Page 89 of Bound By Honor
“Nay,” said Angus. “’Tis enough you brought me the news. Recover from your wounds and then, if you’ve a mind, you can join my guard.”
The man sank back into the chair as the physician arrived. “Thank you, my lord.”
Angus and the crew, mounted on O’Cahan horses, accompanied by Lord Cumee’s guard, galloped for Dunluce, pausing there only to confer with Earl Richard. The earl expressed his deep sympathy and added his own fighting men to Angus’ retinue, now fifty in number. “I have dispatched carts to retrieve the bodies. We will prepare Alexander for burial. I assume you will want to take him to Iona.”
“Aye,” said Angus. He could not think of that now but, upon his return, he knew he must.
As he rode south toward the woods where his brother had fallen, the hoofbeats of the horses in his party pounded in his ears. The Mackay seer’s prophecy flashed in his mind.A king will rule with uneasy scepter. Scotland will be imperiled as chief attacks chief. Treachery will abound as ancient conflicts are renewed and a foreign ruler will slaughter many. Two chiefs will die before a new one rises with a new king. Only then will Scotland know peace.
He understood for the first time. The seer had meant two Macdonald chiefs would die, two Lords of the Isles, first his father, Angus Mor, and then his brother, Alexander. John Balliol’s scepter had ever been uneasy; Scottish barons had attacked Scottish barons; Edward had slaughtered all in Berwick; and treachery abounded everywhere. All this had happened as the seer predicted. All save the last. A new king had yet to rise.
They searched the woods where Alex had fallen and came across the scene of a bloody slaughter, the bodies of Alex’s men strewn about the grass. Earl Richard’s men, dispatched from the castle with a cart and traveling at a slower pace, arrived and hastened to their grisly task.
Angus found his brother and kneeled beside him, gently running his hand over the fixed eyes to close them. The MacDougall’s sword had pierced his unmailed chest. Tears welled in Angus’ eyes as he remembered the older brother who had led the way to manhood. A leader of clans, a respected nobleman and a much-loved husband and father. No more would he smile in this world for he had gone on to the next.
“I will see you avenged, Alex, and I will care for your family.”
Angus lifted his brother into the cart and helped Earl Richard’s men to cover the body with a white linen cloth they had brought for that purpose. Then he returned to the spot where his brother had fallen for he had noticed when lifting Alex that his sword—their father’s sword—had been trapped beneath Alex’s body. The silvered blade was clean of any blood. He picked it up and put it in the cart with his brother.
Leaving the woods, Angus and his band of fifty warriors tracked the horses that had fled the scene, riding west to Tirowen. The trail led them to a clearing and the armed camp of Domnall O’Neill. Angus slowly walked his horse past the warriors milling about, searching for any sign of blood or battle on their tunics.
The O’Neill’s men standing around spoke no challenge but their eyes followed Angus and his men through the camp.
At the door of the manor in the camp’s center Angus shouted, “Domnall O’Neill, come out! I would speak with you!”
The door opened and two burly guards stepped out to flank the door followed by the half-MacDougall King of Tirowen. He was not much different that Angus remembered, though better attired in a tunic of Irish royalty embroidered in silver, this one bearing no splashes of blood. Slight in body with thin brown hair, Domnall’s small eyes narrowed with suspicion as he looked up at Angus, his dark gaze full of malice. On Domnall’s face, a smug smile emerged. “Ah, I know you.”
Angus reigned in his fury. “I am Angus Og Macdonald, Lord of Kintyre. I would know the whereabouts of your kinsman, Alexander MacDougall.”
“Now, why would I know where the Lord of Lorne and Argyll is? This is Ireland, not Scotland.” He exchanged a smile with the two guards.
“MacDougall was here and well you know it, for he has murdered my brother, Alexander, Lord of the Isles, in yon woods. Where is he?”
“Even if I knew, why should I tell you?”
Angus gritted his teeth. “You might notice I come with Earl Richard’s men as well as Lord Cumee’s and my own Islesmen, each a galloglass.” He glanced behind him, comforted by his men’s stern countenances and their hands tightly gripping their axes. Turning back to O’Neill, he said, “Should you refuse to answer, the earl, by whose grace you remain King of Tirowen, has the power to take the lands you now hold. And, should you need convincing, I can raise three thousand Islemen within a sennight to descend upon you. You would not survive.”
The smile disappeared from Domnall’s face yet he hesitated.
“Christ on the cross, O’Neill! The man has rendered his own daughter a widow and his grandsons fatherless! His hands are red with innocent blood.”
Domnall shrugged. “Very well. I tell you nothing you could not learn yourself. The Lord of Lorne and Argyll sailed from Ulster’s shores more than an hour ago. To where, I know not.”
Angus glared at the pitiful excuse for a king, who like his MacDougall relations, had killed for ambition. “You had best not be involved in this plot against my brother. If I find it is otherwise, I will be back. God’s judgment on you!” He began to turn his horse and then reconsidered. “As for Alexander MacDougall, he will die by my hand or, if God so wills, by the hand of another. But this I promise you—for his treachery, he will die in disgrace and landless.”
Angus wheeled his horse toward Dunluce, the horse’s hooves kicking up dirt as he galloped through the camp. The men with him spurred their horses to follow, causing all they encountered to scatter before the furious Macdonald lord and his men.
ÁINE’S FATHER HAD told her of the murder of Angus’ elder brother. All at Dunseverick were shocked. Alexander Macdonald was a man widely respected in Ulster and loved by all who knew him. To ambush and slay such a lord was a grave sin.
Her head bent in sorrow, Áine thought of Angus and how he must be suffering. She prayed God would give him strength.
Wanting to meet Angus alone in the bailey when he returned, she asked Nessa to keep Brian occupied. Kintyre’s lord arrived ahead of his men, who trailed behind, as if they were allowing him space to grieve alone. He dismounted and she walked to meet him. He was visibly shaken and beneath his eyes dark shadows rested as though he was worse for the tears he had not allowed himself to shed.
His men walked their horses into the bailey. The captain, mayhap wanting to give Angus and Áine privacy, nodded to her before dismounting and urging the men into the castle.
When the stable lads had taken away the horses, Áine rested her head on Angus’ chest, hoping her nearness would bring him comfort. His thudding heart was a solace. “My love…” she said.
“He is gone,” Angus replied in a strained whisper. “My brother is gone.”
