Betrayed

Chapter 5

The coronation of James I and his queen, Joan Beaufort, was set for the fourteenth day of May. In that same week the king stood before his parliament, declaring firmly, "If any man presume to make war against another, he shall suffer the full penalties of the law." The pronouncement was greeted with a deep, respectful silence. In the month since the king had returned to Scotland, his nobility were learning to their great dismay that he was not at all his father's son. Rather he was his great-great-grandfather, Robert the Bruce, reborn, but, intrigued by the management of his government, a stronger king. The bonnet lairds and the general population were well pleased with this prince. The mighty were not, but it was too late. James Stewart had taken up the reins of his power most firmly. He would not be dislodged.

To Angus and Fiona's great surprise they were housed with their royal master and mistress in Perth. They had been given a small apartment with a bedchamber that had its own fireplace, a day room with a second fireplace, and two smaller rooms off the day room, one for their clothing and the other for Nelly. The windows of their apartment looked out over the river and to the bens beyond the town.

"I don't know if we are deserving of such luxury," Fiona said, "but I canna say I dislike it." She plucked a strawberry from a dish at her elbow and plopped it in her mouth. "Anything we desire at our beck and call, Angus. 'Tis not a bad life, is it?"

He laughed. "Don't get used to it, lassie," he advised her. "I promised the king to bide with him but a short while. We'll be back at Loch Brae by autumn, I promise ye. I do not intend venturing far from home again unless the king truly needs me, but once I am well out of his sight, he will forget us, I am certain, for we are really of no import to him, Fiona Hay. Remember that, and don't be lulled into a sense of false importance because ye now serve the queen at this moment. She, too, will forget."

"I know," Fiona admitted, "and I also will be glad to be back at Loch Brae, Angus. However, I canna help but have a wee bit of fun, since we are forced to remain at court for the next few months. What stories I'll have to tell our Morag!"

The coronation was celebrated at Scone Abbey with all the pomp and circumstance the Scots could muster. The king and the queen in their ermine-trimmed robes were both attractive in their youth, yet most dignified. There was something very assuring about the pair. And afterward when they rode, crowned, through the city, the crowds cheered mightily at the sight of their sovereigns, men tossing their caps in the air in celebration, women wiping joyful tears from their eyes. A good king. A fair queen. And peace with England.

" 'Tis a pity we could not have the stone to crown ye on, my liege," the Earl of Atholl told his nephew.

"I was long ago crowned upon the stone," the king said with a smile, and then went on to explain how Angus Gordon had crowned his prince when they had been children together in England.

"This bonnet laird is too clever to my mind," Atholl told his eldest son, who would shortly depart for England as a hostage. "I will not be sorry to see the back of him and his equally canny mistress. She is too close to the queen, this wench of no importance."

Now truly king, James Stewart began to rule as Scotland had never been ruled. Immediately he forced through the parliament several new laws. Next James set about reclaiming crown properties that had been usurped or badly managed by his unfaithful vassals during the regency and the reign of the two previous weak monarchs. This was a highly unpopular move. The king complicated matters further by insisting that every nobleman and woman, every laird of the realm, bring the patent for his or her lands to be examined by the king's justices that their validity might be attested to and reconfirmed. Those who could not prove their rightful ownership of their lands and titles were carefully examined as to their loyalties over the past years. They were either reissued their rights by the king's court or had their properties confiscated. The appropriated lands were then given to James Stewart, and he, in turn, set those men loyal to him upon the seized properties to oversee them for him.

So many changes, and so quickly come. Now the king sought to better the justice system in Scotland, both civil and criminal.

"What think ye of my plan, Angus?" James Stewart asked his friend one afternoon as they practiced their skill at the archery butts.

"If yer chancellor and the men chosen for this court cannot be bribed, my liege, then the poor will at last have an honest champion," the laird replied. "If, however, these men can be corrupted, the verdict will go to the highest bidder." He loosed an arrow into the center of the target.

"I shall personally oversee this court myself," the king replied. "I know men's weaknesses when it comes to riches and power." He let fly his own arrow, which buried itself into the laird's arrow, splitting it in twain. Then, turning, he looked to his companion.

The laird was astounded, but suddenly a great grin split his face. "What a grand shot, my liege!" he said enthusiastically. "Ye must teach me how ye did it so I may equally astonish my own men."

James Stewart laughed. " 'Tis easy," he vowed. "I'll be pleased to teach ye the trick of it. I owe ye for yer company, Angus, for it helps take the weight of my duties from my shoulders. 'Tis not easy to be a king, I am finding. There is so much to be done, and so many who oppose me, whether they say it or not."

"Scotland has lived for too long without a master," Angus Gordon said quietly. "It is like a horse gone wild that must be reconditioned to the bridle and the bit. Ye have done much already this summer, my liege. Perhaps if ye would go a bit easier, ye would have time to win more men to yer cause. There are many who are faithful, and others who would be, I know, if they were but given the chance to know ye better so they might see how worthy ye are."

"I know that ye speak the truth, Angus," James Stewart said, "but there is far more to do to improve life in our land than I can possibly accomplish in an entire lifetime, even were I to live to be a very old man."

"May God see that ye do!" the laird replied enthusiastically.

“Ah, Angus, if half the men at this court were as loyal to me as ye are, I should have no fear for Scotland's future," the king answered, his tone almost sad, "but, alas, too many are ingrained in their bad ways. Soon I must act to make an example within the bosom of my own family if I am to put the fear of God into the others."

While the laird kept his king company, Fiona Hay was with the queen. Joan of England had become genuinely fond of the highland girl, but the noblewomen who surrounded her were less tolerant of the laird's mistress. For one thing, she was much too beautiful-and hardly respectable. She was not from a powerful family, yet she carried herself proudly. She deferred only to the queen and the king.

"She is much too proud for a lass in her position," Lady Stewart of Dundonald said sourly. "She should not be allowed to serve the queen. The wench is no better than a common whore."

"Much the same was said of my grandmother, Catherine Swynford," said the queen, who had overheard Lady Stewart's remarks. "My grandmother, like Mistress Hay, was in the lowest rank of the nobility. She had, thanks to her sister who served Queen Philippa, been given a place in the household of Lady Blanche of Lancaster. She served my grandfather's first wife. My grandfather fell in love with Catherine Swynford, but only after his wife died would she admit her affections for him.

"King Edward III, however, married his son off to a second politically expedient wife, Constance of Castile. He was forced to live in Castile for a time. He had to leave my grandmother and their children behind. His second marriage was of a short duration, for the lady of Castile died. My grandfather returned home to England to wed with Catherine Swynford.

"He spent much time in the assizes, and with the church hierarchy, making certain that his three sons and his little daughter were legitimized. He was successful. My grandmother defied convention for the man she loved. In the end God smiled upon her, for she was a good woman at heart. Mistress Hay has sacrificed herself and her good name to provide for her orphaned sisters. I will not condemn her, nor should any of ye. I am ashamed ye would be so mean-spirited." Having rebuked them, the queen turned her attentions to her needlework.

"Alas," Maggie MacLeod, now Lady Grey of Ben Duff, said to Fiona, "ye are a clever lass, but ye don't have the wit to take advantage of the queen's good nature to bring yer Black Angus to the bridle." The two women had easily become friends over the past few weeks.

"What makes ye think I want to wed with a man who doesn't love me?"

"Yer in love with him." Maggie MacLeod laughed knowingly. "And can ye not see that the man is mad in love with ye? God's boots! He positively glowers at any man foolish enough to give ye a passing glance, Fiona lass. Have ye no eyes in yer head, then, that ye canna see it?"

"He has not said it," Fiona replied stubbornly.

Maggie MacLeod snorted with impatience. "Surely ye are not waiting for Angus Gordon to declare himself, Fiona Hay? Ye cannot be that silly! Men are children; they never grow up. A man needs to be reassured that his suit will not be denied before he can muster up the courage to tell a woman that he truly loves her."

"But I thought I should wait for him to say it first, and the queen agrees."

"Blessed Mother!" Maggie MacLeod swore. "Listen to me, Fiona Hay. I have no doubts that the king loves the queen, but the first thing that crossed his canny Stewart mind when he decided to choose a bride was her suitability. Do ye understand me?" Lady Grey's eyes bored into Fiona's.

"Joan Beaufort was certainly the most eligible maid in all of England. James Stewart swept her off her innocent little feet with his charm and his attentions. And she, encouraged, no doubt, by her powerful Beaufort relations and by daydreams of a queen's crown blurring her vision, probably whispered shyly to our liege lord that she loved him. Only then, I promise ye, did he say that he loved her.

"That is how it always is in the battle between men and women, and how it is always likely to be. If the women of this world did not take matters into their own hands, not a man would take a woman to wife." She laughed. "How do ye think I caught Ben Duff? A more sly widower there never was, but I was a canny lass, and when my Andrew learned I was carrying his heir, there was no holding him back. He couldn't get me to the priest fast enough!" She laughed again, her bright blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

"What yer saying to me, Lady Grey, is that I have been a damned simpering little fool," Fiona replied. "Is that not so?"

"Aye," Maggie drawled. "Yer a highland woman, Fiona Hay, and we highlanders take what we want. We don't wait to be invited. Did ye not steal yer laird's cattle?"

"I have never admitted to it," Fiona quickly replied, but Maggie MacLeod only laughed louder.

“Ye had better get Black Angus to the altar, lassie, before some bold baggage here at the court decides she wants him, or the king decides to give him a nice English heiress in return for his loyalty." Then she lowered her voice to a deep whisper. "Have ye been taking something to prevent conception?"

Silently Fiona nodded.

"Don't take any more, Fiona Hay. Let yer man put his bairn in yer belly, and for sweet Jesu's sake, tell him that ye love him before it's too late. Happiness is not an easy commodity to find in this world. Ye must hold tight to it when ye do find it." Maggie MacLeod took Fiona's hand in hers and gave it an encouraging little squeeze.

"Now I have two friends at court," Fiona said softly.

"I'm in good company." The older woman chuckled.

The queen's page announced that it was time for them all to adjourn to the Great Hall, where a new group of noblemen and lairds would be coming to pledge their loyalty and have the patents for their lands examined for approval. The queen, accompanied by her women, hurried to join the rest of the court.

"God's boots," Maggie MacLeod murmured, her eye scanning the hall and lighting upon a man. " 'Tis my cousin of Nairn, Colin MacDonald. What brings him here, I wonder, for he is as independent a highlander as was his sire."

"Who was that?" Fiona asked.

"Donald MacDonald, late Lord of the Isles," Maggie said softly. "Nairn is a bastard half-brother to Alexander, the third Lord of the Isles, but Colin MacDonald's first loyalty is to his brother and his clan. Their interests would be unlikely to coincide with the king's. What can he be doing here? The king will go to Inverness eventually to take oaths from the northern lords. Why has The MacDonald of Nairn come all the way to Perth?"

"Why not ask him?" Fiona suggested in practical tones.

Maggie MacLeod laughed. "I don't know if he would tell me the truth. Colin can tell a lie better than any man I have ever known.'' Her fingers worried her blue brocade surcoat as she considered Fiona's pragmatic suggestion. "It's been at least five years since I last saw him. He may not even know me now."

"Ye knew him," Fiona said dryly.

"Colin is not a man a woman forgets."

"Ye dinna mean-" Fiona didn't know whether to be shocked or not.

Maggie chuckled. "He had his hands up my skirts when I was twelve. We mature earlier in the northwest." She shrugged. "He was always a wild one, Colin MacDonald."

Across the hall the subject of their discussion watched the two women covertly. A small smile briefly touched the corners of his big mouth. Cousin Maggie had grown into a very pretty woman, but the girl by her side was a rare beauty. He was about to make his way across the chamber to greet his relation and be introduced to her companion when a tall, dark-haired man came up to them. He smiled, a few words were exchanged, and then the man escorted the beauty off. Before Maggie MacLeod might turn away, Colin MacDonald crossed the room in several large steps and was at her side.

"Maggie! And prettier than ever, I see," he said jovially, kissing her on the cheek. “How nice to see a friendly face among all these damned Sassanachs." He spoke to her in the Gaelic of the north.

"Mind yer mouth, Colly," Maggie warned him softly. "Enough of the court speaks the Gael to have ye hung. What are ye doing here?"

He answered her question with one of his own. "Who was the exquisite creature with ye a moment back?"

"Answer me first, cousin," she said firmly.

"Alex wants the lay of the land," Colin MacDonald said frankly.

"Why?"

The MacDonald of Nairn snorted. ' 'Maggie, ye know that as well as I do. My brother does not know if he will swear fealty to this Stewart king. We may be better off as we are in the north allied to the English."

"James Stewart is allied to England now. This king will not let the highlands run wild," Maggie warned him. "He will, I suspect, destroy ye all first, Colly. I know ye love Alex and are his man, but look to Nairn and its future before ye decide yer own course." She eyed him appreciatively. "God's boots, I had forgotten how handsome ye are, cousin of mine." She chuckled at his suddenly cocked eyebrow. "Don't get any wicked ideas in yer head, Colin MacDonald, for I'm a respectably married woman now."

"And who is the fortunate man?"

"Andrew Grey of Ben Duff," she said, "and, aye, he's the borderer I left the north with because I was sick of all the killing and clan warfare. I wanted a quiet man who would love me and give me bairns. I'll have my first wee laddie or lass in the coming winter."

The MacDonald of Nairn took his cousin's hand in his, raised it to his lips, and kissed it. "If yer happy, Maggie MacLeod, then who am I to say no to ye? I'll want to meet yer husband, of course, but now tell me who that beautiful lassie ye were with is."

"Fiona Hay, the laird of Loch Brae's mistress, but don't even consider a seduction. Angus Gordon would kill ye, for he is fearfully jealous of any man who even looks at his Fiona. Besides he intends to wed her, I am certain. The queen wants it, and his family wants it."

"Does she want it?"

"Aye, verra much," Maggie said. Then she laughed softly. "Have ye any idea of how those long legs of yers poking from beneath yer kilt are affecting the ladies here? Why even Atholl'.s wife has a lustful look in her eye, and I thought her dried up long ago."

"Present me to Mistress Hay," The MacDonald of Nairn said, ignoring her teasing remarks.

"Colly, she will have none of ye, I swear it!" He hadn't changed at all from the heedless boy she had known as a child, Maggie thought. He saw something, he wanted it, and nothing would satisfy him until he had it. “Did ye hear nothing I said to ye? Angus Gordon is mad for her! And jealous. Verra, verra jealous."

He grinned. "I don't blame him, for Mistress Fiona Hay is the bonniest lass I have ever seen, but I will meet her, Maggie, even if ye will not present me in a proper manner."

"Not now," Maggie MacLeod said, knowing that she was beaten.

"When?"

Damn him, he was so stubborn! "In a more casual setting than the Great Hall at Scone," Maggie said. "I promise."

"Good. Now, Maggie, let us find yer good lord so we may be introduced, eh?"

As he escorted her across the hall to where Andrew Grey of Ben Duff stood, the eyes of many of the women in the hall followed admiringly, their heads swiveling shamelessly. Colin MacDonald was a striking man who stood six feet four inches tall. Everything about him was long. His arms. His legs. His face with its high cheekbones and squared chin with its deep dimple. His eyes were, like Maggie's, sparkling bright blue. But it was his shoulder-length hair, a flaming red-gold, that attracted almost as much attention as his great height. He wore the ancient hunting tartan of the MacDonalds. The green, gray, and white wool was wrapped about his loins in a kilt; a second length of it was slung across his broad chest and shoulder and affixed with a clan badge.

"Who is that?" the king asked his uncle, the Earl of Atholl.

"I don't know," Walter Stewart said, "but I will find out."

Amused, the king watched the open interest of the women in his hall and, turning to his queen, said, "I think, my Joan, that ye and Fiona Hay are the only two women in the chamber not yearning after yon fiery-headed giant. He looks to be a highlander by his dress."

"Why would I long for another when I am wed to the best man in all of Scotland?" the queen replied with a sweet smile.

Walter Stewart's son, Alan, came onto the dais and whispered into his father's ear. The Earl of Atholl turned and said to the king, "The big highlander is Colin MacDonald, known as The MacDonald of Nairn, nephew. He's a bastard of Donald of Harlaw and half-brother to the current Lord of the Isles. I cannot help but wonder why he is in here at yer court."

The king caught the laird of Loch Brae's eye, and when Angus Gordon had come over to him the king said, "Angus, the big highlander with the flaming pate speaking with Lady Grey and her good husband is The MacDonald of Nairn. Bring him to me."

The laird nodded and turned away, silently approving Fiona's actions, for she had come to stand by the queen's side when he had answered the king's summons. Hurrying across the hall, he approached Andrew Grey, his wife, and their companion. Bowing to them, he said, "The king would speak with The MacDonald of Nairn."

Maggie MacLeod paled. "What does he want of my cousin, Angus?"

"Yer cousin, is he?" The laird looked The MacDonald of Nairn directly in the eye although there was a difference in their heights. "I think the king is but curious. 'Tis not often we are treated to the sight of red-haired giants in kilts in the Great Hall of Scone." His tone was slightly mocking, for there was something about The MacDonald of Nairn that annoyed him, although he could not put his finger on the source of the irritation. "Will ye come with me, then, man?" he asked brusquely.

"Aye, I'll come," Colin MacDonald drawled, "although I am not a man used to following another, but for my brother."

"Oh, Colly, do mind yer manners," Maggie fussed at him.

Colin MacDonald laughed, his long finger touching her cheek. "Don't fret, sweet coz, I'll not offend the king, for in doing so I would offend Alex, who has yet to make up his mind in the matter." He turned and walked away with the laird.

"A dangerous man," Andrew Grey murmured softly. "Is he really yer cousin, Maggie? And just how well did ye know him?"

"Our mothers were cousins," Maggie answered her husband, "and I know Colly as well as any cousin knows another cousin. He is at least eight years my senior, and I was hardly of interest to him except as a relation, Andrew." She clutched suddenly at his arm. "Ah! I think I felt the bairn move, my lord, or perhaps it was my belly rumbling, for I am ferociously hungry these days."

Grey of Ben Duff put a protective arm about his wife and led her off to where she might sit and be more comfortable, not in the least aware of how neatly his wife had turned him away from the subject of Colin MacDonald of Nairn. The less said about her cousin, the better, Maggie MacLeod thought. While she was delighted to see the charming rogue, she was also made uneasy by his presence. She had striven hard to distance herself from her northern roots-and all they entailed. She glanced across the room to where her MacDonald relation was now bowing politely to the king.

"What brings ye to court, my lord?" James Stewart said.

“Did ye not put forth an order that the nobility bring their patents of titles and lands to ye to be reconfirmed, my lord?" Colin MacDonald said boldly. "Well, I have come at yer command and for no other reason. I should just as soon be hunting the red deer in my forests right now as crowding myself into a hall full of people, most of whom have not bathed in weeks, if at all this year."

The Earl of Atholl leapt to his feet, his hand on his dirk. "Ye’ll speak to the king with more respect than that, MacDonald, or I'll slit yer bold gullet for ye," he said angrily.

"I meant no offense, my lord," Colin MacDonald said, ignoring Atholl, "but we highlanders are used to speaking our minds. We don't couch our words in pretty phrases that only hide their meaning."

The king nodded. "I prefer plain speaking myself," he said. "Tell me, how came ye by yer lands in Nairn, for I am given to understand that yer father was Donald of Harlaw, late Lord of the Isles."

"My mother, Moire Rose, was the heiress of Nairn. She was my father's mistress for a time. My father made it known to my grandfather that he wanted me to have my mother's inheritance. My grandfather made me his heir. I came into my own several years ago." Reaching into a space between his shirt and the swath of plaid across his chest, he drew out a silk pouch and handed it to the king.

After carefully taking papers from the pouch, James Stewart spent the next several minutes perusing them. "These are all quite in order, my lord, the line of descent clear." He folded the sheets of parchment, put them back into the pouch, and handed it to Colin MacDonald. "See my secretary in the morning, and he will affix the proper seals to yer documents. Ye are reconfirmed in yer titles, lands, and rights."

"I thank ye, my lord."

"And will ye swear yer fealty to me now?"

"No, lord, I cannot, for I am vassal to my brother, Alexander, Lord of the Isles. 'Twould not be right for me to swear my fealty to ye before my brother swears his. Indeed, my brother would be verra angry at me for such a presumption. I know that ye understand."

"I will expect ye at Inverness when I come, Colin MacDonald," the king said quietly, but there was a hint of a smile about the corners of his lips. "Ye will swear me yer fealty directly after yer brother."

The MacDonald of Nairn nodded his head in apparent agreement. "Aye, and I will. First to ye, James Stewart, and then to yer fair queen, may God make her fruitful." He bowed to them both.

"A wicked rogue if I ever saw one," Fiona Hay said when Colin MacDonald had taken his leave of the throne and moved back into the hall. "Ye had best beware of him, my liege. No MacDonald ever had Scotland's interests at heart, I fear."

"But he has great charm." The queen laughed softly, watching the big highlander make his way out of the hall.

"A dangerous man," the king said knowingly. "Aye, Mistress Hay, ye are wise to not be fooled by an easy smile and manner."

"I don't like the bold way he looked at ye," Angus Gordon said darkly.

"Did he look at me?" Fiona said, surprised. "I didn't notice. Have ye told me that ye are the only man for me, my Black Angus?" Fiona teased him wickedly, and the royal couple laughed.

"Yer a brazen baggage," Angus Gordon pretended to grumble. "I don't know why I even put up with ye." His eyes were twinkling.

"He'll wed her soon, before the year's end," the queen said wisely to her husband when the laird and Fiona had taken their leave and moved away from the dais.

"I thought to give him a nice English wife like I have," the king teased his bride. “Do ye not think he would like one, Joan?''

"If he were not so deeply in love with Fiona Hay, and she with him," the queen replied, "I would want him for my cousin, Elizabeth Williams. He is a good man, James, but then ye know that."

"Ye miss Beth," James Stewart said. It was a statement.

"Aye," the young queen replied, "I do. In the autumn Mistress Hay will return to Loch Brae with the laird. They are so desperate to get home, James. We cannot in fairness keep them here much longer, but then I shall have no confidant of my own age. Beth was always my confidant."

"In a few more weeks," James Stewart told his wife, "I will send down into England for your cousin. One little English girl can hardly offend the Scots, and ye will have yer dearest companion again."

"I'm glad," the queen said, and then, leaning over, she whispered into her husband's ear. He grinned, but Joan put her finger to her lips, pledging him to silence for now.

June passed, then July. Though the king worked hard at the business of restoring order and justice to Scotland, he also made time for pleasure. There were more young people at the court than there had been in many years. They hunted deer in the hills about Scone and waterfowl near the river Tay, and they fished for trout and salmon in the swiftly moving streams. The king enjoyed the game of golf. As it happened, the two best players at court were Angus Gordon and The MacDonald of Nairn, who fell into an immediate and fierce competition.

"Ye shouldn't grip yer club like that," Angus Gordon scoffed one afternoon as they played with the king and the Earl of Atholl. "Ye cannot gain any distance with yer ball if ye have such a grip."

