Sisters of The Bruce 1292-1314 (Abridged Version )

Sisters of The Bruce: Part 2; Chapter 2.5 (cont)

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For some days now, the heir to the Ross earldom had been the esteemed guest of the Baikie family. He was young and handsome, Seonaid commented to her sister and Murchadh, the captain who brought them to Orkney all those years ago. In the warm, homely kitchen at Skaill House, they sat around the large table. Welcoming the opportunity for some respite on his journey as well as some much-needed home cooking, Murchadh was on his way back from trading around Scotland's west coast. In a day or two, he planned to venture on to Norway.

Marthoc joined in the conversation, pointing out the young lord was still a part of the hated Ross family and would not be forgiven for taking Mathilda away from them. It was quite surprising then, for someone who was so self-focused, that she noticed Murchadh looking at Seonaid, as if for the first time. She wondered what the captain could possibly see in her sister. His taste was obviously in question, or perhaps his eyesight, for had he not bypassed Marthoc's own comely wares which had been freely on offer?

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Bishop David went onto Kirkwall to confer with Earl Magnus and would return in a week or so prior to departing for Scotland. The sister maids were busy making a wedding gown for Mathilda. King Robert had sent many ells of fine rose-gold silk and gold braid. Mindful it would be a winter wedding, he also sent a cape lined with miniver, no doubt purloined from some wealthy trader in Aberdeen. The wedding would take place in far off Ross and Cromarty near Inverness. In the meantime, another celebration was imminent, that of Marthoc's wedding to her beau. Askell had courted the sonsy lass from the moment she arrived in Skaill. Now, Marthoc looked forward to moving over to his family's longhouse around one curved arm of the bay. Though she was with child, all remained silent on the issue; the villagers were fearful lest the trows or fairy folk learn of it and bring harm to the mother and unborn child.

Between the two sisters, Marthoc and Seonaid, there were some fraught moments. Both loved Camran with a passion. With his mother's focus on her husband-to be, the lad was just as happy to stay where he was with Seonaid, his aunt, who treated him like her own, and with Ellen and Meg; both of whom were like sisters to him. For Marthoc, this public betrayal was as hurtful as a dirk thrust into her breast. Both worked away in a tense silence which spoke volumes, intent on transforming the silk into a magnificent gown. As the day wore on, Marthoc's thoughts wandered to the ritual blackening.

Mid afternoon, Askell and his brothers sauntered forth from the family farm. Friends waylaid the groom, half-dragging him in reluctant good humour around the bay to the Grutgar's barn. Here, to the ribald calls of the all-male crowd, they stripped him to his braies. In a large wooden pail, tar had been mixed with soot and flour as well as feathers collected from the cliff top resting nooks of seabirds and the twiggy, loch-side nests of ducks and goslings. The unctuous mixture was stirred with a paddle and the sticky mess slapped upon Askell's bare body. Blowing whistles, shouting and banging sticks on drums, family and friends crowded around their blackened victim who looked like a shuddering, hunched bird.

Aodh looked on askance for he was to wed the pretty, nubile Heidrun, next year. Up till now, he had been unable to believe his good fortune at finding a niche for himself – with friends, a home and a family of his own in this new life in Orkney. No longer would he be Aodh, the scullion boy. Here, he was seen as an equal. In light of such good fortune, Aodh had looked forward to living in the Grutgar longhouse with Heidrun, sharing duties across the farm and Skaill House. Now he was not so sure.

Dusk brought a chilly end to the proceedings. The men herded Askell down to the shore. Most ended up with him in the waves and the floating mess of blackened feathers covered them. The shrieks of laughter and jeers almost drowned out the squawking cries of the gulls overhead. From the low cliff which rimmed the small bay, Margaret and Mathilda watched in amazement. Out of the corner of her eye, Margaret caught the approach of Hugh Ross across the machair. She moved to go down by the shore, leaving Mathilda engrossed in the spectacle on the thin strip of beach below her. As Hugh came to stand by her side, she turned, sensing his bulky form.

It was hard to stay angry with this personable, young man who had shown her nought but kindness, allowing her space and time to recover from the shock of their betrothal. Amused at the antics of Aodh as he dashed forward throwing pails of water over the gathered crowd, they both laughed and then fell into an awkward silence. With skin smeared black by the oily tar, feathered bodies staggered out of the waves and ran for the warmth of the Grutgar's barn and a welcome bonfire. The celebration would continue into the night with much ale consumed in the revelry.

"Walk with me?" Hugh queried. His quiet, encouraging manner was hard to resist. Mathilda complied, dutiful as his betrothed, though reluctant. She had no desire to speak with him at all, such was her confused state of mind, but she recalled their first meeting. Up on the cliff top, Hugh had apologised for his father's actions in capturing her kin. After being imprisoned in the Tower for seven long years following the Battle of Dunbar, the earl pledged allegiance to King Edward in order to gain his release. An oath, once given, required a firm commitment and he fulfilled what was asked of him to the letter. Despite this, Hugh knew his father's allegiance had always been to Scotland; being kin to the Comyns, the Ross family were Balliol supporters. When her husband had been imprisoned, Hugh's mother – a powerful, persuasive woman – sought to gain King Edward's patronage. To some, it appeared Lady Euphemia had fallen under the sway of his magnetic personality. She worked passionately for the English cause and, in the end, her husband was released from the Tower. He returned home to Ross, unwell and weakened by his incarceration. Hugh knew his father could not face such an experience again. Indeed, it would have been the death of him.

Deaf to the pleas of the wives whose husbands languished in his prison after the Dunbar Drave, King Edward was ruthless to his enemies. Many a family lost all and starved. Earl William found his wife's stance had protected the Ross lands – Hugh's future, in fact. By her pragmatism, she saved them from ignominious poverty. The earl returned home to find his wife both in charge and a confidante of the English king. Grateful for all she had achieved, it was easier and safer to continue enjoying the king's patronage. Aye right! Mathilda thought with some irony.

Growing up as heir to the Earl of Ross under these circumstances was a curious experience for Hugh. He had lost his father to imprisonment for much of his young life whilst his mother's temerity in embracing the English cause, brought them under King Edward's protection, on friendly terms as it were, but at his beck and call. In many ways, it was as strange as the situation in which Mathilda now found herself: a much younger Hugh had been forced to tolerate relations with a sworn enemy in circumstances beyond his control. With her betrothed's insight into her confusion, it no longer seemed imperative to Mathilda to spurn his polite, tentative advances. Furthermore, Hugh's father had joined, albeit under pressure, with her brother, King Robert. It was time to end the blood feud over the death of the earl's cousin, John, the Red Comyn. Bruce and Ross found their measure and consolidated a respectful alliance. Mathilda knew her brother sought peace rather than war, and strategic forgiveness and mercy gained far more than any battles for the relatively small price of pride-filled anger. It was a lesson she was struggling to learn, but learn she must.

With all these considerations, Mathilda found herself warming to Hugh; the hard core of ice within her heart melting despite herself. Not for the first time, she wondered what he would be like as a marriage partner, but she held deep reservations regarding the powerful matriarch, Lady Euphemia. By week's end, they would depart in the Ross galley which lay anchored in the bay. Mathilda's sadness now focused upon leaving her family behind here in Orkney. For this sister of the Bruce, it was a time for farewells and grand beginnings.