Page 35 of Bound By Honor
“So it would seem,” said Angus. “Still, given the claims he has already rejected, we may have a decision by year’s end.”
“The Council meeting in September will be timely,” interjected Duncan.
“I will be there with my family,” the laird assured them.
Tormod nodded. “I as well, accompanied by my son and our wives.”
The next day, Angus bid his host goodbye and sailed west from Skye to the small isle of Barra, the seat of the MacNeils. Rain descended on them as they arrived, and they were glad to be welcomed into the tower house by Niall, the clan chief and his son, Neill.
The MacNeils, like the Macleods, were descendants of the Norse raiders who had plied the waters off the Western Isles in Somerled’s time. They were fair in coloring like the Macleods.
Once they had shed their wet cloaks and been refreshed, the conversation quickly turned to the Scottish succession.
“This Council meeting will be one of importance for years to come,” said the MacNeil chief. “We are poised on the edge of a cliff and must take care not to plunge to our ruin. I see difficulty no matter which way we turn.”
Angus did not disagree for he knew the very kingdom was at stake. “So, we may expect to see you in the days before Michaelmas?”
“Aye, the MacNeils will be there.”
They did not tarry on Barra but the next morning, they thanked their host and sailed east to Lochaber, north of Morvern.
“Have you met all the chiefs before?” asked John as they watched the coastline coming into view.
“At one time or another,” said Angus.
“Me as well,” put in Duncan, “though I have not seen some of them for quite a while.”
In Lochaber, they sought out Maolmuire, chief of the MacMillans. The bold chief with black hair and beard had endured many battles and was not eager to see another. “I do not wish to see the lordship dragged into a civil war in Scotland but if Balliol becomes king, I see no way to avoid it. Still, I would hear from the other chiefs. Before the leaves begin to turn, my son and I will sail for Islay.”
Their voyage next brought them to the Isle of Mull and Duart Castle on the other side of the isle. Perched on a high crag jutting into the Sound of Mull, the castle, shrouded in fog this day, was home to the Macleans. Sea otters that ringed the shores of the isle were much in evidence.
The crew pulled the galley onto the grass growing near the shore and Angus and his companions climbed to the castle. He tried not to notice the Isle of Lismore just off the coast, knowing it should be his brother’s but likely was not. Instead, he focused his attention on Malise, the aging Maclean chief, who met them in front of the castle with his son, another Malcolm. Both were pleased to see Angus and his companions.
“I would recognize that galley pennant anywhere,” said Malise, whose dark hair was beginning to turn gray. He beckoned them to follow him and his son into the great hall. “We are not so far apart in miles, your father and I, but alas, we do not see each other as often as I would like. You must stay the night, a few days if you can, and tell us the news of the Macdonalds.”
Urged on by the looks his companions gave him, Angus decided a few days here would not be ill-spent. “We would be happy to accept your invitation. We are visiting all the chiefs at my father’s request in advance of the Council meeting he has called for early autumn.”
The east coast of Mull where Duart Castle was located was a good place to break their voyage. The isle was known to have a healthy herd of red deer and there was rich fishing offshore that would appeal to John.
Over dinner, they discussed Alex’s marriage. Angus could see Malise chose carefully his words. “Lismore for a dowry. Now, that will be a treasure if the Macdonalds can wrestle it from the MacDougalls. I’d rather have Alexander Macdonald just offshore of my castle than that treacherous lot. But I cannot see the dowry coming to Alexander without a fight.”
Angus agreed but had no desire to dwell on that subject, so he described for the Maclean chief where King Edward was in the process of choosing a new king.
Hearing the explanation, the old chief frowned, uttering a low growl. “Doubtless King Edward expects us all to swear allegiance to him, but it is not a move I favor. I must know what other choices we have.”
“The Isles have always been rather independent no matter the king,” said Duncan.
While Malise was of an age with Angus’ father and had fought with him at the Battle of Largs in 1263, his son was near Angus in age and was quick to express his opinion. “We are now part of Scotland and Scots must have a king of their own,” said Malcolm, “but we Macleans pray that man is not Balliol, for if Edward chooses him, the Isles will erupt in war.”
“It is to be hoped we can avoid that,” said Angus, “but if war comes, the clans must be united and ready.”
“Have no doubt, young Macdonald,” said the old chief. “We will be ready. United is another matter. I will not see my clan join a foolish venture.”
“Nor would my father,” said Angus. “He seeks what is best for all in the lordship.”
“Aye,” said Malise Maclean. “You remind me Angus Mor is the wisest among us.” Slapping his palm on the table, he said, “Very well, Angus, tell your father, the Macleans shall attend the Council meeting where we can discuss our choices. Meantime, enjoy the hospitality we offer you and your men.”
Angus, his companions and crew passed several agreeable days with the Macleans under mostly fair skies before taking up their journey.
