Page 109 of Bound By Honor
Almost chiding, Nessa said, “He will thank God the wife of his heart is healing and will soon be as she was.”
When Brian returned from the O’Neills, Áine was sitting before the fire in the great hall to greet him. Excitement for his fostering sparkled in his dark blue eyes. “They have a female wolfhound,” said Brian, “and have promised me that if Lir and she mate, I can have my choice of pups!”
Dermot joined them. “The meeting went well. I think ’tis a good match.”
Áine was already feeling the loss. “When do you take him to them?”
“Tomorrow. Brian only returned to Dunseverick to say goodbye and spend the evening with you.”
Running her hand over her son’s red curls, Áine leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “I will miss you but your uncle will give us reports. As your writing skills improve, you must write your father and me of all you are learning.”
“I promise,” said Brian, his face a picture of sincerity.
The next day before Dermot and Brian departed, Áine told her brother, “It is time I left as well.”
“To Dunaverty?” he asked. “I will have my galley take you.”
“Angus will not have returned this soon. I have a mind to pay Juliana a short visit on Islay to recover from all that has passed.” She did not tell her brother of the babe or his passing.
“Very well. I will send a message to Dunaverty so that should your husband return before you, he will know where to find you, else Angus will kill me.”
Áine laughed, the first time she had done so since coming to Ulster. “Or, he might kill us both.”
After Brian had gone to his foster home the next morning, with the men Angus had appointed to guard her, Áine and Nessa sailed to Islay under a blue sky covered with billowing white clouds. From the deck of the galley, Áine looked back at the home of her youth, the place where her third son was buried. The first of spring’s flowers appeared on the crest of the green hills, the same flowers that decorated his small grave.
With a sigh, she turned to face north. On the horizon, she could just make out Islay, the seat of the Macdonald lordship.
BATTLING SNOW AND ICE, Angus and his guard had returned to the coast in time for Christmas. His ships were still anchored in the Firth of Clyde along with those of Edward’s fleet. Wind blowing off the snow chilled the air and made for a bleak celebration in the churches and towns on Bute.
Angus longed to be with his wife but the consensus was they should linger, awaiting news of The MacDougall and King Edward.
Finally, news reached them that, in January, at the insistence of the French, Edward had agreed to a truce with the Scots and, thereafter, left Scotland.
Sir Hugh suggested they leave off their search for two months and reconvene in spring when the weather would have improved. Disappointed their hunt had not been successful, nevertheless, Angus agreed. “Mayhap, in the interim, our intelligence will flush quarry from Argyll’s woods.”
“Aye,” said John MacSween. “The MacDougall cannot hide from us or King Edward forever.”
The voyage home to Kintyre was, even in the winter, no more than a day’s travel. Sighting the castle high on the promontory, Angus experienced an eager anticipation. Soon, he would be in the arms of his wife.
When he arrived on Dunaverty’s shore and she was not there to greet him, he asked John, “Where is Áine?”
“She went from Ulster to Islay to recover at Dunyvaig with Juliana.”
Confused, Angus said, “Recover from what?”
“The message from Dermot did not say.”
The next morning, after responding to messages from his constables and chiefs, Angus gave instructions to John and Duncan, who he would leave at Dunaverty, and prepared to sail. He kissed his young son and gave him into the care of his nurse. “I do not know how long Lady Áine and I will be on Islay. If anything untoward happens, my brother can get word to me.”
Anxious that Áine should be unwell and in need of Juliana, Angus sailed with all dispatch. He did not then think of the bairn that grew in her womb. But he did the minute he glimpsed Juliana’s face.
She met him where he beached his galley in Lagavulin Bay, a short walk from the castle. “’Tis the bairn, Angus. Áine lost the bairn in Ireland.” He was about to go in search of her when Juliana added, “She blames herself. The child was a son.”
“Where is she?”
“On the far side of the great hall, staring out to sea, watching the birds. An unusual number have gathered just outside the window.”
“Aye, her birds would have come.”
