Sisters of The Bruce 1292-1314 (Abridged Version )

Sisters of The Bruce: Part 2; Chapter2.5

                                                                                         V

Orkney

October 1308

Up on the headland, Mathilda Bruce relished the isolation and peace as she leaned back against the lichened rocks. From time to time, black and white tannymories flew past, close to her. Their wings thrummed and whirred as if belonging to fat, blundering moths in desperate panic. In flight, their arched beaks offered a fleeting blue-edged streak of russet. The comic creatures waddled around on the grassy cliff's edge, but today, the lass could not raise even a smile at their antics, such was her despair. To calm herself, Mathilda closed her eyes, concentrating on the sounds surrounding her haven. Overhead, oystercatchers and skylarks piped and sang in competition with the ascending calls of seabirds. Terns, gulls and razorbills dived and fished amidst the choppy waters of the sea, which stretched off into the haze. Before her, streaks of rose and pale saffron cloud stretched thin, elongated fingers towards the low westering sun in eloquent farewell.

It had been an unusually clear, calm day which began peacefully enough until a vessel entered the bay. Aboard was Bishop David of Moray, emissary of her brother, the King of Scots, who had recently brought warring parts of northern Scotland into his peace. Taking her aside after his entourage landed, the bishop read out the contents of Robert's letter, not knowing Mathilda could have read it for herself. As the message contained within became apparent, the young woman paled and her breath came in short, painful gasps. Pressing her nails into the palm of her hand, she made herself focus on the prelate's strident tones.

Robert had arranged her betrothal to Hugh, son of William, Earl of Ross. He requested Mathilda trust his judgement despite all that had happened in the past, for Hugh was a fine man, well-favoured in looks, manners and ability who would one day become the Earl of Ross in his own right. Hugh and his siblings had been given as hostages to King Robert by their father for his part in a treaty as a pledge of his good faith. During this time, Mathilda's brother, Edward, developed a deep friendship with Hugh's brother, Walter, and was now enamoured of his sister, Isabella. This, of course, was problematic as Edward was already handfasted to Isabella of Strathbogie and had two sons by her. Bishop David frowned as he read the last few comments. He was not fond of the king's impulsive brother.

Mathilda knew the Earl of Ross had captured her sisters, Kirsty and Mary, as well as Robert's daughter, his wife, and Isobel of Fife. For so long, she had railed against the earl for his depredations against her family when he breached the sanctuary of St Duthac. Her dearest kin sought in vain to escape, but he delivered them to King Edward. The manner of their imprisonment weighed upon her mind, and she doubted she could bear to be in the earl's presence, let alone take on the mantle of wife to his heir.

At this point, she was unsure whom she hated most: the Earl of Ross or her brother for asking such a thing of her. It mattered not what kind of man this Hugh was, nor that Edward found Walter and Isabella Ross agreeable company. She was sickened to her soul by the request. Mathilda bowed her head and asked to be excused. Numb with shock, she walked from the chamber. A blast of cold air revived her. Ignoring her veil as it fell onto the muddy cobbles and oblivious to the questioning looks from all and sundry in the courtyard, she lifted her gown and ran. One man looked up from his task, shocked to see the anguish written across the young woman's strained features.

Sobbing, she found her way up to the headland. Wrapping her shawl tight about her shoulders, she sought shelter beside a clump of boulders. Anger coursed through her veins. How could Robert ask such a thing? How could he make peace with a man who had caused them all so much pain? She thought of young Ellen grieving for her mother. Then there was Meg, who held no memory at all of Kirsty and would never know her father.

For hours, she sat and pondered her future with such a family. A sense of duty and obligation to her brother for all the hardships he had borne for the crown of Scotland, vying with pure visceral hatred for the Ross family. It was not only that, Mathilda decided. She had grown to love Orkney: the pensive rhythms of sea and land; the freedom of her life here amidst the ancient markers; the light and dark; the wildly contrasting seasons; and the gentle acceptance experienced by her family amidst the precious warmth of this tiny community. She had made friends here and did not want to leave.

Deepening dusk and bracing cold caused her to stand stiffly, brushing grass and grains of sand from her gown. As she turned towards the lights of Skaill, she saw  a stocky, dark-haired man standing some distance away from her. In his hand, he held her veil before him as he came closer, a peace offering as it were. Bowing low, he introduced himself: Hugh, son of the Earl of Ross.