men rowed until, once clear of the other boats, they could turn around, whereupon Ranulf gave the command to raise the sail. The heavy fabric shook itself and puffed out nicely, and the small ship glided from the wide,shallow bay and proceeded on an easterly course to clear the headland, before turning south and coasting home.
    Once past the headland, there was nothing for Murdo to do, so he propped himself up on the rail and watched the low hills and cliffs, the dark rocks glowing red and purple in the westering sun. Murdo settled to bask in the warm, long-lingering sunset. Perched on the rail, he could not help thinking that, all in all, it was a splendid end to a fine day.
    He looked at his father, who had taken the tiller from Peder, and watched as Ranulf expertly guided the boat, eyes scanning the familiar coastal waters, his face ruddy in the red-gold light, his fine blue cloak slung back over his shoulders so that his strong arms might move more freely.
    At that moment, it occurred to Murdo that he wanted nothing else in all the world but to be that very man, to one day assume the lordship of Dýrness and the protection of his family’s lands. He looked across at his mother, serene and beautiful as she sat on her cushioned bench beside the tiller. One day, thought Murdo, he would also have a beautiful wife. He savored the word inwardly— wife —and was not surprised when it conjured Ragna’s face. She was, after all, the only person worthy of the thought.
    He held her image in his mind and watched the pale silver crescent of the moon rising, as if out of the very sea, to begin its silent journey toward morning. The sky was filled with stars by the time they reached Hrafnbú Bay, and Murdo was asleep in the bottom of the boat. He woke when the hull ran aground on the pebbled shore of their gjá, the ravine-like bay carved deep into the high rock cliffs upon which their farmland lay. He roused himself, slipped over the side, and helped Peder and his brothers make the boat secure.
    They then waded to shore, where