Colin MacDonald drew himself up to his full six feet four inches and sneered down at the six-foot-two laird, “I managed to beat ye last time quite handily, Gordon, with just such a grip."

"Ye won at the end by only a stroke-and only because the wind blew a wee bit of grit into my eye," the laird snapped.

"But I won. I always win when I choose to win, Gordon. Be advised of that. By the way, how is yer pretty little mistress? She is surely the bonniest lass in all of Scotland." He grinned wickedly, and his bright blue eyes silently challenged the laird.

The laird of Loch Brae clenched his teeth and, concentrating with all his might, hit his ball a tremendous length down the green. Then he turned, grinning his own challenge to The MacDonald of Nairn. "Ye’ll be going north again soon, I imagine," he said pleasantly.

“Those two are worse than a pair of lads," groused the Earl of Atholl. "Squabbling over a damned game of golf."

" 'Tis not golf they squabble over," the king said.

"Eh?" his uncle asked, confused.

The king watched the two younger men as they walked ahead of Atholl and himself. "I think it has something to do with Mistress Hay, although I have not yet figured out exactly what. If she is not with the queen, she is in Angus's company, yet I have seen Nairn eyeing her most covetously. I don't know if he has even spoken to her."

"Little escapes ye, laddie, does it?" the earl asked thoughtfully.

The king smiled cryptically. Then he said to his uncle, "I plan to execute Albany and his sons for treason. It will all be done under the law, of course. Albany will die for his presumption, and his offspring because they have the misfortune to be born his sons. I will not be threatened by my own kin."

Atholl nodded, fully understanding the unspoken warning his nephew had just given him. He was shrewd, and the moment he had met James Stewart, he had realized the mettle of the man and wisely chosen to be loyal. "When?" was all he said to the king.

"Soon. Ye are not sentimental, Uncle, are ye? There is no place for sentiment if a man is to be king."

"I have no sentiment where Albany and his whelps are concerned, Nephew," the earl assured the king. Then he drove his own ball down the long length of the green, pleased at his skill.

While the king played golf, the queen and her ladies were tossing a ball among themselves, laughing as Mistress Hay and Lady Grey got into a contest to see who could toss the wooden ball the highest. Finally the two women collapsed upon the grass, wheezing, while their companions took up the game. The queen, however, chose to sit demurely watching as her ladies raced back and forth, their hair becoming loose and blowing in the afternoon breeze.

"Ye have not met my cousin of Nairn yet, and he will soon be returning north," Maggie MacLeod said, her breath finally restored.

"I don't think it wise," Fiona said, breathing deeply. "Angus says he looks at me like a wolf eyeing a lambkin." She laughed. "I don't want to make him jealous, Maggie."

"Why would ye say that?" her companion asked. "Of course ye want to make him jealous, ye silly little fool! Ye’ll get him to the altar a whole lot quicker if he thinks another man wants ye. They're all like that. Men are such donkeys! Besides, ye don't have to encourage Nairn. Personally I advise that ye don't, but it canna hurt to be presented to him. He's been dying to meet ye. I canna discourage him, but mayhap ye can. Actually I think the only reason he is hanging about the court is in hopes of meeting ye. So let him, and then ye can send him packing, for I certainly have no influence with him, and Ben Duff is beginning to get suspicious, for Nairn will tease him by making all sorts of suggestive remarks with reference to our childhood. Ye would be doing me a great favor, Fiona Hay, and I will not forget ye for it."

Fiona laughed again. "Oh, verra well, Maggie, for ye have been a good friend, but I warn ye I shall not be sweet."

"Don't be sweet!" Maggie MacLeod chuckled. "He would take it as a sign of encouragement, and ye don't want that!"

The king and his golfing partners returned to find the queen and her ladies still playing upon the grass. Colin MacDonald's eyes went immediately to Fiona Hay. She was wearing a yellow silk gown called a houppelande. Its short waist was set beneath her small round breasts, the long skirts flowing down into the green of the lawn. She was flushed, and her hair was loose about her face. He had never wanted a woman more in his life than he wanted Fiona Hay at that moment. Then he felt hard eyes upon him, and turned to meet Angus Gordon's gaze. Colin MacDonald smiled insolently but said nothing.

The laird of Loch Brae's heart and mind were filled with dark thoughts of murder and mayhem in that brief moment. He wanted to gouge those bold blue eyes from The MacDonald of Nairn's head so that they would never look with lust upon Fiona Hay again. They had to go home! They could no longer delay their departure. He wanted to be back at Loch Brae. He walked across the green lawn and slipped his arm about Fiona. "Did ye miss me, lassie?"

She smiled radiantly. "Aye, Black Angus, I did. Do ye think that means I love ye?" she teased him.

His heart soared at her words. "Do ye love me, lassie? Truly?" Before he could get his answer, the king called out.

"Angus, come to me, man!"

Angus Gordon brushed Fiona's lips lightly, his eyes warm. Then, turning about, he answered the royal summons. "My lord?"

"I know ye want to return to yer beloved Loch Brae, Angus, but will ye do me but one favor before ye go?"

"Anything, my liege," the laird said enthusiastically.

"Will ye go down into England and fetch back the queen's cousin, Mistress Elizabeth Williams, for us, Angus? Ye need go no farther than York. She will be awaiting ye there. It is a long and perhaps even a frightening journey for a lass who has been as sheltered as Beth. 'Twill not take ye long, and 'tis not as if I were sending ye all the way to London."

The laird nodded his head in agreement. "I will go, my liege," he said, but he was perhaps just a trifle annoyed by the request. Was the king taking a wee bit of advantage of his good nature and his unswerving loyalty? He had been away from his home too long.

"A boon, my liege," he said, and when the king waved his hand, Angus Gordon continued, "When I go, will ye have my lass escorted home to Loch Brae? I shall want to join her as soon as I have brought Mistress Williams to ye. The autumn is upon us."

"Of course, Angus," the king agreed expansively, relieved to have the problem of Beth's journey taken care of so easily. "Ye need not leave for several days. The English messenger has only come this day saying that Mistress Williams has left the queen's mother and is en route. Her train, small though it may be, will move slowly." Such a simple request, the king thought, and yet his wife had wept with joy when he had told her that Beth was on the way.

Maggie MacLeod had seen her opening and, dragging her cousin of Nairn quickly across the lawn, she had greeted Fiona Hay. "Ye have not met my cousin, Colin MacDonald of Nairn," she said brightly. "He'll soon be going back north, and he has admired ye all this summer long."

Fiona turned her head up to meet the startling blue gaze of the man before her. "I have not seen a man so big before," she said bluntly.

"I have not seen a lass so bonnie, Mistress Hay," he responded.

"Yer bold," she snapped.

"Ye encourage it," he rejoined, his eyes dancing.

"Ye are mistaken, my lord," Fiona said coldly. "I don't encourage ye at all. I am not a woman to encourage a stranger, even out of kindness."

"Ye have a mouth that begs to be kissed."

"And ye a cheek that deserves a smack," Fiona retorted, furious to feel the flush warming her face. Quickly she turned her attention to Maggie. "I have said it," she told her friend. Then without another word Fiona hurried off to join the laird, who welcomed her with a warm smile.

"I must have her," Colin MacDonald said softly.

"Are ye mad?" his cousin whispered nervously.

"He will never have her as a wife, but I will," The MacDonald of Nairn said firmly. Then he laughed. "Don't fret, Maggie, but don't doubt my word either. Fiona Hay will be mine even if I have to kill Angus Gordon to have her. What sons I can breed upon that fiery wench!"

Maggie MacLeod felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her belly where even now her unborn child slumbered. Fiona had made it very plain that she wanted nothing to do with him. More than likely Angus Gordon would complain to the king if Colin MacDonald accosted Fiona. The king's justice would certainly be severe against a highlander who had not sworn fealty to James Stewart and who threatened the happiness of the king's good friend. No! It was absolutely impossible.

"Why do ye fret, Maggie?" her husband asked, coming to stand by her side. When she had told him, Lord Grey said soothingly, "Do not worry yer pretty head about it, Maggie, my love. There is little chance of yer wild cousin carrying off Mistress Hay. She is safe here at court. He would not dare antagonize James Stewart, for not only would the king want his head, but his brother, the Lord of the Isles, would, too. Colin MacDonald does not strike me as a fool. Don't get yerself in a stew."

Chapter 6

The king sent for Lady Grey of Ben Duff to come to him in secret. She was to tell no one of the summons, not even her husband. Maggie MacLeod came fearfully, wondering what it was that James Stewart could possibly want of her. Her husband was but a simple border lord. Nervously she followed along after the royal page, her hands plucking at the fabric of her gown of rose-colored silk. It was a color she loved, and it flattered her auburn hair. The lad ahead of her stopped suddenly and put his hand on the wall. A hidden door sprang open and light spilled out into the dim corridor. The boy pointed. Swallowing hard, Maggie stepped through the small doorway into the king's privy chamber.

It was a small room with paneled walls and a coffered ceiling. There was a stone fireplace, flanked with stone greyhounds, within which burned a bright fire. Beyond the single window the rain poured down, graying the day. A table with a silver tray, a carafe of ruby-colored wine, and two silver goblets stood before the window. The only other furniture in the room were two chairs that faced each other on either side of the hearth.

"Come in, Lady Grey," the king said. His hand motioned to her from one of the chairs.

The doors closed behind her as she slowly made her way to stand before James Stewart. Maggie curtsied low, amazed her legs could still function so capably. "My liege," she said softly.

"Sit down, Lady Grey, and I shall tell ye why I have asked ye to come visit with me in private." Then, seeing her pale visage, he arose, saying, "Ye’ll have a wee bit of wine, of course. 'Tis a wickedly dank day." He poured two goblets of wine, handed her one, and returned to his place by the fire, then sat facing his visitor.

Maggie tried hard not to gulp or spill her wine, but until she knew what the king wanted of her, it was difficult to control her nervousness. Had she somehow offended the monarch or his queen? Why was she here?

The king observed his companion furtively. Would she tell him the truth? Would he know it if she did? "Lady Grey," he began, focusing his eyes directly upon her pretty face, "I would have ye tell me why yer cousin of Nairn has come to court."

“Because his half-brother, the Lord of the Isles, would know the sort of man ye are, my liege. He has not decided whether he will swear fealty to ye." Maggie felt a wave of relief sweeping over her. She hadn't offended the king or his wife. She was in no difficulty, nor was she a danger to her husband.

The king had recognized immediately that Maggie MacLeod was being truthful with him. It was as he had suspected. Colin MacDonald had come to reconnoiter for his elder brother. “Why did ye leave the north, Lady Grey?" he suddenly asked her.

"Because I was tired of all the fighting. I didn't want to spend my life burying my men and living in fear of rapists and looters." She sighed deeply. " 'Tis so beautiful, my liege, but the beauty of the countryside canna make up for the constant danger."

"I don't suppose ye would consider a short visit to yer relations to introduce yer husband to them," the king ventured.

"I am with child, my lord," Maggie replied softly. "Besides, my relations would not accept Ben Duff, for to them he is a Sassanach, a southerner, and not even worthy of their scorn."

"The Lord of the Isles has sent his agent to spy upon me," the king said. "I need someone to spy upon him. I had thought if ye went north with yer husband, I would have a better idea when ye returned of what Alexander MacDonald plans."

"My liege," Maggie said, placing her hand protectively over her belly, "I would help ye if I could. I have no loyalty to the Lord of the Isles, despite the fact that my father is his vassal. When I departed the north, I left it and its chaos behind. I am loyal to ye, but I could not possibly travel so far over such rough terrain in my condition. Ben Duff is forty and has no legitimate heir but the bairn I now carry in my belly. Please understand."

The king nodded. "I do, Lady Grey," he said in kindly tones, "and ye need have no fear of offending me. Nevertheless, I have the problem of placing someone I can trust, whom The MacDonald will not suspect, in the north. I can gain certain information from peddlers and those dissatisfied with the power of the MacDonalds, but it is not enough." He grew silent for a long few minutes while Maggie sat nervously. Then the king pierced her again with a look. "Nairn is quite taken with Mistress Hay, is he not?"

Maggie nodded slowly, her look now a fearful one. Kings could do whatever they pleased. Their subjects had to obey or be guilty of treason. Margaret MacLeod Grey was not a stupid woman. She now divined the direction that James Stewart's thoughts were taking. It was plain to her he had never intended for her to go north. That had been but a ruse to frighten her and extract her cooperation.

"Now," the king said, considering, "if Mistress Hay were in the north with yer cousin, I should have in her a perfect agent." His thumb rubbed his chin thoughtfully. His amber eyes glittered in the firelight. "She is a verra bonnie lass, Fiona Hay, and clever, too."

"Oh, my liege! She is in love with Angus Gordon," Maggie said desperately. "They surely will marry. It is Fiona's dearest wish. Besides, my liege, she detests Colin MacDonald!"

"Scotland's future, Lady Grey, is far more important than any future Angus Gordon and Fiona Hay may have together," the king said coldly. "If he intended to wed with her, he would have already done so."

"Each waits for the other to admit their love!" Maggie cried. "Please, my liege"-she fell awkwardly to her knees-"don't do this terrible thing, I beg ye!"

James Stewart lifted Maggie up gently and set her back in her chair. "Ye cry yer loyalty to me, Lady Grey, yet ye would try to turn me from the only means I have of getting information from the north, of knowing just what Alexander MacDonald is planning. Perhaps yer clan loyalty is greater than yer loyalty to me."

It was as if an icy hand had touched her. Maggie shuddered, looking at the king with hopelessness in her eyes. "I am yer vassal, sire," she said, beaten.

The king smiled a slow smile. "I would have ye taunt yer cousin of Nairn as only a woman can torture a man's pride. Tease him into stealing Mistress Hay for himself and taking her back to the north. The perfect time would be when she is returning to Brae. I will send a small troupe of men-at-arms with her. Their orders will be to desert her at the first sign of Nairn's attack, leaving her helpless."

"But how will ye get Fiona to agree to this, my liege?" Maggie asked him. "She dislikes my cousin verra much. Besides, her heart is with Black Angus. She may die before she allows herself to be taken. Then ye have lost yer advantage, sire."

"Fiona Hay is a patriotic young woman," the king said smoothly, "but even I would not depend on her patriotism in view of her passion for her laird. But what if she believed he was to be wed to another at my command, Lady Grey? What would be left for her then? Of course I would not force my friend, Angus Gordon, to the altar, but if Mistress Hay believed it so"-he chuckled, and Maggie shivered at the sound- “then I believe she would turn her heartbreak to a more useful purpose. I don't want a woman who will fall in love with The MacDonald of Nairn. I want a woman filled with anger and hate who will seek a means of easing her broken heart by helping me to destroy the power held by the Lord of the Isles and his ilk. I need Fiona Hay! She is clever and will not falter even under the worst pressure."

Maggie began to weep. The thought of Fiona being deceived into doing the king's bidding, of her friend believing that Angus Gordon was faithless and would wed another on royal command, was acutely painful. Maggie knew what love was. She had met her own husband when he had come north several years ago on a mission for the old Duke of Albany, and had fallen deep in love with him.

The king was a very cruel man, Maggie thought, sniffling. He had his beloved Joan. Would he sacrifice their love as easily as he was sacrificing Angus Gordon and Fiona Hay? Somehow, looking at him beneath her wet lashes, Maggie thought he would. His greatest passion was Scotland. Unlike his predecessors he was not satisfied with just part of it. He wanted firm control over it all. He would do whatever he had to do to gain that control.

The king let her cry until finally her soft sobs faded away. Then he said, "Angus Gordon leaves for England in just a few days. By the time he has departed, I want to know that yer cousin's lust has been stoked, that knowing Mistress Hay's route back to Brae, he will be waiting somewhere along that road to steal her for his own. Do not fail me, Maggie MacLeod. From what I can see with my own eyes, it will take little to encourage Colin MacDonald to commit such an outrageous act."

Maggie looked up at him, her eyes still wet with sorrow. “What will ye tell Black Angus when he returns from England, sire? What will ye say to the most loyal subject ye have? What would he think if he knew what ye had done to him and to his Fiona?" Maggie's voice was shaking with her audacity. Although she would be forced to obey the king, she did not have to like what he was planning-or the part she must play in his plans. She was not even certain that she liked him any longer. She wondered if the queen knew what sort of man he really was. Or would she, having been raised surrounded by ambition and power, even care? What was Fiona Hay to the mighty but a convenience, a pawn to be used in the greater scheme of things for Scotland. Damn Scotland, Maggie MacLeod thought savagely. Why could men not leave women in peace?

"Angus will be told the truth, Lady Grey. He will be told that Mistress Hay's little train was attacked by persons unknown. That she and her servant were carried off. That a search was made, but no trace could be found of either of the two women. Tragic, aye. Later I shall offer him the queen's cousin as a wife.

"And ye, of course, will remain silent, will ye not? After all, Lady Grey, if I find it necessary to question yer loyalty, I may have to question yer husband's loyalty as well. I know ye would not want that. And should ye doubt my sincerity in the matter, I will entrust another wee secret to ye. I shortly intend executing several of my relations. I'm certain ye can guess who. I will allow no one to interfere with my plans to unite Scotland and make her strong. Ye do understand that, do ye not?" James Stewart's voice was low and pleasantly modulated, but the threat was there nonetheless. He would have her complete loyalty even if that loyalty meant betraying her best friend into hell.

Maggie MacLeod nodded. "I understand, my liege," she said. "I understand that Scotland must come before all else."

"Aye, madam, it must. I will be merciless, even ruthless, to attain that goal," the king said grimly. Then he reached out and patted her hand comfortingly. "Though I arrange matters like someone arranging a chessboard, Lady Grey, I am not entirely heartless. If Fiona Hay eventually returns from the north, I will reward her lavishly for her sacrifice and her patriotism. I will even find her a good husband to care for her for the rest of her life."

Maggie said nothing. She could not, for her mouth was too full of terrible words she dared not utter to the king. She swallowed them back, almost choking with the effort it cost her.

The king arose and drew her to her feet, taking her now empty goblet from her cramped fingers. She hadn't even realized that she had drunk all her wine. He led her to the same door through which she had entered, pressing a hidden catch so that it swung open. "Thank ye for coming, Lady Grey, and my especial thanks for yer cooperation in this delicate matter. Young Douglas will see ye back to yer own chamber. I will speak to ye again in a few days to assess yer progress." The door closed behind her, and the page was at her elbow.

She couldn't tell Ben Duff of this meeting. She couldn't tell anyone. Their very lives, and the life of their unborn child, were at stake. She must not dwell upon what had to be lest she endanger the bairn, but half-grown, nesting in her womb. No matter how she felt about the dreadful thing she must do now, it must be done. She couldn't save Fiona Hay or prevent Angus Gordon's broken heart, Maggie MacLeod thought, but when this treachery was over and done with, she would go home with her husband and never return to court again. The memory of what she had done would remain with her wherever she might be, and damn James Stewart for it. Damn him!

Before they reached the chamber that Maggie shared with her husband, however, The MacDonald of Nairn stepped into her path, greeting her. She dismissed the page, saying, "I will walk out of doors with my cousin." Maggie put her hand through Colin MacDonald's arm. "I think we will soon go home to Ben Duff," she said. "Shortly I shall not be able to travel with my belly. Will ye return north, Colly?"

"Aye," he replied. "I have learned what I came to learn."

They strolled outside. The rain had finally let up, and the sun was peeping through the gray clouds, giving tantalizing little glimpses of blue sky. There was a light fresh breeze with the scent of September heather upon it. Autumn was definitely here.

"What a pity ye canna make progress with Mistress Hay," Maggie said innocently. "Ye must be losing yer charm, Colly. I've never known a pretty girl to turn ye away before." She laughed mischievously, but her heart felt like a stone.

"I canna get near the lass," her cousin grumbled. "That damned bonnet laird of hers is always hovering about her like a dark cloud."

"He'll be off to England in a few days on a wee mission for the king. He is to fetch the queen's cousin, Mistress Williams, back to court, for the queen misses her verra much."

"Ah."

"But Fiona is to return to Loch Brae while Angus is gone. Ye’ll lose yer chance entirely to seduce her." She giggled. " 'Tis fortunate that none of our relations are here to see ye made a fool of, cousin," Maggie said.

That evening Colin MacDonald kept his cousin and her husband company in the Great Hall. His eyes strayed constantly to Fiona Hay, and Maggie MacLeod marked his interest well.

"Scarlet is a color that suits Mistress Hay well," she said innocently. "It makes her skin even fairer by comparison, do ye not think, Colly? She really is a beautiful lass. I'll miss her, but 'tis time we both go our separate ways. I'll probably not see her again, for her laird will not leave his lands except for a royal emergency, and he will not bring Fiona under dangerous conditions. She'll probably have a bairn within a year of their wedding, when he finally decides to marry her, and several others afterward. Her mam was a verra good breeder, she tells me. Ye should find yerself a wife, Colly. 'Tis past time, I'm thinking."

The MacDonald of Nairn said nothing, but he never took his eyes from Fiona Hay. He felt a stab of jealousy as she looked meltingly up into the face of the laird of Loch Brae. He knew he had no right to this girl, but he wanted her nonetheless. Her bonnet laird had treated her shamefully, but Colin MacDonald would not treat her that way. Given the chance, he knew that he could make her love him. But how? He could never get her alone to speak to her, and she would soon be gone from court.

Across the hall Fiona Hay was not even aware of The MacDonald of Nairn. For her he did not exist. Only Angus Gordon existed, and he would shortly be off to England while she went home to Loch Brae. Home. Aye, Loch Brae was her home, and its laird was her man. She was close to weeping with the happiness that was even now filling her. I love ye!

He turned to look down into her face. "Did ye speak, lassie?" he asked, his glance warm.

"Only with my heart, Angus," she told him softly.

The smile that creased his face lit up his eyes. He squeezed her hand. "I think we might escape, and no one be the wiser," he said.

The smile that touched her lips was as conspiratorial as his. Hand in hand, they slipped from the hall. The king, watching them go, had not even the slightest twinge of conscience. A woman agent, his agent, in the midst of the MacDonalds, would give him a great advantage over the highland lords. Had there been any other woman he might have chosen, had there been any other way, he would not have betrayed his loyal friend. But there was no other woman. There was no other way. Fiona Hay must be sacrificed for the good of Scotland.

Unaware of her fate, Fiona Hay could only revel in the kisses being rained upon her face and throat by her lover. They had practically run from the hall and through the stone corridors of the palace to the little sanctuary the king had given them for their own. One look at them, and Nelly curtsied, saying that if her mistress didn't need her any longer this evening, she would go to bed. They scarcely heard her, but Angus Gordon had the presence of mind to turn the key in the lock behind him even as his other hand was fumbling with the laces on Fiona's dress. Laughing softly, she helped him, and her garments fell away until j she was naked before him.

"Brazen." He groaned, his hands caressing her.

Her hands darted about him, undoing, pulling, tugging until he was naked, too. "Yer beautiful," she said softly. "I thought it the first time I saw ye without yer clothing, and I still think so."

