Page 52 of Bound By Honor
“Fitz Thomas’ ambition knows few bounds. The fighting ranges from Kildare in the south to Tirowen and Tirconnell in the north.”
“Tirconnell? My nephew, Turlough, is their king.”
Lord Cumee gave Angus a serious look. “You should be aware his reign is threatened.”
Worried for his nephew, Angus was eager to reach Dunluce. “May I borrow your horses again to ride to Dunluce at first light to consult with the earl?”
“Of course. You may have the ones you rode earlier today or select others. We have horses aplenty to serve you. The distance is not great, less than seven miles, but Earl Richard may invite you to stay the night all the same. Do not worry about your men. We will see to their needs and, when you return, they can be ready to sail or march, as you see fit.”
ÁINE KEPT ONE EAR on the conversation Lord Angus was having with her father while listening to Duncan MacAlasdair’s description of Dunaverty Castle and his home at Saddell on Kintyre. She found Duncan to be congenial and quick-witted. His remarks were often humorous, but it was Angus Mor’s middle son who intrigued her. His being a Scot and obviously a warrior caused her to wonder. Scotland now had a king but Angus Og, Lord of Kintyre, was allied with Edward’s man in Ulster.Why?
As soon as he turned to her, she asked him.
His reply came without effort. “King John Balliol is joined with the enemies of the Macdonalds who, even now, would wreak havoc on our Isles. Moreover, we are bound to the Earl of Ulster and the Bruces by an agreement forged long ago and, more recently, we are bound to the Bruces by assent of our chiefs. My brother, the Lord of the Isles, has been appointed one of King Edward’s bailiffs.”
“I see.” And she did. She liked that he did not dismiss her inquiry concerning a matter of war as coming from a mere woman but treated her as someone to be taken seriously, someone with whom he would share his business.
“I would know more about you, Lady Áine.”
“There is not much to tell. Dunseverick has been my home except for the few years I spent in Tirowen and Inishowen. My mother died when I was young, so I have been my father’s chatelaine for many years.”
“That is to your credit but surely while your husband is away you engage in pastimes that do not involve the business of the castle.”
“I am a widow, Lord Angus.”
A wave of relief swept over him.A widow. “Yet you wear a wedding ring?”
She looked down to the golden band. “It tells others my wedding vows were said in a church.” She shot him a glance. “Not all are. And it serves to let others know I am content.”
“You are not looking to remarry?”
“No.”
A long silence stretched between them.
“To answer your question about my pastimes, Lord Angus, the tapestries you see are my designs and those of my mother. The ones with birds are my creations. I’m very fond of the birds that come to Dunseverick’s cliffs.”
“I did notice the tapestries decorating the walls. They are magnificent. I would like to see the birds that inspired them.”
“I would be happy to show them to you. A walk around the promontory at sunset can be very pleasant on a day like this one.”
“I would look forward to that.”
Áine was happy to think Angus Og would want to see her birds. She was not so naïve as to think it was only the birds he was interested in. She could see the interest in his eyes. But he accepted her expression of contentment so mayhap they could be friends. With the long days of June there would be light enough after the evening’s entertainment to show him her nesting birds.
“The bard has planned a special poem for you and your companions,” she said. “It is a poem written in memory of your father.”
Soon thereafter, the bard took his place before them with the harpist. When the conversations ceased, he began to recite,
There is not in Ireland nor in Scotland an Aonghus like thee, thou graceful form.
Thou hast come round Ireland; rare is the strand whence thou hast not taken cattle.
Graceful long ships are sailed by thee, thou art like an otter, O scion of Tara.
The house of Somerled, the Race of Godfrey, whence thou art sprung, who did not store up cattle,
O fresh-planted orchard, O apple branch, noble is each blood from which thou comest.
