Betrayed

Chapter 11

Celtic tradition was ingrained in the highlands. On February second the fires blazed on the hillside in the midst of a snowstorm. It was Imbolc- a time when the ewes lactated, indicating the lambing season was upon them-a tradition in the Celtic world celebrating the days growing brighter and longer, the spring that would eventually come despite the cold, the snow, and the general gloom surrounding them now.

Nairns Craig stood tall and dark upon its cliff. Icicles hung precariously from the eaves of the castle. Snow had to be shoveled daily from he roofs to prevent collapse. The two wells serving the castle were frozen. They were broken open every new day. Fiona was kept busy in her capacity as lady of the castle, treating chilblains on the servants and the men-at-arms, dosing coughs and runny noses. It was a bitter winter. The worst in memory.

Bed, it seemed, was the only place she could get warm. She looked forward to day's end, cheerfully making the rounds to be certain that all the fires were safe and banked, then hurrying to the master's chamber that she shared with Colin MacDonald. The great oaken bedstead, with its heavy homespun hangings that could be drawn about to keep the draft out, was her refuge. It was made with a large feather bed, lavender-scented sheets, and a fine down comforter. There was also a magnificent red fox throw that she was extremely grateful for on these snowy nights. And, of course, there was Nairn.

None of this was really his fault. He never would have thought to steal her himself. Had not the king said that he had been deliberately taunted into doing the deed? In the months she had been with him, she had learned a great deal about Colin MacDonald. There was no meanness in him. He was a big, kind, charming man, and, dear heaven, he loved her. She greatly admired the deep loyalty he had for his clan, for his eldest brother, the Lord of the Isles. There was an honesty about him that touched some chord within her. And she was softening in her attitude toward him. She could not help it.

The same could not be said of his mother, Moire Rose. This was not a woman jealous of her son's new bride. Moire Rose appeared to dislike her son almost as much as he seemed to dislike her. No. The old woman simply did not want to share the authority she had held over Nairns Craig for most of her life.

As for the servants, they were not unhappy to have a new and cheerful mistress. Fiona quickly made it plain she would not tolerate disobedience or thievery, but her tongue did not lash the servants to tears, nor were honest mistakes met with a beating upon bare buttocks until the poor unfortunate bled and begged for mercy. She was kind and patient.

"If ye are not hard," Moire Rose warned Fiona, "they'll steal from ye. Spare the whip and ye'll not get the best from them."

"Whatever they did for ye, lady, it was from fear," Fiona said calmly. "I have always treated my servants fairly and have not been disappointed in their behavior or their performance. Kindness is not a bad quality. I am not above turning out a bad servant."

Moire Rose retired to her apartment with her personal servant, a wizened old crone called Beathag, who had once been the lady's nurse. On the occasions she ventured out, the servants gave her a wide berth, and Beathag, too, for the crone was as difficult as her mistress.

"They say Beathag has the evil eye," Nelly confided to her mistress. "It is known she practices the black arts, my lady."

"She had best not practice them in my house," Fiona said sternly.

On Imbolc night Fiona bathed quickly in her oaken tub, shivering as she stepped forth to be briskly rubbed dry by Nelly. Nairn came in and dismissed the girl with a kind word. Then, taking up his wife's hairbrush, he began to work it through her thick black hair. When he had finished, Fiona braided the length into a single plait and climbed into bed. It had become habit with them to do this each night. Stripping himself, Nairn bathed in her tub, then dried himself swiftly, for the night was bitter. He joined her, drawing the side curtains about them but leaving the curtain at the bed's foot open so they might view the fire and enjoy its warmth.

"For the first time in my memory Nairns Craig seems like a home," he told her. "The servants are happier and work better, it seems. The meals the cook is preparing these days are far better than those which we ate before. Why is that, Fiona mine?" He half sat, the plump pillows behind his broad back, Fiona between his legs, where he might fondle her at his leisure.

"Everyone is content," she told him, "and that contentment makes for a pleasanter household. The servants are no longer frightened. As for yer meals, I tell the cook what to prepare. I have even showed him some new dishes, and how to use the spices he had hidden away. There is no magic to it, my lord. I am pleased ye have noticed these changes and are satisfied with them."

He kissed the top of her dark head while his big hands caressed her belly, which had begun to burgeon with the bairn she was carrying. Her white breasts were showing faint blue veins. He rested his hands upon her rounding flesh and felt the child within her stirring beneath his touch. "He's going to be a braw laddie," Colin said in a pleased tone. "I'll teach him to ride and use the claymore myself. And ye, sweeting, must teach him manners so he will not shame himself or the clan when he visits in his uncle's hall."

Fiona laughed softly. She had mellowed, she thought, over the past few months. She was glad Colin had no doubt that the child she carried was his. He would be good to that child, and until she could return south with her bairn, he would have a fine father in this man. "So yer certain it's a son, my lord," she teased him.

"Aye!" he responded enthusiastically. "We'll call him Alastair after my brother, the lord. I will ask Alexander to stand as the lad's godfather, Fiona mine. It canna hurt my laddie to have a powerful patron."

Alastair. It was the Celtic for Alexander. She hadn't considered what she would name this child. Certainly she could not name him after his true father, Angus Gordon, nor would she name him for her own father. "Alastair James MacDonald," she told Nairn. "For your brother, but for the king as well. One day the Lord of the Isles will have to give his fealty to James Stewart whether he wills it or not. I'd have our laddie named for both of these great men, Colly. Agreed?"

"Aye, sweeting! 'Tis a good name, Alastair James. I hope he will have yer black hair, for I love it so. I would not wish him my flaming top." He chuckled. His hands moved up to cup her breasts.

"And he may have yer blue eyes, Colly," she said, joining in the game that really was no game. "Oh, my nipples are so sensitive."

"And yer so damnably seductive, like one of our ancient fertility goddesses," he murmured in her ear, the tip of his tongue teasing it and then blowing softly on the wet surface. Turning her on her side, he moved behind her. "Soon we'll not be able to play," he whispered, fitting her leg in the proper position, then slowly sheathing himself in her warm, welcoming body.

"Ah." She sighed, feeling the hard, throbbing length of him within her. "Then," she said low, "ye'll have to take one of the serving wenches in the stables, Colly. Ahhh, my lord, 'tis good!"

His hands steadying one of her hips, he pumped himself gently within her until he felt her love juices dousing his manhood, and he then released his own pent-up passions. "No, sweeting," he told her when he had withdrawn from her and they were cuddled together beneath the warmth of the down and the fox fur. "I'll take no other for my pleasure when ye can no longer service me. Ye've spoiled me for any other woman, Fiona mine. The thought of even a meaningless tumble is distasteful to me now. I love ye, Fiona mine. I love ye!"

She turned so she might face him, seeing the love he offered her so unconditionally shining forth from his blue eyes. "Don't ask it of me yet, Colly," she pleaded with him. "I am not ready yet to give ye any more than I have already given ye. Ye canna expect it of me." She could feel the tears welling.

He gently stroked the curve of her jawline with a single finger. "But yer softening toward me, sweeting. I can see it."

"Aye," she admitted, "but it doesn't mean that I will ever love ye, Colly. The bairn within me makes me feel differently. Once he is born, I may become what I was before, and hate ye for stealing me away from the laird of Loch Brae.''

"Brae had his chance with ye, Fiona mine. He would not honor ye with his name," Colin said in a hard voice. "Ye know that I didn't hesitate to make ye my wife, even if handfast is only a year's time. When Father Ninian returns to Nairns Craig, we will have him give us the church's blessing, and ye will love me."

"I will make ye no promises, Colly," Fiona warned him once again, but she knew he was not listening to her. He was absolutely determined that she be his wife, not just for a year but for always.

Spring came, and the king ignored the highlands. A messenger arrived from the Lord of the Isles bearing the news that he was coming to visit his brother, that others would be joining him, too, and that the castle should prepare for the arrival of at least a dozen or more chieftains.

"Why do they come here?" Fiona asked.

"They come here because it is the one place no one will think a gathering would be held," Nairn told her. "They come to discuss what to do about James Stewart. Will they give fealty or will they not? Will they wait for him to call them to Inverness, or will they go south to Perth or Scone to pledge loyalty?"

Later, Fiona and Nelly stood atop the castle walls of Nairns Craig watching as the invited guests arrived. To their surprise they were joined by Moire Rose, a wine-and-dark-green length of Rose family tartan clutched about her narrow shoulders.

"Ye canna possibly know the tartans of the north," she said dourly, by way of opening the conversation. ''I'll instruct ye so ye don't embarrass yerself. There! The red and green with the yellow-and-white stripe is MacFie. The yellow and black with the red stripe is a MacLeod of Lewis. Ye knew the shameless daughter of that clan, Margaret, did ye not? Ah, there are the Chisholms with the red-and-green plaid with a white stripe, and the Camerons with their red and green with the yellow stripe. The Campbells are the blue and green with the yellow stripe, and the Maclntyres are the green and blue with red-and-white stripes."

"I do recognize some of the tartans," Fiona said quietly. "The red and green is Matheson, the green with the black-and-white stripes is MacLean, and the red, green, and blue plaid is Macintosh."

