Page 107 of Bound By Honor
Rob’s face broke out in a wide smile. “Congratulations! That calls for more wine.” He lifted the flagon and refilled their goblets.
“Enough of my news. I came not only to greet an old friend but to understand what has prompted your submission to King Edward. Not that I am complaining,” he quickly added. “I am glad we now fight on the same side.”
Rob heaved a sigh. “Come, bring your wine and let us sit by the fire, and I will tell you.” Angus removed his cloak and took the offered chair before the fire, stretching one hand toward the warmth. Once seated, Rob said, “The decision has been a long time in coming. As you might have heard, John Balliol has been released from papal custody and is at large in northern France. Rumor has it he is raising an army and intends to return to Scotland to reclaim his kingdom. Wallace’s efforts to garner French support are apparently succeeding.
“For some, that might be a cause for celebration. The Comyns, as you might expect, see in this the return of their lost leader in whose name they have been fighting. But for me and my people, it is the end of a long road. As I said in my letter, I resigned as a Guardian. It was not because of the spy you warned me of. I could no longer stomach Comyn’s wretched temper. Last summer, as I wrote you, my lands were again wasted by the English and my castles occupied by English troops as they are now. The prospect of Balliol’s restoration accompanied by French troops proved the final straw.”
Angus could hear the fatigue in his friend’s voice. “And what will King Edward do for his lost sheep returned to the fold?”
“The king has promised to preserve my inheritance, so that I need not fear my lands or title being seized by the French. He also gives me vague assurance that my rights to the Scottish crown will be preserved.”
“Do you think Edward will allow a Scot to rule in Scotland?”
“Only time will tell.” He lifted his goblet to his lips and then set it on the small table between them. “There is more. By Edward’s order, I am to wed Elizabeth de Burgh, daughter of Ulster’s earl.”
Angus remembered the fair-haired beauty he had seen at Dunseverick. “The young child with golden curls we teased at Dunluce so long ago is now a great beauty. She came to my wedding celebration with her father.”
Rob nodded. “She is still young but old enough, it seems, to wed.”
“Do you know her?”
“I saw her at Edward’s court in the last days I served the king. But I do not know her well. The marriage is Edward’s idea.”
Angus thought of the Turnberry Band, the alliance made long ago with Richard de Burgh, the Bruces, the Macdonalds and other nobles. “I see how it fits into Edward’s plans. He has never been able to convince Earl Richard to join his Scottish campaigns. Now, in one move, the king would bind the Earl of Carrick to his Earl of Ulster. How can Earl Richard refuse the summons when next it comes? How can you?”
“I cannot. The king and his son winter at Linlithgow but he would use me in his next campaign to help him conquer Scotland.” Rob turned his goblet in his hands, staring at the dark red liquid. “I had more to be concerned about than my estates, Angus. Like my grandfather, Robert the Noble, and my father after him, I could not serve a King of Scots named John Balliol, who is aligned with the Comyns.”
“Nor could I,” said Angus, tossing back the rest of his wine. He leaned in, speaking in a low voice so no castle guards could hear. “But if ever there were a King of Scots named Robert, him I would serve.”
Rob paused, a sigh of resignation escaping his lips. “I thank you, my friend, but you merely remind me of the old proverb that says hope deferred makes the heart sick.”
“Aye,” said Angus, “but does it not also say that a desire fulfilled is a tree of life? The story is not yet written, my friend. Hope may be deferred but ’tis not lost. As long as there is a delay, you might as well have a bride worthy of a king. The fair Elizabeth, as I recall, was something of a minx as a child but now she looks like a queen.”
“She does,” said Rob, a small smile playing about his mouth. “I have no objection to Edward’s choice, no matter he brings us together for his own purposes. How long can you stay?”
Angus sat back in his chair. “Only this day. Tomorrow, I must return to the coast where my galleys and those of Hugh Bissett and John MacSween of Knapdale await me. We have permission from Edward to hunt The MacDougall who killed my brother, Alexander. We were interrupted by the amassing of the English fleet off Bute and the news of your submission to Edward.”
“Well, then you have time for a meal and a game of chess. I may be watched by Edward’s garrison, who do not trust me, but at least I am well fed.”
Dunseverick Castle, the north coast of Ulster, 1301
THE SKY POURED forth rain as Áine and her brother reached Ulster’s coast and began the long climb to the castle. At her side, Brian was silent and stern as he led Lir up the winding path. Nessa followed. She, too, was unusually subdued. From time to time, Brian glanced back to see the crew unloading his dapple-gray mare.
Cold and wet despite her cloak, grief settled over Áine like an untimely frost, turning her body and mind numb. For most of her life the one solid rock she had clung to was her father. When all else had been taken from her, he remained. Now he was gone, and she had not even been with him when he died. Had he looked for her in his last moments and found her missing?
Servants who had known her since her youth rushed to greet them. They took their sodden cloaks, pressed goblets of hot spiced wine into their cold hands and urged them close to the fire where they huddled in front of the flames.
“We have delayed the burial until you arrived, my lord,” said her father’s—now Dermot’s—constable. “The Earl of Ulster has sent word he will attend the burial. Even The O’Neill has sent a message saying he will come to Dungiven Priory to honor your father.” Richard de Burgh had not removed the man who killed Brian O’Neill but watched him closely.
“Tomorrow would be good if the abbot can be ready,” said Dermot.
“I will see it done,” said the constable.
Áine shivered. She could not seem to get warm. “As long as we are here,” she said to her brother, “we should find one of the O’Neill chiefs to foster Brian.”
Dermot gave his nephew an encouraging smile. Her son had been standing next to Dermot’s chair staring at the fire, fixated on the flames. Drawing him in for a hug, her brother said, “I have a good O’Neill family in mind. With that ginger hair, young Brian here will fit in like one of their own.” To Brian, he said, “I fostered with the de Burghs. It is a time of new friendships and learning many things you will need as you become a man. Just think, you will return to The Macdonald with much to show him.”
“He will not forget me?” said Brian anxiously, revealing what Áine knew to be her son’s fear.
