Chapter 25 #3
“Aye, and Edward the Third is granting Balliol that support, and much of it,” someone else tossed out. “The young English king is said to have his grandfather’s success at arms. He’ll prove a greater threat than his weakling sire should he turn his attentions northward.”
“Some say he already has,” another put in. “The MacArthurs’ island has a deep and sheltered bay, a perfect place to hide enemy ships.”
Struan snorted.
Ailbert puffed out his chest. “The MacArthur will want his men atop his own walls. Each last one of them, most especially his son.”
Lorne placed his hand on Isolde’s shoulder. “Balloch has agreed to live here and reinforce Dunmuir.”
“So he has…” Struan let his words tail off as he pulled on his beard. “But if Ballilol and England’s Edward are banding together, should we no’ accommodate our lady’s future husband and his people in these troubled times?”
Lorne tightened his grip on Isolde’s shoulder. “What are you suggesting?”
“Only that, a suggestion,” Struan said, looking thoughtful. “Perhaps our lady should reside at Balloch’s stronghold after they’ve wed? He can better defend his father’s walls, she is removed from marauding MacLeans, and we gain prestige by impressing on the MacArthurs what congenial allies we are.”
“What if the Sassunachs come to Doon?” a frowning graybeard questioned from the end of the high table. “Who will protect us? The MacLeans?”
“Who, indeed?” Struan tipped back his head and peered up at the black-raftered ceiling. “No’ the bluidy MacLeans, I promise you,” he said, looking back at the graybeard. “Who has called this isle her own since stones were old?”
“Devorgilla?” Ailbert chimed in. “She cannae swing a sword.”
“Is that so?” Struan frowned at him. “She might send a slew of them flying through the air, though. At the least, she can raise a mist so that Sassunach ships cannae see our bonnie isle.
“But it willnae come to that,” he added, his eyes narrowing. “Her name alone will keep the English at bay.”
Listening to him, Isolde puzzled. Her uncle didn’t believe in the crone’s magic. He was, she decided, trying to soothe the graybeard’s fears.
A gesture that would have warmed her any other time.
Just now…
They would have to remain at odds until her waist thickened and the MacLean was back on the other side of Doon, the isle’s peace restored.
“What about our lady?” Ailbert again.
Isolde started, turned her attention back to her uncle and the eldest graybeard.
Struan heaved a great breath. “She will be safely wed to MacArthur. Once the Sassunach threat has passed, the pair can return to Dunmuir.”
“What if MacArthur chooses to keep her at his own Drumbagen?” Ailbert glanced at her. “She willnae like it there. I heard Drumbagen is so cold and windblown even the seabirds won’t nest there.”
“Drumbagen can be hell itself, it doesnae matter.” Lorne slapped the table. “Our lady willnae leave Doon. MacArthur can dwell here, as he’s promised to do. Lady Isolde belongs with us.”
As one, the elders sided with Lorne.
“Aye, well…” Struan shrugged. “As the council deems,” he said, waving a hand. “It was only a consideration.”
“And so I wish it to remain.” Isolde laced her voice with enough steel to silence any objections. “I also wish the MacLean to remain in Gavin MacFie’s cell.
“I do not care if he is questioned about my sister’s murder,” she added, holding Struan’s gaze. “Take hours to get the truth if you must, it matters not to me. But he shall be granted the respect a Highland chieftain deserves.”
Her defense of him took her by surprise. Yet she also knew that if she looked deep enough into her heart, she’d find the reason. That was the truth of it.
She just couldn’t explain why.
Nae, you know why. You are just unwilling to accept it.
“He doesnae deserve respect,” one of the men at a nearby table muttered into the silence that had descended. “At his own Baldoon, aye. But no’ here at Dunmuir.”
“I disagree.” Isolde stood and turned to the man. “He is laird of his clan and holds half of Doon. That accords certain courtesies, captive or nae. Such is the way of our Isles, how my father would have ruled, and” - she lifted her chin – “how I rule.”
Her authority asserted, she inclined her head to Struan and then looked once to each of the other elders. Some gaped, some grinned. Ailbert tittered. Many had a spark of admiration in their eyes.
Their loyalty touched her for she knew most were stunned when, before his passing, her father declared her to follow him, rather than Struan, his brother. And as so often, thinking of her father swelled her throat and burned her eyes.
But now wasn’t a time for sentiment. She daren’t show a shimmer of emotion, for sure not misted eyes.
Yet misted they were, tears threatening to spill.
Before her council could notice, she excused herself and left the hall, Bodo scampering after her.
Bodo, and the truth lodged so firmly in the darkest, back corners of her heart.
She did care what happened to the MacLean. She also didn’t want him kept in Sir Gavin’s cell.
She wanted him with her.