Page 40 of Bound By Honor
He straightened. “Only a woman as comely as you are, Lady Áine, could bring the sun with her when she enters a hall. If the wind had anything to do with it, my grandson and I pay homage to the wind.” He smiled in the way an older man would to a young woman he found attractive.
Áine was certain her cheeks were now scarlet, which only added to the reddening of her skin from the sun and the wind. “You are too kind, my lord.”
“Your father,” the king went on, “has been telling my grandson of your love for the birds that live on these high cliffs and dive into the sea beneath.”
Áine shifted her gaze to the one called Rory, whose dark red hair suggested his name. She guessed he was somewhere in his twenties. Like his grandfather, he wore an elegant embroidered tunic, his fingers bejeweled. He had a pleasant face and a nice smile but his presence stirred nothing in her. Was she being too dismissive of a man her father thought a worthy suitor? In truth, her heart was reluctant to consider any man.
Rory’s brown eyes fixed her with an assessing gaze. “I have been eager to meet you, my lady.”
“And so you have,” she said with a slight smile. Despite her lack of interest in a suitor, she would not fail them as hostess. “Fermanagh is far and you must be weary. Allow us to refresh you with some wine.”
“And some food for our guests!” added her father enthusiastically.
Calling a servant to her, Áine gave instructions for the meal, which was already in progress, and to remind the servant to prepare their chambers. Meantime, her father poured wine for their visitors, a look of satisfaction on his face. He had told her the choice of a husband this time would be hers, but what if she wanted no husband at all?
Loch Finlaggan, Isle of Islay, September 1292
THE ATMOSPHERE was that of a harvest fair. Pennons and banners of every color waved in the breeze in the sloping valley that rimmed Loch Finlaggan. The day was sun-filled and gaiety prevailed among the teeming throng gathered for the meeting of the Council of the Isles.
Angus strolled with his cousin, Duncan, amid the nobles and dignitaries and their families mingling on the largest isle in the loch, enjoying his clan and his people, all the while knowing the merriment could not last.
Although the chiefs Angus had visited were keenly aware of the serious nature of the matters to be discussed when the Council finally got down to business, they would not deny their families the celebration and fellowship that always accompanied the meetings. A time of levity was expected and served to strengthen the bonds between them.
The unusually mild weather allowed for all manner of games and contests, as men vied for fame and the attention of the lasses. Angus was tempted to enter the archery contest as he was a fair shot with a bow. However, there was much to see so he continued on.
Bards, musicians and jugglers, practicing their skills, drew many to observe their offerings. Here also were representatives of the Church, so essential to their lives. Every chief had his chaplain who sailed with him. But for such a gathering as this, the Bishop of the Isles and the Abbot of Iona being in attendance added solemnity to the proceedings.
The Lord of the Isles and his chiefs, whose prayers were laid before God, were those who fought and won battles for the others. The host of men and women who supported them, who kept the cattle, sheep and pigs and tended the crops that grew on nearly every isle, depended on the chiefs for their security.
At this gathering were also the shipwrights and smiths who, from Somerled’s days, built the galleys that allowed the Lords of the Isles to conquer the seas.
Angus and Duncan paused next to the two-story great hall with its slate roof rising above the others on Eilean Mor, its highest point flying the Galley of the Isles banner of the Macdonalds. From here, they could see the loch’s shores already crowded with people.
“I am grateful we have lodging in the family quarters,” said Duncan, looking out on the boisterous crowd. “So many have come that extended families and retainers will doubtless be forced to camp along the shores of the loch.”
One hundred feet across, Eilean Mor was the largest of the two islands in the freshwater loch named for St. Findlugan; Eilean na Comhairle was the smaller. Each was accessible to the mainland and to the other by a bridge and causeway.
The larger isle was home not only to the great manor and hall but to the kitchens, servants’ quarters, chapel and chambers for the Lord of the Isles’ family and other nobles. Unlike the castles in the lordship, most of these buildings set on stone foundations had timber walls and thatched roofs. Loch Finlaggan needed no curtain wall, for it was a well-protected haven.
The smaller isle, Eilean na Comhairle, named for the Council meeting place, was occupied by three buildings. The largest was the rectangular stone keep where the Council met. There was also a storehouse and a residence where Angus’ father housed the Bishop of the Isles and the Abbot of Iona to provide them a quiet place of retreat.
On the shores of the loch itself stood the guardhouses where a contingent of Macdonald galloglass would reside while the Council was in session, along with the guards that accompanied the chiefs. Since many chiefs enjoyed hunting with hounds, there were also horses and stables to house them and kennels for the hounds. His own father had brought two hounds.
The sights, sounds and smells of the festive atmosphere were familiar to Angus, for he had attended most of the Council meetings with his family since his youth. A short distance away, Angus spotted the table where the sword makers to the Macdonalds displayed their wares. “I am eager to see the new swords the McEacherns have brought with them but it might have to wait until after the Council meets tomorrow.”
“I could use a new blade if they have one that suits,” said Duncan. “God knows it will be well used in the coming years.”
A group of giggling girls passed by Angus and his cousin, sending them furtive glances. Their brightly colored tunics embroidered with threads of silver and gold and matching ribands streaming from their long tresses spoke of their status as daughters of high-ranking clansmen.
“Have you noticed that we are the subject of much conversation among the lasses?” asked Duncan, looking over his shoulder to smile at the girls.
“No more than usual. ’Tis always the same at the Council gatherings. The members bring their families, including their daughters.”
“You are failing to see the significance, Cousin. With Alex wed to a MacDougall, surely you realize that you have become the man every lass wants. And so it will be for John in a few years.”
“And you, Duncan, if that be the case.”
“To a lesser extent, aye,” said Duncan. “There are doubtless many chiefs here who thought to increase their standing by marrying one of their daughters to the eldest son of Angus Mor. Disappointed, they will now cast their hopes for their dowered daughters to the rest of us.” In a voice Angus recognized as sarcastic, Duncan added, “What father would not want his daughter to marry a Macdonald lord, a commander of hundreds of galleys, a prince of the clan respected by kings? After all, ours is a clan that endows monasteries, trades widely and lives lavishly, aye?”