"How do ye know them?" Moire Rose asked, curious in spite of herself. "Ye grew up in the eastern highlands."

"Those plaids were represented in The MacDonald's hall when we were there last autumn," Fiona explained.

Below them a man in red-and-green plaid with a white stripe, followed by one in a green-and-blue tartan with light blue, red, and yellow stripes, rode up the castle hill.

"A MacGregor, and a Malcom," the older woman noted. "Ahh, and here's as fine a pair of troublemakers as Scotland has ever known." She pointed a bony finger at the two men, one in a red, black, and green plaid whom she identified as Alexander MacRurie, and his companion in his green-and-black tartan with the yellow stripe, one Ian MacArthur.

Fiona made a mental note to ask Nairn's opinion about the two men his mother had spoken so scathingly upon. "Who is the gentleman riding up the hill with the pretty woman, my lady Moire?" she asked her mother-in-law.

"Well, well, well, this is an important meeting," that lady replied. " 'Tis Angus Mac Kay, and his wife, Elizabeth, who is The MacDonald's sister. And see, behind them. That fat fellow in his green-and-navy plaid with the yellow stripe? 'Tis the Late MacNeill, so called because he is always one of the last to arrive at any gathering."

Fiona giggled, unable to help herself, and to her great surprise, a faint smile touched Moire Rose's lips, but it was gone before she might really be certain. "I had best prepare a chamber for The MacKay and his wife," Fiona told her companions. "I was not expecting a lady, and thought to let the men sleep in the hall, but for The MacDonald."

"Wait," Moire Rose said, excited. "Listen! Do ye not hear the pipes, lassie? 'Tis The MacDonald, Lord of the Isles himself."

Sure enough, up the hill came the Lord of the Isles, mounted upon a fine white stallion, led by his four pipers and followed by a large troupe of his men. The first line of the men carried pennants of bright scarlet silk upon which had been embroidered in gold thread the lord's motto, Per Mare Per Terras (By Sea, by Land). The lord and his men all wore a bit of heath, the clan's plant badge, in their caps. The pipers were playing the MacDonald march.

" 'Tis how his father came first to Nairns Craig," Moire Rose said softly, her tone almost tender.

" 'Tis verra grand," Fiona answered her. "Colly says the lords of the Isles are kings, and certainly this lord makes his entrance like one. James Stewart doesn't like such pomp and show."

"The MacDonalds have more pride than the Stewarts," Moire Rose said proudly. "They have more pride than any other clan in Scotland."

The two younger women left Nairn's mother standing upon the tower walls.

In the upper hall Fiona spied a serving maid and sent her for linens for the second-best bedchamber. The Lord of the Isles would be sleeping in their best. The serving girl returned laden down with the necessary sheets and coverlets. Fiona took them from her and sent the girl for firewood for the bedchamber's fireplace. Then she and Nelly quickly made up the big bed and opened the windows to air the room. The maid returned once more and, kneeling, laid a fire, leaving the extra wood in a basket by the fireplace.

"Fill a bowl with flowers, lassie," Fiona ordered the girl, "and set them here upon the table. Quickly! I must go down to the hall to greet our guests. This room must be ready to receive The MacKay and his wife, who is yer master's half-sister. Come along, Nelly, and help me change my gown so I don't disgrace my husband." She hurried out and down the hall to their own apartments, Nelly in her wake.

Nelly chose a simple dark blue undergown for her mistress, over which she added the deep blue and silver brocade surcoat. Fiona's dark hair was gathered up into her silver caul. "Ye’ll do," Nelly said.

Fiona hurried from the chamber and down into the hall, reaching it just as The MacKay and his wife entered from the courtyard. Nairn gave her a quick smile and, taking her by the hand, brought her forth to introduce her to his half-sister and her husband.

Elizabeth MacKay was a big-boned handsome woman with dark chestnut hair and the family's blue eyes. She looked Fiona over boldly and then pronounced, "Alex did not lie, Nairn. Ye have taken a beauty for a wife, and I see she is already full to bursting with a bairn. The MacDonalds do not waste time."

"It is delightful to see ye again also, sister," Nairn said drolly. "May I present my wife, Fiona, to ye?"

Fiona curtsied politely, but her sister-in-law said, "Oh, don't be so formal with me, Fiona Hay. Come and give me a kiss on the cheek. When is my nephew due to be born? 'Tis yer first, I know, but have ye figured it out yet?"

Fiona kissed Elizabeth MacKay upon her soft cheek, saying as she did so, "I would think the bairn is due shortly, my lady. 'Twas conceived almost immediately after yer brother stole me last autumn."

Her newfound sister-in-law chuckled richly at the remark. " 'Tis not really like Nairn to be quite that bold," she noted. "I have known him to take what he wants in past times, but never have I known him to be quite so verra audacious. Alex says he loves ye. He must."

"So he tells me, lady," Fiona answered.

"Ah," Elizabeth MacKay observed, "yer still not won over entirely by yer insolent husband, are ye?"

"I am reconciled to my fate for now, and perhaps a wee bit softer in my attitude to Nairn than I was several months ago, lady," Fiona told her, “but ye canna expect me to be mad with love for a man who stole me from a man I did love. I am many things, lady, but I am not a liar where the heart is concerned."

" 'Tis better yer not," Elizabeth MacKay replied. "Men are not verra practical, nor are they as clever as we women are. 'Tis better one of ye has a cool head. Poor Nairn with his fiery locks is not suited to it at all, is he?" She laughed, patting Fiona's hand.

Fiona liked Elizabeth MacKay. That was becoming a problem. She liked all of the MacDonalds she had met. How coldhearted James Stewart was to believe she could distance herself from Nairn so completely that she could betray him and his family. She understood the king's desire to have complete control of all of Scotland, but she also comprehended the attitude of the MacDonalds, who had always been their own masters, answering to no one but God and the Lord of the Isles, who answered only to God. Change, she realized, was difficult for everyone. She wondered if there was a way in which everyone's objective could be gained without going to war, but then she grimaced at her own folly. This was Scotland, where nothing important, or for that matter unimportant, was settled without a fight. For now her function was to listen to the gathering of chieftains in the hall as she went about her duties as their gracious hostess. Then she must find a way to pass along any information to the king. Why had he not called a gathering of the northern clans yet? In a few months' time she would have been with Nairn a year.

"Yer looking much too serious for such a pretty lass, my bonnie," the Lord of the Isles said as he came up to greet her.

"I am considering if I have enough food for all these men," Fiona told him ingenuously. "I don't want my hospitality lacking, my lord. I've never provided for such a large group before." She smiled up at him.

"Do not fear," he told her. "I will wager that virago, his mother, has been in yer kitchens behind yer back making certain that the honor and the hospitality of Nairns Craig is not shabby."

"She gave me the keys to the household the day I arrived," Fiona said, not bothering to say the keys were thrown at Nairn's feet.

"This is different. Is she pleasant to ye, or is her tongue as foul as ever?"

"She has kept to her rooms mostly," Fiona said, "for I showed strength with her that first day. Today, however, she joined my Nelly and me upon the walls watching everyone's arrival. She was almost friendly."

"Then ye have seen a side of her that few have, my bonnie." He chuckled, then left her to continue overseeing the preparations for the evening meal.

Made curious by his words, Fiona made her way to the kitchens. "Matthew," she said to her head cook, "has the lady Moire been here to give ye additional instructions this day or previously?"

"Aye, my lady," the cook answered. "She came early this morning to inquire what I had planned, and then said that ye had decided we needed additional fare. At her order I have roasted an additional roe deer and done another six geese, as well as added a ham to the menu. There is always plenty of bread, butter, and cheese."

"Verra good, Matthew," Fiona said. She didn't know whether to be angry, offended, or amused by her mother-in-law's actions. Then she realized that Moire Rose had probably saved her a great deal of embarrassment by her timely actions, even if she hadn't spoken with Fiona first. Back in the hall she did not see Moire Rose. Realizing suddenly that the woman would not come into the hall unless invited, she called to a servant, saying, "Go to the lady Moire's apartments, and bid her join us in the hall this night."

The servant bowed, clearly surprised by the request, but he hurried off.

Fiona walked slowly about the hall, picking up snatches of conversation here and there. She knew the serious talking would not begin until after the meal. Making certain that the men all had wine, or ale cups in their hands, she joined Elizabeth MacKay as she sat before the fire in a comfortable high-backed chair.

"I hope ye found yer chamber to yer liking. 'Tis only the second-best, I fear, for I had to put yer brother in the best," she explained with a small smile. "I didn't know ye were coming until I saw ye riding up the castle hill with yer lord."

" 'Tis a fine room for any guest, expected or not," her sister-in-law said, smiling back. "The bowl of primroses is a pretty touch." She sipped at a silver cup of wine. Then suddenly she said, "God's boots! There is herself entering the hall. We're all in for it now."

Fiona arose heavily, making her way as quickly as she could across the room, greeting Moire Rose politely. "Welcome, lady. I am happy ye have joined us this night." Then she lowered her voice. "I thank ye for yer aid in the kitchen. We should have been embarrassed without yer timely intervention. I didn't realize the Lord of the Isles would arrive with so large a troupe of men. Should ye see me about to make a mistake like that again, will ye not come and tell me? I canna learn without yer help. My tower house was small compared to Nairns Craig."

