Page 73 of Bound By Honor
The next morning as Lord Angus was preparing to depart, a messenger rode in from Dunluce, carrying a missive for the Earl of Carrick. “This came to us because they thought you might be at Dunluce, my lord.” Bowing before Earl Robert, he handed him the scrolled parchment.
The young earl’s face paled as he read the letter. “I must return to Carrick immediately. My grandfather is dying.”
“Allow me to take you, Rob” said Lord Angus. “I will send all of my ships, save the one in which I sail, to Dunyvaig on Islay while I take you to Turnberry.”
The earl’s gray eyes were full of gratitude. “Thank you, Angus.”
“We sail within the hour,” the Lord of Kintyre assured him. “You will be home tonight.”
Áine rode with her brother and Brian to the beach where Lord Angus’ ships rested on the sand. She sat atop her horse with Brian in front of her. Dermot was next to her astride his palfrey with Lir in his lap at Brian’s insistence.
Lord Angus strode forward to meet them as his men were getting out the oars and loosing the sails. He relieved Dermot of Lir and lowered the pup to the sand. Dermot dismounted and took Brian from Áine’s lap. Lord Angus helped her down.
“I wish you Godspeed, my lord.” It was hard for her to say more, so she let her eyes speak the words she could not say. She hoped he would understand.
He kissed her hand and patted Brian’s head, reaching down to admonish Lir to “be a good hound.” The pup’s tail beat rapidly against the sand in response.
She watched the ships as his men pulled at the oars, rowing them out to sea. Lord Angus stood in the bow of his galley his foot braced on a small wooden platform. His face was set toward the east, the wind blowing his hair behind him.
He looked very much as she might have pictured the mythical Lir in his shipWave Sweeper, gliding across the beckoning sea that was his kingdom. Angus Og Macdonald was a man of the sea and ships, a man who loved his Isles. If she ever gave him her heart, she would one day cross those seas to live in his Isles. His people would become her people and her son would be raised a Scot.
CHAPTER 14
Dunyvaig Castle, Lagavulin Bay, Isle of Islay, February, 1296
“’TIS NOT ENOUGH for Edward to have Wales,” Angus said, looking up from the letter he had just received from his friend, Rob. “It seems he would have Scotland as well.”
Alex shifted his attention from the papers he had been poring over—papers that had come for him in his capacity as King Edward’s bailiff in the sheriffdoms of Lorne, Ross and the Isles. In addition to having these privileged positions, formerly held by Alexander MacDougall of Argyll, King Edward had made Angus’ elder brother Admiral of the Western Isles. His assignment, among others, was to hold the MacDougalls in check. “It was bound to happen,” said Alex. “Edward has been signaling his intention to be Scotland’s overlord for some time. So, what else does the young Robert Bruce have to say?”
Glancing at the letter, Angus said, “He and his new bride, Isabella of Mar, are sojourning at Carlisle Castle.”
Alex sat back and crossed his arms. “She is a good match for him, of noble blood, an heiress to a large part of Inverness, and her father is one of the new Guardians. But why Carlisle? ’Tis in England and the Bruce castles are in Carrick and Annandale.”
“According to this, John Comyn has seized the Bruce lands and castles. With the death of Robert the Noble, King Edward made Rob’s father the governor of Carlisle Castle, providing them a safe haven in England. Apparently, the king intends to make Carlisle his headquarters for the attack on King John.” Angus read on and then looked up. “There is other news. Edward has promised Rob’s father the crown of Scotland if Balliol abdicates.”
“John very well might. Even the Scots who once supported him have lost faith in his kingship. That may be what is behind the appointment of the new panel of Guardians who are seeking help from France.”
“I cannot think Edward will allow such a thing,” said Angus.
“Nay, he will not, which is why the king is raising a great army to muster at Newcastle. One of these papers,” Alex said, fishing for the document on his desk, “calls for me to transport a large number of fighting men from Ireland to meet King Edward in England this spring.”
Angus’ ears perked up. “Whose fighting men?”
“Richard de Burgh’s, among other magnates. The king must have met the earl’s price for de Burgh has finally agreed to go. Then, too, the settlement John Wogan is cobbling together between the de Burghs and Fitzgeralds may require it.” Alex lifted his head and stared into the distance, his dark brows drawn together as if contemplating. “Do you remember James Stewart, the High Steward of Scotland, whom you met at Turnberry those many years ago?”
“Vaguely.” Angus had met so many nobles and their sons the day he had first met Rob he could scarce recall but a few. The Stewart brothers, then in their twenties, would now be in their thirties. “I recall they had the look of warriors, their brown hair long and their beards short.”
“Well, de Burgh has sought King Edward’s permission for the marriage of his sister, Gille, to wed James Stewart.”
“Ah, I see. Edward dangles a carrot before the earl, to be given only when he heeds the call to arms.”
“I expect so. And the king would hope to secure James Stewart’s loyalty in the bargain as well. Meantime, I am told Sir Thomas de Mandeville, one of de Burgh’s staunchest allies, will join the Irish force going with the earl.”
“I know Sir Thomas,” said Angus, gazing out the window. His mind was not on the Norman knight he had met at Dunluce but on the fair Lady of Dunseverick. It had been nearly a year since they had said goodbye and not a day passed he did not think of her. Or dream of her. If de Burgh was gathering a large force to sail from Ireland, surely Cumee O’Cahan would contribute to their numbers.
Angus’ gaze drifted through the window to the winter ground outside the castle. When he had first risen, it had been covered with a layer of frost. Even now, though the sun had melted the glistening crust, only his warm cloak and the fire that blazed in the stone fireplace kept the chill at bay. He considered the task that would likely be his, taking another, larger fleet of ships to the coast of Ulster. “Spring, you say?”
“Aye. De Burgh has access to Irish ships but he will need ours to bring to Edward a thousand men as well as the knights’ warhorses. You will have to sail within a fortnight.” Then with an amused expression, he added, “At least you will not have to sail with fitz Thomas.”
