Page 47 of Summer Warrior

“Nay,” the boy said with a look of distaste. “I don’t much like the look of them, but Grandmother likes them so I catch them for her.”

Somerled took the eel from the spear and dropped it in the bag he carried. “Most considerate of you,” he said, realizing how mature his son was for just ten years.

An hour later, with their bag of eels, they walked back to the manor, warriors together who had conquered the burn and brought back trophies for the woman of the house.

“How would you like to sail with me, Gillecolum? It would mean leaving your grandmother, at least for a time, but you would be with me and your uncle.”

“I heard grandmother ask you if you came for me. I am ready. I want to go.”

Somerled put the bags of eels and his spear in his left hand and wrapped his free arm around Gillecolum’s shoulders. “I have long wanted you by my side, Son. It pleases me greatly to know you would take your place there.”

A few days later, Somerled watched as Gillecolum searched the tidepools on the shore with Maurice and Liadan.

Somerled’s mother, standing next to him, said, “He has heard many stories of your victories in the last few years and I have made certain he knew of his father’s triumphs. Because of them, he is in awe of you.”

Somerled had thought often of his son, trying to imagine how he had grown with each passing year. “A few months with me will disabuse him of the myths.”

“I will miss him,” said Somerled’s mother, “but I agree it is time he was with you. He needs his father…and possibly a new mother? Is the young woman with you a prospect?”

“Nay, she is my self-proclaimed guard and the sister of one of my warriors.”

His mother laughed. “I see Gille will be well-entertained.”

“He’ll not be bored. Did he mention my conversation with him the day we fished for eels?”

“He did and he is most anxious to have a younger brother, though I don’t think he understands such cannot be quickly delivered.”

Meeting his mother’s sharp gaze, he said, “I do hope to take another wife and want Gillecolum to meet my choice of a bride.”

His mother turned from watching Gillecolum, who was searching the tidepools, to face Somerled. “You have chosen a woman?”

“Aye.”

“Who, pray tell, is it?”

“Ragnhild of the Isle of Man.”

“The Norse princess?”

“Aye, and sought after by every man of any stature from Orkney to Scotland. But her father has yet to accept any man’s suit, including my own, though I have twice asked for her hand.”

His mother lifted her head to gaze southeast beyond the rocky shore of Ulaid toward the Isle of Man. “Olaf, King of Man, is the younger son of Godred Crovan, the King of Dublin who died before you were born. ’Tis said Olaf is a wily one. With the death of his two older brothers, I suppose he had to be.”

“That and his small stature, for he is no warrior. Olaf is known for his shrewd alliances forged with every kingdom that could pose a threat to him. I am hoping he comes to see me as one of them so that he will grant me the hand of his daughter. Once, I could offer her nothing but that has changed.”

“It would mean much for the task you have set for yourself to have such a bride,” said his mother. “From what I have heard about the princess, I believe I would like her.”

“Aye, you would. But an alliance with her father is not the only reason I want the match. I love her.”

His mother gave him a knowing smile. “Then I have no doubt Somerled the Mighty will find a way.”

Somerled fixed his eyes on his son who proudly held up a starfish, smiling at his prize. “Father, look!”

Somerled nodded, smiling. “Well done!” It warmed his heart to know his son had come to accept him. Now, he had only to introduce the lad to Ragnhild.

Isle of Man, 11 December 1137 A.D.

ANTICIPATING WHAT MIGHT come of this visit to the Isle of Man, Somerled’s gut tightened. Would Ragnhild receive his message with a glad heart?