Page 46 of Summer Warrior

“Cook will be preparing your favorite lamb stew,” said his mother. “She has been anxious to see you and will want to serve the meal herself. News comes to us of you but not often enough, so tell me all.”

“First,” said Somerled, “where is my son, Gillecolum?”

“With his tutor. I will call him when you are ready.”

Excitement rose in Somerled’s chest. “Now, if you please. When I last saw him, he was a wee lad. My eyes are hungry to see how he has grown.” Somerled conjured in his mind the image of a small boy with blue eyes and hair the color of harvest wheat.

His mother turned to a servant and told him to summon the lad. While they waited, Somerled told his mother in summary all that had happened. “It began in Morvern, as you might imagine, and from there we took back Argyll, Kintyre and the Southern Isles. ’Twas King David who gave me Arran and Bute.”

At the edge of the room, a boy appeared with handsome features and an intelligent face, his gaze appraising Somerled.

“Come greet your father, Gille,” said Somerled’s mother. With a smile, she told his son, “They now call him ‘Somerled the Mighty’.”

The lad of ten years stepped forward, tall for his age and straight-limbed, his blue eyes growing larger as Somerled rose to greet him.

“I do not remember you,” said his son.

“Aye, we will soon remedy that. Come shake your father’s hand.”

Gillecolum boldly stepped forward, his gaze never leaving Somerled. When he grasped the boy’s forearm, he felt the lad’s strength. “You’ve a powerful grip.”

“I suppose I need not ask,” said Somerled’s mother, “but do you intend to take Gille with you?”

“Aye,” said Somerled, his eyes never leaving his son, “’tis time.”

Over the next few days, Somerled reacquainted himself with his son.

The next morning, after breaking their fast, he took Gillecolum on a long walk to his favorite places.

Stopping at a waterfall, he invited his son to sit on a rock while they watched the falls. “On a rare summer day, this was my swimming hole. Your uncle Angus and I would take turns seeing who could stay under the water the longest.”

“Who won?” asked Gillecolum.

“Sometimes Angus, sometimes me.”

“I wish I had a brother.”

“How would you like a younger brother, one who would look up to you?”

Gillecolum beamed at the suggestion. “Aye, I would like that very much. Do you have one you will give me?”

Somerled laughed. “Well, mayhap not immediately, but ’tis my plan to take a bride who would be a mother to you and, together, we would give you brothers. At least that is my thought. What think you of such a plan?”

“Would she like me?”

“Oh, I think so. Very much. You are my son and any woman I would choose must love you or I would not marry her.”

Gillecolum nodded. “Then it’s all right,” he said with a furrowed brow, as if pondering a great matter. Which, Somerled supposed, it was.

The next day, though it was spitting rain, they went fishing for eels in a burn where Somerled had fished as a lad.

“I know how to fish for eels,” Gillecolum proudly announced, staring into the water.

“You do? Then show me,” he said, stepping back.

The lad waded a short way into the burn and began to poke around in the mud with the tip of his spear. A cloud of dirt rose to the surface as he disturbed the water in one place. He pulled back his spear and smiled. On its tip was an eel speared and wiggling. “I found their winter nest!”

“So you did. An excellent discovery and a good catch. Do you like to eat them?”