"Yer a clever lass," Moire Rose said quietly, and again there was that ghost of a smile upon her lips. Then she said, "Ah, there is my old friend, William MacFie. I shall go and greet him. 'Twill frighten him to death, for he was always fearful of me when we were children."

"Why?" Fiona asked her, very curious.

"Why?" Her mother-in-law laughed harshly. "I was bigger than he was, for he is a verra little man. The Wee MacFie, they call him. I gave him the name, and it stuck. I am a small woman, but I could beat him in foot races every time. He didn't like me for it at all."

"Yet he is yer friend?" Fiona was surprised.

Moire Rose chortled, and without another word she made her way across the hall to greet the Wee MacFie, who actually blanched at the sight of her approach, looking desperately for an escape and finding none.

Now here was something she would not have thought. Moire Rose had a sense of humor. A dark one, but nevertheless it was there. She wondered if Nairn realized it. There was more to this woman than she or anyone else had thought. Her tongue was sharp, her heart was bitter, but perhaps she was not quite as bad as they had all believed.

Nairn came to her side, chuckling as he attempted to put an arm about her now nonexistent waist. “There have been many comments on how truly pleasant the hall looks, and how fine our ale and wine are, sweeting. I know the dinner will be as good."

"It will, and thanks to yer mother, my lord, for I had not ordered enough, never having entertained so large an assembly. She suspected it and discreetly advised Matthew to prepare more, saying I had thought better on it. It was a kind thing she did."

"Is that why ye tendered her an invitation into the hall this night?"

Fiona nodded absently, looking about and deciding it was time to serve the meal. "Let me go, Nairn," she told him. "I must be about my duties before the men are too drunk on our ale and wine to eat the fine meal Matthew has prepared for them." She hurried off to instruct the castle steward, and within minutes the servers were coming into the hall with plates and bowls, platters and pitchers. The high board was restricted to the family members to prevent insult to any of the chieftains by implying that one was more important than another. Only The MacKay and his wife were, understandably, at the high board. Below the dais the other chieftains scrambled for places.

The meal, consisting of a roast pig, two roe deer, a dozen geese, six capons, a ham, a large eel stew, a great pie filled with small game birds, several broiled trout from the swiftly flowing streams belonging to Nairns Craig, bowls of new peas, and lettuces braised in white wine, was much appreciated by the men. With gusto they ate and drank, tearing great hunks from the loaves of bread, spreading them lavishly with sweet butter using their thumbs, slicing wedges of sharp cheese with their dirks, washing it all down with wine or brown ale. The servants ran back and forth refilling pitchers and platters until the appetites of all the guests had been satisfied. When all the dishes had been cleared away, a servant brought bowls of tiny strawberries to the three ladies at the high board.

Colin MacDonald stood up. "Now that ye have eaten, my lords, I welcome ye again to Nairns Craig and ask that ye listen to what my brother, the Lord of the Isles, has to say to ye."

The hall grew very quiet, even the servants ceasing their labors, as Alexander MacDonald arose to speak to the gathering of the chieftains. The torches and the candles spread mysterious shadows across the room as he spoke.

"My lords," he began, "I must thank my brother of Nairn and his bonnie wife for offering us their hospitality. May I remind ye that this meeting among us is to remain secret. Today is the last day of May, in the year of our Lord fourteen hundred and twenty-five. None of us has yet been called to Inverness to pledge fealty to James Stewart. It is verra possible that the days of our autonomy are coming to an end."

Here and there were shouts of disapproval, but the Lord of the Isles held up his hand, and silence once more settled upon the hall.

"I don't like it either, and I will resist it, but we must face facts. In the eastern highlands and south of the Tay this king has united the clans. There has even been talk here in the north and in the west among some of the clans of pledging fealty. I will stop no man from doing so, nor will I count him my enemy unless he chooses to make himself such. I have called ye here to tell ye that each must do what he decides is best for his clan. Some of ye are small, no more than a few hundred men, and others of ye can command a thousand or more to yer banner. Be warned, however, that any who pledge fealty to James Stewart with the idea of then gaining his help to attack me and mine, will suffer in the worst possible ways. I will come down on ye like a wolf upon a hapless sheep. I will spare none of yer people, men, women, the aged, babes suckling at their mam's tit. I am the Lord of the Isles, and I will remain so."

Duncan Campbell stood up, saying, "And if we swear fealty to this Stewart king, and he asks our aid in overcoming yer power, my lord, what then? Our loyalties will be divided. Honor bound, we must obey the king, our overlord. Yet like ye, we are highlanders."

"Yer strong enough to stand by me until the last moment, Duncan Campbell," the Lord of the Isles said. "Yer family is not small or weak."

The Late MacNeill rose up. "I am here for my brother, Gilleonan, who is ill with running bowels and could not come. We are a small family, my lord, and pledged to ye as yer vassals. There is no doubt as to the course we will take. We will follow ye as we always have. We will not pledge ourselves to this Stewart until ye do." He sat back down.

"Discuss this among yerselves," the Lord of the Isles said, "but keep a rein on yer tempers. There will be no fighting or killing in my brother of Nairn's hall. Remember there are women here."

The chieftains began to discuss the matter in reasonable tones at first, but slowly their voices escalated as their deliberations deepened and views were frankly exchanged. The smaller families were concerned about their ability to defend themselves, not just from James Stewart, but from the larger families who would prey on them no matter the course they chose, as they had always preyed on them. The larger clans considered the wisdom of deserting their alliance with Alexander MacDonald to join with Scotland's king. Yet there was the distinct possibility that the new king would reward those who quickly came to his side rather than waiting for a gathering to be called in Inverness.

Robert Cameron muttered, " 'Tis like tossing the dice. One canna be certain if they will win."

"Are ye thinking of deserting our ancient confederacy, then, Robbie Cameron?" said William Maclntyre heatedly.

Those at the high board listened with interest to the exchanges going on about them.

"Duncan Campbell is not to be trusted," Nairn said to his elder brother. "The Campbells have always been jealous of our power."

"But not strong enough to defy us until now," Alexander MacDonald replied. "I can see he is considering the advantage of kneeling before James Stewart, but should he do so before I do, he will make an enemy of the MacDonalds for all time. The smaller families I canna blame for attempting to protect their own, for I will acknowledge to ye, and ye alone, brother, that I know in the end I will yield, too."

"James Stewart said to me when he reconfirmed my title and lands that I should kneel before him immediately after ye, Alex, and so I shall, but not before then, I swear it."

The Lord of the Isles clapped his younger sibling upon the shoulder and said, "I love ye, Nairn. I'm glad for the day our father brought ye to Islay to raise up with the rest of us."

Suddenly all eyes in the hall swung to Ian MacArthur, who said loudly, "Why do we not kill this Stewart king, my lords? 'Twould save a great deal of trouble for us in the end. He has no heir yet. The queen, I am told, delivered of a daughter. Old Atholl is the nearest male relation to the throne. Kill James Stewart, and the lands south of the Tay would erupt in chaos with the struggle to gain his throne. We might seek for Duke Murdoch's surviving son, the other James, who I am told is in Ireland." Ian MacArthur looked about him for support.

Alexander MacRurie leapt up, saying, " 'Tis a fine idea Ian has put forth. If we kill James Stewart, the matter is settled for us. And if we put his nephew to do the deed, who can blame us?"

"Are ye so stupid," said Fiona, standing up behind the high board, "that ye think Duke Murdoch's Jamie Stewart would be willing to avenge his father and brothers for naught? And dare ye offer him coin to do the murder? He could not take it for shame, and would be called a Judas. So what would he want, my good lords?" she demanded scathingly of them, and then as quickly answered her own question. "I will tell ye what he would want, ye fine pair of fools. He would want yer support! And ye would have no choice but to give it him lest he make yer part in the murder of an anointed and rightful king public knowledge. Do ye think the church would let stand such wickedness without becoming involved? So ye would trade a just, though hard, Stewart for a cowardly and guileful Stewart? Ye would never be able to trust him. 'Tis surely no bargain." Fiona sat back down in her seat to let them digest her words. Highland women were outspoken, and none thought it odd that she had taken part in the discussion. Indeed, many of the chieftains were impressed, and considered her words thoughtfully, for they had been told of her intimate acquaintance with the king and his queen.

"Such an act would surely bring fire and sword to the highlands," Elizabeth McKay said quietly to those at the high boards. "Fiona speaks wisdom, and I hope ye will listen well, my brother." She looked directly at the Lord of the Isles. "What think ye of Lord MacArthur's suggestion?"

"I think he is a fool, as our bonnie Fiona so wisely observed," Alexander MacDonald said. " 'Twould be unworthy of a MacDonald to be part of such a plot. I will espouse no such thing, sister, and ye know it well without asking," he finished.

"Yet," his sister said, "MacArthur's close adherent is The MacRurie, who is a part of the MacDonald family, brother. How will ye keep him under control?"

Alexander MacDonald smiled wolfishly. "When the day comes that we must go to Inverness, and the king desires a member of our family to make an example of, do ye nae think MacRurie will do, sister?"