His big hands fastened about her waist, and he slowly lifted her up, drawing her closer to him as he did so, his lips kissing her sensitive flesh, and she felt as if he were branding her with his mouth. Then, after what seemed an eternity, he slowly lowered her, their lips met, and they sighed in unison with the delicious contact of lips and naked flesh. As he had lowered her, her arms slid about his neck, and she stood on tiptoes, their mouths welded together, drinking in each other's essence as if they were parched. Finally, when breathing again became a necessity, they drew apart briefly, reluctantly.

"What sorcery is this that ye weave about me, lassie?" he said, bemused, for the passion between them this night was greater than it had ever been before. But why? He touched her cheek with a fingertip.

"Ye've worked the magic yerself, my Black Angus," she told him, her hand caressing the back of his neck. Her nipples teased him.

"How?" he demanded, his hands cupping the halves of her bottom, drawing her hard against him, against his raging member.

"Do ye not love me, Angus Gordon?" she asked softly.

"Ye brazen, thieving wench, was it not enough for ye that ye stole my cattle?" he teased her, his dark green eyes warm. "Must ye have my heart as well, lassie?"

"Aye!" she responded. Damn him! Why would he not admit he loved her? She knew he did. Why else had he kept her?

His fingers delicately kneaded her flesh. His lips brushed her brow. He took her face between his hands, his thumbs softly brushing along the sides of her mouth. Then his lips took hers in a warm kiss, once, twice, a third time. Lifting her into his arms, he walked slowly across the chamber to place her gently upon their bed. He lay on his side, propped upon an elbow. His fingers trailed down her throat and across her chest. Bending his head, he rubbed his cheek against the swell of her right breast.

Fiona sighed deeply. He had never been a rough lover, but neither had he ever been so tender with her. There was something exceptionally exciting and alluring about him this night. She twined her fingers through his black hair, trying to draw him back to taste her lips, for his kisses were intoxicating. She felt his mouth opening, then closing over her nipple. He sucked strongly, and Fiona felt as if lightning were tearing through her. Never had her breasts been as sensitive to his loving as they were this night. An arm about her shoulder pinioned her lightly. His other hand slipped slowly, seductively down her torso, insinuating its long, slender digits between her soft nether lips.

"Ah," she let her breath out in a long hiss. "Ah!"

His fingers teased at her only long enough to stoke her rising excitement; then they caressed the velvety insides of her rounded thighs. He moved to take her left nipple into his mouth, his tongue encircling the hardened little nub. Her breasts felt hard, and ached with his attentions. She felt his tongue begin to lick at her skin, and Fiona shivered with delight. Pulling the hand on her thigh up to her mouth, she began to suck his fingers, each in its turn, and he shuddered at her voluptuous and carnal act. She had the most incredible instincts for the sensual. "Witch!" He groaned, knowing that if he did not soon plunge himself into her willing body, he would shatter into a thousand bits.

Fiona sensed the sudden urgency of his need. "Come into me, my love," she whispered, releasing his hand and spreading herself for him.

He covered her, struggling futilely to maintain his superiority but unable to resist the warmth of her and the sweet yielding of her flesh as he plunged his manhood deep inside her. "Ah, lassie." He thrust over and over again within the silken heat of her love passage. But rather than weakening him, her compliance seemed to strengthen him. Once more he became master of the situation and, realizing it, used her with renewed vigor.

Beneath him Fiona released her control, arching her body to meet his every downward thrust. She was mindless and yet totally aware. She burned with a fire that he strove mightily to quench. She could feel his hardness, pushing, pushing, pushing into her. It throbbed and burned with a life all its own until she thought she would surely die with the arrant pleasure he was bestowing upon her. Fiona ascended and aspired to the pinnacle of complete passion. Reaching it, she hovered for a long, delicious moment before hurtling down into a warm darkness. Then she heard him cry with his own satisfaction, an almost animal sound.

And afterward she wept with the magnificence of what had just transpired between them, but there was no sadness in the sound. It was pure and simple joy.

The laird spoke with the king. "Ye’ll see that my lass gets safely home to Loch Brae, my liege?"

"Don't fear, Angus," the king said. "Everything will be exactly as it should be by the time ye return with Mistress Elizabeth. I canna tell ye how grateful the queen and I are for this last kindness before ye disappear into yer highland lair again."

" 'Tis little enough to do for ye, my liege," the laird answered. "I can understand yer wanting Mistress Williams to see a friendly face in York rather than one of yer less cultured subjects," he finished, laughing.

"Aye, exactly!" James Stewart agreed. "Scotland will be a revelation to the queen's gentle relative."

Fiona saw her lord off, offering him a stirrup cup before he departed on the rainy September morning.

"Try to be a good lass," he teased her. "Go straight home, and don't get into any mischief, Fiona Hay." Lifting her up onto his saddle, he captured her mouth in a long and sweetly lingering kiss, then set her down again.

She struggled to keep the tears from falling. He wasn't going to war. He was simply going to fetch the queen's cousin. She was being foolish, she thought irritably, as the laird of Loch Brae rode off into the gray morning. Then, after hurrying back to their apartment, she burst into fulsome tears and could not be calmed for a good half hour by the faithful Nelly.

"Ye’ll feel better when we quit the court, lady," the little maidservant said. "In a few more days we'll be off to Loch Brae, and ye'll feel ever so much better."

"Aye," Fiona agreed, sniffling noisily. "I want to go home, Nelly, but I want my lord back with me."

"Och," Nelly replied, " 'twill be no time at all before we see the laird again. York is no distance. He'll be back in two weeks' time, and then 'tis just a few days to Loch Brae. When are we to leave?"

"I suppose we can go any time," Fiona said. "The queen has already dismissed me from her service. Will three days be enough time for us to pack, Nelly? I will help ye, and we don't have to wait for an escort from Loch Brae. The king has promised my lord that he will have his own men escort us."

"We had best get to work," Nelly said, "if ye want to go in three more days, lady. It's time enough, but only if we work hard."

Maggie MacLeod came to help the two women fill their trunks for transport. And afterward she deliberately sought out her cousin of Nairn to taunt him, for her time was growing short to succeed in the task given her by the king.

"Let us find some wine, Colly," she said. "I am fair exhausted from helping Mistress Hay and her servant pack up all their belongings. She sets out in three days' time for Loch Brae. Now that Black Angus is gone, ye have a chance with her, or are ye afraid that she will reject ye again? Ye must be growing old, Nairn, for I can remember a time when the lasses would not say no to ye." She laughed lightly, noting the muscle in his jaw that twitched as he handed her a goblet of wine. He was annoyed, and that was to the good. "Fifty years ago a man in yer position would have stolen the bride away if he desired her for his own," Maggie continued, "but we are more civilized now in Scotland, are we not?" She sipped her wine, sighing with satisfaction.

"Bride-stealing," said The MacDonald of Nairn, "is still practiced in the highlands." His look was thoughtful.

"Ye would not dare!" Maggie said, subtly taunting him, her blue eyes wide with feigned shock. "This is not the highlands, cousin."

He smiled at her wickedly, and her heart contracted, for Maggie MacLeod remembered a time when Colin MacDonald's smile would have made her do anything he desired. "I shall not approach her before she leaves lest those who look for her consider I might have her. What road does she take to travel to Loch Brae, and how big an escort will she have, cousin?" he demanded, his finger gently caressing Maggie's flushed cheek.

"Colly, ye dare to do such a thing? Ye must not! If they catch ye, ye'll be killed. Angus Gordon will go mad with fury. He'll search high and low for her-I know it! Don't be such a fool! Are ye not past the time when ye would risk yer life just to have a pretty girl?" Maggie sounded genuinely distressed, and in fact she was. Her conscience was plaguing her mightily over her part in the king's plot. If she did her best, and Colin MacDonald did not steal Fiona Hay, could she be blamed? Aye! The king would indeed blame her. "Are ye so desperate for the wench then that ye would risk yer life? Oh, verra well! I'll get ye the information ye desire, but don't blame me if yer killed. Men! Why are ye such fools when it comes to a pretty woman?" She shrugged.

"Ye would betray yer friend?" he said softly. "For me?"

“When did ye ask something of me that I did not do it for ye, Colly?'' Maggie replied, her gaze melting. "Are we not family, cousin? Doesn't our blood tie bind us to aid one another? I may think ye a fool, but I would not break a blood tie with ye."

"Yer Sassenach is a lucky man," The MacDonald of Nairn replied, kissing his cousin lightly upon the tip of her nose. "I leave for Nairn tomorrow with my men."

"Tomorrow," Maggie said, moving away from him. "I will have the information ye need tomorrow, cousin." She was not surprised in the least when the young Douglas came to her shortly afterward saying the king wished to speak with her, and she was to follow him. Maggie smoothed the dark green velvet of her gown and proceeded to the king's privy chamber, where James Stewart awaited her.

"Ye were deep in conversation with yer cousin," the king said by way of greeting her. "What news have ye for me?"

"He will, I believe, waylay her on the road to Loch Brae," Maggie replied. “I am to obtain the route and the size of her escort for him by tomorrow. If he takes his leave of ye on the morrow, then ye can be certain he means to kidnap her, for he will want to reconnoiter the road to find the best spot for his ambush. It canna be too close to the Gordon lands, and it must be in a place where he may quickly make his escape to the northwest."

"Ye have done well, Lady Grey," the king said. Then he dismissed her: "Ye can find yer way back to the hall, I am certain. I have a small mission for young Douglas, so he canna escort ye."

Maggie curtsied and departed the king's presence. She knew what his page was about. He would find Fiona Hay-whose nightmare would then begin. Maggie blanched and the child stirred in her womb. She rushed to find her husband.

"I want to go home, Ben Duff," she said vehemently. "Court is no place for a woman with a belly."

Andrew Grey put a comforting arm about his wife. He knew that something was disturbing her, for she had recently gained a haunted look, and she was not sleeping well at night. Whatever it was, Maggie chose not to confide in him, which hurt him on the one hand, but on the other he knew that she would eventually entrust him with her thoughts. One had to be patient with Maggie. She was a highlander, and they were a moodier, different people than the Scots living in the south.

"When do ye want to leave, my dear?" he asked her.

"By week's end," she responded. "We can be packed by then, if I tell the servants now. Send a messenger to Ben Duff to say we're coming home to stay. I canna abide the hubbub of Perth any longer."

"Aye," Fiona said when she saw her friend in the hall later on and learned their news. " 'Tis better ye go home now, Maggie. First bairns are tricky, I'm told. They don't always come when ye think they will. Ye want to give yer man his heir in yer own home. I'll be glad to get back to Loch Brae with my Black Angus. I'll tell ye a secret. I may already be with a bairn, Maggie. Before my Black Angus left, he was more passionate than I have ever known him to be. Somehow I think I may have conceived, but of course, it may just be wishful thinking on my part. Still, we will have a lovely long winter ahead of us to make a bairn if my hopes are dashed this time." Then Fiona's face filled with concern. "Maggie, are ye all right? Ye look pale. Shall I get ye some wine? Shall I get Andrew?"

"No, no! I will be all right," Maggie managed to gasp, swallowing back the bile that had risen in her throat. She had to change the subject, and then she saw her cousin of Nairn. "Look, Fiona, my cousin is staring at ye again. He is so taken with ye. I have never seen him behave this way with a lass. Admit it. Do ye not think him handsome?"

"His features are pretty enough," Fiona said, glancing briefly at Colin MacDonald, "but he has a hard look about those blue eyes of his. Yer eyes are the same color, Maggie, and yet yer eyes are filled with warmth and compassion. I see little kindness in The MacDonald of Nairn's eyes. And look at his mouth. It is much too sensual. I would not want to be his woman. 'Twould be a hard life with a hard man."

"Yet the lasses all adore him," Maggie said. "I know that I did when we were younger. He has quite a reputation with the lassies."

"So you've told me, and I have no doubt that he wields his weapon well," Fiona said, "or he would not have gained such a reputation, but ye know there is more to a man than just the bedsport, Maggie. Ye didn't wed with Ben Duff for only that. Not at his age."

"I only remember Colly from when we were younger," Maggie said finally.

"I'm certain he was utterly fascinating to a lass with no experience," Fiona said, not wanting to insult her friend, but she didn't think she would have ever been enamored of The MacDonald of Nairn. There was a wildness about him that did not appeal to her.

Colin MacDonald watched Fiona Hay furtively. The mere sight of her set his heart racing. He had never seen a more beautiful woman, nor one who carried herself so proudly despite the shame inflicted upon her by the laird of Loch Brae. Black Angus Gordon would not have her for a wife, Colin thought, pleased. No. He had had his chance, and had she been his lawful wife, Colin never would have resorted to stealing her, but Fiona was not the laird's wife, nor even his betrothed. There was no legal or moral impediment to Colin MacDonald's kidnapping Fiona Hay and making her his wife, for his wife was what he intended that she be. He had never wanted a wife before he had seen Fiona, but now he knew she was what had been missing in his life. He would have her!

It would be difficult at first, he knew. She would hate him for taking her from the man she believed she loved. She would hate him for possessing her body. He would woo her despite it all-and he would teach Fiona Hay to love him as she had never loved Angus Gordon. No. It would not be easy, but once the children came, he was certain she would come to the realization that her life with him was the fate she was meant to have.

Chapter 7

Fiona Hay looked about the bedchamber she had shared with her laird for the past few months. The fireplace had been cleaned. The bed hangings, feather bed, coverlet, and linens were gone, and all the trunks packed. It had been an exciting time, but she was relieved and happy to be going home, as was Nelly.

"We must make our good-byes now," Fiona said as they departed the apartment. "I'll not be long, for 'tis early and we have the whole day before us. The earlier the start, the sooner we're there."

She had already bid Maggie and the queen farewell the previous evening, but the king had said she was to come to him just before she left. It was to his privy chamber she now made her way. James Stewart was an early riser, a man who slept little. Bidding Nelly wait for her outside of the royal chamber, she entered.

"Good morrow, Mistress Hay," the king said, taking her hand and leading her to one of the two chairs by the fire. To her surprise he pressed a goblet of fragrant wine into her hand and seated himself opposite her. "I will come immediately to the point, Mistress Hay," he began. "Do ye love Scotland and want peace throughout the land?"

"Aye, my liege," she said fervently.

"There will be no peace in Scotland until the northern clansmen honestly offer me their fealty, forswear their damned independent thoughts, stop warring among themselves, and cease their general mayhem. Would ye agree with me, Mistress Hay?" The king's amber eyes pierced her.

"Aye, my liege, I would certainly agree with ye," Fiona said, wondering what this could possibly be about.

"I have agents in the north watching and sending me word as to the activities of the Lord of the Isles and his allies," the king said, "but I need someone to observe them from a closer range. I need ye, Mistress Hay."

"Me?" Fiona was astounded. "How on earth could I possibly help ye in the north, my liege?"

“The MacDonald of Nairn is verra taken with ye, Mistress Hay. He is, as ye know, Alexander MacDonald's bastard half-brother. Nairn is devoted to him, and the Lord of the Isles to his brother as well. If ye were with Nairn, ye would be privy to what was happening, and could share yer information with me. Yer verra fair, Mistress Hay. Were I not a happily married man meself, I should be tempted by ye."

Fiona was dumbfounded by the king's words, but she was also suddenly afraid. "I hope to wed with my Black Angus one day," she tried to explain calmly to the king. "What ye are asking me is impossible. Surely ye see that?" Her heart was hammering, for James Stewart didn't look at all as if he was sympathetic to her view.

"Do ye know why I sent the laird to England?" the king asked her.

"Why, to fetch the queen's cousin," Fiona replied. Everyone knew that.

The king nodded. "The queen is verra fond of her cousin, Elizabeth. She would like her to remain in Scotland, which means Mistress Williams must have a Scots husband." He let his words sink into Fiona's consciousness before continuing. "The lady has a small but respectable dower. A wee bit of plate, some gold coins, and a nice flock of sheep. As an orphan she must depend upon her relations to find her a good husband. She is a tender virgin of just the right age for matrimony. Do ye understand what I am saying, Mistress Hay?"

Fiona swallowed a gulp of wine to calm herself.

“Mistress Williams has put herself in the loving care of myself and the queen, and trusts us to settle this matter of a husband for her. She will accept our decision in the matter. Angus Gordon is my friend, and a good man. We would bind him closer to us."

For a long moment Fiona could not speak, she was so shocked. At last she was able to utter, although her throat felt constricted with her effort, "Are ye saying that ye will not allow me to wed with my Black Angus, my liege?" She could hear her heart in her ears now.

"Mistress Hay," James Stewart answered her, "ye are a woman who always puts the good of others ahead of yer own desires. Ye risked yer life to dower yer sisters when ye dared to steal Angus Gordon's cattle. When ye were finally caught, ye paid yer debt with the most precious possession a lass has, yer maidenhead. Ye have seen also to the welfare of yer two youngest sisters. Jean, I am told, is to marry the laird's brother, and the littlest girl-Morag, is it?-has a fine dowry and will be well matched when she is old enough.

"Yer a woman who understands the realities of life. I need a united Scotland. I canna have it unless the northern clans are loyal, and they will not be loyal until The MacDonald of the Isles is faithful to me, or I destroy him. I don't know yet what I must do to bring this chieftain to heel, but having an agent near him will give me a greater advantage than he can possibly have over me." The king paused a moment to give her time to absorb all of his words. Then he continued.

"Ye are my advantage over the Lord of the Isles, Fiona Hay. Nairn's desire for ye is heaven-sent. Help me! Were ye not one of my first adherents even before we met? I cannot prevent ye from returning to Brae, but what would yer place be there now? Only think of the lives that could be saved by my knowing in advance what tack the Lord of the Isles will take. The agents I have planted in the north canna gain information like that. They can but sift the gossip for me. Only someone like you can learn what I need to know. A man's pillow talk is oft times valuable. Will ye not sacrifice yerself for Scotland? Think of yer sisters, Mistress Hay."

Those four words were innocent enough, Fiona thought, but she heard the menace in them. She thought of Anne and Elsbeth and Margery with their proud but powerless highland husbands, more apt than not to side with the Lord of the Isles in any dispute with James Stewart. She thought of Jean's joy over her betrothal to James Gordon, and little Morag, who would one day want her share of happiness, too. This king, so capable of forfeiting Fiona's future for his country's good, was capable of anything. Why had she not seen it before? Then she thought of Angus Gordon, the only man she would ever love. He deserved better than a Hay of the Ben for a wife. Worse, she had brought him nothing but responsibilities.

Elizabeth Williams would bring a dowry worthy of Angus Gordon. And when she saw how loving and gentle he could be, she would surely fall in love with him. And Angus? In time, and with the love of Mistress Williams, he would forget the Hay of the Ben, the brazen daughter of Dugald Hay. The king said she might make the choice, but he also made it impossible for her to do anything but obey his will. She could feel her heart breaking.

"Mistress Hay?" The king wanted her obedient attention.

"It is not necessary for ye to couch yer wishes in pretty terms, my liege," Fiona said sharply. "Ye need a spy who can gain the information ye need by whoring for ye. I am not a whore, and ye know it, yet ye would still betray yer best friend to gain yer own ends, James Stewart.

"Verra well. Ye give me no real choice in the matter, but if it salves yer conscience to believe ye do, I canna prevent ye, can I? Since I am not skilled in such matters as spying and whoring, ye will have to give me careful instructions, for I eventually intend returning alive from The MacDonald's lair. And, of course, there is the matter of payment. If ye would destroy my future, ye must pay verra dearly for it, my liege." She looked directly at him.

Her eyes were like green ice. They made James Stewart exceedingly uncomfortable. But if she was hard, he was yet harder. "Yer to have an escort of a dozen of my men-at-arms," he began, and she nodded. "Somewhere along yer route, and I suspect it will be today or early tomorrow, Nairn and his men will attack yer wee train. The men-at-arms have been ordered to flee as quickly as possible, leaving ye and yer maid helpless. Nairn will, of course, carry ye off into the highlands."

"Ye are certain of this?" Fiona said softly. "Perhaps all he wants to do is have a quick coupling. Will he not be suspicious if my escort flees so quickly? And how can ye be certain Nairn will kidnap me, my liege? If ye have not arranged this, too, then yer plan may well be futile."

"Nairn has been carefully goaded into rashness over the last few days," the king said. "His desire for ye has not been abated one whit. He will abduct ye. He would, I am told, make ye his wife. Bride-stealing is an old Scots custom, as ye well know, Fiona Hay. Did not yer father steal yer mother?''

"Aye, and she spent the rest of her life in misery because of it," Fiona said angrily. "She hated Dugald Hay as I shall hate The MacDonald of Nairn, but unlike my mam, I shall not spend my life in suffering. I will whore for ye, James Stewart, and I will spy for ye, but I will not marry a man I don't love!"

"That, Fiona Hay, is up to ye," the king said dryly. "It makes no difference to me if ye wed him or not."

"Now," she said briskly, "what am I to be paid for this great sacrifice I am making for Scotland, my liege?”

"What do ye want?"

What did she want? She wanted this conversation to have never taken place, she thought bitterly. She wanted to be on the road to Brae. What did she want? What was her happiness worth? She drew a deep breath. "I want a thousand gold merks."

"Five hundred silver," he countered, and she nodded.

"And two dozen head of cattle, and a virile bull," she continued.

"A dozen," the king said.

Fiona shook her head. "No! Two dozen and a virile bull, my liege. And, without Angus Gordon's knowledge, I want my tower house on Ben Hay repaired, put in habitable condition again for when I return, for I will return. I will have no other home then."

"Do ye mean to live alone up on yer ben again?" he asked in surprise.

"Until Black Angus brought me to Brae, the tower house on Ben Hay was where I lived. No one knew we were there. Now my sisters are wed or have plans to wed. I must have some place to lie my head. I certainly canna go back to Brae and ask for shelter, nor do I desire to live with my sisters and their husbands. As chieftain of the Hays of the Ben, that house is mine. See it is made ready for my return. I will send ye a message when I am there. It is then ye will deliver my two dozen cattle and the virile bull. The five hundred merks is to be deposited in my name this day with Martin the Goldsmith on the High Street in Perth."

"What if ye don't return, Mistress Hay?"

"Then ye are saved the cattle and the bull, my lord, but the merks are to be divided equally among my five sisters, and my serving wench, Nelly, if she survives me. I will trust ye, my lord, to see to it. Now, how am I to get any information to ye that I gather?"

The king carefully explained to Fiona that he had a small network of male spies: a priest named Ninian; a cloth and ribbon merchant in Inverness, Master Malcolm; an Irish minstrel, Borra O'Neil, who earned his keep wandering from hall to hall in the highlands entertaining the clansmen; a tinker, Drysdale, who with his wife and blind son meandered about the north repairing the goodwives' pots and other tin utensils while gathering information. Giving detailed descriptions along with the names, the king said, “These four will be your contacts, Fiona Hay. They will be told of your coming. The merchant will be nearest to ye. The priest you are likely to meet on Islay, should ye go there, but the tinker and the minstrel will probably come to Nairn to seek ye out from time to time. Make them show ye this coin." He proffered a small silver piece, which she took. "Only six of these were struck when I was crowned this summer past. Ye now have one, I have one, and the other four are in the highlands with my agents."

