Page 19 of Bound By Honor
The sound of laughter rang in Áine’s ears. She turned to see Nessa laughing with Flora, who came from the village each day to cook for them. Nessa’s brown curls and Flora’s red hair mingled together as they bent over the table, kneading dough.
Áine’s handmaiden had found delight in doing things she had never done before. She had been very frightened when they were forced to leave Tirowen earlier that year but she laughed often now that she was safe. Áine, too, had known fear then, though not so much for herself as for Niall. As the daughter of the powerful Lord Cumee O’Cahan, she knew Niall’s cousin would not harm her. But as long as Niall lived and was de Burgh’s—and thus King Edward’s—preferred choice as King of Tirowen, he would remain a threat.
After they arrived in Derry, they had paid de Burgh a visit at his castle at Dunluce. The Red Earl had been furious at what had taken place. “Domnall will not long succeed in his treachery. Only be patient, Niall, and I will see you restored to the kingship.”
Áine gazed out the window to her garden where she had planted vegetables.Would she be here to harvest them?
Notwithstanding de Burgh’s promise, their future remained uncertain, making her worry, especially now. Resting her hand on her belly where the child grew, she stretched her gaze beyond her garden to the waters of the River Foyle that flowed into Lough Foyle before traveling north to find their home in the Atlantic.
“What do you think, Finn?” she inquired of her faithful hound, lazing at her feet. He was another reason the O’Donnells had been reluctant to approach her, for he had stood a snarling guard at her side. “Will I have a male child and will he be born here?”
Finn gazed up at her, his soulful copper-colored eyes inquiring but not understanding.
If the child were a boy, his life would be in constant danger as the heir of the man who had once been, and could be again, King of Tirowen.
While Áine might hope for a daughter, Niall desperately wanted a son.
“He will one day be able to claim the kingship,” he had told her. She well understood the affairs of men and their need for sons to follow after them. It was ever so. And, while Niall had not been her choice and their first months had been awkward, he had been kind and patient. For that, God willing, she would give him sons. After all, she was only seventeen with many years of childbearing ahead of her.
The child would be born in early spring.Where will I be then?
The cathedral bells rang, reminding her it was time to leave. She must visit the priest who often prayed with her for she would need God’s help in the coming days.
Dunaverty Castle, Kintyre Peninsula, October 1290
WITH HIS COUSIN by his side, Angus waved farewell to his younger brother who stood in the bow of their father’s ship as the crew rowed hard from Dunaverty for deeper waters.
Angus and his cousin began the climb back to the castle and Angus extended his gaze south, across the water, to where he glimpsed the coast of Ulster.
With his father’s instructions still fresh in his mind, he said to Duncan, “I will not be long in Carrick. After all, how long can it take to witness a charter?”
“That depends on who is to witness it and for what purpose.”
“’Tis a matter of the Church,” said Angus. “I am to join my brother, Alex, at Turnberry Castle where we are granting a charter to Paisley Abbey for the kirk of St. Queran on Kintyre. That reminds me, I must find the Kintyre clerk named Patrick. He is to go with me.”
Duncan looked down, shaking his head, causing his golden curls to fall into his face. “Well, you may be there for some time. Clerics are rarely quick to do anything. They love much ceremony and many words. And if you are at the Earl of Carrick’s castle at Turnberry, there will be a bevy of notables.”
“I confess I am curious about this granting of charters. I am hoping Robert Bruce, the earl, will be in attendance but I have heard he and his eldest son are in London.” With the thought they might have returned north, Angus looked forward with eager anticipation to what might now be a reunion with his friend Rob and not just a dull meeting of churchmen.
The next morning, a thick mist surrounded the beach on Kintyre as he and Patrick, the Kintyre clerk, left for Turnberry Castle, thirty miles to the east.
As they reached the Firth of Clyde, the mist cleared but, above them, clouds were gathering. He was glad when the crew finally rowed the ship through the seagate that led into the belly of the castle.
The same thin dark-haired seneschal who had greeted Angus and his father before was there to welcome him. “Welcome, Angus Og. Your brother, Alexander, arrived by ship not long ago. The clergy from Argyll will have come by land. I presume they are gathering in the great hall but I must remain here to await Sir Maurice, the vicar of Arran. You know the way?”
“Aye, I have not forgotten.” Angus spoke a word to his captain and then turned to ascend the stone steps that wound up to the hall, Patrick following on his heels. “Tell me,” he said over his shoulder to the Kintyre clerk, “do you know the vicar of Arran and the others who are likely to be among the clergy here?”
“I know the vicar. He is a good man, humble for all his raised status.”
“Who else might be here for the charter?” Angus asked.
“I expect the Abbot of Crosraguel Abbey will be here.” With a note of amusement in his voice, he added, “He is yet another Patrick. The abbey is tied to Paisley Abbey, of course, but since the Bruces established Crosraguel, they watch over it, and the friars there are loyal to the family.”
“Who will accept the gift of the kirk of St. Queran?”
“Doubtless it will be Laurence, the Bishop of Argyll.”
Angus knew the bishop to be a MacDougall but, since he was a Dominican priest, one of the Black Friars, Angus would not hold his clan against him. “The bishop must be very old now.”