"Ah, Alex, our da would be proud of ye," she said, smiling at him. " 'Tis a plan worthy of Donald of Harlaw."

Fiona listened to them as well as to the continued discussions in her hall. This proposed assassination by Ian MacArthur and Alexander MacRurie was something she would pass on, for although it would undoubtedly come to nothing, the king should be warned. She was worried as to how her information could be transmitted, for she was in no condition to go to Inverness to visit the cloth-and-ribbon merchant and none of the other agents had come to Nairns Craig this spring. She turned to her brother-in-law and asked, "Have ye seen Father Ninian, my lord? I would have him here to baptize the bairn after it is born."

"I have heard he was somewhere north of Nairns Craig, my bonnie," the lord answered her, "but do not fear. He came to Islay earlier this spring, and told me then he planned to be with ye and Nairn come June."

"June comes in tomorrow, my lord," Fiona said.

" 'Tis a fine month for a bairn to be born in," the lord told her with a broad smile.

Fiona laughed. "Any moment would suit me for this bairn to be born. I am as swollen as an overripe grape."

"Is my nephew an active wee fellow?" Elizabeth MacKay asked.

"He is never still," Fiona responded, "yet in the last day or two he has quieted, it seems."

Elizabeth MacKay gave Moire Rose an arch look. "The bairn will be born soon," she said with certainty.

Nairn did not come to bed that night, and Fiona slept badly. In the morning, however, she was up, dressed in a loose-fitting dark green gown, and in the hall to supervise the servants seeing to the early meal. Oat porridge, fresh bread, two hams, several bowls of hard-boiled eggs, stone crocks of butter, and a new wheel of hard, sharp cheese were set out, along with pitchers of foaming brown ale. The chieftains, most bleary-eyed, were nonetheless awake, and had attended to their personal needs. They sat down at the trestles, eating hungrily as if they had not eaten in a month, swiftly emptying the pitchers of ale.

Then, one by one, they began to take their leave of Nairns Craig. Fiona stood with her husband at the entry to the hall, bidding each man a polite farewell. She knew each man's name and spoke it as he came abreast of her. The chieftains were pleased by her womanly manners, and many complimented Nairn on his good fortune in his wife. When they had all departed but for The MacDonald and his relations, Fiona returned to the hall again to make certain the trestles were cleared off and set to one side of the room. Then the morning meal for the rest of her guests was brought out.

The Lord of the Isles, who had been in the hall earlier to bid his vassals and allies farewell, was already seated at the high board with his sister and his brother-in-law, The MacKay. "Yer wife is a great asset to us, Nairn," he said. "She spoke well, and with much common sense last night. Many commented upon it. I am verra pleased with ye, my bonnie," he told Fiona, a smile lighting his whole face.

"I don't wish to raise my children amid the din of constant war, my lord," Fiona told him. "No woman does, be she of high or low station. 'Tis ye men who cry war and then send our sons into battle. I but sought to keep the peace for as long a time as possible."

"But if our autonomy is threatened, we must defend ourselves," the Lord of the Isles said sternly.

"All James Stewart asks of ye is loyalty," Fiona said. "He has a mighty task to bring Scotland under control. He wants the towns to become great commercial centers like the English have because that is what makes them prosperous, but how can the towns grow when the clans are always burning them in retaliation for one thing or another? If he knows ye will keep the peace here in the north and west, then ye will undoubtedly be left in peace. Why does a man like Alexander MacDonald, Lord of the Isles, a man known for his honor, find it so difficult to swear fealty? If ye were but one man, it would not be so hard, but ye are the key to peace in these highlands. Without yer support most of the others will not swear, and they remain a thorn in the king's side. Eventually he must pluck that thorn or be called craven and weak-willed, as his father was. He will not allow his own honor to be compromised thusly, my lord."

"Let us see if the king calls us all to Inverness," the Lord of the Isles said. "I don't have to make a decision before then, do I?"

Fiona shook her head in despair. How could she tell this great and powerful chieftain that he was making a terrible mistake? By not swearing to James Stewart now, he was but antagonizing the king. James Stewart had a long memory and a single goal: to unite Scotland. He would do whatever he had to to attain that goal, as Fiona well knew. Suddenly a sharp pain caused her to stagger, and a pool of water puddled around her feet. Shocked, she looked down at it.

Her attention engaged, Elizabeth MacKay's eyes went to where Fiona's were. She saw the water and, standing up, announced, "I knew it! The bairn is to be born this day. Did I not say it last night? Did I not say the bairn would come soon? Well, don't stand there, ye great fools! Fiona must be taken to her chamber, and the birthing table brought. Hurry now!"

Chapter 12

Colin MacDonald almost knocked his brother over as he rushed to reach his wife. "Do ye have pain, sweeting?" he asked her, picking her up and walking quickly across the hall to the staircase leading to their chambers. "Ah, Fiona mine, I canna bear to see ye hurting."

"Then ye should not have gotten a bairn upon me, Nairn," she said with a small attempt at humor. She winced. "Ohhhhh!"

The castle servants had been galvanized into action. A serving wench had dashed ahead of Nairn to alert Nelly. Another ran off to find the birthing table.

Elizabeth McKay turned before going up the stairs, saying to her husband and brother, "Keep Colin's spirits up as best ye can when he returns to the hall. And that does not mean getting him drunk, my laddies. Ye’ll both answer to me if ye do!" Then she was gone.

"She did not say we could not get drunk," the Lord of the Isles said to his brother-in-law. "Is it too early for ye?"

" 'Tis never too early, Alex," came the reply, "but I suspect she'd be verra angry with us. She has a fierce temper, yer sister, my wife. I retain a potter in the keep to replace all the crockery she throws at me and anyone else who runs afoul of her ire."

Alexander MacDonald laughed aloud at this revelation.

In her chamber Fiona struggled to bring forth the life she had been nurturing within her womb. At first she would not cry out when the pains wracked her greatly, but Elizabeth encouraged her, saying, "A woman is expected to shout aloud when her babe is being born, Fiona. Don't hold back!"

"My mother never shouted," Fiona said through gritted teeth. "I was the eldest, and I never heard her shout when my five sisters were born alive and ray wee brothers were born dead. My father did all the shouting, screaming at her to give him his son each time, cursing her when the lassies came into the world alive and the laddies were birthed dead and cold as stone."

"Yer not yer mother. My brother cares not a whit if it is a son or a daughter, do ye, Nairn? We want a healthy baby, lass. That is all. Now, cry out with yer pain, and help the bairn to come."

She was rewarded when Fiona shrieked and cried out, "I am being torn apart, lady!"

"Nay, nay, lassie, 'tis an easy birth yer having. Another wee push, and I will see the bairn's head," Elizabeth MacKay promised. "When the next pain comes, bear down with all yer might."

"It's coming!" Fiona shouted, letting out a shrill cry.

"Oh, verra good, dearie, verra good," Elizabeth MacKay praised her sister-in-law.

Colin MacDonald was visibly white as he let Fiona clutch his hand until he thought she would render it bloodless. Seeing his condition, Fiona said, "Get out, Nairn! I don't want ye swooning on the floor. There is no time to attend to ye if this child is to be born. Oh! Oh! Oh!" she gasped.

"I'll not leave ye, sweeting, nor will I swoon like a maiden," he promised her, although he wasn't certain he could keep the latter promise. Seeing her in such obvious pain, realizing he was the cause of it, was almost more than he could bear. He swallowed hard.

"I have no more time for ye, Colly," Fiona told him. "Blessed Mother! Ahhhhhhhhhhh! Lady, what is happening?"

"One, perhaps two more pushes, Fiona, and yer bairn is born," Elizabeth MacKay said. "The head and shoulders are already out." She opened the baby's mouth and yanked out a clot of mucus. The child coughed slightly and began to cry.

"Is it a lad?" Fiona asked her.

"That's the part usually born last," Elizabeth MacKay laughed. "Ye’ll have to give me another push if we're to know. It's got black hair like yers, though."

Another fierce pain wracked Fiona, and she pushed with what she thought was her absolute last bit of strength. Suddenly she no longer felt as if she were being torn asunder. Indeed, she could actually feel something sliding out of her body. Then the child was howling in earnest.

" 'Tis a wee laddie, though not so wee," Elizabeth MacKay said with a wide smile. "Well, Nairn, ye have a son." She held the bloody infant up for her brother to see. "Take yer knife, Colin, and cut the cord as I tell ye," Elizabeth MacKay said, laying the squalling child upon its mother's belly as she directed her brother, then knotted the remaining cord expertly. She handed the baby to Nelly. "Clean him up lassie, and wrap him well so he may go into the hall with his da to meet his overlord and his uncles."

Tears of joy pouring down her face, Nelly cleansed the birthing blood from the baby boy. How very much like Angus Gordon he looked, but Colin MacDonald would not realize it, for he had not known the laird particularly well. He would assume the dark hair was an inheritance from Fiona, and no one ever could really decide who babies looked like Nelly swaddled the baby in fresh soft cloth. Then, without waiting for further instructions, she placed him in Fiona's arms.

