by Kate Forrest
“You should go there and learn about it for yourself,” he said, after several minutes passed.
“Maybe I will,” Isobel said. Once the Rood was delivered to Iona, her life was open. Anything could happen. Deep down inside of herself, she knew joining the church was not what she desired. An impossible decision, but perhaps there was another path—Ireland.
I could go west and make a life for myself there. If only she was able to obtain the land and funds promised to her if she wed or joined the church. She could not travel without means, and she would not be able to build a life for herself without coin. I’ve gone mad. I cannot go off on my own in this world. I dream of foolish things that cannot be. In truth, the idea of going off on her own was not appealing. She did not wish for isolation. She wished for a meaningful life to be shared with someone she loved. A fairy tale of the highest order, she supposed, and she was not one for fairy tales. The only problem was she’d seen the fairy tale brought to life. She had witnessed true love between two people. Seeing such happiness only made her crave it for herself.
If only she knew someone like Alex. He was kind, loyal, determined, and brave. That’s what I need. I need a man like Alex. Isobel bit her lip. What about Alex himself? There was a spark there. There was no sense in denying it. But he is intended for someone else.
Isobel inhaled deeply and exhaled, trying to calm her thoughts. A storm brewed in her mind, yet all around her the water was calm. She looked longingly out over the sea. Birds cried and flew out beyond her sight. The gray clouds hung over them as they progressed toward Mull. Isobel turned to look back and was surprised that she could no longer glimpse the village of Oban. She faced forward once more and studied Alex. He cannot keep this up. Alex’s breathing was loud, his face was red, and his arms were slick with sweat. She was about to tell him to slow down when he spoke up.
“We’re nearly there,” he said with a labored breath, nodding his head over his right shoulder.
Isobel looked beyond him. In the distance, she could make out the northeastern shoreline of Mull. Perched high above the water sat Duart Keep. The fortification was wooden, like Doune, only the keep here was nearly twice the size of Fort Doune. It afforded perfect views of the water way, which was no doubt intended.
A short time later, their boat was docked and guards escorted them to the keep. As they entered the great hall, the chatelaine greeted them.
“Mary, it is good to see you again,” Alex said.
“It is good to see you too, Alexander.”
The blonde woman offered him her dainty hand, and Isobel had to keep from frowning as Alex placed a light kiss upon it.
“And this must be your new wife!” The woman stepped around Alex and approached Isobel. “How is your father, the Earl of Angus?”
Isobel stood, mouth agape, looking between their hostess and Alex. His betrothed is the Earl of Angus’s daughter? The Earl of Angus had wealth and power in the northeast of Scotland. She’d seen him in David’s court on several occasions, though his daughter had never accompanied him.
“Nae, Mary. This isn’t the earl’s daughter. This is Isobel,” Alex said, quickly.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mary,” Isobel said, feeling awkward.
“My apologies.” The woman seemed confused, but she smiled and said, “You are very welcome here, Isobel. There is a room prepared.” She turned to face Alex. “Or should I have another room readied?”
“One will do, thank you,” Alex said. Isobel could have sworn his cheeks turned pink. Is he blushing?
“Alex, my father wants a word with you in his solar.” Mary then looked to Isobel. “I will take you to the guest quarters. I’m certain the journey was tiresome.”
“Indeed, though Alex did all the work bringing us over from Oban.” She still marveled at his strength in rowing for hours.
“It is good those muscles you have grown have purpose beyond fighting,” Mary said to Alex.
The woman took in his appearance and then, without a care for Isobel’s presence, she winked at him. Winked!
“Aye, I’m no longer the lanky lad who left these shores six years ago.” Alex seemed to genuinely beam at her observation of his strength.
“Nae, you are not,” Mary said.
Oh, good heavens. Isobel did not want to hear what Alex would say to that, so she cleared her throat and asked, “Our room is ready, Mary?”