“How did ye set up a network of spies so quickly?'' she asked him, suspicious.

"My uncle always had a wee group of agents working for him," James Stewart said. "He didn't trust his brother, the Wolf of Badenoch. I simply picked these four from among the others, who are still useful to me, but the four I have named are invaluable. Can ye write?"

"Aye, I can," she answered him. "Black Angus taught me."

There was that twinge of guilt again, but the king pushed it aside. "Commit nothing to parchment unless absolutely necessary," he warned her. ' 'Neither the merchant nor the minstrel ever forget anything told them, and the tinker has a unique memory in that he can repeat exactly what is uttered in his presence six months later. It is an interesting talent, for unlike the others whose business it is to remember, the tinker is a simple man, I have been told."

Fiona nodded. "Is there anything else I should know?"

"No," he said.

"How long must I remain with Nairn?" A minute will be too long, she thought, forcing back the panic beginning to overwhelm her.

"Until I tell ye that ye may return, Fiona Hay," the king said.

"A year?" she asked him. Dear Holy Mother, not a year!

"Possibly more," he said honestly, noting how pale she had become, and hoping that she would not swoon. Suddenly he wondered if she was strong enough to do this, but there was no turning back now. He needed her in The MacDonald of Nairn's heart-and bed.

There was a long silence while Fiona calmed herself and gathered her strength again. "I must tell my servant, my liege. She should not have to suffer my fate if she does not want to. I canna allow it. She is a faithful, good girl, and does not deserve unkindness. May I tell her here, sire? You will want me to be discreet, I know."

"Where is she?" the king demanded.

"Waiting for me outside, my liege," Fiona replied.

"Get her."

Fiona went to the door of the king's privy chamber, opened it, and called to Nelly to come in. Wide-eyed, the girl stumbled over her feet as she curtsied to the king, awestruck to be in such close proximity with James Stewart. He graciously invited her to sit, giving up his own seat to stand above the two women. Slowly, carefully, Fiona explained the situation. When she had finished, Nelly burst into tears. Understanding the girl's grief, Fiona remained silent until Nelly's tears finally abated. The king looked decidedly uncomfortable.

"Ye don't have to come with me, Nelly," Fiona said. "But if ye return to Brae, ye must keep this secret from the laird."

"Not come with ye?" Nelly's tear-stained look was indignant. "Of course I'll go with ye, Mistress Fiona! I would not be doing my duty if I deserted ye. I dare not go back to Brae without ye. Me aunt would have me hide; then she would weasel yer secret from me. Ye know she would!"

"Ye could stay behind in the queen's service, Nelly. The king could arrange such an appointment for ye, could ye not, my liege?" He nodded, and Fiona continued, "Yer aunt would not be able to get to ye then. Besides, she would be so proud that ye were serving the queen. She would suspect nothing and consider ye fortunate to have escaped being kidnapped along with me. I love ye, and I know ye love me, but I would not think badly of ye if ye decided to stay behind."

Nelly's eyes filled with tears again. "Mistress Fiona, ye'll need me, and I will not leave ye," she said, "even for a queen."

"Then it is settled," the king said briskly. "The sun is already up, Fiona Hay. Ye had best be on yer way. Scotland will be all the better for yer sacrifice. The merks will be deposited today, and the rest of our arrangement will be put into effect as well. May God and his Blessed Mother watch over ye, lady."

“How do ye dare to invoke God and his Mother under these circumstances?" Fiona's voice had a hard edge to it. Picking up her cloak, she nodded to Nelly, and the two women left the king's privy chamber.

"Are ye afraid, my lady?" Nelly asked her mistress as they hurried through the palace corridors toward the courtyard where their escort would be awaiting them. Her own visage was pale, the freckles across the bridge very prominent.

"Aye, I am afraid," Fiona said, "but that is to the good. As long as I am fearful, I will be careful, Nelly. I don't want to die. Ye must be cautious, too, lassie. Our lives depend on it. Are ye certain ye would go with me? There is still time to change yer mind."

"Nay," Nelly said stoutly. "I will not leave ye, my lady."

They met their escort in the courtyard. Nelly would ride in the baggage cart behind which Fiona's mare was tied. Fiona would ride the laird's gray gelding. The animal had a black mane and tail and was very handsome. Angus would be irritated with its loss, she knew, but there was no help for it. She had no excuse to leave the beast behind, and frankly preferred it to her own horse. It was surefooted and of a stronger disposition than the little mare.

It was a perfect September day. Fiona rode at the head of the small train with the captain. He remarked on her riding astride, and she laughed. "Have ye ever tried to sit atop a bouncing beastie sideways?" she asked him, and he chuckled. The truth was her long woolen skirts modestly shielded her legs, and what little showed was sheathed by boots. A length of red-and-green Hay plaid was slung about her shoulders. Her black hair was plaited in a single braid, and her head was topped with her chieftain's cap, its eagle feather set at a jaunty angle. Court garb was hardly suited to a ride into the highlands.

They rode the entire morning, stopping at midday to rest the horses, eat, and empty their bladders. The men broke their fast with oatcakes and whatever spirits were in their flasks; Fiona and Nelly opened a basket from the castle kitchens that held a fresh loaf of bread, a small cheese, a roasted chicken, two apples, and two pears. There was also a flask of sweet wine.

"Eat as much as ye can," Fiona said softly to her servant. "I am not certain when we will eat again. Nairn will strike today. Of that I feel certain. We have traveled north all morning, but we will turn northeast late today. 'Tis to his advantage to take us before then. By evening tomorrow we will be much too close to Brae."

"I wish we were there now," Nelly said low, and her eyes met those of her mistress, who nodded in agreement. "I am so afraid, my lady," she admitted.

"Nairn is just a man," Fiona replied, trying to put a more practical light upon their situation. "It is the unknown that makes us fearful right now, Nelly lass. I'm glad yer with me. An extra pair of eyes and ears will not hurt. And eventually we'll come home again; I promise ye that. Ye to Brae, and me to my wee tower on the ben."

"I'll pray every night for it, my lady," Nelly said fervently.

Prayer, Fiona thought as they continued along their way that afternoon. Prayer alone wasn't the answer. She was going to have to keep her wits about her. She could never let her guard down. Angus always claimed that she was brazen, but she wasn't. She was simply a woman with an instinct for survival. Could she really be of help to the king, or did he merely want to get her out of the way so he might marry Angus off to the queen's cousin?

Nay. James Stewart simply could have ordered Angus to do his bidding, and he would have had to obey. Fiona sighed. Why had she been so stubborn? Janet Gordon Stewart had wanted her to become Angus's wife ages ago. If only Fiona had let her arrange it, she thought regretfully, she would not be riding north now, waiting to be carried off by The MacDonald of Nairn.

The shadows were beginning to lengthen as the autumn afternoon deepened. The road ran alongside a small blue loch and into a misty glen. Fiona could feel the hair on the back of her neck beginning to rise like the hackles on a dog. This would be where it would happen. She could sense it, smell it! The glen was alive with other presences. She wanted to turn her horse back and gallop away from it, but she knew she couldn't. It was like waiting for a blow to fall. Her chest felt tight, and she could scarcely draw a breath.

Suddenly the captain of her escort hissed, "Lady, halt!" He pointed to the far end of the glen, where in the purple haze a troupe of horsemen stood silently. "Ghosts!" the captain whispered, sounding afraid, and indeed the mounted figures did have a spectral look to them. The men behind them murmured nervously, their horses growing skittish.

"They are highlanders," Fiona snapped back at the captain. "Can ye make out their plaids or badges? I canna tell, for the light is wrong."

The horsemen began to move toward them. Slowly at first, then more swiftly. Kicking their mounts into a gallop, they waved their claymores over their heads, shouting ferociously as they thundered down the glen toward Fiona and her little train.

Next to her the captain seemed to panic. "Flee!" he shouted to his men. Turning his horse about, he led a headlong retreat from the hazy glen.

Fiona turned to look to Nelly's safety, watching amazed as the driver of the baggage cart leapt from his seat and ran alongside his companions until one was decent enough to slow his horse so that the man could scramble up behind the rider. "Cowards!" Fiona shouted after them. "Come back, ye bloody cravens! Don't leave us!"

Their attackers dashed past them, chasing after the king's escort, but shortly they turned and reentered the glen to surround the two women. The moment was almost anticlimactic. Nelly had clambered to the cart's seat and now held the frightened mule in check. Fiona, still mounted, was by the vehicle's side, her gelding dancing nervously but under her firm control. Fiona recognized the gray, green, and white tartan that Nairn preferred to the Lord of the Isles' green-and-blue colors.

Colin MacDonald pushed his gray stallion through the press of his men. Mounted he seemed even bigger than she remembered. "Mistress Hay," he said solemnly, reaching for her horse's bridle.

Fiona yanked the gelding away from his grasp. "Are ye mad, my lord?" she hissed at him. "Ye have deliberately frightened away my escort. How are we to get home to Brae? Or do ye propose to escort us there yerself?" She glared furiously at him, watching out of the corner of her eye as a lad with the men climbed up upon the wagon next to Nelly, giving her a saucy grin and pinching her cheek.

Nelly slapped the boy, saying loudly, "I'll thank ye to keep yer paws to yerself, ye little highland savage!"

The men about them guffawed loudly, amused by both Nelly's actions and the lad's acute red-faced embarrassment.

"Tell yer men to leave my servant alone," Fiona said coldly to Colin MacDonald. "She is a good lass. I will not have her tampered with by force. I'll kill any man who harms her! Do ye savages understand?" Her gloved hand moved menacingly to her dirk. "Now get out of our way! We have several miles to go yet before we reach the convent of Saint Margaret, where we will spend the night. Hopefully our brave escort will have recovered their courage, and will meet us there," she finished boldly.

The MacDonald of Nairn moved his stallion next to Fiona's gelding again and reached once more for her bridle. She slapped his hands away angrily, but this time he caught her wrist in a hard grip. "Mistress Hay," he said, "ye are not going to Brae. Yer coming with me." His bright blue eyes bored into her.

"My lord, this is outrageous! Those poor fools ye frightened were the king's men. Surely ye knew that?" Fiona said.

Releasing her wrist, Colin MacDonald surprised Fiona by leaning from his horse, wrapping an arm about her waist, and lifting her from her saddle onto his, seating her before him. "It will soon be dark," he said over her sputtered protests. "It is a ways to the place we will shelter tonight." He turned away from her, calling, "Roderick Dhu, see to the wench, the wagon, and my lady's horse. The wench is not to be touched by anyone." Then, kicking his mount, he moved forward.

"My lord!" Fiona protested as they rode. "I find your conduct most outrageous. Ye have no feud with the Gordons of Brae. Why do ye wish to start one? Give me back my horse at once!" She squirmed against him in an apparent effort to escape him.

"Do ye never shut yer mouth, woman?"

"I will not be treated in such a despicable fashion, my lord!" Fiona declared spiritedly. She attempted to slide from his grasp. "Let me go, ye uncouth heathen! Let me go this minute!"

"Woman," Colin MacDonald said grimly, "don't make me regret my actions this day in stealing ye away from the laird of Loch Brae."

"Stealing me? I will not be stolen!" she insisted. "Why would ye steal me from my Black Angus, my lord?"

"Because, Fiona Hay," he answered her, "I want ye for my own wife. Yer laird has had many a long month to make an honest woman of ye, but he would not do it. Well, I will! The moment I first saw ye I wanted ye, and by the blessed rood, I will have ye, woman!"

"Well, I will not have ye!" Fiona said angrily.

"Ye have no choice in the matter."

"Ye canna wed me if I'll not have ye," she insisted.

He laughed suddenly. She talked too much. She was opinionated, but by God, she made him laugh. He needed a woman who could do that. She was beautiful, and he had wanted her not even knowing the sort of woman she was. He had thought it wouldn't matter because he desired her. He hadn't even cared, but now that he could see some of her many aspects, he was becoming more intrigued, more fascinated by her.

"I wanted ye. I have taken ye, and there is an end to it, Fiona Hay," he told her firmly. "Now be quiet, for I must concentrate upon the track in this fading light if we are to reach the safety of our shelter tonight. Remember, there is not an early moon to guide us."

Fiona grew silent. It had gone well, she thought. The king would be quite pleased. Now she must follow her instincts in order to keep Colin MacDonald interested in her without boring him. If he was learning about the woman he desired, she, too, must learn about the man he was. She snuck a peek at him. His handsome long face was deep in concentration as he carefully moved his mount along the barely discernible trail, leading the men behind him. Once they had exited the glen, there was a bit more light, but not for very long. They had turned northwest, Fiona noted, for the sunset was almost directly ahead of them. Nairn was more north. Where were they going?

They rode for close to another hour, and then in the last fading vestiges of the twilight Fiona saw stone walls and buildings ahead of them. Was it St. Margaret's? It couldn't be. Shortly she discovered that their destination was the ruins of some small castle. Their party entered the courtyard and dismounted. The horses were carefully tethered in a wooden shed that had a roof. A fire was started in the courtyard's center. Water was drawn from the castle's well and given to the animals.

Fiona and Nelly sat silently in the cart, watching as the clansmen skinned and gutted the rabbits they had hunted along their way, then put them on spits over the fire.

"At least we'll not starve," Nelly said quietly to her mistress. "We have some bread, fruit, and cheese left in our basket, too."

Soon they were brought a joint of the hot, freshly cooked rabbit to share. When they had finished their meal, Nelly hurried across the courtyard beneath the hot eyes of the men to fetch some water from the well so they might wash the grease from their hands and faces. Then the two women sat quietly together, wondering where they were to sleep. Finally The MacDonald of Nairn, in the company of Roderick Dhu, joined them.

"Yer servant will sleep in the cart," he said. "The men have been warned again that she is not to be touched. Roderick will watch over her."

"Thank ye, my lord," Fiona said quietly. "Nelly is dear to me. I should be most angry if anything were to happen to her."

"I'll guard her with my life, lady," Roderick Dhu said.

Fiona nodded at him.

Colin MacDonald took her hand in a firm grasp. "Come with me," he said, and before she might demur, he pulled her from the cart, half dragging her away from the fire and into the darkness of the night.

"Where are we going?" she demanded of him, her heart beginning to pound quickly. It was too soon! She wasn't ready for this!

He said nothing, leading her instead from the courtyard and around behind the castle, away from the others. Finally he stopped. The moon was just beginning to rise over the eastern hills, and in its dim light Fiona watched as he spread a cloak upon the grassy embankment.

"No!" she said, backing away from him.

He caught her hand. "Come now, Fiona mine."

"I am not yers," she said softly.

"Aye, sweeting, ye are," he answered. "From the first moment I laid eyes upon ye, ye were mine, though ye knew it not." Inexorably he drew her into his embrace. Fiona turned from his passionate gaze, but Colin MacDonald caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, his mouth taking possession of hers.

The touch of his lips on hers was strange, for she had never kissed any man but Angus Gordon. His lips were warm, firm, demanding. She had only begun to explore the sensation of his proximity when he kicked her legs out from beneath her, lowering her to the cloak upon the grassy knoll. Fiona gasped with her surprise to find herself upon her back, and Colin MacDonald straddling her. " 'Twas not fair!" she cried at him.

He laughed softly at her. "I mean to have my way with ye, Fiona sweeting," he told her bluntly. He pinioned her between his legs, resting himself upon his heels so that his great size would not crush her.

" 'Twas unfairly done," she said indignantly.

In response to her protest he reached out, drawing her plaid aside, and began to unlace her blouse. She caught at his hands, but Colin MacDonald shook his head admonishingly at her and, grasping her wrists in one of his big hands, imprisoned them above her head. "No, no, Fiona sweeting, don't hinder me. Those sweet breasts of yers have tantalized me for weeks. I must see them!" His large fingers were surprisingly supple and skilled. Swiftly they unlaced the garment, then the chemise. Pushing aside the soft fabric, he gazed upon her bared bosom. "Ah, Fiona," he finally said, "how perfect ye are."

She flushed beneath his hot gaze, biting her lip to hold back her cry. She didn't understand what was the matter with her. To her shame she found his hungry look exciting. Her breasts had matured in the last two years, becoming fuller and almost perfectly round in shape. The skin was milky white and very soft to the touch.

Colin MacDonald reached out to caress the two sweet globes of flesh. His fingertips touched her tenderly, brushing across the fullness lightly, stirring up feelings she had not believed any but Angus Gordon could awaken.

"No more," she pleaded with him. "Don't touch me, I beg ye, my lord. Why must ye shame me like this?" There were tears in her emerald-green eyes that glittered in the light of the quarter moon. She had known this morning what the king expected of her, but faced with the reality of it, she did not know if she could bear it.

His expression serious, he bent in answer to her plea, kissing the flesh of her bosom. "Yer mad, Fiona sweeting, if ye think I can stop now," he told her. "What is between us is as unquenchable as a roaring fire. Ye canna stanch it any more than ye can stem the rising tide."

"I will never yield my heart to ye, Colin MacDonald," Fiona said honestly to him. To her despair a large tear rolled down her face.

"Aye, sweeting, ye will, given time," he responded, a single finger reaching out to catch her tear, lifting it from her cheek to his lips. "I will honor ye as Angus Gordon never did. He took ye for his whore and paraded ye before all of Scotland, but I will wed ye, Fiona Hay. Ye will be my wife, and I will be proud of it," he said.

For a moment Fiona saw the vulnerability in his bright blue eyes, and her heart contracted. Did James Stewart in his righteous quest for a united Scotland have any idea of the terrible betrayal he had put into effect? He had forced her from the man she loved in order to betray a man who loved her. It was monstrous, but she had no choice in the matter else she, too, be destroyed. And there were others also to be considered. Her sisters. Nelly. And-oh, what did any of it matter any more! She would do her duty, and spend the rest of her life ashamed of her part in this secret deception that would destroy them all. And for what? Scotland? Damn Scotland! Damn James Stewart and all his kind! They knew only power and more power.

Suddenly and to her utter amazement Colin MacDonald began to lace up her blouse again. When he had finished, he raised himself from her body and lay next to her. Fiona was completely puzzled. What was the matter? Why was he not ravishing her as she assumed he meant to do? Had he suddenly found her distasteful?

He smiled gently at her confusion. "I will not take you until we are man and wife, sweeting. We highlanders honor our women, particularly those we intend to wed." He took her hand, raising it to his lips to kiss her fingertips. "I will sleep by your side to protect you and so that my men understand the seriousness of my commitment toward you." Then he drew his cloak about them, and pulling her closer so that she faced him, he closed his eyes.

Fiona stared at the sandy lashes brushing against his tanned cheek. For several minutes she couldn't bring herself to move as he appeared lo slide easily into a deep sleep. Finally she shifted herself into a more comfortable position, resting her dark head against his broad chest. His heart beat rhythmically beneath her ear. Her nostrils twitched at the mixture of scents emanating from him. Horse. Sweat. Soap? Aye, 'twas soap she smelled beneath the other traces of male fragrance. A tiny smile touched her lips. So he was eager to please her, she thought. Considering his behavior, she found that interesting. She was surprised by his tenderness, for his reputation was that of a fierce, hard man, but then had not Maggie said all the lasses were mad for him? If he treated them all with such sweetness, it was no surprise. Her instinct was to reach out and caress his red-gold hair, but she restrained herself. It was such an outrageous color of hair for a man, and yet it suited him admirably.

She lay in his arms now, drained by all that had happened this day. She had awakened at Scone, ready to return to Brae. Now this night she lay upon a grassy knoll in the arms of The MacDonald of Nairn, her hoped-for future despoiled. She had a new future. She was the king's secret weapon against the MacDonalds. She would do her duty, even if her heart was broken into a thousand pieces.

Chapter 8

She awoke, surprised that she had slept at all. It was still dark, although the sky was giving evidence of the new day in the fading of the stars above her and a glow along the edges of the horizon. Colin MacDonald's face came into her view. He kissed her mouth slowly, and she did not resist him. What was the point now?

"We had best get up," he told her. "We canna tarry long here. Can I trust ye if I let ye ride yer horse today?"

"I don't know if ye should ever trust me, Colin MacDonald," she said bluntly, “but if ye are asking me if I will run away from ye, where would I go? I canna return to Brae." She stood up, drawing close about her the cloak upon which they had lain. "Send Nelly to me with some hot water," she told him. "I will not ride this day with the scent of ye upon me."

"Hot water, eh? Have ye always been such a fine lady, Fiona mine, or did Angus Gordon make ye such?" His look was both curious and amused.

"Do ye not bathe regularly, then?" she demanded of him. "I do. I always have done so, my lord. A vessel of water over the fire will be enough for my ablutions this morn."

He was dismissed, and he knew it. What a firebrand this woman was. She could obviously hold her own with him, but it amused him more than angered him. Such a strong woman would breed up strong sons for Nairn. Colin MacDonald found Nelly wide awake and looking as if she had not slept a great deal.

"Good morning, lass," he greeted her. "Are ye all right?"

Nelly nodded at him. "I'm not used to sleeping in the open, my lord," she told him honestly. "I was a wee bit frightened."

"We'll not let anything harm ye," he promised her. "Now, fetch some hot water to yer mistress. Ye’ll find her around on the eastern side of the castle's ruins." He pointed to show the direction.

The fire had not been allowed to die completely away in the night. Nelly saw a small metal pot sitting upon the coals that was already filled with water. Sticking a finger in it, she determined the water was warm enough to wash in, and picking the pot up with the edge of her skirt so as not to burn her hands, she hurried to take it to Fiona, finding her mistress easily.

"Ye were safe in the night?" Fiona asked.

"Aye," Nelly replied. "Just a wee bit cold and frightened, but none of the men came near me after his lordship's warning. I slept up in the cart atop our bedding with that Roderick Dhu fellow dozing right at the foot of the wagon, my lady."

"I am grateful for yer safety. Do not even think of flirting with any of these savages, Nelly, unless ye seek to lose yer virginity. They will take the slightest thing as encouragement. Put the water down here."

"I brought ye a scrubbing cloth," Nelly said. "I was able to retrieve it from the luggage, my lady." Handing it to her mistress, the girl then turned away to give Fiona her privacy. "I'll fetch you some food," she said, hurrying off.

Returning in only a few minutes, she gave her mistress, who was now finished washing, a tin plate. "There was a bit of cheese, bread, and some fruit remaining from our basket. Let me take yer cup, and I'll get ye some water from the stream which is nearby."

Grateful for Nelly's thoughtfulness, Fiona sat down and began to nibble the food her servant had brought. Moments later Nelly rejoined her. Together they ate, sharing the cup of clear water the girl had fetched for them. They did not speak. There was nothing to say, and if there had been, there was the danger of being overheard. Everything was as the women had expected it would be at this moment.

Colin MacDonald came to them as they were finishing their meal. "Come and pick the clothing ye want to take with ye," he said. "I'm sending the cart, and most of my men, home to Nairn."

"Where are we going?" Fiona asked him, surprised.

