After crossing the courtyard, they passed the stables. From there, they took the stairs to the bailey and into the garden.
They found a comfortable wooden bench to sit on in the warm spring sunshine, where Tyra pointed out the different plants – most of which were still scarcely more than green shoots. Nearby a bed containing an assortment of brightly colored poppies was in full bloom and the sound of bees filled the air.
“Why, it’s lovely here,” Annora said.
Tyra sighed. “I shall miss being here if the Council wish yer husband tae be the new laird and he accepts. After I am wed, I will leave here tae make me home in the MacDonald Castle.” Her tone was mournful.
Her words jolted Annora out of the distraction of the garden and her exploration of the castle, to thoughts of the meeting between Edmund and the Clan Elders about to take place.
“Dinnae fash, Tyra. I dinnae ken that Edmund has any wish tae claim the lairdship.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The soaring ceilings in the meeting room gave the chamber a lofty sense of importance. The only light streaming into the vast space was from small windows set high above, where it was impossible to look out upon the surrounding countryside. Torches set in sconces along one wall and the fire blazing in the enormous fireplace threw a soft, warm, glow over everything.
The great room bestowed Edmund with an uncomfortable sense of his own smallness. He guessed that mayhap that was the purpose of the room. To ensure that all those meeting here did not see themselves as more important or more powerful than the others who were present beside them.
He was standing, fists unwittingly clenched, gazing at a tapestry depicting a pastoral scene of shepherds serenading maidens, when he heard footsteps. He swiveled to see Tormod entering the room.
“Good morning lad,” the older man said, smiling gently.
Edmund sensed at once that, whatever may come from the meeting, he had the support of Tormod. He loosened his fists, feeling the tension in his shoulders slacken.
Why am I feeling as if I’m preparing myself tae go intae battle? While the opinion of the Elders of Clan MacNeacail has value, in the end it is of nay moment tae me as I dinnae have me heart set on claiming the leadership of the clan.
Tormod placed his own satchel on the table and removed several sheets of parchment. He gestured to one of the chairs.
“Take a seat, Edmund. The others will be here soon. Old men pay little heed to the movement of the sun across the sky, it is ye young lads who wish to hasten into yer tasks while we old ones take our time to enjoy the feel of the sun or rain on our faces and the scent of the sea on the breeze.”
Edmund barely had time to undo his own satchel when the sound of deep, cheerful voices rang out from the passageway. Two gray-haired men strode into the meeting room.
He got to his feet as Tormod made the introductions.
“This is Gaufried, our Keeper of Records.” A tall man with weathered cheeks and a long white beard, took Edmund’s hand and shook it.
“I am honored tae meet ye.”
Edmund bowed. “It is me honor tae be here at Castle Scorrybreac and meet with the esteemed Elders of the Clan MacNeacail.”
The next man, shorter, with straggling gray locks and a neatly trimmed beard, was Lamend MacNeacail. He was introduced by Tormod as the Clan Mapmaker.
“If ye wish tae explore our lands, Lamend will show ye where tae tread. He kens the coastline better than anyone, and kens every one of the crags and the caves, the glens and the burns.”
Edmund bowed again. “It will be me privilege tae learn from ye.”
His heart lifted. These men bestowed him with kindly smiles and handshakes. Although he acknowledged they would brook no fools and would give any rogue short shrift, he began to understand that these men were far more than the Elders simply by virtue of their age. They were the esteemed keepers of clan lore and history. Their knowledge and wisdom would serve him well should he wish to learn more about the MacNeacails and their lands and history.
For the first time since he’d arrived at Scorrybreac it began to dawn on him that these venerable men were hiskinfolkand he, Edmund Sinclair, was a living part of the clan history.
They took their seats at the table, waiting for the fourth member of the company to arrive.
“Where is Gilleasbiug?” Tormod tapped his feet.
“I am here,” came a voice. A barrel-chested man of medium height, his skin browned from many years outdoors, his salt-and-pepper beard trimmed close. Traces of ginger and grey hair still lingered about his ears, but most of his head was shiny-bald.
Blue eyes twinkled in his weathered face as he reached for Edmund’s hand. His handshake was strong and firm and he patted Edmund’s shoulder with a powerful hand.
“Greetings, young Edmund MacNeacail. Welcome tae Scorrybreac.”
