Page 90 of Bound By Honor
Raising her head, she met his stunned gaze.
“How can I tell Juliana?” he asked. “Or Alex’s young sons?”
“I will stand by you, Angus. I will help you tell them.”
“Is not the timing ironic? ’Tis the happiest and the saddest of days.”
“I know, my love. Come,” she said, turning him toward the castle, “my father and brother wait within and you could do with some wine.”
Slowly, they walked to the castle door, his arm around her shoulders.
THE RED WINE offered Angus fortified him but the ache in his heart and the heaviness in his head remained. At the meal that followed attended by only Lord Cumee, Dermot and Áine, Angus ate nothing save bread.
“What will you do now?” asked Dermot.
Angus desperately wanted to hunt down the murderous MacDougall but he had responsibilities that had to be seen to first. “Tomorrow, as the sun rises, I must sail to Dunluce to retrieve my brother’s body. Earl Richard’s physician has prepared it for burial. Along with Alex, I must retrieve the bodies of his men to return them to Islay. From there I will sail to Iona to lay Alexander to rest in St. Oran’s Chapel where all the Lords of the Isles have been buried since Somerled.”
“Mayhap we should postpone the wedding,” Áine offered.
“Nay,” said Angus. “I have waited years to make you mine. If you are willing, my love, I would have you by my side. After the burial, we can be wed in the abbey church at Iona. The chiefs will be there for Alex’s burial and will want to attend. Then all will return to Islay for the naming of the new chief. In these uncertain times, with treachery all around us, the lordship cannot be long without a proper leader.”
Áine stared at him. On her face he read a sudden realization and a sudden dread as her eyes filled with tears. “It will be you. You will be the new Lord of the Isles.”
The seer’s words drifted through his mind as he thought of an answer she might understand.Two chiefs will die before a new one rises. “Aye, ’tis likely, but that is for the Council of the Isles to decide. Our law provides that the chieftainship descends to the most worthy of the same blood, brothers preferred, and, of those, the most senior who is ‘king fit’. Alex’s sons are too young to take on such responsibility but, even were they of age, the nobility of the mother would be of concern. Since the mother of Alex’s sons is a MacDougall—our enemy—none of them could qualify to become chief.”
Áine placed her hand on her chest as if holding in her feelings; her lips parted. “His love for her must have been great to take her as his wife knowing any sons she gave him could never become chief.”
“Aye, he loved her much,” said Angus, remembering their disagreement when Alex insisted he would court Juliana. “I argued against his pursuit of her but he was determined.” Then, looking into her eyes, he said, “Now I understand.”
“You may not realize it, my son,” interjected Lord Cumee, “but I believe it is clear to all. Though you are yet in your twenties, you have already displayed the qualities that show you to be ‘king fit’, as you say. In a time of grief beyond enduring, your steady hand is on the tiller. The chiefs of the lordship will not fail to see it. Even had they another to consider, their choice would be you.”
“I agree with Father,” said Áine, “but I worry that becoming chief will make you a target of the MacDougalls’ wrath.”
Angus nodded for he could not deny the truth of it. “Aye, that, too, is likely, but ’twas always true.” With a sinking feeling, he asked, “Does the possibility change your mind about marrying me?”
She reached for his hand. “No. If you can be brave, so can I. My love is constant. I will go with you to Iona and become your wife.”
He smiled at her through the veil of tears. He had lost a brother, his right arm, but he would soon gain a virtuous woman as his bride to stand by him the rest of his life. A gift of God at a time of great sorrow.
“It would be best,” said her father, “if Dermot sailed with you and Áine. I will stay behind with Brian. My old bones are best left on land and Brian is too young for the solemnity required for the burial of a Lord of the Isles. ’Sides,” he said, attempting a smile, “I must see to my daughter’s dowry for such an army will take time to assemble.”
“You would miss the wedding?” Áine asked her father.
Lord Cumee reached out and patted her hand. “We will celebrate upon your return, Daughter. That, too, I shall arrange, if you allow.”
“Of course, Father.” She reached up to kiss his cheek.
Once Áine had agreed to go with him, Angus listened, content. He would allow her father to handle the rest. “What about you, Dermot?” he said to her brother. “Will you accompany your sister north to Iona? She will need a chaperone and her handmaid alone might not suffice. Too, the chiefs will want to meet you.”
“I will go, and gladly,” said Dermot, now fully a man and heir to The O’Cahan. “But you will have to bribe Brian to stay, mayhap with a new pony.”
Angus nodded. “The Young Prince shall have a horse fit for a king.”
CHAPTER 17
The sea between Islay and Iona, May 1299
TO ÁINE, WHO in all her twenty-five years, had rarely been out of Ireland, it felt strange to be sailing on Angus’ galley headed for the Isle of Iona, even more so because the ship carried his brother’s body. The atmosphere, despite the sun-filled day, was understandably somber, for all were in mourning.