The woman glanced at Isobel. “Aye. I’ll take you there now.” Of course, that couldn’t be the end of it, for she called, “See you at the evening meal,” to Alex as he strode off to meet with Mary’s father.
Isobel did not like the woman. Even though she and Alex were not wed or betrothed or anything to each other, this woman did not know that. Yet, she shamelessly flirted with him in her presence. Clearly, the two had some history together. Though, Isobel reminded herself, it was just that: history.
“You must be of great import,” Mary said, as they took the steps up through one of the keep’s towers. “For years, everyone around here assumed he’d take the Angus daughter as his bride.”
Isobel didn’t respond, though she found it surprising earlier that this woman knew of Alex’s betrothal. Apparently, such things are common knowledge around here. Mary’s jealousy was evident, and she meant to take aim at Isobel.
At court, Isobel had been treated in all manner of ways. Mostly, she experienced indifference. Yet, there were a rare few instances when she had the displeasure of experiencing jealousy. Some women envied her or perceived her as a threat to their potential suitors (though her value was much less than that of David’s children—after all, she was the orphan girl). There were a few ways one could react in such circumstances. Normally, Isobel would rise above it. With her temper already stirred up from the interlude in the great hall, it did not seem that today would be one of those times.
“I am of great import,” Isobel said, boldly.
They continued up the stairs, walking side by side. From the corner of her eye, Isobel could see Mary’s eyebrows arch.
“Then I guess you’ll be the one to save his sad impoverished clan,” Mary said.
Sad impoverished clan? What is she talking about? Isobel paused on the steps; Mary came to stand on the step above her.
“Oh, he didnae share that with you?” Mary grinned.
Even if what she said was true, why should she delight in it? “I am certain you are wrong,” Isobel said, staring up at the woman. “The MacKinnons enjoy the favor of the king. He would reward the stewards of Iona handsomely.”
“The king’s had nothing to do with Iona in years. Somerled lays claim to the Isles.”
“That cannot be true.” Iona was holy, and David cherished all that was holy in Scotland. He would not abandon its stewards. Nor would he let someone else claim his lands.
Mary shrugged and resumed her progress up the steps. Isobel followed her. They reached the landing off the stairs, and Mary led her down the corridor to a room. Pushing open the door, she said, “You will see it with your own eyes soon enough.” With that, the hateful chatelaine excused herself.
Isobel marched inside her room and closed the door firmly behind her. Is Mary lying? It didn’t seem likely, given the pieces of information Isobel had obtained from Katherine and Alex himself. And yet, the idea of David leaving the stewards of Iona in such a state rebelled against everything she knew of the king. She would have to look into the matter once they reached Iona. Something had to be done to help Alex’s clan. Once the king learned of their situation, he would do something. Yes, once she reached Iona, she’d send word to David, and all would be well.
****
Alex stood in the Maclean chief’s solar rereading the missive.
“It arrived by messenger not an hour before ye docked,” the chief said. “With yer family’s connection to the crown, I thought ye should know.”
“I cannae believe it,” Alex said. But there it was in writing. King David was dead.
“He’d been
ill for some time; I think we’ve all been expecting it.”
“In truth, he seemed well when I saw him not a fortnight ago in Edinburgh,” Alex said.
“I’ve heard he was good at hiding it,” the chief said. “His young grandson will have a hard time keeping power. It will also mean a loss of power for the MacKinnons, will it nae?”
The Maclean is digging for something, Alex thought, studying the old chief. He was around Alex’s father’s age and had seen at least fifty or so summers on this earth. Alex had mixed feelings about his island neighbor, but he knew the value in keeping a steady alliance with the Macleans of Duart.
“What do you mean?” Alex asked.
“I’m told ye did not bring home the Angus bride,” the chief said, ignoring Alex’s question. “But a woman did accompany ye. Who is she?”
