Page 67 of Bound By Honor
“There is spiced wine, Lord Angus, for you and your companions,” said Lady Áine. “You shall be warm in no time.”
As the men took their seats around the fire and sipped the hot spiced wine that tasted to Angus of cinnamon and cloves, Lord Cumee said, “Edward has taken steps to assure the release of Earl Richard and his cousin. John fitz Thomas has been summoned to a parliament in Kilkenny a fortnight hence, and he is ordered to bring his prisoners.”
CHAPTER 13
Dunseverick Castle, north coast of Ulster, March 1295
ÁINE SCANNED the great hall for her son, hoping to take him for a walk while the weather was fair. His nurse said she had left him with Nessa but while the handmaiden stood at the window, looking out on the promontory, Brian was nowhere to be seen.
“Nessa, where is Brian?”
Nessa spun around, a calculating smile on her face, one curly brown lock in the middle of her forehead. “Do you per chance refer to Lord Angus’ shadow?” At Áine’s puzzled look, Nessa said, “The lad is outside with the Macdonald lord, Mistress.” Turning back to the window, she said, “I believe they are discussing ships. Lord Angus is carving a small model of his galley for Brian.”
Áine was not surprised that Brian had joined Lord Angus outside. Ever since he had returned from Tirowen, she had observed her young son following him and his Islesmen about like a forlorn pup.
Joining her handmaiden at the window, Áine watched Brian gazing intently at Lord Angus’ quick work with a knife as he sat on a bench, carving the soft wood. She could not hear all of their conversation for the wind and the distance but it was clear her son was asking many questions.
At four years of age, Brian was beginning to get freckles so the Macdonald men had taken to calling him Brian “Balloch”, meaning freckled. Brian did not like being teased about the marks but he enjoyed the company of the Islesmen so he accepted the teasing as the price of their fellowship. Áine thought the emerging cluster of brown dots scattered across the bridge of her son’s nose adorable. He was growing into a handsome boy, tall and straight, with a stout heart, who was eager to learn a man’s ways.
It was no wonder he was attracted to the Lord of Kintyre, a man of noble presence, whose actions on the practice field had daily proven his skill with weapons. Earl Robert had remarked to her that Lord Angus had taught him much about the long axes. Her father had frequently sought Lord Angus’ advice and Brian had taken notice.
“It is kind of him to take time to make a gift for Brian,” Áine said to Nessa.
“If you ask me, Mistress, Lord Angus seeks to win the heart of the lad as a step to winning the heart of his mother.”
Áine’s cheeks warmed. Nessa had always been one to see more than others. Since Lord Angus had returned, he had paid Áine much attention but always with proper manners and deference to her as the daughter of The O’Cahan. If she had seen more in his sea blue eyes than she was willing to admit she did not dwell on it. “He is aware I do not wish to wed.”
“You have told him?”
“I have.”
Nessa turned back to the window and continued watching Lord Angus with Brian. “That may be dictating his approach. Angus Og Macdonald is not like Rory Maguire of Fermanagh, whose affection for you is open to all. The Lord of Kintyre is a warrior familiar with strategy in battles. His approach would be less obvious. I think he knows what he wants and has set about to get it. I suspect your father knows it, too.”
Nessa had been right about Rory Maguire. Concerned about her wellbeing after the battle at Creeve, he had come to Dunseverick, arriving shortly before Lord Angus returned. He paid court to her, always the gentleman. But the grandson of the King of Fermanagh paid little attention to the handsome Lord of Kintyre or Earl Robert. Rory did not look down upon them but she was certain he did not consider them a threat to his suit. They were merely visitors from Scotland who would leave in due time.
At her father’s invitation, Rory had lingered at Dunseverick. At this moment, he was in the stables looking over a new colt her father had offered him.
Áine was determined to hold her father to the bargain he had made. If she married again, it would be to a man of her choosing.
ANGUS HELD UP the small wooden galley, turning it in his hand. “Aye, she’s a yare ship.” He had carved the hull, oar holes, mast and sail, all from the soft wood. A child’s toy but one that delighted the lad.
“Can I have it now?” Brian asked, eagerly reaching for the small replica of Angus’ galley. The lad’s red hair, bright in the sun, needed a trim for it fell nearly into his eyes as he stared at the toy in wonder.
He handed the wee ship to the boy. “’Tis yours, Little Prince,” he said, using the byname his mother called him.
Brian held the toy with reverence. “I must show Mama and Grandfather.”
“Before you go, may I ask you a question?”
The lad faced him and, holding the little galley close to his chest, nodded.
“Do you miss your hound very much?”
The lad nodded slowly. “Mama, too.” Angus had seen the sadness in Lady Áine’s eyes when she stared at the spot where the wolfhound, Finn, used to lie before the fire.
“Would you like another, mayhap a pup?”
This time, the nod was vigorous.
