Sisters of The Bruce 1292-1314 (Abridged Version )

Sisters of The Bruce: Part 2: Chapter 6.5

                                                                                                V

Scotland

Dingwall Castle

September 1312

Perhaps it was because they had cursed the northern winds, that now they were cheated of its helping hand. Bare-chested, the  crew chanted and rowed for all they were worth. Sweat dripped from Kettil's brow down into the furrow of his scar, as he beat the gong and roared in unison with his men. It was enough. The galley moved along the Cromarty Firth to its head, reaching the small harbour which serviced Dingwall Castle. It came to a groaning standstill against the rough wharf and a burly sailor threw a rope to a Ross man who looped it several times about a bollard. Sea birds, which had been following the vessel, sank down and began to clamour amongst themselves over some floating refuse. Watched over by a bevy of guards, the wharf was crowded with villagers: some hale of figure and voice; others wizened and bent over. Between them all ran children; fleet of foot and hand, intent on scavenging food and other treats.

Isa could have kissed the filthy decking such was her relief at having reached safety. Even thinking about their crossing of the dangerous Firth, which separated Orkney and Scotland, made her weak at the knees and wanting to weep once more with the horror of it all. The harbour was noisy and smelt of tar, smoke and fish much like the Bryggyn, and a contingent of fair-haired traders from the continent gave substance to that impression. The stature and jovial natures of the men made them stand out, as they shared banter with the guards. Standing around braziers, ale pots in their hands, they gave the appearance of being relaxed, but nothing could have been further from the truth. Keen eyes observed the unloading of cargo from the galleys, scanning the wharf for undercurrents of trouble from their volatile hosts. All seemed to be well with minimal damage noted.

The pathway of planks to the harbour was a constant stream of folk coming and going. The hood of Mathilda's cape slipped back and her ringlets, glinted in the sunlight. At that moment, Isa recognised her second youngest sister amongst the crowd; an awareness accompanied by an unsettling shift of perspective, as if an unseen hand had rent the curtain of time. Isa pinched herself to ensure it was not some cruel dream. Over the years, many of these had fractured her sleep. As if to reassure her, a gull dropped a warm message from on high. It caught the edge of her cloak. With a smile, she wiped the excrement onto a nearby bale waving away the servitor who rushed to her aid. At last, she was home and nothing could mar the pleasure of this long awaited homecoming.

For Mathilda's part, she felt sure she would recognise Isa by sight as well as by instinct; the Bruce women all had a similar look about them, being dark of hair and medium height. It was also their good fortune to have strong, firm bodies and robust health. With bright, attractive faces, they could never be described as pretty. Sharp intellect shone through in pale, upright foreheads and their eyes often had, in happier times, sparkled with wit and merriment. Isa began to wave and both women fought back tears. It had been nineteen years since they had last laid eyes upon each other, though of course Mathilda carried no memory of this. Then, she had been a bairn, new to walking. Now, she had children of her own. In her arms, she held a squirming, chubby infant. Beside her, a small, auburn-haired mite hid within the moss-green folds of her mother's velvet cloak.

Once upon land, Isa knelt down to say a quiet, "Hello there!" to Marjorie, who clasped her mother's legs and hid ever deeper. Leaning forward, Isa tickled young William 'til he smiled. He melded his body as if one with his mother's and then tilted his head just so for a quick peek. Both women laughed; he was an engaging, little soul. After a lifetime apart, neither tongue nor quill could describe the delight the sisters felt in their long-awaited meeting. Kettil placed Isa's trunks and accoutrements in the cart provided for the purpose and, with her maids in tow, followed the sisters up from the harbour, through the village of rough wattle and daub huts to the stone castle perched on its mound overlooking the surrounding countryside.