Looking into the face so like Angus Gordon's, Fiona felt her heart break again. His father's son, but he was unlikely ever to know his real father. Kissing the damp, downy dark head, she handed the baby to Colin. "Here is yer son, my lord," she said quietly. "I hope he pleases ye."

Colin MacDonald accepted the tiny bundle she offered him. He was delighted, and amazed at how sturdy his laddie was. Blue eyes looked up at him. He felt as if he were being scrutinized carefully, and hoped he would not be found wanting. "Welcome to Nairns Craig, Alastair James MacDonald," he said. Looking down at Fiona, he smiled "Thank ye, Fiona mine. Yer a fine breeder." Turning, he left his wife's chamber with the baby.

Alexander MacDonald watched his brother cross the hall cradling the swaddled bundle. From the grin on Colin's face he knew without asking that the child was a lad. "Congratulations, brother!" he exclaimed, and peering down at the infant he said, "The babe looks strong. He'll survive."

"Let me see him! Let me see my grandson!" Moire Rose pushed past the Lord of the Isles and The MacKay. "Give him to me, Colin." When her son had placed the baby in her outstretched arms, an almost beatific smile lit Moire Rose's face. "Ah, he's a braw laddie," she crooned down at the child. "A verra braw laddie, he is!"

"They say ye would not look upon me when I was born," Colin said, struggling to keep the bitterness from his voice.

His mother gazed directly at him. "I looked at ye," she told him. "When they were not there watching me, I looked at ye. I saw yer father in yer face, Colin MacDonald. For all my red hair and blue eyes ye were a MacDonald. I hated him then, for he had deserted me. But I loved him, too. Ye were a reminder of what I had lost. I believe this bairn looks like my father," she said, "and he is my grandson." She handed the baby back to him.

"He is also a MacDonald and my son," he said to his mother.

"Aye," she answered softly, "but he is not my MacDonald." Then she left the hall without another word.

"I have never seen her like this," Nairn said. "It's as if she has become a different woman. I don't understand it at all."

He took his son back to Fiona, telling her of what had transpired in the hall with his mother.

Strangely Fiona understood, for in an odd way she was in a similar position to Moire Rose all those long years ago. "Perhaps the bairn has brought out the good in yer mother, Colly," she told him. "Don't question it; just accept it. She is an old woman now."

The Lord of the Isles and the MacKays had decided to remain at Nairns Craig in hopes that Father Ninian would arrive. Nairn sent Roderick Dhu in search of the priest so the baby might be baptized immediately, since his godparents were there. When Alastair MacDonald was three days old, Roderick Dhu returned with the tall, ageless cleric in tow. The baby was baptized in the hall of Nairns Craig, sanctified for the occasion. The Lord of the Isles and Elizabeth MacKay stood as his godparents. Fiona was brought into the hall upon a litter so she might partake in her son's christening.

The day after the baptism, when the guests had departed, Father Ninian said, "I will hear confessions of any who would come to me."

As priests were few and far between in remote sections of Scotland, the priest knew he would stay for a week to ten days hearing confessions, marrying, and baptizing, as well as praying over the graves of those who had died since his last visit. Each morning he held a mass in the hall, and it was well attended by the inhabitants of the castle.

When Fiona went to make her confession to him, she passed along the information to Father Ninian that she wanted him to have, telling him in careful detail of the talked-of plot to kill the king. "They will not do it, of course, for both are cowards, but the king should be warned nonetheless, I believe."

The priest nodded. "Aye, lady, I agree."

"In the autumn," Fiona said, "the year will be up that the king asked of me. I want to know when I may take my leave of Nairns Craig and return to my own home. If I don't leave then, Nairn will badger me into speaking my vows with him before ye, Father, and ye know I canna wed him. Tell the king I have learned all I can here. And ask why has he not called a gathering of the clans in Inverness so these highlanders may swear loyalty to him and be done with it."

“I will come myself in the autumn before the term of the handfast is up so I may carry the king's answer to ye, lady, and help ye to extricate yerself from this benign captivity. But will Nairn let the bairn go?"

"When I tell him the truth, he will have no choice," Fiona said with assurance. "He is every bit as proud as Black Angus."

"I understand," the priest replied, his amber eyes sympathetic.

Fiona insisted upon nursing her son, for she treasured the minutes spent with the baby at her breast suckling strongly. And the infant grew quickly, his small limbs rounding and fattening, his cheeks smooth and rosy. His bright eyes missed nothing. His little dark head swiveled at the sound of his mother's voice and Nairn's. They had to get away soon, Fiona thought, for Nairn was positively mad for the child he believed was his son. Fiona felt truly guilty-and angrier than ever before at the king.

What was worse, the baby loved Nairn, who could bring an infantile giggle from the child when no one else could. "Ah, there's my laddie," he would croon upon spying the baby cooing in his cradle each morning. "There's his da's little mankin."

And if Nairn loved Alastair, Moire Rose was even worse, pouring all the love she had denied her son out upon her grandson. She would sit in the hall for hours on end rocking the infant's cradle and singing him lullabies in her high, reedy voice.

Alastair James MacDonald was the darling of the household. No servant passed without stopping a moment to speak a word, smile a smile, chuck his chin. And the child responded to it all.

"He's going to be verra spoiled," Fiona said ominously.

The baby had been born on June first. In mid-September the priest appeared once more at Nairns Craig. "I've come to see how the bairn is doing," he told Nairn. "I'll soon be going south, for winter in the highlands is hard for a man on the road."

"Would ye think of sheltering here for those months?" Colin asked him. "God knows we have use for ye. I'd build ye a church of yer own if ye would but remain, Father Ninian. 'Twould not be a rich living, but ye'd have plenty to eat and plenty of souls to save, I guarantee ye. Ye could go traveling in the summer months as ye do now, but ye'd have a home to come back to in the cold times."

" 'Tis a generous offer, my lord," the priest said, "but how could I accept ye when I have refused the lord himself a half a dozen times? 'Tis better I return to my abbey as I am accustomed to doing, but I thank ye."

Nairn shook his head ruefully. "I want a priest for the castle," he said. "Now that we have begun a family, Fiona and me, I would be more civilized. There was once a priest at Nairns Craig, but he was as old as my grandsire and died several years before him."

"I will inquire of my abbot for ye, my lord," Father Ninian said. Then he smiled. "Tell yer steward to send out the word that I am here for marriages, baptisms, and my other usual duties. I will hear the confessions of the castle folk, for my penances must last ye all until I come again in the springtime," he finished with a chuckle.

Fiona could barely wait to speak privately with the priest, but as was her custom she made certain that everyone else in the castle saw him first. Only in the evening of the second day he was with them was it her turn to closet herself with Father Ninian in the tiny room off the hall that was set aside for his privacy. She knelt before him, hurrying through a list of minor sins, asking him to shrive her.

Before he did, however, he spoke to her in low tones. "Ye will want to know, my daughter, of the king's answer to yer questions of several months ago. He sends word that he needs ye to remain here at Nairns Craig for the present. He says he is pleased by the information ye have sent him, for it has been invaluable in helping him to decide just how to deal with the Lord of the Isles and the highlands. The Campbells have sworn their fealty to James Stewart, not waiting for a gathering of the clans at Inverness but going to Perth in midsummer. The final thing I am to impart to ye is that the queen's cousin, Elizabeth Williams, has married a gentleman of her royal guardians' choosing, and is already with child. The king wanted ye to know this. Now, my daughter, I will administer yer penance." He placed his hands upon her head.

Fiona, however, felt nothing. It was as if the blood in her veins had frozen solid. She was numb with shock. Deep within her heart and soul she had dared to hope that Angus Gordon would not marry Elizabeth Williams. That one day, perhaps, they might meet once more and together begin anew. It had been, she knew even as she thought it, a childish dream, but still, she had hoped. Now her silly, secret little wish was naught but cold ashes. Angus had not died from pining away for her. She had disappeared from his heart as surely as she had disappeared on the road to Brae. The laird of Loch Brae had done his royal master's bidding and wed the English girl. He had even gotten a child upon her. That child would be the heir to Brae, not her son, Alastair, who would now never know his real father.

Fiona felt close to weeping, but she stiffened her spine instead. She mutely accepted the mild penance that Father Ninian gave her, but her outward appearance of meekness belied the anger that was boiling inside her. Had there ever been a man in her life who had not betrayed her? Her father had little use for her, and had used her as a servant to raise her sisters. The king had used her, threatening her sisters, taking Angus Gordon away from her in order that she do his bidding. And Angus! Her beloved Black Angus! His was the greatest betrayal of all. Why had he not sought after her when he returned from York? Why indeed! He had obviously been too busy dancing attendance upon Elizabeth Williams, toadying to the king and queen. No man shall ever use me again, she thought to herself. No man! Then she arose from her knees, leaving the priest.

In the hall that night Fiona looked particularly beautiful. She wore a gold-and-copper surcoat over her orange tawny undergown. When the meal was over, she said, "Nairn, do ye still fancy to keep me as yer wife, or have ye changed yer mind?" She smiled seductively at him, her emerald eyes glittering in the candlelight.

"Ye know I will never let ye go, Fiona mine," he said seriously.

