Page 64 of Bound By Honor
“We came as soon as we heard,” said Angus. “But, as you can see, we were too late to save Brian O’Neill.”
Lord Cumee and his men dismounted. “A sad end to the young king. The people will feel Brian’s loss. And what of Domnall O’Neill?”
“The wounded tell us he and his men hied off to Coleraine to celebrate their victory.”
Lord Cumee looked toward the town as his men gathered around him.
“Is there a place near that is fitting for King Brian’s burial?” asked Angus.
“The Abbey of the Bann in Coleraine would serve and ’tis close,” said Lord Cumee. “None can object as the abbey was founded by us. I will have my men see to it.” Then searching the group of men who had come to stand behind Angus, Lord Cumee said, “What of the O’Cahan chiefs who came with you?”
“They are all here, my lord,” Angus assured him. “Some of your O’Cahan men were wounded in battle in Tirconnell but none of the young chiefs have wounds of grave concern.”
“That is a relief. Their fathers begin to inquire of their wellbeing.”
Angus turned and beckoned Ryan O’Docherty to him. The young chief stepped forward. Splashed with mud and blood from his labors at Creeve, he bowed before Lord Cumee. “My lord.”
Lord Cumee smiled at the young chief and reached out to squeeze his shoulder. “Your father is the reason I am here.” To Angus, he said, “Do you have a thought as to what we should do concerning Domnall?”
Angus nodded. “Earl Robert and I have discussed what’s to be done.” Then they explained what they had planned, and Angus said, “What is your preference, Lord Cumee?”
“If I know Domnall, he is well into his ale by now and the townspeople who have not fled are serving his needs, willingly or otherwise.” Then, with a smile that verged on a smirk, he added, “Let us pay the villain a visit.”
A short while later, with their five hundred men waiting outside, Angus followed Lord Cumee and Rob into the Coleraine tavern where they were told they could find Domnall O’Neill.
Loud conversations and sounds of merriment filled the darkened room that smelled of sweat, blood and spilled ale. Angus’ two companions made a fearsome pair, one a respected Irish lord who wore an invisible cloak of authority, the other a battle-tested knight of noble birth. Angus was proud to be in their company.
With a nod of his head, Lord Cumee gestured to a man holding court amidst a group of men, still streaked with the dried blood of the slain. A woman sat on his lap, her long dark hair hanging in tangles about her shoulders. Whether she was willing, Angus could not say but as O’Neill grabbed at her tunic an expression of fear crossed her face.
Lord Cumee stepped forward in a bold manner and the boisterous conversations died. From the look on Domnall’s face, it was clear he had expected no opposition, no pursuing army.
Angus was content to let Lord Cumee speak as he had responsibility for guarding these lands and, hitherto, the O’Cahans had been at peace with the O’Neills.
Domnall abruptly stood, throwing the girl off his lap and knocking over his chair. “Cumee O’Cahan! Do you come to pay homage to the new King of Tirowen? Or, mayhap to offer me your beautiful daughter as a prize?”
“Neither,” said Lord Cumee with firm emphasis.
Angus ground his teeth hearing Domnall speak so blithely of Lady Áine.
“Why ever not?” asked Domnall, his tone dripping sarcasm. “As you can plainly see,” he swept his hand in a wide gesture around the tavern crowded with his men, “we are celebrating this day’s victory and Tirowen’s new king.” The wide smile on his face left no doubt as to who he thought that was.
Angus was not impressed with Domnall O’Neill. The half-MacDougall was not physically imposing nor of handsome visage. A slight man with stringy dark hair, he had the eyes of a predator and the frozen scowl of a man who devised strategies to his own good, damning the consequences.
“You celebrate too soon, Domnall,” said Lord Cumee, “for you do not yet know what the Earl of Ulster will have to say about this day.”
“De Burgh?” Domnall laughed and was joined by his men. “What has he to say aboutanything? He sits in Lea Castle’s dungeon.”
“For now, mayhap. But King Edward will have the last word.”
Domnall’s face lost its smile and the tavern whispers suddenly quieted. A smirk slowly formed on his face and his chin jutted out. “And you would know about that as one of de Burgh’s minions?”
“I know of King Edward and he will not like the great disturbance that fitz Thomas and his allies have imposed on Ireland.”
Ignoring these words, Domnall cast a glance at Angus and Rob, flanking Lord Cumee. “Who are these two you bring with you?”
“Oh,” said Lord Cumee, in what Angus recognized as feigned courtesy, “did I fail to introduce them? Forgive me. This warrior,” he said, gesturing to Angus, “is no ordinary galloglass, if a galloglass can ever be ordinary. No, he is Angus Og Macdonald, Lord of Kintyre, whose brother Alexander, Lord of the Isles, is the King of England’s agent in the Hebrides. And this knight,” he said, turning to Rob, “is no ordinary knight. He is Sir Robert Bruce, Earl of Carrick, who has recently come from King Edward’s court. Each is a friend of Richard de Burgh and can speak to what the English king might think of the earl’s capture.”
Domnall took another drink of his ale, the liquid running down his beard. “I have no love for de Burgh,” he spit out, “and would not hear from his friends.” Turlough had told Angus that Domnall was from an O’Neill faction that was hostile to the Normans and hated Richard de Burgh. Twice before, he had failed to take power in Ulster. On both occasions, he was deposed by the Red Earl.
