In the fire’s flickering light he saw his wife’s private doubt expressed in the faint pout of her mouth.
“Oh, it won’t happen overnight,” he continued smoothly. “No one expects that. Those two warhorses have been prancing around each other too long for either one of them to take to the notion of alliance easily. But it will happen, my love, over time. By this time next year it should be well in hand, and we believe—”
“We believe? Had you a hand in this?”
“A small one. There were others involved. But yes, I was part of it.”
Now Marjorie turned sideways to look over at him. “Well, Husband,” she said, “you were right. It is a brilliant solution to a problem few beyond these parts knew to exist. We can but hope Angus accepts the title, though he would have to be blind not to see how a refusal will hobble him. Aye, he would have to be blind … and foolish. A blind fool.” She sighed loudly and rose to her feet, stretching a hand out to the earl. “So be it, then. Take me to bed now, goodman, and show me how young you are.”
Later, when they lay contentedly intertwined before separating to sleep, the countess murmured, “I hope this all goes as well as you predict, my love. It will set the seal upon this week and this place of ours and change the lives of many folk, not only ours. I wonder what was in King Edward’s packet … ” She waited for his reply, but Robert Bruce of Carrick had gone ahead of her and his only answer was a gentle snore. She smiled and gently eased her long legs free of her husband’s, then turned on her side and snuggled her buttocks against him, enjoying his habitual response as he grunted and fitted himself to the curve of her back. “It must have been of import,” she murmured to herself, “for I thought he might come back, but he never did …”
CHAPTER FOUR
MEETINGS
Late in the afternoon of the next day, Alexander Canmore, King of Scots, emerged with a smile on his lips from the great pavilion where he had spent long hours in council with his followers and guests. In the full light of mid-afternoon, he looked about him, breathing in the scents of the summer day, the sweet, salty tang of the seaweed on the nearby shore mingled with the familiar odours of fresh hay and warm dung from the horse lines on his right. He heard the swelling sound of voices at his back as the other men began to spill out from the pavilion, their day’s business concluded, and he draped an arm amicably over the shoulders of the Gaelic chief, Angus Mohr, who came up beside him. Both men stood talking quietly, their heads close together as the others filed by them without seeking to interrupt, and it was clear from their easy intimacy that they were both satisfied with the outcome of their deliberations.
The Scots King laughed aloud and slapped Angus Mohr gently on the shoulder, and as he did he saw Edward of England standing close by, watching him, and in unfeigned pleasure he opened his arms to his royal kinsman, calling out his name. Edward moved forward to embrace his brother-in-law as the Gaelic chief stepped back, giving him room. As they exchanged pleasantries, Angus Mohr cleared his throat and spoke in Gaelic to Alexander, bowing his head slightly but none the less deferentially to the Scots monarch, who listened graciously and answered him in the same language. The MacDonald chief then glanced at Edward, nodded pleasantly, and left the two Kings together.
They watched him leave, and when he was safely beyond earshot Edward asked quietly in English, “Well, cuz, did you get what you required of him?”
“Aye, brother, I did. A good day’s work, indeed, from both our viewpoints. Angus Mohr is now my official ally in the far west, Lord of the Isles by royal decree and ten times richer than he was when he set foot here in Turnberry to meet us. From this day forth he will prosper greatly, enriching me and this realm with his friendship— which might conceivably prove fickle, though I doubt that—and with his championship, which will endure if for no other reason than that his future welfare will depend on it. We have had concerns, these past few years, about the activities of certain people in the far west whose ambitions I have found difficult to curb from Dunfermline. We have few good roads here in Scotland, as you know, and none at all in the west and armies progress too slowly when they have to march overland, picking their way over trackless wastes, around lakes and mountains. Now I will have MacDonald there, ready to protect my interests in concert with his own. Those others I spoke of are his enemies—traditionally so—but now that he is my man, beholden to me for all that he owns from this day forth, he will protect my welfare and that of my realm in furthering his own. And so I am well pleased.”