"To Islay, to my brother, the Lord of the Isles," Nairn said. "He'll want to know all about this king of the Scots, and he'll want to meet the lass who's finally turned my thoughts to marriage." He grinned at her.

Fiona climbed to her feet and cocked an eyebrow at him. "I don't know if it is just yer person or yer foolish boasting that repels me the most, Colin MacDonald."

"Did Gordon ever beat ye, sweeting?" he asked her. "Ye obviously need to have a hand taken to yer bottom."

"If ye value that hand, my lord," Fiona warned him darkly, "don't ever raise it to me. I will cut it off the first chance I get." She smiled sweetly at him then and moved back to the encampment.

"Would she?" he asked Nelly.

"She'd try," Nelly replied, "and if she failed, she'd try again."

Nairn looked thoughtful, then laughed. "I don't know her at all, do I?" he said. Motioning to the serving girl to follow him, he turned back toward their campsite, where his men were making ready their departure.

Fiona had gotten into the luggage. She pulled out some undergarments, two pairs of knit stockings, a clean shirt, and a comb for her hair. Seating herself on a nearby rock, she began to undo her plait to comb out her raven-black hair. She then sat quietly while Nelly re-braided her tresses. The girl handed her mistress her chieftain's cap with its eagle feather, and her clan badge, wrapping a warm cloak about her afterward.

"These few things are all I'll need," Fiona said. "My court clothing would be out of place on Islay."

"I'll pack them," Nelly said. She went to gather her own things as well.

The MacDonald of Nairn had overheard Fiona. Following after Nelly, he caught her arm and drew her aside. "I will not argue with yer mistress, for she is filled with anger now and verra stubborn. Pack at least one fine gown for her and some jewelry. My brother's hall is every bit as fine as the king's. I don't want her embarrassed when she sees it."

"A houppelande would be simplest, my lord. The green velvet is her finest, but I think the violet damask will pack better in a small space," Nelly told him politely. "Are ye certain we canna keep the baggage cart? My mistress has some lovely things."

He chuckled. "Ye love her, do ye not, lassie? Aye. I can see yer loyalty, and 'tis good. The cart will slow us, Nelly. We are closer to Nairn than we are to my brother's castle on Islay. Without the cart it will take us a week to reach there. Ye don't want to be on the road forever, do ye? Besides, we will not stay with Alexander. I have my own lands to look after, and I have been away long enough in my brother's service. The cart must go to Nairns Craig. Once we have finished our business on Islay, we'll go home. Then yer mistress can show me all her finery." He patted Nelly's cheek. "Quickly now, lassie. The sun is already rising, and we must be on our way as soon as possible. Ye understand?"

"Are ye afraid the king's men will come after ye and rescue my mistress?" Nelly asked him slyly.

He grinned at her. "Aye, and that, too."

Nairn chose six men to accompany them, including the trusty Roderick Dhu. They would travel west and just slightly south across Scotland. The countryside they journeyed through was mountainous, forested, and lake-filled. They rode from sunrise to sunset, stopping briefly only twice. Their dainty food from Scone Palace's kitchens gone, Fiona and Nelly subsisted on what the men ate: oatcakes, whatever small game could be caught and cooked, and water. The second night of their journey they camped by a small, nameless loch.

"Why do we not stop at a religious guest house or at the home of one of yer brother's allies?" Fiona asked her captor.

"Because there are few religious houses in this area," he told her, "and besides, I don't want ye seen by anyone. Those poor frightened men-at-arms who fled, leaving ye to my tender care, didn't know who we were. Therefore it will not be known who has taken ye or where ye have been taken. I don't want yer former lover coming after us simply to kill me because his pretty mistress is now to be my wee wifie. Besides, what good would it do ye? Did ye not say he wouldn't take ye back after thinking I'd had ye?"

She felt the tears beneath her eyelids and quickly blinked them away. She had said it, and it was true. Angus would never want her again. Anger overwhelmed her once more. Throwing herself at him, she scratched his handsome face, hissing at him, "I hate ye! I hate ye! Ye have ruined my life!" To Fiona's great shock he picked her up, and tossed her, fully clothed, into the loch. She screeched curses at him in the Celtic tongue, and his men howled with laughter. Fiona was not certain if it was her colorful expletives that amused them, or the sight of her flailing about in the shallows.

Colin MacDonald put his hand to his cheek and then, taking it away, gazed at the blood on his fingers. There would be a slight scar. She was an absolute little wildcat. He was beginning to wonder if he hadn't taken on more than he could, or wanted to, handle, but it was too late now. He had her.

Fiona struggled from the water, furious. "These are the only clothes I have, ye fiery-headed oaf!" she shouted at him. "How the hell am I supposed to get them dry by morning?"

"Then ye'll ride wet," he shouted back, "and next time don't use yer claws on me, Fiona mine! I'll not be marked again by ye!"

Nelly was appalled. "Ye have to get out of these things, my lady. Ye’ll catch yer death if ye don't. Ye've another chemise, and we'll dry the rest by the fire. Ye’ll not travel damp, I promise."

Fiona's glare of fury silenced the chortling clansmen. "Since I'm soaked through," she said to Nelly, "I might as well bathe. I stink of the horses."

"Thank God ye didn't have yer cloak on," Nelly said. "The skirt will be hard enough to dry, and yer wool stockings as well. Come along then, my lady. Just down the shore we may have a wee bit of privacy." She turned to the men about the fire. "And don't any of ye skulk along after us!"

They grinned, and Roderick Dhu said blandly to his master, "They be two strong wenches with blazing tongues, my lord."

The MacDonald of Nairn grinned back at his companions. "Aye, and ye'll all treat them with respect. The raven-haired lady is to be my wife, lads, and wee Nelly, as her servant, must be esteemed, too."

The two women could feel the men's eyes upon them as they moved down the shore, but shortly a large clump of greenery obscured them. The ground beneath their feet was sandy. They stopped, and Nelly helped Fiona out of her wet clothing. She spread the garments over the bushes and emptied the water from her lady's boots. Then she laid her mistress's cloak upon the ground and seated herself upon it, watching as Fiona entered the water.

"Yer braver than I am, my lady," she said with a small giggle.

" 'Tis cold," Fiona admitted, "but I'm beginning to smell the horses less and less." She paddled about. The water in the loch was so clear that she could see her legs and feet just above the sandy bottom. “What will I dry myself with, Nelly? We have no toweling."

"We'll use yer wet chemise, my lady. I've wrung it out. 'Twill do no more than take the droplets away, but wrapped in yer cloak, ye'll soon be warm and dry again. When ye are, I have yer other chemise for ye to put on."

Fiona stepped from the water. As she did, Colin MacDonald came upon the two women. Fiona grit her teeth in annoyance, saying to Nelly, "Pay him no heed, lassie, the oversize oaf!"

"I came to see what was keeping ye," he said. "Ye haven't been swimming, have ye?" His eyes swept over her naked body. Jesu! Mary! he swore to himself. She was absolutely magnificent! He hadn't realized it until now, for his passion had been for the woman herself, but by the rood she had a wonderful body!

"I told ye I am accustomed to bathing daily," Fiona said loftily, finishing her drying and wrapping her cloak about her lush form. "Since we carry no tub for me to bathe properly, I have made my ablutions in the loch. Nelly, lass, run back and fetch my dry chemise for me, please." She looked critically at the man before her. " 'Twould not hurt if ye would wash yerself. Ye, too, reek of the horses."

"Wash? Every day?" He sounded slightly horrified.

" 'Twill not harm ye, my lord," she told him sharply.

"Yer a verra high-handed wench, I'm thinking, Fiona Hay." He stood before her, back to the water, hands upon his hips, legs spread wide in a show of authority.

Fiona met his gaze, thinking at the same time it was just too delicious an opportunity not to take. She let her cloak fall open and walked toward him. He tried valiantly to maintain eye contact with her, but the temptation to look upon her luscious breasts and white, white body was too strong. He succumbed, and in the moment his eyes left hers to fasten hungrily upon her bosom, Fiona shoved him hard backward into the waters of the loch, laughing so hard that she almost collapsed as he scrambled to his feet in the knee-deep water, sputtering with outrage. "How the hell am I supposed to get a wool kilt dry by the morrow?" he roared at her.

"Ye’ll simply have to ride wet, my lord," she mocked him, disappearing into the greenery to come face-to-face with the startled Nelly. "Quick!" she said, "Give me my chemise, lass!" She flung off her cloak, slipped on the chemise, and drew the cloak back about her shoulders.

"What have ye done to him?" Nelly asked, hearing a string of colorful oaths from the beach behind them. "He sounds as if he would kill ye if he could but get his hands about yer neck, my lady."

"I just gave the bastard a taste of his own medicine." Fiona laughed. "I pushed him in the loch, and he's verra wet, I fear. Offer to dry his kilt for him, will ye, Nelly? I don't want to kill him-at least not yet." She smiled. She might not like the task the king had set her to, but there was no reason she couldn't have a little fun while she was about it.

Reaching the comfort of the fire, she gratefully accepted a plate of oatcakes from Roderick Dhu. When he handed her a steaming cup, she looked surprised. "What is it?"

"A wee bit of wine mixed with water and heated in the fire, my lady. Ye must be chilled after yer swim," he told her, the ghost of a smile hovering about his lips.

"Ye had better fix a similar draught for yer master," Fiona said sweetly. "I fear he, too, fell in the loch." She turned away, sipping the heated drink thankfully, for it was strong, and set her blood to warming beneath her cloak.

She sat herself on a small outcropping of rock, daintily eating the oatcakes and sipping her wine, Nelly beside her. Colin MacDonald came grimly into the clearing, taking the cup of hot wine from Roderick Dhu. He was soaking wet, his hair hanging lankly about his shoulders, the droplets sluicing off his kilt. He drank the wine down in several gulps, accepted his portion of oatcakes, and ate. He was stonily silent, speaking to no one.

Finally, when he had finished eating, Nelly dared to approach him. "If ye like, my lord, I'll dry yer garments by the fire with my mistress's."

"Aye," Nairn answered her, standing up. He beckoned to the two women. "Follow me," he said shortly. "Roderick Dhu, ye have the responsibility of Nelly's virtue until we reach Nairn."

"Aye, my lord," the clansman answered, looking menacingly at his companions.

Fiona and Nelly followed Nairn back to the little beach, where he stripped his garments off, heedless of Nelly's gasps and blushes. Handing them to the serving girl, he said, "Your mistress and I will sleep here tonight, lassie. Lay yourself next to Roderick Dhu. He will protect you."

Dismissed, Nelly hurried back to the campfire.

"We'll sleep wrapped in your cloak," The MacDonald told Fiona.

Mesmerized, she stared at his big, naked body. Everything was large, arms, legs, torso. His back and shoulders were very broad. His buttocks were rounded and tight. She was unable to prevent her gaze from dropping to the fiery red bush between his thighs from where his male member hung, a thick, pendulous length of pale flesh. Even chilled from the water of the loch, it was a formidable and impressive sight.

He pulled her chemise-clad form against his nudity, nuzzling her ear. "Fiona mine," he murmured, "do you know how very much I desire you? How difficult it is for me not to possess you?" His teeth gently worried her earlobe.

She could feel the maleness of him against her; she could tell how much he strained to curb his fierce lust. She swallowed hard, saying, "It really makes no difference to me when you effect your rape of my person."

"When we finally couple," he told her evenly, "you will be my wife."

"I will be unwilling nonetheless," she hissed at him.

"Truly?" he whispered, pulling her down to lie with him upon the sandy beach. "How old are you, Fiona Hay?"

"Seventeen this Lammastide past," she told him. "How old are ye, Colin MacDonald of Nairn?"

"Twenty-seven," he said. "Jesu, yer sweet," he said thickly, holding her ever so tightly against him. His hand smoothed slowly down her back. It swept over the curve of her buttocks again and again while he nuzzled into the tender curve of her back, murmuring unintelligibly. Then, suddenly, he sat up, drawing Fiona with him.

"Loosen yer hair, sweeting," he said low.

Fiona drew the pins from her tresses, unplaiting the braid and combing the dark locks with her slender fingers. "Does that suit ye, my lord of Nairn?" she queried him.

"Aye," he said, drawing her back down, taking a bit of her hair in his fingers and sniffing it. "Ye wash yer hair with heather soap," he noted. "When we return to Nairn, I shall take ye to Inverness one day and buy ye a silver comb, sweeting. Then ye shall sit by the fire in our hall on a winter's night and comb yer raven tresses. Ye must never cut yer hair, for it is beautiful. I watched the sun shining off it yesterday as we rode." Then, pressing her lightly back, he kissed her, softly at first, but with growing ardor that did nothing to mask his lust for her.

Fiona, curious, allowed herself to taste and savor him. He was not at all unpleasant, she discovered. She found herself unable to keep from yielding to those kisses, from kissing him back just a little before a wave of guilt overwhelmed her, and she tried to draw away from him.

He immediately sensed the first breach in her defenses, and pressed forward eagerly. The tip of his tongue ran along her lips. Fiona turned her head, but he instantly drew it back and repeated the gesture. She shivered, but whether from cold or her rising excitement, he was not certain, but her lips softened beneath his. He was able to push his tongue into the dark cavity of her mouth. Their tongues began to touch, and it was as if she had been struck by lightning. Fiona wanted to flee him but suddenly realized she could not.

His lips left hers and began to wander across her face. They sought her throat, feeling the pulse in the base of her neck beating a wild tattoo. He moved on to her chest, whispering to her, "Ye want this, sweeting. I can tell that yer own lust has been engaged."

"Nay! Nay!" she denied.

He laughed softly, his lips brushing the hillocks of her breasts. They were swollen with their longing, and as firm as two round apples. "No?" he mocked her, and his tongue licked teasingly at a nipple through the fine lawn of her chemise.

"Ohhh, don't do that!" she moaned, squirming nervously.

His mouth closed over the nipple, and he began to suckle upon her. Fiona's body arched up. Cradling her with one arm, he let his other hand caress her torso. Her skin was fiery to his touch. His mouth drew fiercely upon her flesh until her belly felt cramped and knotted. He moved to her other breast, and it was torture. Aching, sweet torture, and to think she had believed only Angus Gordon capable of such power over her. His long fingers slipped beneath the chemise, moving up between her nether lips. Finding her little jewel, he worried it and worried it until she was gasping with her own desire. How, she managed to think in a clear moment, could she work effectively for the king if she was filled with all this passion? She needed release, and this man offered her that release. Letting go of all her common sense, Fiona soared.

The sudden knowledge that she was yielding to him drove him onward. "Fiona mine!" He groaned into the softness of her perfumed hair.

The moon was risen now, lighting the waters of the loch, making dark shadows from their fair bodies lying upon the sandy beach. He reached for her hand. It felt small in his, but not helpless. He was proud that she was a strong woman. He drew her cloak over her and said only one word, "Sleep."

Colin MacDonald awoke to find Fiona swimming in the cold silver waters of the loch. He joined her, but neither spoke to the other. Nelly came along the beach with their garments. They dressed, returning to the campsite to eat the oatcakes and drink hot, watered-down wine again.

For the next few days they rode across the wilderness of Scotland, avoiding settlements. Finally they reached the west coast and crossed to the island of Jura. Here the land was very mountainous, and covered with deer forest. The island was bisected by Loch Tarbert. Finally they reached the far side of Jura facing upon Islay Sound, a narrow stretch of water. A small cockle was drawn up upon the shore.

Colin MacDonald directed two of his men to cross over and inform the Lord of the Isles that his brother of Nairn was waiting to pass over the water to Islay. The men were eagerly off, for this end of their journey meant hot food, good ale, and willing wenches.

"How will we cross?" Fiona asked.

"A barge will be sent for us and the horses," he told her. "Ye must ask permission, however, to enter my brother's domain. Islay has never been taken by strangers or our enemies, or even the Irish."

"Yer brother behaves as if he were king."

Colin MacDonald laughed. "He is a king, Fiona mine. The Lords of the Isles have always been kings. That is why James Stewart is so eager to have their fealty. The northern clans will not pledge to him without the approval of the Lord of the Isles."

"Scotland can only have one king," she wisely told him.

"This is not Scotland. These are the Isles," he explained patiently. "It has always been this way. It was only in the time of The Bruce that the Isles became of interest to the Scots kings. We prefer being left to our independence."

"But ye don't even live in the Isles."

"True, I live near Inverness on the opposite side of Scotland, but I am a MacDonald, sweeting," Nairn said proudly. "And from the time I was six I lived here on Islay with my father and my siblings. I visited my mother only once a year until I was sixteen. Then my father sent me back to Nairn so my grandsire might teach me to govern my own lands, small as they are." He smiled. "I was already a seasoned warrior, having earned my spurs at Harlaw fighting with my father and brothers. My father knew I was competent at sixteen to rule Nairn, though I did not inherit it until I was twenty, and my grandsire died."

She was amazed. He had been a mere lad of fourteen when he fought in one of the bloodiest battles in Scotland's history. And he had survived! "Ye loved yer father, didn't ye?" she asked softly.

"Aye, I did," he admitted to her. "I was fortunate to be here last year when he died. Almost all of his children were here. Donald MacDonald had a great heart. He loved all his offspring no matter which side of the blanket they were born on. His own mother was Princess Margaret, a daughter of King Robert II. She taught him kindness and duty to family, he always told me."

They walked along the beach, and the air from the sea was fresh and invigorating. Above them the gulls swooped and mewled raucously, scanning the waters below for food. As they gazed out to Islay, they could see a large flat-bottomed vessel making its way toward them.

"Fraoch Eilean!" They heard the cry.

Nairn grinned, and stamping down to the sea's edge, he cupped his big hands about his mouth and called out, "Fraoch Eilean!"

"What is it?" Fiona asked him, puzzled.

"What?"

"Fraoch Eilean. I know the words. It means 'the heathery isle,' but what does it signify?"

"It's the war cry of the MacDonalds of the Isles. My brother himself is coming to meet us!"

The barge was finally anchored in the shallows off Jura, and a ramp was lowered. A man leapt forth into the waves, wading ashore to join them. He was every bit as tall as Colin MacDonald, but his hair was a dark brown to match his eyes. He embraced Nairn warmly.

"So yer safely back," he said, sounding faintly relieved.

"Aye, and I've much to tell ye, my lord," Nairn replied.

"Let us to Islay, then, brother," Alexander MacDonald said, pausing when Fiona caught his eye. He smiled winningly at her, the look identical to Nairn's. "What have we here, Colly? Have ye brought me a wee giftie from Perth?" His look was both admiring and lustful as he took in the girl, who gazed boldly back at him.

"No, Alex, 'tis not a gift for ye that I have brought to Islay, but the lass I am to wed with. This is Fiona Hay. Sweeting, my brother, Alexander MacDonald, Lord of the Isles."

Fiona curtsied politely but said nothing.

"Ye can tell me of this on the way," The MacDonald of the Isles said, surprised.

The horses were led into the surf and up the ramp onto the barge. As the winds were light, the sea was relatively calm, and the journey was a gentle one. Nairn had warned her that it could also be rough, with waves crashing over the barge and soaking them. Fiona was thankful it was not that sort of day, since her wardrobe was scant and could take no more damage.

"So ye've finally found a woman who satisfies ye enough to wed," Alexander MacDonald said, sounding pleased. " 'Tis past time ye were married. I am three sons up on ye already, Colly."

"I stole her," Colin MacDonald said quietly.

"Ye stole her?" Alexander MacDonald laughed in delight. "I'm glad to see yer heart is all MacDonald, brother. 'Tis rare in these days that we steal our wives. Why was it necessary for ye to do so? Has she a hard-hearted guardian who could not see that young lovers will not be denied, and attempted to keep her from ye so he might wed her to some rich old lord? If that is the case, ye were wise to steal her."

"He stole me from the man I love," Fiona said suddenly. "Even if Black Angus knew where I was, he would not have me now that yer brother has had his hands all over me, my lord. I can only hope Angus Gordon thinks me dead."

"Colly?" The Lord of the Isles was serious now. He listened to his brother's explanation, nodding in satisfaction when it was concluded.

"No one can connect Mistress Hay's kidnapping with me, my lord," Nairn said. "I left court several days before she did. Although I did attempt once to gain her favor there, she would have none of me. No one will suspect that I took her. There is no danger to ye or to the Isles over this matter. I would not bring trouble to ye, Alexander."

"So there is little or no harm done, then," the Lord of the Isles said. He looked again at Fiona. "I canna blame ye, Colly. She is verra bonnie. I'm sorry this is one we canna share."

"No harm done?" Fiona was outraged. "I have been taken from the man I love, and mistreated, and ye say no harm is done, my lord?"

"Ye have but exchanged one husband for another, my bonnie," the Lord of the Isles said reasonably.

"Angus Gordon is the king's good friend."

"Then surely he will find his friend another bride," Alexander MacDonald answered her with perfect logic. "Even if it were known where ye were, there is little likelihood they would come after ye, unless, of course, ye are a great heiress. Are ye?"

"I am a chieftain in my own right," Fiona said proudly. "I am the Hay of the Ben, my lord."

"A steep hillock with a tumbled-down towerhouse," Colin MacDonald said matter-of-factly, "and don't deny it, sweeting. Maggie told me."

"Maggie MacLeod is a wretched gossip!" Fiona muttered balefully.

"Ye saw Margaret MacLeod, brother?"

"Aye. She has wed with her bonnet laird, and is with bairn," he answered. "She is happy, Alexander," he finished meaningfully.

"So be it, then," the Lord of the Isles replied. "Besides, the old lord they were to wed her with has died. They wouldna want her back, considering the shame she brought on her family by running off as she did. She cost them a dowry they could ill afford, though, for the old man would not give it back to them. He considered it damages for the insult done his fine old name. She was always a wild lass, our cousin Maggie MacLeod was." He laughed at his memories.

Fiona was fascinated. Maggie had never spoken about exactly why she had fled her home on Lewis. And in learning her friend's story, her own anger cooled. Fiona chided herself for appearing to be eager to escape Nairn. What if the Lord of the Isles had believed her and sent her back? She would be no use to the king then. She had to learn to better temper her apparent outrage with her actual purpose in being here. She moved to the far end of the barge and watched as the shore came closer.

"When will ye wed her?" the lord asked Nairn.

"I'll handfast her in yer hall tonight."

"Not with a priest, Colly? Why will ye not wed her properly?" Alexander MacDonald asked him, disturbed.

"She is still angry at having been taken from Angus Gordon," Nairn replied. "I have spared her my attentions each night that we have traveled for I swore to myself I would not have her without a wedding. The term of a handfast marriage is a year. I will have brought her around in that time, and I will then wed her before a priest."

"Will she agree to a handfast union?" the Lord of the Isles wondered. "She appears a hot-tempered lassie."

"Aye," Nairn grinned, "she is, but she will, for she has no choice. Within a year she will declare her love for me, brother."

The Lord of the Isles looked his younger sibling in the eye. "I can see yer already in love with her, Colin. Love is a dangerous condition for a man. Ye know it to be true. A man in love does not think clearly. Are ye certain ye will not wed her before a priest? I have one temporarily in residence. Father Ninian. He could do the deed."

