As the silence swelled through the air, Angus didn’t move. He barely breathed. He focused on the floor, his knee grinding into the unforgiving hardwood in front of the high table where most days he presided as Lord of Islay. There he knelt as time stopped, his helm tucked in his arm, his fair head bent to a king whose next act might be to sever it from his body.
“Where are the others? Did ye not return together?”
“All dead.” Angus looked up and met Robert’s hard stare. “Your brothers Lord Alexander and Lord Thomas led the charge as agreed. They were captured early on. We were outnumbered ten to one—out-armed and out-armored as well. Five birlinns set sail. Only two returned.”
“And yet ye sailed for home in one of the fortunate two?” asked the king, the same question Angus had grappled with ever since catching sight of the Bruce’s brothers being bound and gagged as his birlinn made its escape.
He must offer no excuses. “I was, sire.”
Robert pounded his fist on the table with such force, goblets and tankards teetered, their contents sloshing. “Fie!”
Angus stood and approached. “I swear on my brother’s grave, I would trade places with your kin here and now.”
“Aye?” the Bruce scoffed. “Yet there ye stand, mayhap bloodied, but alive and otherwise unscathed whilst my brothers will doubtless suffer the same fate as Niall and William Wallace. Am I to have no family remaining when the time comes to march on Stirling?”
Angus could provide no answer. The king was aware of their plans—Alexander and Thomas were eager to lead the charge, eager to claim accolades for a victory while the MacDonald forces were ordered to take up the rear and attack with a second wave.
“What of Turnberry?” he dared to ask.
“We captured the village and Lord Percy has fled. I’ve left the task of seizing the castle in Sir Douglas’ capable hands.”
The news posed as much of a relief as it did a slap to the face.
“Perhaps if I had sent the Black Douglas in your stead, matters would have been different at Loch Ryan,” the king added, the jibe hitting its mark. Angus deserved such a retort and more.
“Only two ships returned?” asked Sir Arthur Campbell, sitting at the king’s right. “How many men lost?”
“As I said, two birlinns returned. The rest were set afire.” Angus gripped the hilt of his sword. Good God, the bitterness of his next words might slay him. “Two and ninety lives lost.”
“But not your kin,” groused the Bruce.
Angus scowled. His clan alone had lost twoscore of good fighting men but saying so would only further incite the king’s ire. If only he had insisted on leading the charge, at least one of the Bruce’s brothers may have returned to tell the tale.
“Losing so many boats and soldiers will cripple us,” said Sir Robbie Boyd, a young knight who sat on the king’s left. In truth, had Angus the use of the skill of Douglas, Campbell, and Boyd this day, their losses might have been far less.
The king’s expression grew even darker. But no matter how much the man would like to heft the blame of this day’s tragedy upon Angus’ shoulders, the burden was the Bruce’s to bear. Though the truth gave Angus no comfort. Not only were lives lost, clan MacDonald was now seen as unworthy in His Grace’s eyes, a fact that stung more bitterly than a hive of angry bees.
Just as Angus steeled himself to be seized by the guard and hung in his own tower’s gibbet, the king leaned forward, resting his forehead in his palms. “I’ve no choice but to appeal to Ulster.”
Campbell reached for a pewter ewer of ale. “With all due respect, Lord King, he is aligned with Edward.”
“Mayhap, but Longshanks is the same bastard who has captured his daughter, my wife, mind ye. The miserable sop has imprisoned her in some frigid dungeon in Wales for all we ken. Elizabeth is of Ulster’s blood. The earl must have some sense of decency, some sense of justice.”
“I reckon ’tis worth pursuing,” Boyd agreed. “But we go in ready for a fight.”
“Nay.” The Bruce grabbed his eating knife and pointed it toward Angus’ heart. “We go in bearing the flag of parley—and a well-fortified retinue.”
“Aye,” Angus agreed. “And this time I’m no’ staying with the bloody boats.”
“Where are ye off to now?” asked Finovola. “I thought the countess said you were to have the embroidery completed for