Alex did not like his host’s questions, so his response was evasive. “You’ll meet her at the evening meal.” He did not know if the chief even knew of Isobel’s existence. Alex hadn’t known of her, but the Maclean could be better informed. Though, if memory served correct, the Macleans never had much interest in the politics of Edinburgh nor the Scottish king. In fact, sharing the news of David’s death was the first time he’d ever heard a Maclean even mention the king.
“I look forward to it,” the chief said, offering Alex some wine.
Alex accepted it and raised his glass. “To the king.”
“To the king,” the chief repeated.
Alex downed the wine in one drink.
****
Alex went directly to the guest quarters; he did not know which room they’d been given, so he knocked on all the doors, but no one answered. He’d crossed through the great hall on his way to the stairs, so he knew Isobel wasn’t down there. Perhaps she sought fresh air, Alex thought, heading back downstairs.
The guards in the bailey pointed him toward the sea. “She walked out there,” one of the men said, pointing at the gate that led out of the fortification.
Alex nodded his thanks and hurried out the gate. He found Isobel on the cliffside overlooking the Sound of Mull. The wind blew her hair back in waves, like the sea. Her purple cloak floated in the breeze behind her, and her gray dress clung to her curves as the wind pushed against her—over her—blowing inland. He drank in her appearance, her calmness, for he knew as soon as he spoke she would no longer be at peace.
“Isobel,” he called to her as he approached.
She turned and looked at him, concern instantly filling her eyes. “What is wrong?”
Her reaction was proof of how easily he let his guard down in her presence. At home, among his clan, he knew to never show anything but control. Even when times were good, he did not show relief. When times were bad, he wore the same impassive face. When he was young, his father taught him to remain detached so his clansmen did not worry. On Crusade, among his fellow warriors, he maintained the same emotionless exterior. He didn’t know why he couldn’t do the same around Isobel.
The wind dropped, and all went quiet.
“A missive arrived from Carlisle,” he began. He reached out and took her hands in his own. “King David journeyed there not long after we left. He is…The king is…”
“Dead,” she finished, closing her eyes. After a few moments, she opened them but kept her gaze on the sea.
“I am sorry, Isobel. I know what he was to you.”
She nodded, releasing his hands.
“What you are doing was important to him. He would have been proud.”
She looked back to him. “It is not done yet.”
“Nae, but we’re nearly there. We’ll stay a few days and then journey on to Iona.” Alex felt she’d need time to rest after the news of the king’s passing.
“Why the delay?”
“I thought you would be distressed…” He did not want to push her.
“The king would want the Rood to be safe, Alex. I will grieve when I have fulfilled my duty to him.”
As the days passed, Alex was more and more impressed with Isobel. Nothing could break her spirit. A woman needed that kind of spirit to survive in the Isles. The sea could be cruel and unforgiving. The mistress of the MacKinnon keep would need to be brave and determined. She would need to be a fighter, like Isobel. Like Isobel…Could she be Isobel? Alex let the thought sink in. Isobel would make a fine mistress. She’d make a fine wife. But she cannae rebuild the keep or the crofts. I must think of the clan. Alex’s mind would not let him dream. The needs of his clan came first. But he had to know what she would do when their journey ended.
“Isobel, what will you do after you’ve given Bethoc the Rood?”
“I am not certain what I will do. When my deed to David is done, I may journey on alone.”
Alex looked at her sharply. “What do you mean?”
“You said I should see Ireland for myself. Why not go now?”
“Isobel, I cannae let you go off on your own.” She wasn’t thinking clearly.
“Your agreement was to see me safely to Iona. From there, I am none of your concern.”
“I see,” he ground out. He looked back toward the keep. The practicing warriors were starting to disperse.
“The evening meal will be served soon. We should go in,” Isobel said.
Alex nodded curtly and followed her back inside the keep.
****
Isobel retreated to her and Alex’s guest quarters. She’d told Alex she needed to freshen up for the evening meal and asked that he go to the great hall without her.
