Page 106 of Bound By Honor
The offer was not an idle one or one without great force behind it, as Dermot well knew, for Angus now commanded the Western Isles for King Edward and thousands of Islesmen of the lordship.
Dermot thanked him. “Your bond and friendship mean much.”
The next day, Angus kissed Áine and hugged Brian before mother and son climbed into the galley that would take them to Ulster. “I am sorry to spend Christmas apart,” he told them.
“There will be others,” Áine replied. Her voice sounded flat as if robbed of its usual life by her grief. Áine’s handmaiden, Nessa, had accompanied her mistress and now stood close by her side.
Áine’s son Brian by The O’Neill, who Angus still called “Young Prince”, had grown somber with the news of his grandfather’s passing. But he was doing his best to remain stoic. In his cinnamon-colored tunic and dark brown cloak, he held Lir’s leash tightly. The mare, Enbarr, had quieted in her sling under the groom’s soothing hand.
Angus wished them Godspeed and waved as they sailed from Dunaverty Bay under a brooding sky, the clouds heavy with rain. Áine stood in the bow, one end of her fur-lined cloak wrapped around Brian’s shoulders as she lifted her hand in farewell. Though the sailing would be short, it would be cold and the wind at this time of year could be fierce but there was no hope for it. None would delay the voyage.
In the next few days, at Angus’ request, his brother, John, arrived from Dunyvaig on Islay, and Duncan rode down from Saddell farther up the Kintyre Peninsula. It was agreed that while Angus was away, John would remain at Dunaverty. “My lady wife has sailed for Ulster with her brother to bury her father,” Angus told him. “Young Brian is with her as he will begin his fostering with the O’Neills. My son, Alexander, still a bairn, is here with his nurse. Send word when Lady Áine has returned.”
“And you?” John asked.
“Duncan and I will be with Bissett and MacSween in the Firth of Clyde, hunting MacDougalls.”
A day later, Sir Hugh and John MacSween sailed into Dunaverty Bay. At dinner in the great hall, before a blazing fire, they discussed strategy, for the MacDougalls were wily and must be approached carefully.
At first light on the following morning, they sailed east. Angus added his galleys to those of his partners. Their destination was the Isle of Bute, where Alexander MacDougall was rumored to be.
The snow-covered peaks on the Isle of Arran rose in dramatic fashion as they rounded the isle’s eastern coast. Once in the Firth of Clyde, they were surprised to find the waters of the firth choked with the English fleet.
“If the MacDougalls were ever here, they no longer are,” said Duncan.
Upon inquiry, Angus learned that the English fleet awaited King Edward who was expected to return shortly from Falkirk. “His Majesty is in a jubilant mood,” said one of his captains. “His young wife has given him another son, Prince Edward is with his father, and Sir Robert Bruce has submitted to the English garrison at Lochmaben Castle.”
Taken aback, Angus asked. “Is Sir Robert yet there?”
“I believe so. He waits for the king.”
Turning to Duncan, Angus said, “Since the MacDougalls are nowhere in sight, I would go to Rob. I must know what has led to this turn of events.”
“Aye,” said Duncan. “Go. I will stay with the galleys. Sir Hugh will wait for you to rejoin us.” Glancing over to the lead galley of the Lord of the Glens of Antrim, Duncan said, “Just now, he appears to be enjoying the wine the king’s captains are handing out in celebration.”
“A week’s delay will not matter if you and the men are content to remain here,” said Angus. “I would take only my guard.”
Angus borrowed some horses for the trip east. “I know you expected a battle on water,” he said to the captain of his guard. “I do hope a ride to Lochmaben Castle will be sufficient adventure for now.”
His captain chuckled. “Anywhere my lord leads, we follow.”
With that, Angus took to the road that was covered with snow. Two days later, they arrived at Lochmaben Castle in Annandale, once the seat of the Bruces and now garrisoned by the English.
Angus announced himself as “King Edward’s Admiral of the Western Isles here to see the Earl of Carrick”, which gave him and his guard entrance at the wooden palisade.
In the castle, Angus strode into the great hall, leaving his guard just inside the door where they were offered ale by a servant.
He spotted his friend pouring wine into two goblets as he stood next to a table. “I heard you had come,” said Rob.
Angus crossed the room to hug him. “It’s been too long. Letters are but poor excuses for a meeting of good friends.” Reaching for the goblet of wine Rob poured for him, Angus studied his friend. His face was still that of a young man, of an age with Angus, but there were signs of weariness about his eyes. The auburn hair Angus had first glimpsed when they were but youths had darkened and grown longer. He was dressed for battle, not Longshanks’ court. “You have the look of one who has had to make hard decisions.”
Rob’s eyes roved over Angus’ fine tunic, his eyes pausing on the gilded belt and jeweled pin Angus wore at his left shoulder. “As do you, Lord of the Isles.”
“Aye, the reason for my new title is a sad tale of treachery.” He took a long drink of his wine.
“I have heard. I am sorry for the loss of your brother. He was a good man and should not have died at the hands of kin turned betrayer.” Taking a drink of his wine, Rob said, “I have also heard you have taken a bride.” With a teasing look in his eyes, he said, “One so lovely they call her the Jewel of the Roe, as I recall. Is it true? You have won the hand of the beautiful Áine O’Cahan?”
“Aye, ’tis true,” said Angus, unable to resist a smile. “I thank the Good Lord every day for His favor in giving her to me. I have a young son, too. Alexander.”