Nairn shook his head. "I would have to coerce her before a priest, and I will not do that." He chuckled ruefully. "I am not certain I could force her. When we stand before a priest it will be because she wants to do so. No, a handfast marriage will have to do us now. Under a handfast any child we produce will be legitimate, brother."

The barge bumped onto the island of Islay. Leaping out, the men-at-arms drew it up onto the shore. The ramp was lowered, and the horses and riders made their way off the vessel. Fiona looked about her. Whereas Jura had been mountainous, Islay was a fertile, green pasture-land of softly rolling earth. In the distance she could see a castle, obviously their destination. She moved her horse forward and found herself between the two brothers.

"Welcome to Islay, sister," the Lord of the Isles said graciously. "I hope yer stay with us, short though my brother says it is to be, will nonetheless be a pleasant one for ye."

"I thank ye, my lord," Fiona responded politely.

As they rode toward their destination, Fiona could not help but be impressed by the large herds of fat cattle grazing in The MacDonald's green meadows. When she commented upon it, Nairn laughed mischievously.

"Fiona has been a cattle thief, though not a successful one, in her time," he told his elder brother.

"I never admitted to such a thing!" Fiona said indignantly. "Why do ye all assume that the charges Black Angus made against me were true? Why does no one believe me?" she demanded.

He chuckled. "Because ye were a brazen little liar. Ye could not feed yer sisters, let alone the fat cattle that Gordon found grazing in yer pastures," he told her. "Maggie said-"

"Maggie MacLeod again?" Fiona snapped. "If I ever see her again, I'll have to pull her wagging tongue out, the gossip!"

Donald MacDonald was now laughing. "Tell me the story, brother," he said, "and don't fret yerself over it, Fiona Hay. Cattle-stealing is an old and honorable custom, as ye know. The trick is to not get caught, as ye obviously did, but I admire yer spunk, my bonnie. Yer going to breed up fine MacDonald sons for my brother."

Pretending irritation, Fiona fell back to ride with Nelly, who, though reluctant, had been mounted upon Fiona's mare since the departure of the cart. "Men are mad," she said to her servant.

"These MacDonalds are certainly big handsome fellows, are they not?" Nelly commented. "The lord looks like his brother of Nairn, I’m thinking, despite their different coloring."

"Ummmm," Fiona answered her absently. She was far more interested in the castle that they were now approaching, for it appeared even from a distance to be larger and grander than she would have expected. Everyone always said that the MacDonalds were savages, but the Lord of the Isles had hardly appeared that, and his castle looked very impressive. It stood upon the highest point on Islay, a low rocky hill slightly larger than the other few hills on the island. There were four square towers, one at each compass point of the dark stone walls, which were unmarked by any opening. Its entry, with walls half as high as the main walls, had two small rounded towers halfway up the stone. There were massive oaken doors over which was drawn an iron yett, or grille, each night.

As they drew closer, Nelly remarked, "It looks a fearsome place, my lady. I think I am glad we will be here but a short while."

"It may be paradise compared to Nairns Craig," Fiona said in reply. "It is surely not Brae." There was a wistfulness in her tone.

They rode through the gates into a small courtyard. After dismounting, the women followed the MacDonald brothers through another heavy gate into a larger courtyard. It was like going from night into day. Here there was a camomile lawn beneath their feet, and a garden blooming with late roses, Mary's gold, and fragrant herbs. A slope-roofed house was built into two sides of the wall. They mounted the steps and entered the house.

"I'm sorry my wife is not here to greet ye, my bonnie," The MacDonald apologized, “but she is off with my lady mother to their estates in Ross. I fear ye will be gone before they return, but perhaps when ye bring yer first son to Islay ye will meet them." Then he swiftly directed the servants who came at his entrance to take Fiona and Nelly to their apartment and give them whatever they desired. "Come with me, Nairn," he said to his brother. "I would hear what ye have to tell me before ye take yer ease. I would know all about James Stewart."

"If ye would know all about him," Fiona interjected, "then ye should speak to me, too, my lord. I know the king well, as he was Black Angus's best friend. I was also in the service of the queen, and count myself among her friends. Women speak of more than gowns and household matters." She smiled prettily at him.

"Ye are obviously loyal to James Stewart, madam," The MacDonald said. "Why would ye help me?"

"My lord," Fiona said with perfect logic, "I would help ye better understand the king so that ye will swear yer fealty to him. Nairn can give you but impressions of what he saw and thinks. I lived within the royal enclosure. I was with the king and queen for several months. Yer brother has stolen me from the laird of Loch Brae. Since I canna go back, I must make my peace with what I have. Tonight I will handfast myself to Colin MacDonald. Aye, I heard you tell your plan, my lord of Nairn." She looked from Colin to his brother. "I will one day bear his bairns. MacDonald bairns, my lord. I don't want to see my lord, his family, and my own offspring sacrificed in the unending warfare that has wracked Scotland these many years. If I can help ye to make yer peace with the king, I would do so for the sake of Nairn and for our unborn children."

"She's clever as well as bonnie," The MacDonald said to his brother. Then he beckoned Fiona. "Verra well, lass, come with us. I'm a fair-minded man and will listen to what ye have to say."

"Go and unpack what little we have," Fiona instructed Nelly, and then she followed after the two men.

In the Lord of the Isles' privy chamber, a small stone room with a fireplace flanked by stone griffins, a fine tapestry hung from the wall opposite a window with a view of the garden. They ensconced themselves-the lord in a high-backed chair with a tapestry seat, and his companions on an oak settle facing him. A servant brought them each a silver goblet of pungent wine, then discreetly withdrew.

"First," Alexander MacDonald said, "tell me what he looks like, Nairn. I heard he is a wee man."

"He is of medium height but strongly built."

"He is a skilled warrior who fought in France with Henry V," Fiona said. “That king personally trained James Stewart in the arts of warfare. He is proficient with weapons of all kinds, including a crossbow."

"The crossbow?" The lord cocked a dark eyebrow.

"Aye, my lord, and the king has made it law that all young men must learn to use such a weapon so that Scotland quickly will have an armed force like the English," Fiona said.

" 'Tis cleverly done," the lord noted, "and not a bad idea at all… What kind of a man do ye ascertain him to be, Nairn?"

"A verra determined one, brother. He is not a feeble-minded weakling like his father before him was. He is strong-willed, and bound to rule Scotland as it has never before been ruled."

"Is he like old Albany, then?"

"Many compare him to The Bruce," Fiona said quietly. "A great soldier but a better governor in that he already knows how to rule."

Colin MacDonald nodded in agreement with her.

"Can he be bought like old Albany?" the lord wondered.

"No, brother, I don't believe he can. He is an honorable man, if a stubborn one, with a keen sense of justice."

"How stubborn, I wonder."

"He is so resolved to rule Scotland, to bring peace and real prosperity," Fiona said, "that he has decided to execute the most troublesome of his relations. The year will not end before Duke Murdoch and his ilk have gone to whatever fate awaits them on the other side of the door."

"How do ye know such a thing?" the lord asked her, fascinated to hear so intimate a disclosure.

"My lord," Fiona said, "I told ye that I lived within the royal residence. Neither the king nor the queen were shy about speaking their minds within the privacy of their own apartments. We all heard the king planning."

"Would none warn Duke Murdoch?" the Lord of the Isles asked.

Fiona laughed. "No, my lord. None would dare betray this king for fear of the civil unrest that would follow, and in far greater fear of what the king would do to the tattler. Besides, those of us who served their majesties love him."

"Would ye swear yer fealty to this king, Fiona Hay?"

"I already have done so, my lord," she told him honestly. "As chief tain of my family it was my duty to do so. My lands, poor as they are, have been reconfirmed mine by the king. The laird of Loch Brae holds j my grandfather's lands in the glen, but the ben is mine."

"Do ye think I should pledge my loyalty to this James Stewart?" Alexander MacDonald asked her craftily.

"I think, my lord, that ye will come to yer own decision, and do what ye believe right for yer own clan."

The Lord of the Isles burst out laughing. "Nairn," he said to his brother, "ye had best beware this lass ye are so determined to take as a wife. She is far cleverer than ye are. I believe I am content to see ye in such competent hands. She will bear yer bairns, control yer mam, manage yer household, and keep ye from yer own folly so ye may continue to be of use to me. Ye have chosen well, although ye chose her with yer randy prick, and not yer head."

"I chose her with my heart," Colin MacDonald said quietly. He was pleased that Fiona met with his brother's strong approval, and prouder yet that she would be so candid about the Stewart king with Alex.

"Take her to yer apartment, brother," the lord said, "and prepare for the handfasting in the hall tonight."

They departed the lord's privy chamber. Nairn led her with unerring familiarity through the castle to a comfortable apartment that had been prepared for them. To Fiona's delight a large oaken tub stood in the bedchamber before a roaring fire. Nelly was grinning.

"I asked, and they brought it, my lady," she said, pleased.

"Ye’ll have to brush my skirt well, though I doubt we'll ever get all the dust from it," Fiona said. She turned to Nairn. "If 1 had the cart, I would have a respectable gown to wear into yer brother's hall this night." She sighed. "Praise God yer sister-in-law is not here, or ye should be truly shamed."

"Ye have a decent gown, my lady!" Nelly crowed. "The lord Colin suggested I pack one gown for ye along with yer jewelry. The violet damask was the one I thought would pack best. I've already hung it out, and it has hardly a wrinkle in it."

Fiona turned to Nairn. " 'Twas clever of ye," she said by way of thanks. "I would not embarrass ye, my lord. Not in public."

He nodded, saying gruffly, "Have yer bath, sweeting. I can wash when ye are through. I'll fetch a clean shirt from my brother."

"Ye could bathe with me," she said softly. Her smile was enticing.

"We'd not reach the hall this night if I did," he told her, his look smoldering. Then he left her, closing the chamber door firmly behind him.

"He truly loves ye," Nelly said to her mistress.

"Don't say it," Fiona told her. "If I can but do what the king requires of me without betraying him or his family, I will count myself fortunate. Do ye think I don't see the way he looks at me? Ah, Nelly, if I had not been so stubborn, I should be at Brae with my own Black Angus now."

"Don't take all the blame upon yerself, mistress," Nelly said in practical tones. "The laird was just as stubborn as ye. He has always been a difficult man, my aunt Una said. 'Tis mostly his fault." As she spoke, she helped Fiona divest herself of her clothing, then settled her in the large oaken tub. "Soak yerself a moment," she told her lady. "I want to go brush this skirt for ye and fetch yer clean chemise."

Fiona nodded and closed her eyes. The water in the tub was actually hot, and it felt wonderful. How many days had she washed herself in the cold waters of highland lochs or icy running mountain streams? This was absolute heaven. She sighed with bliss and let the heat penetrate her body. It seemed a hundred years since she had been really warm, and she believed she could remain there in the hot water forever. Finally, however, she opened her eyes, taking up the little scrubbing cloth and tiny cake of soap Nelly had left her. Fiona washed her face, appalled at the dirt that came off it.

Nelly returned, laying the clean chemise across the bed, then washed her mistress's long black hair and scrubbed her back. She pinned the wet hair upon Fiona's head and urged her to finish her bath. When Fiona stepped from the tub, Nelly dried her off briskly, wrapped her in the toweling, and began to dry her lady's dark hair, rubbing and brushing the water from it near the heat of the fire. Satisfied at last, she helped Fiona into her clean chemise and tucked her into the bed.

"Now ye rest a bit," she counseled. "I'll dry the toweling before the fire for his lordship when he comes to bathe."

Fiona never heard her, for she had fallen fast asleep. The lord's fine wine, the hot water of the bath, the heat of the fire had conspired to lull her. She awoke to the sounds of splashing, and Nelly's giggles.

"Oh, my lord, yer a wicked laddie, and that's for certain!" Nelly said. "Now cease yer teasing, and let me get that fiery head of yers clean. I vow ye have enough soil in it to grow cabbages."

" 'Tis true," Fiona heard Colin MacDonald say. "Ye have stolen Roderick Dhu's flinty heart, little Nelly. He'll be wanting yer hand in marriage, mark my words. I can only hope yer not toying with him."

"I'm not toying with the big dour ox at all, my lord," Nelly protested vehemently. "Why, the man doesn't know me!"

"He knows ye have a sweet smile and pretty titties," Nairn teased.

"My lord!" Nelly's indignant voice was enough to wake the dead. " 'Tis a shameful thing to say, and I'd not have any man who didn't walk out with me, and court me proper-like. I'm not some kiss-me-quick and under-the-hedge-with-ye kind of lass, ye know!"

Nairn roared with laughter, suddenly cut off when Nelly dumped a small bucket of clean water over his head to rinse it. From her bed Fiona listened to them and chuckled softly. Her conscience was beginning to plague her again. If only The MacDonald of Nairn were not such a charming man… but he was. In a short while she would hand-fast herself to him in marriage only because she could not bear to contract an honest union with him, for whatever her fate, and despite the fact that Angus Gordon would marry Elizabeth Williams to please the king and queen, Fiona Hay loved the laird of Loch Brae.

She would never be his again, and it would have been so easy to draw the warmth of Colin MacDonald's love about her, but she would not. She hated the lie that James Stewart was forcing her to live, but she could not compound it by marrying this man in God's name when one day she might have to betray him. The handfast marriage was to please Nairn. To allay his suspicions. To give a name, and legitimacy, to Angus Gordon's child, who was even now growing beneath her heart-and whom she would pass off as The MacDonald of Nairn's bairn when she eventually announced her delicate condition.

Chapter 9

The Great Hall at Islay Castle was larger than Brae but not as large as Scone. It was, nonetheless, a fine hall with two great baronial fireplaces, beautifully woven tapestries upon its gray stone walls, and silken battle flags hanging from its carved rafters. The floor was swept clean, for, as the Lord of the Isles explained to Fiona, his wife did not like rushes. It only encouraged peeing in the corners and the disposal of unwanted food, which the hounds sometimes ate. The high board was laid with a fine white cloth and held a silver candelabra with beeswax candles. The rest of the castle's inhabitants ate at the trestles below.

There were but five places set at the high board. Fiona was seated next to the Lord of the Isles himself in the place of honor. Nairn was to his brother's left. To his left his brother's captain, another of the half-brothers, Owen MacDonald, sat. To Fiona's right was a priest, whom the Lord of the Isles introduced to her as Father Ninian.

"He travels the highlands ministering to those in far-flung regions," Alexander MacDonald said. “We are fortunate to see him twice a year, sometimes three."

The priest greeted Fiona. "God be with ye, my lady."

"I thank ye, Father," she replied. "Will ye hear my confession?"

"Of course, my child," he answered her, "but I should far rather perform yer marriage this night."

Fiona shook her head. "Nairn has stolen me," she said low. "I will handfast him for my reputation's sake, but I must find peace within my own soul before I can stand beside him in the church before a priest. Please understand, Father."

The priest nodded. "I will pray for ye both."

Fiona turned to her host. "And where are yer sons, my lord?"

"They have gone with their mother," he replied. "Their company pleases her."

"My lord"-Father Ninian interrupted their conversation-"I would hear this lady's confession before the handfast, not after." He smiled briefly at them to lessen the rebuke in his tone.

"Aye," Alexander MacDonald agreed with a grin. " 'Tis better she unburden herself now, for later her sins could be worse!" He winked at his brother. "Eh, Nairn?"

The priest arose, and Fiona followed him from the hall. He led her to the chapel and into a small privy chamber. "Now, my child," he said, "if ye would like to unburden yerself to me…"

Fiona looked carefully about her. Shutting the door softly, she pulled the king's coin from her pocket and handed it to the priest.

His face betrayed nothing as he carefully examined it, matching it against his own identical coin. Then he said softly, "Where did ye obtain this, my child?"

"From James Stewart himself," Fiona said in even lower tones.

"Tell me yer story," Father Ninian responded, listening as the beautiful young woman before him spoke quickly yet succinctly of her history. When her narrative had come to an end, the priest said, "Now I understand why ye would not take Nairn in the sacrament of marriage, but ye know, do ye not, that the handfast is just as binding under law, both civil and church? And ye'll surely conceive a bairn, for the MacDonalds are prolific breeders. What of any child?"

"I am already with child," Fiona told him, holding up her hand for his silence while she explained. "The bairn is not Nairn's, although I will lead him to believe it is for the safety of my infant. Had I been certain before I left Scone, I would not have let the king force me to this, but I was not certain. I feared that if I bled after telling the king I was with child, he would have believed me lying to have my own way and deceive him. I have learned, good Father, that ye canna trust the words of the mighty. Unable to punish me, he might have punished my Black Angus." A tear rolled down her cheek. "I could not let Angus Gordon suffer for me."

The priest nodded, his heart sad. So much suffering for their blessed Scotland, but one day with sacrifices such as those Fiona Hay was making, the land would surely know peace. He handed her back her coin. "Do ye need something passed on, my child?"

"Tell the king that the Lord of the Isles will bide his time for now until he decides just how determined James Stewart is to rule all of Scotland. For the present, Alexander MacDonald will remain at peace in the highlands, but while some of the northern and western clans may swear fealty, most of the clans will wait to see what he is going to do. That I have from his own mouth."

"The king will have yer message verra soon, I promise ye. I had planned to spend some time here on Islay, but I will shortly take my own departure. Drysdale, our tinker friend, will soon be heading south for the winter months. 'Tis he who will carry yer message. Now, so we may not be accused of deception, ye will make yer confession to me."

"I thought I already had," Fiona said softly.

The priest considered, and then he said, “Why, so ye have, my child, so ye have. Kneel and receive my blessing."

"What is my penance?" Fiona asked him.

"In honor of yer marriage," Father Ninian said, "I will absolve ye of any penance, Fiona Hay. Ye have been given a verra hard road to take." He raised his hand in blessing over the penitent.

They returned to the Great Hall of Islay Castle. The clansmen, respectful, made clear that they thought the bride very beautiful. She wore her violet damask gown. It had a short waist that was fitted just below her breasts, a simple rounded neck, a full flowing skirt, and long flaring sleeves that were lined in a reddish-purple gauze shot through with silver stripes. Her hair was parted in the center and held by a silver caul. She had chosen to wear no jewelry except her clan badge despite Nelly's insistence. Save for that badge, it was all Angus Gordon's jewelry. Though she possessed it, she would never wear it again. One day she would tell her child the truth and pass it on to the bairn, but Fiona did not think she had any right to the jewelry now. Nairn agreed with her decision not to wear it. He would give her her own gems, he promised.

Now Colin MacDonald stood before the high board in his eldest brother's hall, and before the Lord of the Isles he swore to take Fiona Hay to wife, in handfast. When Fiona then declared her intentions to take him as a husband in handfast, they were considered legally wed for the period of one year. If at the end of that time, either decided not to formalize the union within the church, they were free to go their own way. Any children born of a handfast marriage were considered legitimate despite the parents' future decision to continue or discontinue the union. The handfast must be sworn to before witnesses, which all the men in the hall constituted.

The meal was served. Roast boar, roe deer, game pies in red wine gravy, stewed eels, raw oysters taken from the beaches and waters surrounding Islay, a single capon in lemon and ginger as a courtesy to Fiona, several large sea trout upon beds of cress, cod in cream and sweet wine. There were fresh-baked bread, tubs of sweet butter, and several wheels of cheese, along with ale and wine.

"Where are the greens?" Fiona asked, slightly taken aback by the heavy bounty. "There is not a pea or a beet, an onion or a carrot to be seen. Have ye no lettuces?"

"The men don't like them," the Lord of the Isles said. "The kitchen will prepare them for my lady, who wishes them. I didn't think to ask the cook tonight, but ye shall have them as long as ye are with us, my bonnie."

Fiona nibbled on breast of capon and buttered bread, sipping on a fine wine as she did so. She watched, not certain whether to be amazed or appalled, as the men about her devoured all the food laid out for them. Her own belly rolled slightly at the sight and smells. It was much too rich. Only the wine seemed to calm her.

When they had finished eating, the Lord of the Isles's piper took up his pipes and played for them. After a time four crossed swords were placed upon the stone floor of the hall. The Lord of the Isles and The MacDonald of Nairn leapt down from the high board to dance amid the weapons. As the music became more fierce and wild, Fiona realized that the two men were in a serious competition. Their dancing was furious, almost frenzied. She gazed, fascinated, her green eyes glittering with excitement as she leaned forward to watch the two brothers.

"It has always been this way between them," Owen MacDonald said to her. "They are equally matched in the dance."

"Who will win?" she wondered aloud.

"Sometimes my lord wins, and at other times yer husband outdances our elder sibling. There is no bitterness. It is all for amusement."

Her husband. The two words were very startling, for to her the hand-fast had been nothing more than a means to protect her child. Had she refused the ceremony, she knew that Nairn would have kept her tightly by his side. Their temporary marriage, however, gave her a great freedom. She was now considered one of the MacDonalds. She hated James Stewart for putting her in this position, but he had been right. The priest and the other agents would not have the advantage of intimacy that she would have. She smiled absently, thinking of how she had said she would not marry Nairn, and of the king's response: that it was up to her what she did as long as she passed along what she learned.

"Look, lady," Owen MacDonald said. "My lord is tiring. Yer husband will take the competition this night."

And sure enough the Lord of the Isles gave way to his brother of Nairn, grabbing up his swords and laying them aside with a bow. Bounding up onto the high board, he held out his hand to Fiona. "Come, Fiona MacDonald, and dance with yer bridegroom." He led her down to the hall floor, handing her off to his brother of Nairn.

A shout arose from the men in the hall as the newlyweds danced together, Fiona lifting her skirts to prance daintily in the familiar steps of the wedding dance that every highland girl learned at an early age. She had never thought to dance it with anyone but Angus Gordon. Then again, her own mother had never danced it at all. How strange, she thought, that both she and her mother loved Gordons but were forced into marriage with other men.

His arm clamped about her waist, and he lifted her up, swinging her about, then back down again. Unable to help herself, Fiona laughed up into his handsome face while the men about them cheered wildly, some leaping onto the floor to join the couple, so that Fiona found herself with several partners. She danced until she could dance no longer, and retired, panting, back to the high board, where a well-trained servant placed a cup of chilled wine into her hand. Her head was spinning.

The atmosphere in the hall was becoming raucous and boisterous.

"Take yer wife to bed," the Lord of the Isles ordered his brother. "The men are rowdy and will become more strident as the night passes."

Nairn took his wife's hand, and they quietly slipped from the hall to find their way back to their apartment. There Nelly was already awaiting them. "Help yer mistress, and then be quickly gone," he told her firmly. "Do not come until ye are sent for in the morning."

Nelly nodded, and he disappeared into his own chamber while she helped Fiona remove her gown and chemise. Fiona sat as Nelly pulled the shoes off her feet and rolled the stockings down her legs and off her. Standing, Nelly drew the silver caul from Fiona's hair. "There's a basin with warm water to wash yerself, lady. God grant ye good rest," she said, and hurried from the chamber.