“Then we had best let Father Ninian bless our union while he is here. Our handfast time will be up in another few weeks, but the priest will long be gone by then. If ye would wed me in God's eyes, then let us do it and be done with it so we may get on with our lives."

"Ye have but to name the day!" Nairn said enthusiastically.

"On the morrow, love, before the mass, with all the castle folk as our witnesses," Fiona told him boldly.

"Agreed!" he cried, his eyes overflowing with his happiness. "Then ye do love me, Fiona mine! I knew ye would one day."

"I must love ye," she lied to him, "or I should not wed ye properly within the sanctity of the church. Now, Nairn, I would be alone tonight. Take a bath before the ceremony, and don't come drunk to yer marriage, my lord. 'Twould not please me at all." She then stood up and departed the hall.

To her surprise Moire Rose came to her chambers shortly afterward. "Why are ye doing this?" she asked Fiona in a quiet voice.

"Because it is time," Fiona said. "Ye know that sooner than later he'll get another bairn on me, and without a marriage the poor wee mite will be bastard-born. Did ye like bearing a bastard?"

The older woman looked directly at Fiona, her blue eyes serious. "Be warned, Fiona Hay, that if ye should ever shame him-"

“Madam, I will not shame him, nor bring shame upon Nairn. On that ye have my word. The word of the Hay of the Ben."

Moire Rose nodded. "I believe ye," she said, and left.

"Why?" Nelly asked her, near to weeping.

Fiona told her of the priest's words and then said, "Do ye want to go home to Brae, Nelly? It makes no difference now if he knows where 1 am. I will send ye back if ye truly desire it."

Nelly shook her head. "No, my lady. My place is with ye."

The two women embraced, and Fiona instructed her serving woman, “Go and fetch the priest to me. If my lord or his mother asks why, say I wish to speak to him about the wedding."

When Nelly returned with Father Ninian, they crowded into the servant's little chamber, where they might speak in privacy. Nelly remained outside the door to guard them.

The priest wasted no time demanding an explanation. “Why have ye instigated this marriage, lady? Is it wise?"

"Today," Fiona said, "part of the king's message, a part that seemed innocent to ye but that ye did not understand, although the words were straightforward enough, told me something I did not want to hear. The queen's cousin has been wed to the man I love. The true father of my bairn. There is no going back now for me, good Father. I must therefore do what is best for me and for my son. Colin MacDonald loves me, and he adores his son, Alastair.

“The king has used me like a common whore with not a thought for my heart. He claims that my sacrifice is for Scotland. Well, I will sacrifice no more. Why should I? If I canna wed the man I love, then I will wed the man who loves me, and who loves our son. Tell James Stewart that I will spy no more for him. He thinks to make the clans quail or crawl to him by not calling a gathering at Inverness. Well, some like the Campbells may do his bidding, but the Lord of the Isles will not give the Stewart king loyalty until he is ready to do so-and the majority of the clans will wait for the MacDonalds before going on their knees before James Stewart.

"Ye may tell the king that he can frighten me no longer with threats against my kin. I no longer care. Am I not entitled to some happiness, too? Besides, what excuse could he possibly use now for persecuting innocent young women and two little girls? I have done his bidding, and I will tell the world I have done it if he presses me further. Does he think Brae will remain loyal knowing what he has done to us? Knowing that his son bears the name MacDonald and not Gordon? I will be used no more by this Stewart king. Tell him I do not break my oath of fealty to him, but that I am a woman and can bear no more."

The priest could hear the raw pain in Fiona's voice. There was nothing he could say that would comfort her. Her assessment of the situation was correct. She had been used. He could not blame her for washing her hands of the situation and marrying Nairn. She was a softhearted female. The king should have realized that she could take only so much. The poor lass had reached her limit, and so he would say when he saw the king in Perth this winter. Fiona was no threat to James Stewart. She was simply a woman.

"I believe ye have chosen the right road, my daughter," he told her. "Marriage or the church is the best route for a woman to take. Ye have a fine son and the hope of other children. This difficulty between the king and the MacDonalds will eventually sort itself out. As the king gains firmer control of the rest of Scotland, Alexander MacDonald and his ilk will seem less important and will rub less against James Stewart's pride. Time is a great healer of all wounds."

"Is it, good Father?" Fiona's voice cracked slightly. "I pray God and his Blessed Mother that ye are right."

Then, giving her his blessing, Father Ninian left her.

"I have not gathered enough of yer special seeds, my lady," Nelly fretted. “The summer has been wet, and the flowers are slow to bloom, and many of the flower heads have rotted before going to seed. I have barely enough for two months' use."

"Don't fret yerself, Nelly," Fiona told the girl. "I owe Nairn a child, do I not?"

Poor Nelly's eyes threatened to spill over again with her misery. If the laird of Loch Brae had repudiated her, she could not have felt worse than she did. Her kindly heart ached for Fiona.

Fiona put her arms about her servant, comforting her. "Ohh, Nelly, I was a bairn to believe that it would all work out as I wanted it to despite everything that has happened. I must try to be more practical from now on, Nelly. We are hardly in a wretched situation, are we? Nairn loves me even if I don't love him. I will be a good wife to him, Nelly, for he is good to me. I owe him that much, do I not? He has been hoodwinked by the Stewart king every bit as much as I have been. I will not tell him, though. Let him believe that he has won me over." She laughed ruefully, but then, looking at her companion, she said, "Ye, too, have a reason for remaining, do ye not, my little Nelly? Roderick Dhu would court ye in earnest, I believe."

Nelly's tears had quickly passed with her mistress's comforting words. She actually blushed at the mention of Roderick Dhu.

"Aye," she admitted. "The skinny creature seems to have honorable intentions toward me now, my lady. Do ye disapprove?"

"Nay," said Fiona. "If ye love him, then ye will not want to go back to Brae. I am selfish and want ye happy, too."

"I have always been happy to be in yer service, my lady," Nelly replied sweetly. "Now," she said briskly, "what will ye wear on the morrow for yer wedding? I will need to see the gown is fresh."

Fiona thought a moment, then said, "I will wear the dark green velvet houppelande with my husband's plaid across the front and my own clan badge holding it. I would do Colin MacDonald honor."

In the morning while Fiona was dressing, Moire Rose came again to Fiona's chamber.

"I have seen to a wee feast this morning," she said.

Fiona thanked her. “Today we all begin anew with each other. There is dissension in the world all about us, but here at Nairns Craig, ye and I will make a place of peace for our family, for when my sons must go to war, they will understand how truly valuable peace is, and fight all the more for it."

"I was verra bitter when my Donald left me," Moire Rose told Fiona frankly. "I knew he was wed to another. I knew he would not leave her, and yet I foolishly thought I might hold him with his son. But he had other sons." She sighed deeply. "I was a verra foolish lassie. I would not listen to my father, and I rejected my own son until finally my Donald took the boy from me, allowing him to visit only my father each summer. Seeing my own bairn return from Islay so happy and thriving only compounded my bitterness. And after my father died, I continued my intemperate behavior."

"But since Alastair was born ye have changed, Moire Rose," Fiona said.

"Aye, yer coming at first angered me, and then my wee grandson came into this world. I looked at him, Fiona, and realized then that I could not waste any more time in anger. I let myself lose my only child even before he was born. I have no one to blame but myself. Donald MacDonald was honest with me. I accept yer proposal that we all begin anew today. Ye have brought happiness into this house, although I realize it has not been easy for ye. Ye loved another once, I believe, but I will ask ye no questions. I already have yer word that ye will not bring shame to my son, and I believe ye."

To Fiona's surprise her mother-in-law enfolded her in a bony embrace. "Thank ye, my child, for what ye have done for all of us and for the gift of love ye have brought us all."

Fiona gently hugged Moire Rose back, kissing her on the cheek before breaking off the embrace. "I had best finish dressing," she said softly.

The older woman nodded. "Aye. They're already waiting on ye in the hall. Nairn is so nervous, ye'd think this was the first time he was marrying ye." She chuckled. "I offered him a wee dram of wine, but he refused me, saying that ye had bid him come sober to his marriage."

Fiona could not help but smile at the woman's words. "I also bid him bathe himself," she said mischievously.

"He smells like a bouquet of flowers," Moire Rose assured her. Then with a nod she left.

Fiona pulled on her clean white stockings and a pair of soft leather ankle boots. Nelly tipped a soft cotton chemise over her mistress, followed by the forest-green velvet houppelande. Next the servant brushed her mistress's long black hair, fitting it into the silver caul. She affixed over it a silver brocade and green velvet fillet with a single green stone in its center that rested in the middle of Fiona's forehead. Lastly, Nelly carefully draped the length of plaid called Hunting MacDonald, which Colin MacDonald favored. It was a leaf green with both narrow and wide white stripes, and here and there within the pattern were woven blocks of a darker green. At her mistress's shoulder Nelly pinned the silver brooch of the Hay chieftain. The badge was circular with a falcon rising out of a crest coronet. Engraved upon the badge was the clan motto: Serva Lugum, Keep the Yoke. Fiona smiled. She had, it seemed, been yoked since birth. There was little chance she would ever be unyoked.

