Page 60 of Summer Warrior

“If that is an invitation,” said Somerled, “we accept,” taking a seat with the others.

Just as Somerled was lifting his ale to his lips, a woman swept into the great hall, her dark hair in two plaits hanging beneath her cream-colored veil held down with a simple fillet of gold. The crimson tunic she wore was long and flowing with flaring sleeves.

“Ah, Mary is here. Come, love. Our friends have arrived.”

“Good day to you,” she said, crossing the hall to their table, her brown eyes sparkling. Mary was not beautiful but handsome with her long dark plaits. By the looks she gave her husband and those he returned to her, Somerled was convinced she and Ewan were much in love. A pang in his heart reminded him of his own love, now far to the south.

“Ewan has been awaiting your arrival for a sennight,” said Mary, “ever since the hillsides broke into full bloom.”

Somerled set down his ale and introduced Mary to Gillecolum and Liadan. Like Ewan, Mary had met both Domnall and Maurice before.

“You’ve a fine looking son,” she said, smiling at Gillecolum. “My son, Michan, is around here somewhere. You should meet him.” Then with a glance at Liadan, “I did not know you traveled with a young woman.”

“Liadan is sister to Diarmad MacGilleain,” Ewan explained to his wife.

“Ah,” said Mary, “that handsome young man with a quick wit. He has the same auburn hair.”

Liadan smiled. “I hope to see him when we reach Ardtornish.”

Somerled was pleased with the girl from Islay. While Liadan had lost her parents and younger brother and been separated from the remaining one for some time, still she could smile. He glanced at Domnall whose eyes were fixed on the auburn-haired lass. Liadan laughed at Domnall’s stories but, whether she felt more than friendship for Somerled’s cousin, he could not say.

They dined with Ewan and his family that night. Somerled was glad to see Ewan’s son and Gillecolum had become fast friends.

The next morning, Somerled explained his intention to stop at Jura and Lorne as well as the Isle of Mull before setting their course for Ardtornish Point on the north shore of the Sound of Mull in Morvern.

Mary kissed her plump husband and, with the dark-haired Michan, by her side, wished him Godspeed. Ewan waved to his wife and son and climbed aboard Somerled’s galley as they departed the shores of Loch Sween, taking advantage of the southwesterly winds.

Ardtornish, Morvern, May 1138 A.D.

IT TOOK THEM a fortnight to reach Morvern with their visits to Jura, Lorne and Mull where Somerled spent time with the villagers, inquiring into the status of the settlements and the families. He wanted to share his plans with the people and ask their opinions. Having ploughed the fields and sown their crops, the villagers were hard at work weeding and pruning and planting new apple and pear trees. Still, they took time to meet with their lord and his men.

The conversations were lively and his presence was greeted with enthusiasm. It was gratifying to know that, while they may have local chiefs, they still considered him their lord, the one who had united them against a common foe.

As he left Mull, his parting words reminded all, as he had on Jura and in Lorne, that they must keep sharp their fighting skills. “In the next years, we will still fight to maintain the freedom we would pass on to our children.”

Heads nodded and one man said, “Aye, Lord, we never forget. Every man jack here can wield a sword and a bow. We keep the smith busy.” Somerled did not doubt the truth of it. Like him, most carried swords and daggers and their bows were always close to hand. The archers of Argyll were renowned for their skill.

Once they left the coast of Mull, they pressed on, sailing north, finally entering the Sound of Mull between the Isle of Mull and Morvern. On the north shore of the sound, they pulled up their galleys on the narrow strip of shingle at Ardtornish Point where there was already a galley resting on the shore.

Somerled jumped down from his galley and stood gazing up at the timber castle rising from the grass-covered promontory above him.

Gillecolum joined him to ask, “Is that the castle?”

“Aye, though not quite what I was expecting.” He had hoped to see the beginning of a stone edifice but, for now, timber would have to do. Mayhap the mason had even suggested timber first with stone to follow.

A white-tailed sea eagle flew overhead, a fish in its bright yellow beak. Somerled and his son stopped to watch, the wind blowing their hair around their faces. “Come on,” urged Somerled, “let’s see it from the top.” Together, they scrambled up the hill.

His companions, slower to act, trailed behind them.

At the top of the rise, he paused and, with his back to the castle, looked across the sound.

“What’s that land, Father?” Gillecolum asked.

“The Isle of Mull.” The long shape of Mull was silhouetted against what was now a cloud-filled sky. The blue-gray waters of the sound surrounded the point where they stood on three sides.

To the west and running inland was Loch Aline, where, at the headwaters, he had been fishing for salmon in the River Gear Abhain when the men of Clan MacInnes had come for him. To Somerled, it seemed a very long time ago, for much had transpired since that auspicious day.

From here, he could see down the entire length of the sound in both directions. No ship could pass without his knowing of it. Whoever held this point would control the main routes to the Hebrides and much of Argyll’s jagged coast so favored by the pirates. Control of this place would allow Somerled to strike fast at the Norse raiders who had dominated the sound before he had risen to challenge them.