Page 93 of Bound By Honor
Iona shall be as it was.
The shore rushed up to meet them. The seals, basking on the rocks, hardly took notice. Mayhap, thought Áine, they were bored by the many people who had already come to honor Lord Alexander, for she counted a dozen galleys lined up on the beach. Colorful pennons waved from the masts announcing which chiefs had arrived.
“Once the galley is secure,” said Angus, helping her down from the ship, “my guards will carry Alexander’s body to the chapel where the monks will continuously chant prayers, awaiting the burial.”
The wind blew more fiercely here, bending the long grass to the rocky ground. It whipped Áine’s cloak behind her before she gathered it close. “I am glad it is May,” she said to Juliana, who had followed her to the beach. “Even if the wind is cold, we have flowers and sun.”
Juliana looked around her as if rousing from a stupor. Above the tide line, silverweed, with its pretty yellow flowers and silver-backed leaves, bloomed in abundance. Shorebirds danced with the small waves lapping at the shore. “The isle is beautiful,” said Alexander’s widow. “The primroses and hyacinths were not seen when I was last here. For Angus Mor’s burial, there was snow.”
Áine took Juliana’s arm and, together, they followed the men as they walked ahead toward what looked to be a nunnery. On either side of the path, yellow flowers bloomed in abundance. “Think of the flowers as God’s gift to the memory of Lord Alexander,” said Áine, trying to be cheerful.
“I would be happier with God today if He had spared my husband.”
“I understand,” said Áine. “I, too, asked God why He did not spare mine. My first marriage was not a love match, as was yours, but Niall O’Neill was good to me. His murder, which I witnessed, came as a harsh blow. I will never forget it.”
Juliana blanched and her hand covered her mouth as she turned to face Áine. “Thank God I was spared that. I could not have borne it.”
Áine studied her soon-to-be sister-in-law’s face and her long nut-brown hair that fell in waves beneath her hood. Even with her skin gone pale and her tear-stained, grief-stricken countenance, Juliana was a beautiful woman. “You are only a few years older than I am, Juliana. Life is not over for you.”
Áine felt Juliana’s sigh through the wool of their cloaks. “It seems that way. But then I am reminded, for the sake of my sons, I must go on.”
“Just remember, you do not face the future alone,” Áine encouraged.
Like the abbey and church she had seen from the sea, the nunnery was built of red stone, a sculpted edifice. “The history of this place is a long one,” said Angus, dropping back to walk beside Áine. “Somerled built the chapel, where Alex’s body will lie. Somerled’s son, Ranald, built the abbey and the church. The abbey is Benedictine but the convent is Augustinian.”
“The convents in Ireland are Augustinian,” said Áine.
“Aye, I have seen them. The nunnery will provide good shelter for you two and your handmaidens while we are here. The nuns, many of whom are from noble families, keep a guest chamber that is well-appointed. Since it is spring, some families may prefer to set up tents on the grass but the nights may be cold and the wind never ceases.”
They arrived at the nunnery door where the black-robed abbess welcomed them. Putting her arm around Juliana, who looked about to collapse, the abbess guided Alexander’s widow inside. Nessa glanced back at Áine as she followed with Juliana’s handmaiden.
Duncan, John and Dermot turned to go but Angus stayed behind with Áine. “We will give you time to get settled,” he told her. “I will return in a few hours to accompany you to the evening meal. I hope to speak to the abbot about our nuptials before then.”
Áine looked at Angus, feeling only pride. His heart was broken yet he carried on as the chief she expected he would soon become. “We can all use a brief rest.”
ANGUS AND HIS three companions took the stone path that was part ofSràid nam Marbh,the Street of the Dead, leading from the nunnery across the windswept grass to the abbey. With the blue waters of the sound on his right and the abbey ahead, Angus remembered the other occasions he had visited the isle. Often, they were sad ones. He warmed at the thought of marrying Áine in the abbey church, for once the burial was finished they could turn to happier events.
Since Dermot had never been to Iona, as they passed the small stone chapel, Angus described what they were seeing. “That is St. Oran’s Chapel, the burial chamber of the Lords of the Isles, where Alex’s body will lie in state for eight days. Beside it, where all the gravestones stand, is the ancient graveyard ofReilig Odhrain, where isle chieftains are buried along with many Norse, Scottish and even Irish kings.”
“A humble place for its significance,” remarked Áine’s brother.
“Aye, ’tis the oldest and most sacred place on Iona,” said Angus. Then, with a glance in Dermot’s direction, he pointed out, “One of the first abbots was Irish.”
Duncan explained to Dermot the tall carved crosses that stood before the chapel and the abbey. “Each is dedicated to a saint.” As Duncan continued his explanation, Angus took John with him to speak to the chiefs who stood by the tents that dotted the landscape near shore.
Crossing the grass, he greeted Tormod Macleod, the aging chief of the Macleods. His silver-laced fair hair blew behind him, leaving his lined face and nearly white beard on full display.
“Thank you for coming, my friend,” Angus said, grasping Tormod’s forearm.
“You had to know I’d be here. Alexander was a loyal friend as well as our lord. He did much to fend off the MacDougalls and their allies.”
“Are your sons here?” Angus asked, looking around.
“Malcolm is here but the others remained behind to defend our lands on Harris, Lewis and Skye against the Comyns and MacRuairis. They do not pause for our burials except to celebrate.”
Anger rose within Angus to think the MacDougalls were celebrating the murder of his brother. Before he could say anything, Malise, chief of the Macleans, whose dark hair had long ago turned gray, and his son, another Malcolm, approached.
“’Tis a tragic happening that brings us together in an untimely burial,” said Malise. “We are torn in spirit at losing Alexander. My clan and castle at Duart are at your disposal for however we may help. Revenge must be had and we are willing to partake in it.”
