Page 76 of Bound By Honor
THE SUN WAS SETTING as Angus and his companions, their business finished at Dunluce, rode hard for Dunseverick. They crossed the wide green swath perched high above the sea that ran along the coast between the two castles. Flame-colored clouds, scattered across the sky, made for a splendid sight, one Angus appreciated after the year before when all he encountered in Ireland were dark clouds and rain.
As they approached the castle, the last rays of the sun shone on the stone edifice rendering it a glowing palace. Angus recalled the poetry of the Irish bards that spoke of a woman who lived in such an enchanted place. So fair was she that the sight of her melted men’s hearts. Surely Áine O’Cahan was such a woman for she had melted his.
Racing beside him, Duncan shouted, “Are we in haste for dinner?”
By the look his cousin gave him, Angus knew he did not speak of food. “Nay, I have a grander purpose.”
“As I thought,” said Duncan with a grin. “Very well, we shall race with you.”
John grinned. Angus’ younger brother never complained about racing horses for he was a fine horseman.
They arrived with time to change for the evening meal but when Angus observed Lord Cumee standing before the fire staring into the flames and none but servants in the hall, Angus took his leave of John and Duncan, saying he would see them at dinner. His guard, too, was dismissed until the evening meal.
Crossing the hall to the O’Cahan lord, Angus said, “Might I have a word?”
“Of course. How went your visit with Earl Richard? Are his men ready?”
“Aye, they come. A day more and all will be assembled. As soon as we leave here with what men we have, we will sail to the beach west of Dunluce and from there to England. But that is not why I would speak with you.”
“Oh?”
Angus studied O’Cahan’s face, guessing he was entering his fifth decade. There were strands of silver in his dark hair and beard. Still, he stood strong and just as proud as when he confronted Domnall O’Neill a year ago. Angus knew this Irish lord would have the last word. “’Tis about your daughter, Lady Áine.”
Lord Cumee’s face took on a serious mien.
Though Angus feared a negative response, he forced himself to be direct. “I would ask for your blessing to court her and seek her hand in marriage.”
A smile spread across the older man’s face. “I wondered how long it would take you to broach the subject. Your eyes give you away whenever she is about.”
“Aye, they might.”
“You should be aware, Lord Angus, that many have sought my daughter’s hand and she has accepted none. The last to go away disappointed was Rory Maguire, the grandson of the King of Fermanagh and a worthy young man.”
Angus remembered the redheaded man who had stayed with the O’Cahans. He was relieved to know such a fine candidate had not been accepted.
“She is not eager to wed again,” continued Lord Cumee. “Áine’s first marriage was not of her choice, either in the man or the timing of it. But she was a dutiful daughter and complied with my will. You have my blessing to court her, even my encouragement. I knew your father, you see.”
“I did not—”
“No, I said nothing of it as I wanted to see if the son had the father’s mettle.”
Angus raised his brows, waiting with trepidation for the verdict.
“He does. But it is not I you have to persuade. If Áine is to wed a second time, and I hope she does, the choice will be hers. Win her heart and you will have her hand.”
“Thank you, sir,” Angus said, relieved. “I could not ask for more. Doubtless I have before me a difficult task, for I know she loves her family and her home and is well content.”
“If anyone can win her, ’tis you. May God go with you, my son.”
With a lightness in his step, Angus hurried to his chamber to wash and change.
Since many chiefs and men would be sailing in the next day or two, he was not surprised when he returned to the hall to see that dinner would be a small affair.
Angus barely noticed the food, occupied as he was speaking with Lady Áine who dined beside him. At another time, they might have spoken of gardens and summer fairs, but instead, they talked of the war that was coming to Scotland, and of his family’s decision, along with the Bruces, to swear fealty to King Edward. He told her of the Turnberry Band, sealed a decade before. “It comes down to loyalties forged in the fire of mutual interests and to siding with friends against long ago enemies.”
“I see,” she said, her lovely brown eyes full of understanding. “It is not so different in Ireland. But is not a Scotland ruled by her own king free of England something to be sought?”
“Aye and I believe it will come. But King John is weak and the nobles do not respect him. He never should have been king. Like Scotland’s nobles, King Edward holds John in low regard. Yet John defies England’s king, a grave mistake. Once he is gone, Edward will look again to the Bruces. At least that is the hope. Until then, we serve Edward against our enemies, the MacDougalls of Argyll and the Comyns, the Earl of Buchan and the Lord of Badenoch.”