She descended into the hall with Nelly by her side, Nairn's piper leading them as he played. To her surprise the sun was shining through the high windows. It was a good portent, she thought. There were branches of colored leaves decorating the room, and all the castle folk were assembled. She heard Alastair whimper from the arms of the girl chosen to watch over him. Upon the high board were Father Ninian's traveling crucifix and a pair of silver candlesticks, and in them burned good beeswax tapers. The piper ceased.

"Are ye ready to proceed, my daughter?" the priest asked her.

Fiona nodded, reached out to take Colin's hand, and drew him before Father Ninian. The priest began, but Fiona heard little of what he said. The man by her side should have been Angus Gordon, but Angus Gordon had so easily given her up for dead, or lost, and taken a milk-and-water English wife to please his king. Damn him for it! No, she told herself fiercely, she had to put her anger behind her. She could not, would not, start this real marriage to Nairn with a heart filled with bitterness. Colin was a good man, and he loved her. He deserved a wife who was faithful not only in body but also in mind.

Farewell, my Black Angus. She would think of him no more.

They were wed. Nairn kissed her heartily, then turned about and declared a holiday for the castle folk and all his clansmen.

"What will ye have of me, Fiona mine? For this day I will give ye anything it is in my power to give ye. I love ye that much," he declared loudly before everyone in the entire hall. "Ye have but to name yer gift, and it is yers!"

"Make peace with yer mam," Fiona said quietly, but everyone heard her and looked in surprise from the bride to Moire Rose. Fiona beckoned her mother-in-law to them. "I will have peace in my house, Colin MacDonald. Yer mam and I have made our peace, but we will have no true peace until ye make it, too. That is the gift I would have of ye, my lord and husband."

Mother and son looked at each other, neither certain of what to say, but then Moire Rose said softly, "Fiona had said this would be a new beginning for us all, Nairn." Tears filled her blue eyes. "Ye look so much like him, my son."

"Now there is something we already have in common, madam," Nairn told her gently. "We both loved Donald MacDonald." He enfolded her in his big embrace while those in the hall erupted into cheers.

"Ye have performed a miracle, my lady," the priest told Fiona sincerely. "God will bless ye for it. It was surely fated that ye come to Nairns Craig."

"Be certain ye tell the king that when ye see him," Fiona whispered. Hearing her son howling, she started to leave the high board to go and feed him. "I will be back after I have let yer son drink his fill," she told her bridegroom, who, she had to admit, looked very handsome in his kilt and white shirt.

He grinned, calling after her, "He will need a playmate shortly, sweeting. We must think on it."

Fiona turned, saying, "A puppy, perhaps, Colly?" Then, laughing, she hurried to fetch the child.

"Ye are a fortunate young man, Colin MacDonald," the priest said. "Many cases of handfast, or bride-stealing, don't end as happily as yers has. Remember the tragedy of yer wife's parents. Don't forget to thank our good Lord when ye pray this night. I shall say compline before ye seek yer beds. And tomorrow after the mass I shall be on my way. I will not return until the spring."

"Are ye certain," Nairn asked Father Ninian, "that ye will not stay with us, good Father? Ye would be more than welcome."

"Nay, my son," the priest replied. "I will renew myself at Glenkirk Abbey this winter, immersing myself once more in the religious life of my house. But come the first wind from the south, the sight of the snow melting on the bens, a violet beneath my foot, and I shall be on my way once more to bring what Christian comfort I can to these highlands. Perhaps when I am older I will settle in one place, but not now, my lord, although I thank ye for the offer."

The remainder of the day was spent in feasting and dancing. When the afternoon came, they went outside into the castle's big grassy courtyard, where the men stripped their shirts off and hurled javelins and heavy round stone balls to see who could gain the greatest distance. Kegs of ale were set up, and shortly the men's aim was less than accurate. The piper began to play, following them back into the hall as the day waned. Fiona once again danced the bridal dance with her husband, after which the men began to dance, and Roderick Dhu was suddenly prancing boldly before Nelly, holding out his hand to her.

For a long moment Nelly hesitated, but finally she accepted his invitation, and they danced together. Everyone in the hall knew what it meant. In his invitation to the dance Roderick Dhu had made plain his intentions to court Nelly formally. Until she either accepted him or rejected him, no other man would seriously seek the girl's company. The look upon Nelly's face made clear there was no happier lass in the hall that night.

"Do ye approve?" Nairn asked Fiona.

Fiona nodded. " 'Tis her choice. I offered to return her to Brae, but she insisted upon staying with me, and not alone for yon laddie. She is my servant, but she is also my friend, Colly. Nelly will have her own will in this matter."

"As ye didn't," he said softly.

"Oh, in the end I have gotten my own way, Colin MacDonald. I would not have wed ye in the church if 1 didn't want to. Now, let me go, for the bairn needs his nourishment before he is put to bed."

"We must find a wet nurse for the laddie."

"Not yet."

"Soon," he said through gritted teeth. "My son encroaches upon our time together. I find I am growing jealous."

"In a few months we will choose a healthy lass to nurture our laddie. By then I will undoubtedly be with bairn again, my lord, if ye can but do yer duty by me." With a mischievous wink she rushed off.

He watched her go to their son, her sudden change in attitude making him intensely curious. Turning to the priest, he said, "Since yer arrival she has turned about. What did ye say to her, Father?"

The priest looked up reluctantly, for his plate was filled with the sort of fine foods he would not see once he had reentered his abbey for the winter, contemplating how he should answer.

"From the beginning I have counseled marriage within the precincts of the holy church, my lord. Yer wife was angered at ye when we first met almost a year ago, for she was newly stolen. But in that time the bairn has come and suckled at her breast. She is content at last. She has made her peace with herself. Do not question yer good fortune. She is a fine woman and has brought calm to yer house."

"I suppose ye are right, Father," Nairn replied, thinking that the priestly counsel was good. Fiona's heart seemed to be turning toward him, as he had wanted all along. Yet, suddenly, in the midst of his happiness, a tiny worm of doubt began to writhe within him.

"In yer regular travels ye pass near Brae," he said. "What news of the laird? Did he seek after Fiona?"

"Aye, he did," Father Ninian replied, "but you covered your tracks well, my lord, and he found no trace of her."

"So he simply gave up? I'd not have thought it of him."

"The king gave him a wife," the priest said, remembering what Fiona had told him-and wishing to turn Nairn's thoughts. "The laird's wife is with child."

"Is she? Then may she have a son as fine as mine."

Colin remained in the hall after it emptied, watching his wife go about her evening duties. The trestles had been cleared and put back against the walls. She went from candle to lamp, snuffing them out. She banked the fires in the fireplaces neatly, then called to him. Colin rose and accompanied his wife up the stairs to their bedchamber.

"I have sent Nelly to bed," she said softly as he barred the door behind them. "We can help each other to undress, can we not?" She sat down and, holding out her foot, said, "Unboot me, my lord."

He drew the boots off and followed with her knitted stockings. He sat down so that she might do the same for him.

"Stand up," he said.

Fiona obeyed the command, facing him and unlacing his shirt as he unlaced her gown. Her hands smoothed across and up his chest, pushing the garment off his shoulders. He pulled the houppelande from her, letting it puddle about her ankles. Swiftly Fiona stripped her chemise off, then unbuckled the wide leather belt he wore. His kilt fell to the ground. His fingers were clumsy as they undid her fillet, then her caul, which he put aside upon a table.

"Tell me, Nairn," she said in a low, seductive voice, "have ye ever made love to a woman slowly?" She drew the word out so that it sounded like slooowly.

"Aye," he told her, fascinated by this new woman she had suddenly become.

"Ye have not made love to me slowly," she told him. "It has always been a battle between us. Ye were always quick."

"I feared if I didn't take what I could of ye quickly," he said honestly, "I would not get anything of ye, Fiona mine."

She slid her arms up about his neck, pressing her nakedness into his nakedness. "I told yer mam that we would all make a new beginning, Nairn." She pulled his head down so that their lips were almost touching. "Wouldn't ye like to have a new beginning with me?" The tip of her tongue ran across his mouth as she reached around him and squeezed his buttock.

"Jesu, yer brazen!" He groaned, feeling the heat of her thighs pushing against him. "I want ye, Fiona mine!"

"Slowly, Nairn, go slowly with me." Her lips brushed teasingly against his lips. "I would spend the night in pure pleasure within yer strong arms. 'Tis our wedding night."

She was driving him wild with her seductive bedevilment. He drew a long, deep breath to clear his head, to regain control of this situation. Her faint smile mocked him. "I didn't know ye could be such a witch," he finally said with a chuckle. "Ye have been most restrained until now, sweeting. If ye loose the beast in me, ye must pay the consequences. Are ye prepared to do so, Fiona mine?"

She laughed low. It was a smoky sound. "I will tame the beast in ye, Colin MacDonald," she told him boldly. "But can ye truly tame the beast in me is more to the point." Arms about his neck, she vaulted herself lightly, wrapping her slender, strong legs about his waist.

He met the challenge, his mouth fusing against hers with a fierce passion. Tongues intertwined sensuously. Her flesh against his was afire. Fiona threw her head back, and, bending, he plunged his tongue between her breasts, drawing it slowly upward between the twin hillocks, across the flat of her chest, sliding over the pulsing flesh of her straining throat to the tip of her chin. She vibrated beneath his touch, and he mocked her, "Yer already hot to be sheathed, sweeting, but we shall go slowly, as ye have requested of me." Then, walking across the floor with her, he set her upon the edge of the bed, drawing her legs up and over his broad shoulders, spreading her to his view.

