Page 62 of Summer Warrior

“Aye,” said Ruairi. “Above stairs.” He pointed to a narrow set of stairs at the end of the hall.

“I like it, Father,” said Gillecolum, joining them with Bran in tow. “And it sits high above all.” Somerled knew the boy was comparing the one at Loch Findlugan. Ardtornish might present a grander, more strategic view and its keep more a castle, but Findlugan would be the center of power.

Somerled draped his arm across his son’s shoulders. “’Twill be one of many, Son. In the next years, God willing, we will see them all.”

They availed themselves of ale, cheese and kippers, while Ruairi unrolled a hand-drawn map of Argyll and the Isles. Somerled and his companions gathered around to study the places marked off. “From the Mull of Kintyre in the south,” Somerled said, pointing with his dagger, “to Ardnamurchan and Moidart in the north, we will build castles at every critical spot to guard the sea lanes.”

“That is a great number of castles,” said Maurice.

Somerled’s brow furrowed. “Aye…” He studied the map, mentally assessing the most critical areas. “At least a dozen, I expect.”

“Do you really need one in Moidart?” asked Domnall.

Somerled looked again at the map and remembered the land they spoke of. “Moidart may be wild and untamed yet I believe a castle on the shore of Loch Moidart is essential. ’Twill be an important guard over the small isles and waters south of the Isle of Skye.”

“All those castles will take years,” said Ewan, “especially if you wish to build in stone.”

Somerled was undaunted. “Once we have dealt with the Norse raiders and peace reigns in the Isles, we will have time. It must be done, else the pirates will not take seriously our intention to stay and our intention to build—not just castles, but a kingdom.”

“I believe you will do it,” said Liadan, her pretty face smiling up at him.

In Somerled’s mind he heard Ragnhild’s words, spoken on the night he’d first introduced himself to her. I believe you will accomplish the task you have set for yourself, Lord Somerled. Melancholy swept over him as he thought of the lass he wanted by his side. He missed her, often pulling the green silk riband she had given him to press it to his lips.

Shaking off the feeling, he asked Ruairi about Morvern. “Are the people there still committed to the cause?”

“More than ever. Morvern is yours, Lord. Have no doubt.”

That evening was well spent in the great hall of the new castle. Somerled, his hosts, his son and companions and the galleys’ crews dined well on the venison the afternoon’s hunt had provided. Aileas had planted a kitchen garden and the herbs that were sufficiently grown to be harvested added flavor to the roasting meat. The meal was simple and hearty and much appreciated.

Somerled looked at Ruairi over the flickering candle and wondered if he and Aileas wished to return to Kintyre or would prefer to stay here. Angus was the MacInnes chief but Morvern was Ruairi’s home as well. “Ruairi, I can find a man to oversee the building of the castle at Dunaverty if you and Aileas want to remain here.”

Ruairi cast a knowing look at his wife. They had obviously discussed the possibility. “We have enjoyed our visit here, Lord, but we will be content to return to Dunaverty should that be your decision.”

“If you still feel the same in the morning, you can sail south to Kintyre and send Angus north to meet me at Moidart where I go to find my wandering stonemason.” They shared a laugh at that for d’Harcourt was a bit of a character.

By the time dawn cast its golden rays through the narrow window in Somerled’s chamber, he was up and dressing, eager to be sailing. He’d shared the lord’s chamber with Maurice, Domnall and Gillecolum, who were still asleep on their pallets. Ewan had been given a small chamber of his own. “Wake up you lazy-bones! If we’re to stop on Ardnamurchan’s coast and arrive in Moidart while there is still light, you’d best be moving!”

His son rubbed his eyes and raised himself on one elbow. “Father?”

“Aye, Son. Time to rise.” Gillecolum’s gaze took in Somerled fully clothed and jumped from his pallet to struggle into his tunic and hose. “Good lad,” Somerled encouraged him.

Maurice and Domnall had downed enough ale last evening while laughing at Ruairi’s ill-timed humor and idle tales to keep them dreaming until noon. Ruairi, too, most likely. Somerled would have none of it. The day was young but ’twould not be so for long.

One brief nudge with his boot to Maurice’s side and a bit of water poured onto Domnall’s face had his companions groaning. “Go away,” moaned Domnall, covering his face with a pillow.

“I am for breaking my fast,” announced Somerled. “If you two wish to travel with empty bellies, sleep on. But when next called, you had best be ready to sail or your galley will arrive a day behind mine.” Turning to his son, he said, “Come, Gille. Food awaits.”

Ruairi might be sleeping in, but Aileas was bustling about the hall with servant girls helping her. Ewan MacSuibhne was already diving into a bowl of porridge.

“Morning, Somerled,” said Ewan as he reached for his ale.

“And to you,” said Somerled.

A fire blazed in the hearth against the morning chill. Aileas handed him a bowl. “’Tis porridge with dried berries and hazelnuts. The villagers keep us well supplied.”

“My thanks,” he said, taking a seat. “The food is much appreciated. I want to get an early start. Is Liadan awake?”

Aileas smiled. “Aye, she’ll be here in a moment. She’s helping the children dress.” To Gillecolum, she said, “They wanted to join you for the morning meal and see you off.”