Fiona walked slowly to the basin and, taking up the cloth, bathed her face and hands. Then she scrubbed her teeth with a bit of pumice and ground mint Nelly had left her, rinsing her mouth afterward with wine and water. Taking up her comb, she drew it slowly through her tresses, smoothing the knots out, making it shine in the firelight. Finally satisfied, she peed in the chamber pot, then made her way to the bed, climbing in and drawing the coverlet over herself. She wore no chemise, for she knew he would simply remove it.

Her heart was beginning to beat a little faster as she waited for her husband. What was the matter with her? She was no virgin to fear coupling with a man. Her idyll with Angus Gordon had been just that, and James Stewart had taken any future she might have had with him out of their hands-and into those of The MacDonald of Nairn.

He was a handsome man, Fiona admitted to herself. He had no end of charm, which he had persisted in working on her. That night by the loch when he had caressed her, touching her so intimately-and she had responded-burned in her memory. How could she claim to love Angus Gordon when she felt the passion in another man's touch? She must not feel any emotions for Colin MacDonald. How could she serve the king if she fell in love with her husband?

He entered her bedchamber saying, "I bathed for ye, sweeting. With soap, too," he told her proudly. "I smell like a damned flower."

"I'll prefer the flower to the stink of the horses," she said, and quickly added, "I didn't know ye were such a fine dancer, my lord. I did not see ye dance at court. The ladies would have loved ye."

"The ladies loved me despite my seeming lack of social graces," he taunted her. "The ladies have always loved me, Fiona mine."

"And they may continue to do so, for I care not a whit," she said wickedly.

He chuckled. She was so prickly, and he liked her that way. He was never certain where he stood with her, and he found it exciting. She did not cling and weep with love over him, although one day he would make her love him, but it would be on Fiona Hay's terms, he knew, not his. She was not a weak woman, and that was to the good. "Come here to me, sweeting," he said. "I have something to show ye." He opened the doors of a cabinet that was set on a side of the room.

Slipping from the bed, Fiona approached him, watching as he swung the two doors open wide. Then she gasped, catching her breath. "What is it?" she whispered, amazed.

" 'Tis called a mirror," he said.

"Nay, 'tis no such thing!" Fiona declared. "Do ye think me a dimwit, my lord? I have seen a mirror before. The queen has one that she held in her hand, and 'twas set in a silver frame. This is not like that! This is big, and surely magic."

He stood before the mirror. "What do ye see, sweeting?" he asked her. "Is it not Colin MacDonald reflected in this glass ye see?"

Fiona peered hard. It was indeed he. "Aye," she said slowly, "but how can this be? The king doesn't have so fine a thing as this surely is."

He laughed heartily. "The king is not a MacDonald," he boasted.

"Is it truly a mirror? It must certainly be the biggest mirror ever." She was awestruck. "Where did it come from?"

"A MacDonald son served a king in a place called Byzantium. When his term of service was over, he told his master that if he would safely transport two of these mirrors home to Scotland for him, the mercenary MacDonald would take them in lieu of coin for his ten years of service. The other of the mirrors is in the lord's apartments." He held out his hand to her. "Come, sweeting, and see how beautiful ye are. The glass will not lie to ye."

Slowly Fiona came to stand before it. For the first time in her entire life she saw all of herself as others saw her. She stared hard at the reflection in the mirror. The warm light from the fire in the hearth and the flickering candles gave her milky skin a pale golden glow. Fascinated, she gazed upon her body, shivering slightly as Colin stepped behind her, his big hands sliding around to cup the globes of her breasts. They nestled in his palms like two doves. She watched, spellbound, as the thumb and forefinger of each hand played with her nipples, pinching them slightly, pulling them out so that they stood hard and pointed. Her head spun slightly, and she realized that she was not breathing. Fiona slowly drew in a deep draught of air to clear her brain. What was happening to her?

"This is our wedding night," he murmured in her ear, "and I would have it be a night ye will not forget." His breath was hot in her ear as his tongue tickled the shell of it.

He turned her about so that their bodies touched. Instinctively Fiona pressed her palms flat against his chest in an effort to hold him off. The heat from the pressure of her hands made him almost dizzy with desire. The contact between their two bodies was heady. He groaned with the pure pleasure.

"Ah!" The sound escaped her before she might stop it. Dear Holy Mother! She must surely have the heart of a whore to be so aroused by this man. Suddenly she wanted to weep, but she forced back her tears. Tears were a luxury she couldn't afford. Then all the anger she had been bottling up these past weeks overcame her, and she began to beat him on his chest and shoulders with her small fists.

"Nah, han, hinny lamb," he murmured, catching those little hands, kissing them, and then pinioning them behind her back with one great paw. With his other hand he began to caress her, stroking her like a pet cat, knowing he could have gone on all night simply touching her, but realizing that until he possessed her completely, she would continue to fight him. "Don't struggle against me, Fiona mine, for you know I mean to have you. You are my wife, sweeting, and I love you."

Damn him! How easily he said those words to her, and he did not have to, simply to take her. Damn him! Why couldn't Angus Gordon have said those words to her? She struggled against Colin MacDonald, swearing at him most colorfully in their native Gaelic tongue, a language that made her maledictions even more threatening.

Another man might have hit her, but The MacDonald of Nairn put a gentle hand over her mouth, admonishing her, "Do you want the entire castle to hear ye, sweeting?"

Fiona bit the hand that covered her mouth. Now it was he who swore, slapping her lightly, his blue eyes finally darkening with anger, and seeing it, she grew still at last. This big man could kill her if he chose, and then where would she be? Certainly no help to the king.

"Hush now, Fiona mine," he said softly, his anger easing. "Listen to me, sweeting, for I don't want to harm you. You see I am a big man in every aspect. I do not want to injure you. You must be still. Let me love you. You will find that I can give you great pleasure, even as you will give me pleasure."

He turned her about again, wrapping a single arm about her torso, drawing her back against his hard body. His hands pushed the mass of her hair aside so he might place kisses upon her neck. The fragrant scent of her newly washed hair excited him further. His hand wandered the length of her, caressing and fondling the soft skin. A single finger insinuated itself between her nether lips, finding with unerring aim the tiny jewel of her sex.

Fiona couldn't look away from the great mirror. She was mesmerized by the sight of this man making love to her. Unable to help herself, she let her head fall back against his shoulder. She sighed as he elicited sweet pleasure from her. She could feel his manhood raging against the flesh of her buttocks, but she could not contain the grinding of her hips into his hot loins.

"You belong to me now, sweeting," he murmured thickly in her ear.

"I belong to no man," she managed to gasp. "I will be owned by neither you nor Angus Gordon. I will not be owned by any man!"

Laughing softly, he kissed her angry mouth.

"I hate you!" she raged.

"Hush, lambkin," he said low.

He turned her once again to face him, and cupping her buttocks in his palms, he lifted her up to impale her upon his throbbing love rod. Then to her amazement he turned them both about so she might see as he pistoned her.

The sensation of him within her was overwhelming, almost too much for her to bear. He filled her so full that her body felt stretched beyond all bearing. Completely sheathed, he leaned forward to kiss her lips, to brush kisses across her face and throat, to whisper of how much he adored her. Then her body seemed to widen to accommodate him.

Colin MacDonald knew how to give a woman pleasure, and he gave her extreme delight despite her resistance to him. The subtlety of his movement reached out to Fiona, cajoling her to cease her opposition to his tender blandishments; in spite of herself her body responded to his. His big manhood delved deeper and deeper within her softness. She felt as if she were melting layer by layer. The hard thrusts of his loins grew sharper and quicker. Her eyelids felt heavy and threatened to close. She let her gaze stray to the large mirror in which they were reflected. Had it not been so intriguing, she would have swooned at this sight of their bodies locked together in amorous combat.

Fiona clung to him, her legs wrapped about his waist, her hands clutching his thick neck as he brought her to a pleasure peak. He withdrew from her, still hard, still eager, and dragged a small table before the mirror. He had her bend, her palms flat upon the oaken surface of the table. Then, grasping her hips to steady them, he slowly slid into her sheath again. She was unable to look away as he thrust back and forth within her; she felt bewitched and almost detached from her body as she watched the alluring tableau they made in the mellifluous glass. Honeyed fire was pouring through her, over her, and then she shuddered as his pulsing manhood saluted her with its love juices.

Her body was wet with perspiration. Her heart was pounding wildly. Enchanted, she watched as his manhood retired from the field of battle. Drawing her into his arms, he kissed her passionately over and over again until finally her knees gave way, and he lifted her up to lay her on their bed. He pulled the table away from the cabinet and closed the doors, hiding the mirror from their view.

" 'Tis a wicked thing, that glass," Fiona managed to say as the bed sagged with his weight. "I could not take my eyes from it."

She was half-stunned, half-shocked, not simply by the erotic tableau she had just observed, but by the fact she had actually felt pleasure, keen pleasure, with this man. He was her kidnapper. A virtual stranger, despite the fact he was now her handfasted husband. Angus had been right. She was brazen. She wanted to cry, but she didn't. She would show Colin MacDonald no weakness.

He looked at her with curious eyes. "Did ye enjoy what ye saw, sweeting? Did ye like seeing our bodies locked together in a tender bout of passion?"

"Aye," she told him, realizing that it had but added excitement to their lustful combat. “To see us was… was… intoxicating, like a rich wine. I don't think I should want to drink such wine all the time, would ye, my lord stallion?"

"Ye were quite drunk with yer lust," he teased her, bending to kiss her lips. "Ye were like a bitch in heat, sweeting, and I really felt ye were mine, for ye held back nothing."

She was shocked by his words, but she quickly realized that he was right. She had been so fascinated by the sight of them coupling, reflected in the mirror, that she had not resisted him even subtly. "I was not aware I resisted ye, my lord. How could I possibly resist ye, for ye are bigger and stronger than I am," she said, feigning innocence.

He laughed. "I have known too many women, sweeting, not to know when one withdraws into herself while I'm laboring over her."

She sat up, glaring at him. "Did ye expect me to declare undying love to a man who kidnapped me from my love? When the year is up, Colin MacDonald, don't expect me to stand before the priest with ye! I'll not do it!"

"In a year ye'll love me," he mocked her. "Ye’ll cry for love of me, Fiona mine. I swear it!" Then he began to kiss her again, and she fought him angrily as she had that first night when she thought he meant to rape her. Her fists were flying, her nails raking at his back in her fury, but Nairn only laughed at her. He pinioned her beneath him, brushing off her attempts to do him a mischief. Within moments her anger had turned, despite her best efforts, to a steamy passion again. They were well and truly mated several times before the dawn broke over Islay Island.

They remained for several days on the island. Each night the mirror reflected their unchecked desires before Nairn closed it. He had it turned toward the bed so she might watch them as they shared their lust among the tangled sheets. Fiona remained as enthralled by the big glass as she had been when she first saw it. Colin MacDonald had told his brother how much Fiona enjoyed the mirror, much to her embarrassment. She had never been a woman to discuss such things, even with an intimate.

She had been with him for over a month. Her appetite was growing peakish, and he noticed it immediately. "My seed has taken root in yer womb, sweeting," he said, well pleased. "Ye have not had any show of blood since I took ye. Do ye not realize yer with bairn?"

"I was not certain," she told him, "since I've never been with child."

Nelly gasped, her face white with shock, and Fiona went to her. "Mistress?" was all the girl could say.

"Leave us," Fiona ordered her husband. "I must calm poor Nelly, for she has obviously sustained a shock by this news."

When Nairn had departed and Fiona had made certain he was gone from their apartment, she led Nelly into the tiny inside chamber where the girl slept. Her voice was low as she spoke. " 'Tis not his bairn, Nelly! Do ye understand me? Had I been certain, I would have refused the king, but I was not certain. I dared not spurn a royal request only to learn I was not with bairn. What if he had revenged himself on my Black Angus? I could not take the chance. Do ye understand?"

"What if the lord Nairn finds out?" Nelly asked, her voice quavering.

"How?" Fiona said scornfully. "If the bairn is born with dark hair, he will think the lass or laddie favors me, that is all. Nairn thinks because Black Angus had two years with me and did not put a bairn in my belly that his seed is feeble. Ye must keep the secret, Nelly."

Nelly was recovering. "I know," she said. "But what of the other bairns he will get on ye, my lady?"

"Hopefully by the time I have this bairn, we will be free to escape Nairn and return to our own home. The king said a year," Fiona murmured, almost to herself. "Are ye all right now?"

"Aye," Nelly said, "but ye gave me quite a turn, my lady. Why did ye not tell me before now?"

"Because I wanted that great oaf of Nairn to come to the conclusion before I said anything," Fiona answered. "Ye see how pleased he was. Undoubtedly he has gone off to his brother to crow over his prowess."

"They're all like that, these MacDonald men. Roderick Dhu is forever telling me what a fine upstanding cock he has, and 'tis meant just for me if I would but say the word." She giggled, and her carrot-colored braids bobbed up and down with her mirth. "I've told the great gawk I'm a good lass, and will not give my cherry to any man but the man who weds me. That sends him off, I can tell ye. Oh, they like a good time with the lasses, my lady, but mention marriage and they flee. All but yer lord. He said from the first he would wed ye, and he did."

" 'Tis only handfast, Nelly. In a year it will be over," Fiona said. "If I canna have my Black Angus, I want no husband."

They departed Islay on a gray morning, crossing over to Jura on a choppy sea. Alexander MacDonald accompanied them, for he intended to hunt deer upon Jura. He bid his new sister-in-law a fond farewell.

"I am glad," Fiona told him, "that ye will keep the peace, my lord brother. It comforts me now that I know I am to bear my lord an heir. War, I think, is as hard on the women and bairns as it is on the men who fight the battles." She kissed his cheek.

"I have said I will but bide my time, my bonnie," the Lord of the Isles reminded her. "We will see what the spring brings."

"I have heard the king say he would call the northern clans to Inverness next year," she reminded him. "Can ye not bide yer time until then, my lord brother? If James Stewart does not challenge ye, why would ye challenge him?" Men, she thought! They were such children even in their maturity. This unspoken warring between the king and The MacDonald of the Isles reminded her of nothing so much as two lads attempting to see who could piss the farthest. It was ridiculous.

"If yer king will keep the peace until we meet in Inverness, then I will try to keep my peace; but remember, my bonnie, one of the clans could swear fealty to James Stewart before Inverness and then make war on me. If that happens, I canna stand by merely because that clan is yer king's ally. I will strike with all the power at my command."

"As well ye should," Fiona said. "Such craven behavior would merit the severest penalty, my lord brother."

"Take good care of yer bride, Nairn. She is a clever lass, and ye would not be foolish to seek her counsel in times of trouble, and on other matters." Then he bid farewell to Father Ninian, who would travel with Colin MacDonald part of the way north before turning south. "Godspeed, good Father, until we meet again," the Lord of the Isles said.

"May God's love shine favorably upon ye and yers, my lord," the priest responded. "God willing, I shall see ye in the spring."

Fiona rode with the priest a ways, which her husband looked upon with approval, for it showed a deference to the churchman. "Ye heard?" she murmured low to him, and he nodded pleasantly.

"I shall see it is known to him," he responded softly. Then he said to her, "Has yer husband spoken of his mother, lady?"

Fiona shook her head. "No. Is she alive, then?"

"Sustained by her own venom," the priest said tartly. "She has both a wicked tongue and an evil mind. She will not welcome yer coming to Nairn. She considers it hers and has lived there all of her life. Ask yer man about her, my lady," the priest advised.

Fiona nodded, moving her gelding forward so she might ride with Colin MacDonald. He smiled when she reached his side. Fiona could not help but smile back at him, for despite it all, she liked him. "Ye have spoken of yer father to me, my lord, but what of yer mother?"

His handsome visage darkened a moment. "She is a hard woman, sweeting, with no kindness in her," he said candidly. "My father was taken by what he believed was her wild spirit. She was a challenge, to be tamed by him, but alas, he miscalculated."

Fiona raised a quizzical eyebrow at Nairn. "Like father, like son?" she teased him, and he laughed.

"Yer not like my mother," he hastened to assure her. "My mother was, so my grandfather said, always mean-spirited. She is one of those poor souls who is jealous of everyone else. No matter what she has, it is not enough. Envy eats at her. She was betrothed to a cousin, for with her brother dead, she became Nairn's heiress. Then my father passed through the district, stopping to accept my grandfather's hospitality. My mother, I am told, flirted with him until he felt he could not resist the obvious invitation. He remained there the summer and into the autumn to hunt grouse with my grandfather.

"The old man knew what was transpiring, but he could not control his daughter. My grandfather also knew that in the end The MacDonald would leave her to return to Islay, which is precisely what happened. By then my mother's belly was growing big. Her cousin repudiated his promise to wed her, but she sent him away laughing, for she thought my father so enamored of her that he would take her with him to Islay. Of course he did not take her. He would not shame his wife with such an open liaison. No woman of breeding objects to her husband's wee distractions provided that he does not bring them into her view or within her hearing.

"When I was born she would not look at me. I have her coloring, as ye may have guessed, but other than that I am all MacDonald. She would not give me suck, and my grandfather was forced to find a cottar's wife with extra milk so I would not die. He sent word to my father, and The MacDonald sent back a gift of six silver cups with his crest, and a dozen gold merks. There was also a parchment, witnessed by a priest and signed with my father's hand, acknowledging his paternity. As my mother would not name me, he did."

"She would not name ye?" Fiona was shocked.

"Each morning I was brought to her chamber by my nurse and presented to her. She would not look upon me or say a word to me. Finally one day when I was past two and walking, I was brought to her in the morning, and as usual she turned her face from me. I was desperate for her attention, and so I kicked her in the shin. Only then did she look upon me for the first time. She said, 'He is his father's son,' and nothing else, but after that when I was brought to her she would look at me. When I was four or five I asked her why she did not speak to me. 'Because,' she replied, T have nothing to say to Donald MacDonald's son,' and after that she was silent once more.

"My grandfather was a quiet, gentle man. It was he who raised me in the early years, along with my nurse. It was he who loved me. He taught me to ride, and the beginnings of swordplay," Nairn said with a smile of remembrance. "Occasionally my father came to see me when he was in the district. It was he who convinced my grandfather to pass over my mother and leave Nairns Craig to me. I loved it when my father came, for he was a big, bluff man with a barrel chest and a laugh that sounded like thunder to a small boy. When I became a man he did not seem so big.

"When I was six he asked me if I should be willing to leave Nairn for a time to live with him on Islay. I would have brothers and sisters to play with, he said. A grandmother who was a princess, who would love me verra much. I went with him gladly, but with one regret. I had to leave my grandfather behind, but each summer I would return from Islay to be with him for three months. We had grand times then! When he died seven years ago, Nairns Craig became mine."

"Yer mam never married?" Fiona asked, curious.

“There was no man who ever suited her, and no man who was willing to have such an unpleasant woman in his house. She could cause chaos among the angels. When I returned for good, she thought to take up our relationship as it had been in my childhood, but I quickly disabused her of the notion. I told her that as master of Nairn, I would brook no foolishness. She would come to my board each day, and we would speak together. To my surprise, she agreed."

"Ye don't fill me with confidence regarding yer mam," Fiona said, sounding concerned. "Will she welcome ye with a wife, my lord?"

"She doesn't have any choice," he answered her. "Ye are now mistress of Nairns Craig Castle. My mother must accept ye, or I will turn her out. Ye carry my bairn, Fiona mine. My heir. I will not have her distressing ye, and should she attempt it, she will find herself placed in a convent to live out her days in prayer, sustained by salted fish and brown bread. Be warned. She will be jealous of ye, for ye are young and beautiful, and I wed ye."

When they stopped for the night, Fiona told Nelly what The MacDonald of Nairn had said about his mother. "I will have to behave as mistress of the castle for as long as we are there, Nelly. We canna allow this woman to frighten us or to discover our true purpose."

"It would seem, my lady, that for now yer only purpose is to have yer bairn in comfort and safety. It is unlikely that any information of importance will pass into yer hands or hearing once the winter sets in here in the highlands. The bairn will come in the spring, and after that perhaps we will be free to go home," Nelly said hopefully.

"What do ye two whisper on?" Nairn said, coming upon them.

Fiona laughed. "Roderick Dhu would court my Nelly, and the lass seeks my advice, my lord."

"And what advice do ye give her, sweeting?"

"She says I am to box his ears and tell him to mind his manners," Nelly told her master pertly.

Colin MacDonald chuckled. "Ye will have him before a priest before the poor man knows what has happened to him," he teased her. "Now run along and give the poor laddie a kind word while I tuck my sweet wifie into our bed." Tugging one of her braids playfully, he turned the pretty maidservant about and sent her off giggling.

"Ye’ll have her eating out of the palm of yer hand soon, my lord," Fiona told him, a small smile touching her lips.

He had made her a bed of pine boughs and put a large fur throw over it. When she lay down in her chemise and cloak, he gently laid another fur over her. "I don't want ye catching cold, sweeting, not in yer condition. And no swims in the lochs, for they're too cold now. Ye’ll not die if ye don't have a bath until we get to Nairn."

"Yes, my lord," she answered him meekly as he lay by her side atop the fur robe, wrapped in his own cloak. "Are ye not to join me?"

"Not while we're traveling, Fiona mine. I would not injure ye. When we have a bed to cushion us, then we will dally for a bit until yer belly is too big for comfort's sake." Turning his back to her, he soon fell into an easy sleep.

She was astounded, and not just a bit guilty. He truly wanted a child. Pray God the bairn was not his father's spit, but she wondered, would Colin MacDonald even see it if it were? It was comforting to know that her child would be safe with this man. Nelly was right. It was unlikely that she would obtain any further information of use to the king in the next few months. Best she settle into her new home and have her child. If The MacDonald would make peace with James Stewart, then all would be well. She would face that future when it came. Until the autumn of the next year she did not have to worry. Only when the handfast was past would she face trouble on the horizon.

It took them a bit over two weeks, traveling overland from Islay, to reach Nairns Craig Castle, which was in the vicinity of Inverness. It sat atop a steep, high cliff, and had two rectangular towers and a Great Hall, connected by high, dark stone walls. Its only access was a slender track of roadway up the face of the cliff. A narrow strip of land on the far side of the castle offered a view of high walls with absolutely no outlooks at all, and the forest below.

"It has never been taken," Colin MacDonald said proudly.

"I can certainly see why, my lord," Fiona replied dryly.

He pulled his stallion to a stop for a moment. "Ye are about to enter my home, yer home," he said to her. "Ye are my wife, Fiona mine. Do ye not think ye can call me by my name? It is but a small boon, lady."

"Aye, Colly, I will call ye by yer name in the privacy of our home, but in public I would not dishonor ye by addressing ye as anything but 'my lord.' Will that suit ye, Colly?"

He took her hand in his and kissed it. "Aye," was all he said, but his smile went all the way to his eyes.

She smiled back, cursing James Stewart in her heart as she did so. Did he realize the havoc his passion to rule Scotland was causing? And what of Angus Gordon? What had he thought when told of her disappearance? Did he miss her? Did he truly care, or had that English girl already captured his heart? She breathed deeply, resolutely shaking off her questions and her sadness.

