“Only a man who could not see the future would be fool enough to feast every day. A smart man understands the limitations of his kitchen.”
The analogy was weak at best. Was Stewart trying to set his father up? How long would they dance around one another before they got down to business?
Angus’s patience ran thin. He did not wish to play games, and he grew more anxious by the minute to learn of Annabella’s whereabouts.
“Perhaps it is along these lines that we may try to find an understanding,” Angus’s father said. “As men who cultivate the land, my people understand the need to prepare for a sometimes-bleak future. If you believe yourself worthy of leading them, how would you handle a season yielding a rotten crop? Would you send food from your own table to feed those on the many islands in the west? What about in the north?”
The Stewart appeared to give consideration as he nodded and stroked his beard. “I do not presume to have all the answers at this moment, MacDonald, and I recognize the great task it is that you perform in making your people and your lands thrive. Anyone with eyes can see it. But you must agree that we do no favours to anyone by standing at opposite ends of the field.”
“I do not see that at all. I see that you gain much in an alliance with us, whereas I have still yet to see the benefit for us.”
“You would have my full protection.”
“From whom? Who do you imagine is out there who would challenge us and live to tell about it? We control the majority of the western Highlands as far north as Skye. Beyond that, we have alliances with all the chiefs of the north—”
“Who have mostly all now sworn fealty to me. You and MacKenzie are the only major chiefs remaining who hold off. You hold this country back from sovereignty. Do you not realize that we fight stronger when we fight as one?”
“Whom do you imagine we fight? England’s king is but a babe. We are allies with France, and the peace treaty with the Norse has stood solid for more than a century.”
“Now it is you who is short-sighted, MacDonald,” the Stewart said. “Do you not recall that it is I who spent the majority of my youth imprisoned in England? Do not underestimate the lengths their king and his advisors will go to in order to claim what is ours.”
For the first time, Angus saw a portion of the man that the Stewart really was. On the surface he appeared sympathetic to the English. His drive to strip the nobles of their power gave all indication as such. This turn in thought was something Angus and, he was pretty sure, his father had not considered.
“Do you believe them plotting an invasion?”
“I do not believe they have ever stopped. I acknowledge the sacrifice of the men in England serving out my surety for the ransom. But I assure you, no Scottish merk will ever be placed in English hands by me.”
“And your wife? And her cousin? Do you wish to marry all the available English women off to Scottish noblemen?” Angus could not help but ask.
Stewart turned to him and smirked. “I love my wife, and will cut any man down who suggests otherwise. Marrying Lady Annabella to the Black Douglas has many advantages, as I am sure you can imagine.”
“I can imagine it does. But why a beast such as he?”
“What choice do I have? I see an opportunity before her father whisks her off to England again.”
“You have a choice,” Angus’s father said.
Stewart turned to him and then looked back at Angus again. A smile broke out across his face. Angus’s heart pounded in his chest as the Stewart stroked his beard and regarded his father.
Finally, the Stewart arose and reached out his hand to Angus’s father. “Fealty for her.”
Angus and his father rose and, before Angus could react, his father bent low and kissed the ring on the Stewart’s forefinger.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“You are a vision,” Joan said. “I believe you will make many heads turn this day.”
Annabella regarded her image in the mirror which Joan had insisted on having in her chamber since her return from Finlaggan. She smoothed the crimson-and-gold brocade skirt and bodice of her gown. She had to admit that the deep ruby colour suited her well, and her belly fluttered at the thought of Angus seeing her in such.
Would he like it?
Joan crossed the floor with a delicate wisp of transparent fabric fashioned to a wreath. Tiny white flowers encircled the headpiece, and Annabella thought it the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
“Most of the ladies will be wearing their hair bound underneath some such contraption, but you, my dearest cousin, will let your hair fall free and covered only in the most minimal sense. Maidens in Scotland are like faerie princesses, and that is how I will present you, with your dark hair floating about your waist. You were made to be adored.”
“Then why make me wear this?” she asked, as she lifted the garment. This was the kind of gown she wore in London, and represented nothing of the land to which she now felt such a strong connection.
“As opposed to what?”