She could not believe the king was dead. He’d been ill for so long it almost seemed as though he could go on living as he was forever. Perhaps the journey to Carlisle was too much for him.
Now she was entirely alone in the world. She had no one. She felt small and scared, like the child she’d been when David rescued her. How distant those feelings had seemed with the passage of time, and yet that fear of the unknown was as close as ever.
Isobel didn’t know why she’d told Alex she might go to Ireland. She didn’t wish to travel on alone.
I would not be alone at the nunnery. There she would be surrounded by others. But I yearn for so much more. Adventure, purpose, friendship, and perhaps even love. These are the things I desire.
David had believed the journey would show her what she needed from this world. It had done that, but now she didn’t know how to take those wants and make them part of her life.
Isobel untied her cloak and laid it gently across the straw bed, letting her hand linger over the relic’s case. She would see the Rood safely to Iona, and then she would decide her future.
****
The Maclean chief was eager to hear tales from the Crusade. Alex was less than eager to share them. His mind was preoccupied with his earlier conversation with Isobel. The words “I am none of your concern” weighed on him. He should be relieved she felt that way. He should hold no obligation to her beyond his duty to King David. But knowing that the king had passed, and therefore her only family on this earth was gone, he felt responsible for her. He looked at her now, by his side, picking at her plate of food. She looked pale. Perhaps he should take her to their room to rest.
Before he could act on his thought, the chief asked, “What of Damascus? Were ye there for the siege?”
“Nae, I was part of the Christian army that laid siege to Lisbon,” he said, giving his attention to the chief.
“And ye were successful?”
“It took some months, but eventually the city fell.”
“Very few Scots have gone on Crusade, MacKinnon, let alone Islanders. Why did ye go? Looking for glory?”
“My mother’s people, the Grahams, hail from the Trossachs. I got word from a clansman there about a fleet that was set to leave on Crusade in the spring of 1147 from Dartmouth. My obligations at home were few at the time; if I was to go, it was then or never. We traveled under the command of Saher de Archelle, an English knight.”
“I’ve heard tell of him,” the
chief said. “I also heard the fleet that departed was over three hundred strong.”
“The fleet was a good size, but not that great. We traveled with some one hundred fifty vessels. Our ship carried fifty men alone.”
“I am surprised that many went from England and Scotland.”
“The men also came from the east—Flanders, Cologne.”
“Ye had a strong force then?” Maclean asked, intrigued.
“We were ten thousand strong at Lisbon. The siege began in the spring. Some of the men regretted not going on to the Mediterranean when the siege waged on, but eventually we took the city by autumn. A great success of the campaign.” Alex smiled at the eager faces around him. Few men from this area had gone on Crusade, so he understood the interest in hearing the stories. Normally, he’d be happy to tell tales to entertain the clan (as a lad, he’d clung to every word of his uncle’s stories of battle as a mercenary), but he was worried over Isobel.
“Did ye have any good kills?” Maclean asked, between taking mouthfuls of roasted venison.
Out of the corner of his eye, Alex could see Isobel’s shoulders tense.
“Come now, MacKinnon. What was yer best one? Cut the head clean off anyone?”
Alex grabbed hold of Isobel’s hand under the table to calm her.
“Chief Maclean, we are tired from our journey. Forgive us for retiring early,” Alex said.
The chief looked insulted, but he quickly recovered and smiled for the onlookers in the great hall.
“Of course, MacKinnon. Of course. Ye and the lass…what’s her name again?” The Maclean leaned over to see past Alex to where Isobel sat. She did not turn to acknowledge their host, something Alex knew the chief noticed.
“Isobel,” Alex supplied.
“Ye and Isobel should have a good night’s rest.”
Alex nodded his thanks and took Isobel back to their room.
****
“It must be them,” Watkin said to Rolf, as a couple left the dais. The men sat among the crowd; the hall was bursting with over five hundred men and women, easily allowing them to blend in. “She matches the description the bishop gave us.”