“Who goes there?” asked a sentry, peering through a barred viewing panel.
“Angus Og MacDonald, Lord of Islay.” He held up the black flag. “I’ve come alone and in good faith to request an audience with His Lordship.”
The viewing panel shut and great deal of shuffling sounded beyond the gate. When it opened, Angus faced a dozen men with pikes leveled at his heart.
He spread his arms. “I come in peace under the truce of the flag of parley.”
“Relieve him of his weapons,” barked the man-at-arms.
Angus had hoped to be shown a courtesy by arriving alone. Nonetheless, he surrendered to the inspection of a nervous wastrel who skittered forward and removed his sword and dirk.
“I’ll be wanting those back,” Angus growled.
“Not so fast,” said the leader. “Take the knives in his flashes and search him.”
Biting the inside of his cheek, he endured the search while the little weasel took both of his sgian dubhs. Bless it, the bastard even removed the eating knife from his sleeve. It was good for them, they did not frisk his loins, or bother inspecting the contents of his sporran where he kept the charcoal picture Anya had drawn of herself.
Only then did the man-at-arms give a nod. “Diamond formation men. Pikes at the ready and if he takes one step out of line, skewer him.”
“I appreciate your kind hospitality,” Angus grumbled as the blunt end of a pike jabbed him in the back.
Inside, music grew louder while they moved through a passageway. Blinking rapidly, Angus fought to adjust his vision to the dim light when ahead the leader signaled for the retinue to stop in the archway of the hall. Beyond, an ensemble of minstrels performed with lute, flute, drum, and voice.
The earl and his countess watched the performance from their high-backed thrones. Flanking them were knights and high-ranking officials, and a skinny lass with blonde hair peeking out from under her veil. Angus craned his neck and searched for Anya, but she was not to be seen.
The guards waited until the song concluded to polite applause.
“My lord,” said the man-at-arms, motioning for the retinue to march forward. “The Lord of Islay has arrived alone, requesting an audience under the terms of parley. Ought we throw him in your gaol?”
Ulster chuckled. “The gaol might be too good for the likes of him.”
“I bid ye hear me, m’lord,” boomed Angus, trying to step forward, only to be stopped by the sharp point of a pike leveled with his eyeball.
The earl leaned back and crossed his arms. “Ye have nerve coming here, that I’ll say. After your exploits at Loudoun Hill, I doubt I need to tell ye it is too late to pledge fealty to Edward.”
A stabbing pain needled Agnus’ back. He hadn’t expected the news of the battle to travel so quickly. “I’ve come neither for political gain, nor for political ruin. I am without arms or army, facing ye as a man, wishing for an audience, one man to another.”
“Ye’ll never have an audience alone with His Lordship,” growled the guard.
Ulster stroked his beard. “Why would ye risk coming here?”
Angus shifted his feet. It would be a great deal easier to say his piece without a crowd, but come what may, he’d have out with it. “I come to ask for the hand of Anya O’Cahan.”
The blonde lass gasped, clasping a hand over her mouth.
The earl leaned forward. “What games are ye playing? Ye had the lass in your clutches for months. If ye wanted to wed my ward, then why did ye bring her back?”
“’Twas my mistake.”
“Come now, Islay. Ye may be a lot of things, but daft is not one of them. Ye expect me to believe ye did not intend to return Anya into my care?”
Angus looked to the rafters. He only had one chance at this and he could not afford to shove his boot into his mouth. “Robert the Bruce ordered me to move Miss Anya to a monastery so that he could use her for negotiations in exchange for his wife—your daughter, mind ye.”
The earl snorted. “The fallacies grow more convoluted by the moment. So, my lord, ye willfully disobeyed an order from the King of the May?”
Good God, on any other day, he’d challenge the bastard to a duel of swords for such a scathing slight. “I did.”
“And I’ll reckon he has no idea ye are standing here now, begging to wed my ward.”
“This time I have his blessing.”
“Unbelievable.” Ulster examined his fingernails. “Regrettably, ye are too late. Her union with Lord O’Doherty has already been set.”
“My lord,” said the blonde lass. “I think—”
“If I wanted to hear your thoughts I would have asked,” clipped the earl before returning his attention to Angus. “Ye, sir, have committed treason of the highest order. Ye are an outlaw, and I’ll see to it your lands will be forfeit to the English crown.”
“I have come in peace under the flag of parley. Where is she? I bid ye grant me due respect—”
“Ye lost your right of respect when ye took up arms with my treasonous son-in-law.” Ulster thrust his finger forward. “Angus Og MacDonald, ye will be flogged and suffer the hospitality of my prison guard. And I am quite certain Edward will be all too happy to parade ye through the Traitors’ Gate beneath the Tower of London. Ye made a grave error by coming here, an error that will cost ye your life! Remove him from my sight!”
Angus grabbed the nearest man’s pike, wrenched it from his hands, and jabbed him in the throat with the blunt end, using the momentum to drive the spear into the guard’s chest behind. Spinning in place, he cut down two more before a blow to the back of his head sent him face-first to the floor.
The iron taste of blood filled Angus’ mouth as the point of a sword cut into his cheek.
“Take him to the post!”
The door of the bedchamber flew open and Finovola hastened inside and dashed across the room. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she shouted in a whisper, “Ye will never believe what just happened in the hall!”
Anya set her book aside. “Tell me now.”
Being ever the dramatic one, the lass clapped her palm to her forehead and gasped. “The Lord of Islay arrived under the flag of parley and asked for your hand.”
By the stricken expression on her sister’s face, it took a moment for the news to sink in. “Please say ye are not jesting!”
“’Tis true, but it is awful! Ulster refused to honor the code of parley and called Islay a traitor.” Finovola grasped Anya’s hand and tugged her toward the window as shouts rose from the courtyard below. “He demanded the guard to seize him and now they’re taking him to the courtyard to be flogged.”
“No!” Anya pulled aside the furs.
Finovola thrust her finger toward the courtyard. “There he is.”
Anya’s knees buckled as guards muscled Angus to the post at the far wall. “Stop!” she shouted, her plea falling on deaf ears. She searched the faces and recognized no MacDonald kin. “Where are his men? Where is Raghnall?”
“He came alone, without a single man-at-arms.”
“God, no.” Anya winced as they tore the shirt from Angus’ flesh. “Why would he do such a thing?”