Page 146 of Bound By Honor
“And much loved,” she added.
The supper of venison, roasted with apples and leeks, made up for the often spare fare Angus and his Islesmen had endured on the many days they had marched with King Robert and his army through freezing cold. Their only feast had been the roast beef they had dined on at Dunstaffnage in Argyll courtesy of Alexander MacDougall.
For a while, the sounds in the hall were of men eating and women laughing. As the hall quieted, servants brought honey tarts and more wine, and the men called for stories.
“Tell us of the battles fought against the Comyns and MacDougalls,” said his constable. Angus gave the privilege to Conall, his captain, to tell of the battles in Argyll and the northeast and the surrender of the Earl of Ross. Angus’ captain was a good storyteller so, with grand gestures, he embellished the events to the delight of those listening. “Chased them all the way to Dunstaffnage,” he finished. “After fighting all day, exhausted, we feasted on MacDougall cattle.” In a somber tone, he said, “My Lord Alexander, slain by the MacDougall, would have been pleased.”
It had been nearly a decade since Angus’ elder brother, Alex, had passed from this life yet Angus still missed him and their evenings by the fire when he would turn to Alex for advice. In a melancholy mood, Angus said, “Conall forgot to mention that he and the Islesmen claimed Lady Juliana’s dowry of Lismore that should have been my brother’s long ago.”
Many cheers went up.
“Lismore is ours now,” Angus continued, “and King Robert approves. He asks only that we use it and the other lands he has given me to guard the seaways.”
Juliana, who had attended the dinner and was sitting on the other side of Áine, reached for her hand. “I am satisfied, for the loss of Lismore was a source of great shame to Alex and me. I am glad, too, that my father and my brother still live, though I could not mourn their loss had they died. They took Alexander from me and left our sons fatherless. Given the MacDougalls’ disdain for the Bruces, I doubt they will serve King Robert for long.”
“Aye,” said Angus. “I believe King Robert is of the same mind. Alexander MacDougall will attend the king’s parliament in March, as he must, but he will not be smiling.”
Angus then suggested Duncan tell the story of his exploits with Sir Edward in Galloway. His cousin did so most eloquently, finishing, “Alas, Dungal MacDouall escaped and likely now serves the English but, then, he was always an ally of the MacDougalls.”
The rest of the evening was spent enjoying their family and friends, good wine and cheese from the larder. Looking at Áine laughing with Duncan brought a feeling of contentment to his soul. He was home surrounded by his family.
As the year came to an end, Angus was thankful they had returned to Islay before the winter storms, for Christmas arrived with snow, causing all to stay close to the hearth fires.
One morning, as he lazed in bed with Áine, watching through the window as the snow fell, it came to him that the joys of this life are often defined by such moments, small bits of time carved into a memory to be remembered later when such moments were long past.
Áine turned her head on the pillow to face him. “What has you so pensive this morning, my love?”
He met her inquiring gaze. Her eyes were deep pools, drawing him in. Her dark hair fell in waves about her shoulders, her pale ivory skin luminescent in the dim light. “I was thinking of this moment, of you beside me, of our home in the Isles. Wherever I am, I shall remember it, like a glistening jewel that can be taken out and marveled at.”
“A poetic thought. Teal, our Irish bard, must have left an impression last night.”
He reached out his hand to run his fingers through her long locks. “Nay. ’Tis the time I have spent away from you, making our time together all the more precious.”
“But you said you will not go away soon.”
Hearing anxiety in her voice, he gave her an encouraging smile. “Nay. ’Tis my intention to stay until the king calls for me. He will hold his first parliament in March and I plan to send Duncan. He will do well in Rob’s court with the mixed array of nobles that will be there. The king has given his approval.”
With a smile on her face, she said, “Then I shall have you for a while longer.”
“Aye. I must see to my Isles, especially the lands that are now part of the lordship, lands that were formerly those of our enemies. Mull is to be Alexander’s when he comes of age. Too, the king has asked me to keep under observation the northern waters and help secure Dunstaffnage, now a royal castle.”
“When you leave to see to your new lands,” said Áine, “I would go with you.”
“Aye, you could come on the voyage north. We should be safe from the MacDougalls and Comyns now, and the English king is well occupied with his own troubles.”
“In which case, Brian and Alexander will want to go, too.”
“And they shall.”
Angus spent the winter on Islay, enjoying his family and the men who sailed in his fleet. He received the reports of merchants who regularly arrived in the Isles and of his men who were keeping a watchful eye on the Irish Sea. But he wanted to sail north to see for himself how the lordship fared.
In early March, as the earth came back to life and flowers bloomed on the rocky shores, he sent Duncan to St. Andrews on the east coast of Fife for King Robert’s parliament. “Be my eyes and ears,” Angus said as he wished his cousin Godspeed. “And write!”
Isle of Islay, spring 1309
THE CHANGE OF seasons brought new life to the isle. With the longer days and more light, Áine often walked the shores, watching the birds. The gray barnacle geese that had come by the thousands in autumn were still here but the winter sounds had gone, replaced by songs of love as the birds began to mate. At such times, they paid her little attention.
Everywhere she could hear birds singing, skylarks high above the fields, blackbirds in the castle garden, lapwings over meadows and song thrushes on branches. Offshore, black and white divers with their long, sharp beaks entranced her. Gulls, too, made an appearance each day, their cries rising in the air, especially when the fishermen returned.