The castle gates were open to receive its lord. Fiona noted the two doors were bound in iron and, looking up, she saw the iron yett ready to be drawn down in the event of danger. Within the court they stopped, and Nairn lifted her from her gelding, gently setting her upon her feet for a moment, then softly kissing her mouth.

"Welcome to Nairns Craig," he said. Sweeping her up in his arms, he turned to carry her up the steps into the building.

Before he had progressed more than a few steps, however, a woman appeared at the top of the stairs. She was petite, but her look was commanding. "So, Colin MacDonald, ye are back," she said in cold tones, "and ye have brought yer latest whore with ye, I see. She'll not enter into my house. Why do ye not house the wench in the stables with the rest of the animals?" Her arms were crossed over her spare bosom.

Fiona saw a small muscle near Nairn's eye twitch several times, but for a moment he said nothing. Instead he carried her up the steps, pushing past his antagonist and setting Fiona upon her feet once more within the entrance hall of the castle. When the petite woman whirled about, her mouth opening to protest, Nairn roared, "Don't say another word, madam! This is my wife. When did I ever bring my whores into this place or shame ye with lewd public behavior?"

"Yer wife?" The lady, obviously his mother, Moire Rose, was astounded. "Who is this wench? Where did ye meet her? Where were ye wed? I demand that ye tell me this instant, Colin MacDonald!"

"My wife is Fiona Hay, chieftain of the Hays of the Ben," he began. “We met at court. We were wed on Islay in my brother's hall. As my wife, Fiona is now the lady of Nairn, madam. Ye will render her the respect due her as such."

"I suppose she is with bairn," his mother said scathingly.

"Aye," Nairn said proudly. "Did ye doubt I would not get a bairn on her immediately, madam?"

"No, I didn't doubt it," she said bitterly. "But for yer coloring ye are all MacDonald, yer father's son, from yer great height to yer randy and fertile cock." She turned her gaze to Fiona, saying caustically, "Ye know yer not the first wench to give him a bairn."

"But I am the first one to give him a legitimate heir," Fiona said quietly. She felt a sudden desire to protect her temporary husband from this vicious harridan and her poisonous tongue. She stared directly at the older woman, her gaze icy and unwavering.

Moire Rose opened her mouth but no words came out.

"God's bones," Nairn said, "I can't believe my eyes! Not in all my lifetime have I seen anyone render ye speechless, madam." He held out his hand. "Now give me the keys to the household, for they are Fiona's from this time onward."

Yanking them from her girdle, Moire Rose flung the keys at his feet and stormed from the entranceway. Colin MacDonald picked up the keys and handed them to Fiona. "I'll have the servants assembled so they may meet their new mistress," he said. He took her arm and led her into the small family hall, where a cheerful fire burned.

"The priest was right," Fiona said slowly. "Father Ninian observed that yer mam is sustained by her own venom and has a wicked tongue and evil mind. 'Twas harsh, I thought, but now that I have met her, I can see he spoke the absolute truth. I am sorry he left us to go farther south. I would value his counsel right now."

"Don't ever let that woman suspect any weakness in ye, sweeting," he warned her. "Remember yer husband is the Lord of Nairns Craig, and yer its mistress. 'Tis yer word and not hers that will rule this household." Then he asked, "Ye do know how to manage a household, do ye not, Fiona mine?"

Fiona laughed as she settled herself in a chair by the fire. "Ye've waited until late, my lord, to inquire, have ye not? Aye, put yer mind at rest. I know well how to manage a household. Don't forget 'twas I who raised my sisters. Although Brae had a housekeeper, I always observed Mistress Una for the day when the responsibility would be mine."

"I am relieved to know that Angus Gordon's household will not be discommoded by yer absence."

"Don't taunt me, Colly," she said low. "Angus Gordon loved me, and I loved him. One day he may come knocking at yer gates seeking my return. I could go with him."

"Over my dead body," he answered her fiercely.

She laughed. "Don't tempt me. Ye owe me much for yer mistreatment of me, Colin MacDonald, but I may forgive ye yet, my lord." Then she said, "I think it best we not tell yer mother the full truth of our courtship. She would as like to send to Brae to rid herself of me. Angus, most likely, would not have me back, but the situation would create a feud for both yer honor's sake. I should not like that."

"Nor I," he responded honestly. "But if I were he, I should want ye back-and that, too, would make a dangerous situation, Fiona mine."

"So we are agreed then, Colly, that we will make our peace for everyone's sake."

He nodded. "I don't want to fight with ye, sweeting."

Again Fiona laughed. "I know," she told him drolly, "yer objective has always been verra clear, my lord."

"I've missed ye these past nights," he murmured, kneeling by her side, taking her hand in his, and kissing the upturned palm.

"Oh, fie, my lord," she scolded. "Ye’ll not get me in yer bed before ye feed me. I am ravenous from our ride today!"

"Then, lady, by God, you shall be well fed, first by my kitchens, then by my passions!" he cried, leaping up and shouting loudly for his servants.

Chapter 10

After a bit more than a month's absence, the laird of Loch Brae returned to the court in the last days of October, having escorted the queen's young cousin from York. They had traveled slowly, for Mistress Williams was a delicate creature and could bear the shaking of her transport cart only a few hours a day. Although she rode, she rode badly and preferred not to mount the gentle palfrey that was hers. They did not leave each day until midmorning. They ceased their travels in midafternoon. It made for a tiresome journey, and Angus Gordon was happy to be back at Scone. In the morning, he determined, he would depart for Brae, and his brazen wench. He loved Fiona. He was going to tell her so. The sooner their marriage was celebrated, the happier he would be.

The royal household steward greeted their party as they dismounted in the courtyard. "I will escort Mistress Williams to her majesty," he said. “The king has asked to see ye as soon as ye arrive, my lord. Here is his personal page, who will escort ye to his presence."

Angus bid a polite farewell to the young girl who had been his companion for the past few weeks. "I hope ye will be content with the queen, yer cousin, Mistress Beth," he told her.

"Thank ye, my lord. Ye made the trip a pleasant and easy one for me. I do not like traveling particularly. Will I see ye again?"

"It is unlikely, Mistress Beth. I am for Brae in the morning." He kissed her hand.

Elizabeth Williams followed the royal household steward. "Farewell, then, my lord," she replied.

"Lead on, laddie," the laird said to the page. Angus followed the boy, who brought him to the king's privy chamber, ushering him inside and closing the door behind Angus Gordon. "My lord!" Angus said, bowing to James Stewart, who sat before the fire.

"Pour yerself some wine, Angus," the king said jovially, "and then come and tell me about the trip."

The laird followed his instructions, and when he had settled himself opposite the king he said, " 'Twas an uneventful journey, my liege. The lass was waiting at the Convent of Saint Frideswide in York. The only difficulty was that she is not a good traveler, and it was necessary that we proceed slowly. She's with the queen now."

"Good, good," the king said. "I knew her dislike of travel, which is why I sent ye, Angus. I knew ye would not be impatient with Beth. She's a sweet lass, is she not?"

"Aye," the laird answered shortly.

"She'll make a man a good wife," the king persisted.

"Aye," came the dutiful response. Then the laird smiled at the king. "Now, my liege, I have done yer bidding, and on the morrow I will depart for Brae. My lass will be waiting. I plan to fetch the priest from Glenkirk Abbey, and marry her. A wedding feast will be set. I'll not admit it to my sister Jan, for 'twould give her too much power over me, but she was right in that I should have wed my lass when we first came together instead of waiting these two years."

A moment of guilt overwhelmed the king, but he manfully swallowed it back. "Angus, my old friend," he began, "there has been a terrible happening. Fiona has been abducted on her way home to Brae. We can find no trace of her. We don't even know who took her." He went on to explain to the stunned laird. When he had finished he said, his voice rich with sympathy, "I am so sorry, Angus Gordon, but I will give ye the queen's cousin to wife if ye will have her. I know first ye will want time to recover from this tragedy."

Angus Gordon was numb with shock, but not so numb that he did not quickly refuse the king's apparently generous offer. "My liege, if the truth be known, Mistress Williams is pretty, and she is certainly sweet-natured and obedient, but as God is my witness, my liege, she is the dullest female I have ever met. I thank ye, but I will not wed her. I must go home to Brae, and I must search for my lass, for if I can't have her to wife, I will have no woman to wife. 'Twas not to be a marriage of convenience or one in which lands were exchanged. I love my lass. There is no other for me." He quaffed down the rest of his wine, then arose.

The king stood, too. He put a hand on the laird's shoulder. "Go and take yer rest, Angus. My page will take ye to a comfortable chamber, for the apartment ye shared with Fiona is stripped bare. Come to me in the morning before ye depart."

When the laird had departed, the king poured himself another goblet of red wine and sat down again before the fire. Slowly he rotated the goblet back and forth between his palms. Angus Gordon must absolutely not mount a search for Fiona Hay. There was always the danger he might stumble upon something. There was also a chance that he might remember The MacDonald of Nairn's interest in Fiona and then go to Nairn, where she was undoubtedly now in residence. There would certainly be an altercation. No matter who won it, James Stewart would lose. No. Angus Gordon could not look for his beloved. She was proving invaluable, as he had thought she would. Only the day before he had received her first communication, reassuring him that the Lord of the Isles did not mean to pledge him fealty yet, but neither would he provoke a confrontation. There would be peace in the winter months. James Stewart would have to find another mission for Angus Gordon in order to keep him from the highlands, if he was to keep Fiona Hay there, too. The king put his mind to the problem.

In the morning, after Prime, the laird of Loch Brae returned to the king's privy chamber to bid him farewell, but the king said, "I can't let ye go yet, Angus. I need someone I can absolutely trust to go to England to see that the hostages are being treated well. I am sending Atholl, and he wants ye with him. Ye will also arrange for the English to wait a wee bit longer for their first payment for my maintenance."

"My lord! I have been away from home for too long. My lass is missing, and I must find her! I have done yer bidding, and in doing so Fiona has been lost to me. Don't ask anything else of me, I beg ye!" He had not slept the whole night through thinking of Fiona. Who had taken her and why? Was she yet alive? He had to know!

"Angus, I need ye, " the king said again. "I will mount another search for Mistress Hay, I swear it! But if ye don't go with Atholl, I will not get the truth. One of his sons volunteered to go as a hostage. 'Twas done, I know, to prove his family's loyalty to me. Atholl will surely return and complain to me in order to get better treatment for the hostages, whom I know from my own experience are being well treated by the English. If ye are there to testify to this, then I will not have to bother them about Atholl's complaints. It is also important that the English wait for their payment. It is proving difficult to collect the moneys needed and to maintain my government. If ye do this for me, I will create ye Earl of Brae," the king said slyly.

"I must find my lass," the laird said stubbornly.

"We'll find her, Angus," the king said soothingly, "but are ye truly certain ye'll want her back? She was taken over a month ago, and if she is alive, who knows what may have befallen her, poor lass. Her captors were obviously the worst of highland bandits and may not have treated her gently. It is a harsh world, I fear."

"I want my lass back," the laird said once again, "and I will find her, my liege. Somewhere, someone saw something."

"Angus, Angus, don't make me do this," the king said. "If ye will not go to England willingly, then I must command ye to go."

The laird was surprised. "Ye would do that?"

"Aye," the king told him. "I must rule all of Scotland, or I canna rule at all, Angus. We will seek for Fiona Hay again, but while we do, ye will go to England in my service. Atholl leaves in a week. That will give ye time to go home to Brae and tell yer family of what has transpired. Then ye must return, Angus. If ye attempt to defy me I will put ye and yer whole family to the horn. Even my cousin, Hamish Stewart. While ye were gone, I executed Duke Murdoch and his ilk. They were my own kin, but a danger to Scotland for their unbridled ambition. They lie in their graves now, Angus Gordon, because I will be king in fact and not just in title. Can ye understand?"

The laird nodded. Strangely he did understand, but it did not make it any easier to accept the disappearance of his Fiona. "I'll leave for Brae now," he said, "and be back in five days' time, my liege. I will accept yer pledge to seek after Fiona Hay, for if she is not dead, then whatever has happened, she will be my wife. I love my lass." Standing, he bowed, and departed the king's privy chamber.

James Stewart felt his shoulders beginning to relax even as the door closed behind the laird of Loch Brae. It had been a near thing. He hadn't been certain that his friend would not defy him, risking a charge of treason for the love of Fiona Hay. The king was glad he had not.

The laird of Loch Brae sensed he was being spied upon, but he did not look up. Instead he mounted his horse and rode through the gates of the palace at Scone onto the road that would eventually lead him to Brae. Fiona would have taken this very road a little over a month ago. Who had taken his brazen wench and why? He had no enemies that he could recall who would do such a thing. Perhaps it had just been, as everyone seemed to think, a crime of opportunity, but if it was, why had no trace of Fiona, Nelly, and the baggage cart been found?

What a great stubborn fool he had been! Not once, even after Fiona had showed him she loved him, had he told her that he loved her. How that must have hurt her, and he hadn't meant to hurt her. His sister Janet had always said he was spoiled and wanted his own way all the time. He had always denied it, believing those qualities to be hers, not his. Now he realized that perhaps she had been right.

He did not regret taking Fiona Hay as his mistress in exchange for ihe cattle she had stolen from him. But after a few months he should have married the lass. He suspected he had been in love with her all along, from the moment she had ushered him into her tumbling-down tower house with such dignity and grace. She was every bit his equal, and he had always known it.

But he had never told her. Instead he had played a cruel game with her-taunting her, embarrassing her before all of Scotland, and pretending that he didn't care when the truth of the matter was he damned well cared. Now she was lost to him, and she didn't know that he loved her. Loved her above all women. Had always loved her, even if he hadn't admitted it. Had she, perhaps, known the feelings he couldn't, or wouldn't, express? Women were intuitive that way. Perhaps that was why she had been so patient with him.

He had to find her, tell her he loved her and wanted only her for his wife. He realized that the king was sending him off because he thought the situation hopeless and wanted to distract him. But it wasn't hopeless! Fiona was out there. She was alive, and whatever had happened, he wanted her back! And in this matter above all others, Angus Gordon meant to have his own way.

He reached Brae with a day-and-a-half's hard riding and immediately sent to Greymoor for his sister and brother-in-law. Jeannie Hay was at the castle when he arrived, and he was surprised to find Jamie-boy not so aggravated by her presence any longer, but then Jeannie was almost demure in her behavior, which was a decided change. When Janet and Hamish arrived, he gathered them all together and told them what had happened.

"There is no evidence of her anywhere," he concluded.

"But who would steal Fiona?" Janet asked.

"I think 'twas the cart that they were after. If the king's men had guided her away from Glen Gorm, she might have been safe and home at Brae, but they ran like cowards and left her to the brigands."

"But they didn't kill her," Hamish Stewart said thoughtfully. "They did not find her body or Nelly's, or evidence of graves, did they? There is more to this than meets the eye, Angus," his brother-in-law decided.

"Aye, I agree with ye," Angus Gordon said, "but I canna for the life of me figure out what it is. The king offered me the queen's young cousin, a sweet lass, in exchange for my loss, but of course I turned him down. Beth is sweet, but Jesu, a boring little wench!"

"We'll mount our own search," Hamish Stewart said.

"I must return to Scone," the laird said. "I am to go to England with Atholl on the king's business. I did not want to do it, but the king insisted, even commanding me and threatening to put us all to the horn if I did not cooperate. I believe he thinks to take my mind off my troubles. I am to be made Earl of Brae upon my return."

"Are ye, now?" Hamish Stewart said thoughtfully. "I would say that the king is attempting to purchase yer cooperation, Angus. I know that ye served him in England as a lad, but he has made none of those others who were with him the offer of a title. I find it all most curious," Hamish Stewart concluded.

"Don't look askance at an earldom," Janet Gordon Stewart said tartly. "Angus Gordon, the Earl of Brae. My! Does it not sound grand?"

"It sounds verra grand," her husband replied. "Too grand for Angus's role in the matter, Jan. Tell me again, Angus, about Fiona's abduction. She was taken in the Glen of Gorm, ye say."

Carefully the laird went back over the story that the king had told him, thinking carefully, repeating it almost word for word.

"It seems to me that despite their inexperience the king's men were too quick to flee," Hamish Stewart noted. "Why was that, do ye imagine? Why did not one think to turn Fiona's horse so she might go with them? A most curious incident, Angus."

"What are ye saying, Hamish Stewart?" his wife demanded.

"Perhaps it was meant that Fiona Hay be abducted," he replied.

"Hamish, yer a fool seeing shadows where none exist!" Janet returned. "Are ye saying that the king was in on some kind of plot? What possible reason could the king of Scotland have for such a thing? Neither Fiona nor Angus is important to him. I don't know where ye get such ideas." She turned to her brother. "The king has rewarded ye because of yer loyalty and friendship. Think no more on it, my lord earl. Oh, I am so proud of ye, Angus Gordon, and I know that Father would be, too. An earldom for Brae! Who would have thought such a thing would ever happen?" She kissed his cheek and sniffled noisily, her eyes misty.

"But where is my sister?" Jeannie Hay demanded, suddenly her old self again. "Ye love her, Angus. Will ye be content to simply let her disappear?"

“The king has promised to send another search party out to seek my lass," the laird said. "If she is alive, I will not desert her no matter what, Jeannie. I do indeed love her."

"We'll look ourselves, lassie, while Angus is in England," Hamish Stewart said. He was not satisfied with the simplistic answer his wife had given her eldest brother. He was a Stewart, and he knew how complicated the Stewart mind could be. For the life of him, however, he could not figure out why the king had separated Angus and Fiona. What reason could there possibly be for such a thing?

Angus Gordon was uncomfortable being back at Brae. Everywhere he went evoked a memory of Fiona Hay. In desperation he took his horse one day and rode up Ben Hay. The tower house was bleak and deserted, his men having withdrawn months ago. Fiona's brothers-in-law had been made to understand that Ben Hay and its tower belonged to her. Stepping into the hall of the tower house, he recalled the wedding that had taken place there that morning so long ago. He could almost see Fiona standing haughtily, a length of Hay tartan across her then skinny chest, the chieftain's badge gleaming from her shoulder. How proud she had been, successfully marrying off Elsbeth and Margery, knowing that she had secured the futures of her five siblings, that she had done her duty as she had promised her dying mother she would when she was just a child herself.

"Yer alive, lass," he said softly. "I can feel it. Yer too strong to have disappeared off the face of the earth. We'll find ye, Fiona Hay. I found ye once. I'll find ye again. I don't intend losing ye forever."

Angus Gordon then rode back down the ben to Brae. He called to Hamish to join him in a goblet of wine. "Ye’ll seek for her, will ye not?" he asked him.

Hamish nodded. "I will. Jan's explanation may well be the truth, but I'm a cautious man and a wee bit distrustful, particularly of another Stewart. We're a canny family, Angus."

"I appreciate yer help, Hamish. She is out there somewhere. I know it!"

"I think ye may well be right," Hamish agreed. "I am curious, however, as to why this happened, but I suppose we'll not ever know that unless the king knows and is willing to tell."

Angus Gordon left Brae the following day and returned to Scone. If he could not look for Fiona himself, he knew that Hamish would seek after her, for Hamish loved nothing better than a conundrum except solving one, and this matter was indeed a puzzle. And two days after his return to Scone, he departed it, riding south with the Earl of Atholl and a small party of men for England.

Atholl was a changed man, and the laird had the oddest thought that perhaps Atholl was truly afraid of the king. He remembered the king saying Walter Stewart was so fearful of him that Atholl had given his own son to be a hostage so the king might believe his loyalty. He listened to the men who were riding with him. They all spoke in hushed tones of how the king had brought his cousin, Duke Murdoch, and two of Murdoch's sons, plus his father-in-law, the old Earl of Lennox, all to trial. That other Walter Stewart, Duke Murdoch's son, was the first arrested. Next, during a session of parliament at Perth, Duke Murdoch and his next-born son, Alexander; the Earls of Angus, Douglas, and March; Lindsay of Glenesk, the Hepburn of Hailes, and a number of other high-ranking lords, including the constables of Scotland and Dundee, Lord Stewart of Rosyth, and the Red Stewart of Dundonald, all found themselves imprisoned. They were considered to have been allies of Duke Murdoch's family.

The youngest of Duke Murdoch's sons had escaped to the west. He returned with a party of supporters to burn Dumbarton and slay the Red Stewart, who had been released from prison by his nephew. The king's men gave chase, and the young man was forced to flee to Ireland. Murdoch and his other sons, along with his father-in-law, the eighty-year-old Earl of Lennox, were tried and convicted of charges that amounted to high treason. Duke Robert was beyond his nephew's grasp, and so the king took his revenge upon his cousins and executed them. The rest of the noble criminals were tried. Most were fined or had their estates forfeited to the king. Some remained imprisoned for the time being. The king meant to terrify those who would attempt to thwart his efforts at reigning, but his vengeance had a mean-spirited quality to it. While the nobility were frightened, they were also resentful of this fierce young king.

"He has to be strong after the anarchy that has overrun the country," Angus Gordon said to his companions, defending the king.

"Strong, aye," Atholl agreed, "but it is not a crime to show mercy, my lord of Brae. James has no pity in his heart. He means to rule even if he must kill us all. While ye were away, a Stewart cousin struck a page in the king's hall within the king's sight. James Stewart ordered the miscreant brought before him. He had the man's hand extended out upon the high board, and the injured page stood at the king's command with a sharp knife upon the very wrist of this unfortunate. There they stood for an hour while our sweet queen, her ladies, and the clergy present pleaded for mercy for this Stewart cousin. Even the young page forgave the blow. Finally the king relented, but he banished his cousin from court and from his presence. This is a man who will be king at any cost, my lord of Brae. Ye would be well advised to be wary of him."

"Ye know the nature of the Scots well, my lord," the laird answered him. "Ye know that the king must be stronger than any other man if he is to retain control over his own kingdom. We are not an easy people, and in past memory too many of our rulers have been weak-willed, feebleminded, unscrupulous, unprincipled, or corrupt. This king is not like that. His love of justice is greater than any man's I have ever known, my lord of Atholl. In time, when things are more easily managed, James Stewart will be less stern with us. For now, I would trust in him."

"My nephew is fortunate in yer friendship, Angus Gordon," the Earl of Atholl said, "but ye would still do well to heed my advice and be wary of him. Put not yer trust in any princeling, my lord. Power changes men from what they once were into something quite different."

"I thank ye for yer good thoughts, my lord," the laird told him, "but I will put my faith in the king. He has never disappointed me yet, and unless he does, I would be a poor liege man not to believe in him."

Walter Stewart, Earl of Atholl, offered no further words on the subject to the laird of Loch Brae. Perhaps James Stewart would never turn on his old childhood friend. And then again, perhaps he would. The king was a man who had no trouble when it came to attaining his goals for Scotland. Atholl looked ahead over the hills beyond which lay England. They had important business to consider, and he would see his son again. It was all he could concentrate on now. Scotland was in good hands, even if his nephew was proving a stronger and harder man than any of them had anticipated. Scotland would survive, possibly even thrive, under James Stewart's rule.