Page 34 of Bound By Honor
“Then, on your way back to Ardtornish, stop at Iona to call upon Fionnlagh, the abbot. He, too, will attend the Council’s meeting at our invitation. Tell him I will send a galley for him. The Bishop of the Isles will attend as well. But I will see to his invitation myself.”
“Very well,” said Angus.
Angus’ father set down his wine. “I believe our clan and the chiefs will stand united with the Bruces, but I will be glad to have that confirmed by the Council.” Mirroring Angus’ own thoughts, he said, “In truth, I would rather be allied with a strong King Edward than a weak John Balliol, particularly since Balliol will further empower the Comyns and MacDougalls.”
Thus dispatched, the next morning, Angus, Duncan and John set sail under a blue sky streaked with thin white clouds. Heading west down the Sound of Mull, they reached the open sea and sailed north to the Isle of Skye where they had decided to begin their calls upon the chiefs.
Angus intended to speak only about the status of the proceedings before King Edward and urge the chiefs to attend the Council’s meeting in September. If he happened to learn something of the chiefs’ views that would be all to the good.
Skye was an isle of dramatic contrasts. From its rugged sea cliffs that rivaled those of Tirconnell in Ulster to the Mealt Falls in the northeast that sent water plunging nearly two hundred feet to the ocean below to the Black Cuillin mountains in the south that were often shrouded in mist, there was much to admire.
It was late afternoon when Angus’ crew beached the galley on a shore in the far northwest of Skye next to a rocky summit at the head of Loch Dunvegan, the abode of Tormod Macleod, aging chief of the Macleods. Though the Macleods dominated the Isles of Harris and Lewis, Angus’ father had advised him that the clan’s most recent castle was located at Dunvegan on Skye.
Angus and his companions, as emissaries of the Lord of the Isles, were given a hearty welcome. “Greetings, son of Angus Mor,” said Tormod, who, with his son, Malcolm, met them at the castle door.
A giant of a man, Tormod’s silver-laced fair hair fell to his shoulders. His eyebrows and beard were a bushy white. His eldest son was also fair in coloring. More than the other clans, the Macleods still retained the look of their Norse ancestors.
Tormod eyed Angus with an appraising look. “You’ve become a man since I last saw you at Ardtornish. What is your age now?”
“Twenty,” replied Angus.
“And I suppose this is your brother, John. The resemblance grows more sure with the years.”
“Aye,” said Angus, for the truth of it was apparent. “And this fair handsome beast, looking for all the world like a Macleod, is my cousin, Duncan MacAlasdair.”
Duncan, being in good humor, smiled.
“I know your father, young Duncan,” said Tormod, “the brother of the great Angus Mor.”
Tormod offered his hand and each of them shook it in turn. “Come into the keep. I’ll see your men are offered refreshment and provided lodging with my own.”
“Thank you,” said Angus with a nod toward his captain.
As they walked up the hill to the castle, Tormod remarked, “As chance would have it, John MacNicol is visiting me, so you can speak with him, as well.”
“We had planned to call upon Laird MacNicol next,” said Angus. “You have saved us a trip to Lewis.” The MacNicols were an ancient clan with roots in the kingdom of Dalriada like Angus’ own. He knew his father would want them to attend the Council.
Tormod preceded Angus and his companions into the great hall where they greeted Tormod’s wife, Fiona, and his son’s wife, Alyse.
Once the men and women were seated, Tormod said, “MacNicol and I have just been discussing the events playing out in Berwick.”
John MacNicol, a shorter and younger man than Tormod but of fair countenance like the Macleod chief, agreed. “We are anxious to know what you have heard.”
Tormod’s brow furrowed above his intense blue eyes. “I assume my good friend, Angus Mor, has been watching the events taking place on the English border where King Edward holds court?”
“Aye,” said Angus. “He has followed closely how the field of candidates narrows. ’Tis a slow process as Edward seems in no hurry to make a choice. We but wonder at the outcome.”
“Do you think the Guardians are so foolish as to believe Edward will forget the oaths of fealty he demanded of them once a new King of Scots is chosen?” asked MacNicol.
“They may forget their oaths, believing them replaced by their oaths to the new king,” said Angus. “But I am confident Edward will not.
With a chuckle, Duncan added, “The English king forgets nothing that is in his interest.”
“Aye, ’tis as we suspect,” said Tormod. “Much can go wrong and likely will. I look forward to meeting with the other chiefs at the Council. All will want to hear what Angus Mor has to say.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the wives’ questions about Angus’ family and Duncan’s. The political discussion was only taken up again over dinner. Angus and Duncan participated freely. John said little but Angus noted his eyes were alight with interest.
Sitting back in his chair, Laird MacNicol took up his silver goblet, turning it slowly in his hand as he stared at the logs burning low in the fireplace. “King Edward dallies.”
