“Because it gives me a chance to thank ye for returning Anya to Islay.”
The Irish lord sipped and licked his lips. “She’s quite cunning, your wife. But truth be told, if she hadn’t come to me with such a compelling argument, hell would have frozen over afore I helped ye, as inadvertently as it may have been.”
Now that sounded more apt. “I take it ye’ll be leaving come morn, then?”
“Aye.” O’Doherty pulled a missive out from inside his doublet and placed it near Angus’ hand. “The Earl of Ulster asked me to deliver this on his behalf.”
“I don’t suppose it contains congratulations for my recent nuptials.”
“No.”
Angus reflected for a moment. The man sitting beside him had been present when Ulster had refused to acknowledge the rules of parley and had put Angus in chains. O’Doherty also paid fealty to the earl and, by the missive sitting on the board, Ulster still trusted him. But Angus needed allies far more than he needed enemies. “What say you to a truce?”
The lordling knit his brows. “Truce?”
“Ye ken what I’m on about. Our wives are sisters. And I need allies in Ireland. Of course, it doesn’t mean we’re fast friends, but I’d think an accord not to raise arms against one another is in order. Agreed?”
“I think I can concur, providing ye have no plans to launch an attack on Carrickfergus.”
“Such a fortress is impenetrable, ’tis well known. How thick are her walls? Fifteen feet?”
“I would surmise they are.”
Angus stood and offered his hand. “Then it is agreed. The House of MacDonald and the House of O’Doherty are at peace.”
Standing as well, Chahir accepted his hand with a firm grip. “At peace.”
When the ram’s horn announced the evening meal, Angus’ gaze trailed to the missive. “Would ye mind leaving me for a moment? I’d best read this lest it contain something which may need my immediate attention.”
“Very well, my lord. I’ll see ye anon.”
Once he was alone, Angus slid his finger under the seal and shook open the letter. And though it did not immediately call him out for a fight to the death, it contained scathing prose, insisting that one day Ulster intended to run Angus through. But what really stuck in his craw was the earl’s damning of Anya and insisting she was to be banished from Ireland for the rest of her days.
Angus crumpled the vellum in his fist and pounded it atop the table. The pox on him. The bastard is too arrogant to help his own daughter let alone anyone else.
He tossed the missive into the fire. “Burn in hell, for I will think on ye no more.”
He watch the calfskin turn the color of the ink while the fire consumed the bile spewed upon it. And once the letter turned to ash, Angus finished his whisky and headed to the hall to feast with his wife and celebrate her sister’s nuptials. He mightn’t see eye to eye with Chahir O’Doherty, but the man had been instrumental in saving his neck and was now kin. For that, a feast with music and dancing was in order.
27
Anya sat in her place at her husband’s side as naturally as if she had been destined to occupy the seat of the Lady of Islay from the day she’d been born. Because distinctive guests were in attendance, the pecking order around the table had been rearranged a tad with Finovola gracing Anya’s left and Lord O’Doherty taking Raghnall’s seat on Angus’ right. Needless to say, she was over the moon to entertain her sister in the great hall where music played in the gallery, the ale flowed, and joints of roasted venison and lamb graced the tables aplenty.
Anya nudged Angus’ leg with her knee and leaned in. “Finovola tells me Ulster sent a missive. I hope it was cordial.”
Her husband snorted. “It was rude and unfeeling. Moreover, the arse never once offered his congratulations for our marriage.”
“I can imagine. He hasn’t called ye out to do battle, has he?”
Angus raised his tankard to his lips. “Not in so many words, but it is unlikely we’ll ever be allies.”
“Unfortunate.”
“However, I have agreed on a truce with Lord O’Doherty, for what it is worth.”
“Marvelous. At least that leaves the door open to visit my sister.”
“Perhaps it would be better if she visited us. I think all parties involved would be more likely to keep their heads attached to their necks.”
“Oh, dear. My guardian’s missive must have been truly dreadful.”
“Aye, and it has been reduced to ash where it should be.”
Finovola reached for the bread and broke off a piece. “I never would have guessed the MacDonald hall would be so festive.”
Anya gestured toward the tables, so proud of being a MacDonald. “There’s a great deal ye wouldn’t have guessed about my clan. I’m afraid our da’s alliance with the MacDougall was, perhaps, misguided as was his opinion of my husband.”
“Rest Da’s soul.”
Anya crossed herself. “If only he knew what I know now.”
“And ye reckon Robert the Bruce’s claim to the Scottish throne is founded?”
“I reckon he is the best man…the only man strong enough to wear the king’s mantle and stand up to Edward. After all, the King of England is the one who declared himself overlord and invaded. He needs to remove his army from Scotland and leave us be.”
“Listen to that.” Finovola kissed Anya’s cheek. “Ye have completely changed your alliances.”
“Mayhap I have, but my eyes are opened. Not that I wish for the war. Every night I pray for a peaceful resolution.”
“Ye mean ye pray for a miracle.”
“I do.”
Angus stabbed his eating knife into a bit of lamb. “If only the English saw it Her Ladyship’s way, picked up their arms, and headed for their hearths, we’d all be at peace.”
Everyone at the table laughed. Of course, it was too idealistic to believe peace would come so simply, but Anya would still pray for it. After all, her brother, Lord O’Cahan, still paid fealty to Ulster and Edward. As did the House of O’Doherty. Whatever truce had been agreed between the sisters’ husbands would dangle on the precipice of fragility until the war ended.
“We’ve spent far too much time speaking of politics. Where are the minstrels?” Anya asked. “I believe I’m in the mood for dancing!”
With her pronouncement, the tables were pushed to the sides and the musicians took their places on the gallery.
Angus offered his hand. “If the Lady of Islay is hankering to kick up her heels, then by all means, let us do so with a country dance.”
“Agreed!” said Chahir as he stood and bowed to his wife. “Shall we?”
Filled with contentment, Anya laughed and danced long into the night…until Angus drew her into his arms and whispered into her ear, “Shall we go above stairs, wife, and continue our dancing in the sanctity of our chamber?”
Epilogue
Seven years later
Anya sat in the window embrasure of the nursery and watched as her three children dashed about in their fine clothing, playing a game of tag. Eoin, now a young man of six, was a natural born leader, always dominating his younger sisters, Marie and Aine.