Fiona was shocked, but she did not protest. She would meet his every desire openly and honestly. Still, she was hardly prepared when his fiery head disappeared between her thighs. She felt just the very tip of his tongue touch her little sugar button and begin to flick voluptuously back and forth over it. So acutely foreign yet thrilling was the sensation, that for a moment she lost her breath. To her surprise she felt a small flame of excitement beginning to lick at her awareness. She gasped, and the feeling spread until she was engulfed, almost suffocating with the pleasure he was giving her.

"Colin! Oh, holy Mother, yer killing me!" She tried to writhe away from him, for it was becoming too much to bear, but his big hands gripped her hips in an iron grasp, holding her firmly.

"Give yerself to me, Fiona mine." He groaned, then his mouth and tongue were working upon her sentient flesh again.

She had never really allowed herself to trust so completely. She had never truly given up total control of herself. But now he tempted her, dared her, enticed her to entrust herself to him completely, as she had never before trusted anyone, even Angus Gordon. For a moment her body stiffened with guilt, but then she relaxed once again. Colin MacDonald was her husband. Fiona inhaled, and when she exhaled she gave herself over totally to this passionate man. Almost instantly she was rewarded as wave after wave of delight poured over her until she was mindless with pure, unadulterated enjoyment.

Raising his head, Colin saw upon her lovely face the satisfaction that he had given her. His manhood was hard as iron and quite ready to be equally satisfied. Drawing her up upon their bed, he lay next to her, pulling her into his arms and kissing her deeply, his tongue pushing into her mouth so that she might taste herself on it. Fiona shuddered, and her eyes fluttered open. He moved to fondle her breasts. The twin orbs were firm, the nipples thrusting forth defiantly. His mouth closed over one of those nipples, drawing hard upon it, his mouth filling with her milk, which he swallowed eagerly.

“Colly!'' Her tone was half shocked.

Slowly he lifted up his head, saying, "Why should our son have one of the best parts of ye, and I be denied, Fiona mine? By morning yer breasts will be full enough again for the bairn." He moved to her other breast.

Her fingers entwined themselves within his red-gold hair. His actions somehow made them more a part of each other than they had ever been. She caressed the nape of his neck.

Once again he raised his head, his blue eyes meeting her green ones. "I canna go slowly any longer, sweeting," he said in a thick voice. Then he covered her body with his, entering her with great restraint.

"Ah, my lord, I want ye deep within me, Colly. Fill me full with yer loving!"

Pushing her legs up and back, he plunged further within her than she could ever remember taking a man inside her. Finding a rhythm, he moved upon her until both of them were almost demented with their passion, and at its pinnacle both cried aloud with release.

Afterward he cradled her within the circle of his arms, stroking her dark hair, crooning aimlessly to her. "Never have I known such a lass as ye, Fiona MacDonald," he said admiringly.

She chuckled weakly, exhausted by their bout of eros. "In the battle of love," she told him, "I think we are more than well matched, my lord husband. I have never been loved before as ye loved me tonight." She sighed happily and nestled against his chest.

Colin smiled in the darkness of the room. He had, he firmly believed, finally eradicated the ghost of Black Angus Gordon. "I love ye, sweeting."

"I know."

He waited for the words he so longed to hear from her. Would she finally say them tonight? Or did he have to wait?

Fiona debated with herself. Did she love him? She didn't know. He was certainly a magnificent lover, but he was also a romantic at heart. He needed to hear her declare herself. "I feel differently about ye than I have in the past," she said. "I think I could love ye, Colin MacDonald. Mayhap I already do, but when I finally have the courage to speak those words, my lord, ye will have no doubt that I mean them with all my heart and with all my soul."

"Then I will wait, sweeting, for I know ye to be an honest woman who would not deceive me." He kissed the top of her head.

For the briefest moment Fiona was flooded with guilt, but she overcame it. She had done nothing to harm the MacDonalds. She had told Father Ninian before she spoke her church vows that she was through spying for James Stewart. In the morning she would return to the priest the king's coin. She was the lady of Nairn now, and would have no further use for it.

Chapter 13

James Stewart watched the rain drizzling down the window. Outside in the courtyard the day was gray and windy. It was only the beginning of December, but winter was already setting in around them. He watched the horseman who had but recently entered the courtyard dismount, handing the animal over to a stableboy. There was something familiar in the rider's stature, and then the king smiled. He shouted for his page, and when the boy came said, "A priest, one Father Ninian, has just arrived. He is but newly dismounted and coming through the north door from the courtyard. Fetch him to me, and then bring mulled wine."

The page bowed and ran off quickly.

The king rubbed his hands together and hummed a little tune. He had known that Ninian would come soon, but with Ninian one never could he quite certain of exactly when he would arrive. Ninian Stewart, humble priest, only son of Euphemia Ross's elder son, David, the Duke and Earl of Strathearn. He was illegitimate and was born five months after his father's death. His mother had lived only six years following the lad's birth. At her death James Stewart's father, King Robert III, had placed the boy in the abbey at Scone to protect him. He would become a priest, thus removing him from the Stewart family's internecine warfare over who would rule Scotland. Few, if any, of James Stewart's relations would remember David Stewart's bastard. Perhaps Atholl, but he would never connect him with Father Ninian, having seen his brother's son perhaps a few times in his infancy and childhood, but not since.

The door opened. Father Ninian Stewart was ushered into the room. The two men embraced, and then James Stewart said, "Go and fetch the mulled wine, Andrew. The good father will be well chilled from his ride on this dank day."

The youngster hurried from the room to do his master's bidding.

"Andrew who?" the priest inquired, seating himself by the fire.

"Leslie," the king replied.

"What happened to the Douglas page?"

"The Douglases are not in favor right now, Ninian," the king told his cousin. "I sent the lad home. I have a daughter, Margaret," he added, "and another bairn coming, hopefully a prince."

"I will pray for the queen's continued good health."

The two men sat speaking on small matters until after the Leslie page had returned with their hot mulled wine and departed once more, closing the door behind him. The king sipped his wine.

"Ye will want news of the north, of course," Ninian Stewart said quietly.

"The Lord of the Isles?"

"He is determined to hold off giving you his pledge of fealty until he absolutely must."

"The Campbells have given me their loyalty," the king said.

“They are generally at odds with the MacDonalds, as you know, and don't have much influence among the clans, cousin."

"So until the MacDonalds give me their faith, I canna expect the other highlands clans to do so. Why is Alexander MacDonald so stubborn?"

"Because the MacDonalds have been kings in the highlands since time immemorial. It is difficult for them to give their authority over to a Stewart king, south of the Tay." Why didn't James understand, Ninian wondered. They had been over this ground a hundred times before. The king called the Lord of the Isles stubborn, but James was just as stubborn. Worse, he refused to accept that the Lord of the Isles thought of himself as the king's equal, possibly his superior. "Call a gathering of the clans next summer in Inverness," the priest advised. "They all waited for it this summer, cousin, and were disappointed that ye did not ask them to come. The longer ye wait, the more ye offend the Lord of the Isles and his allies. I knew ye would be a strong king, but there is no shame in showing a wee bit of understanding."

"I didn't call them to Inverness this summer because I wished to test the mettle of the clans," the king said. "And what was the result, cousin? The Campbells and their allies came on their knees to me. I will divide and conquer these overproud men of the north! Another summer or two, and they will certainly be frightened enough to come to me and pledge their fealty."

"Ye must understand that the Lord of the Isles does not believe he needs ye, and he is correct. He knows that ye need him far more if ye are to gather the clans in the north to yer banner. Invite the clans to Inverness, and let them all make their peace with ye with honor."

"In time," James Stewart said, "but not yet."

"I have brought something for ye." Holding out his hand, Ninian displayed the king's coin in his upturned palm.

The king took the coin, recognizing it, and asked, “Where did ye get this? It is surely not yers, cousin."

"Fiona Hay returns it to ye," the priest told the king.

"Why?"

"Because she will no longer spy for ye, cousin," was the simple reply. "Ye have driven her too far."

"Did she fall in love with Nairn?" the king asked, irritated.

"She is fond of him, but love him? Nay, I do not think so. However, she has wed him. She says she will not spy on him and his kin for ye. 'Tis dishonorable."

"If she does not love him, why on earth did she wed him, Ninian?" the king demanded of the priest. "When I sent her north, I truly believed her passion for Angus Gordon would keep her from any foolish involvement with Colin MacDonald. What happened, or is she merely fickle?''

"Fiona was enceinte with Angus Gordon's child when ye sent her into the highlands, cousin. She was not certain of her condition, and so she was afraid to refuse ye lest she later discover she was not with child and ye accuse her of perfidy."

"Jesu!" the king whispered. "Ninian, I didn't know! I swear it by the Blessed Mother and my own sweet Joan. I didn't know!"

"MacDonald handfasted her in his brother's hall on Islay. He truly believes the son she bore to be his own. The child is named Alastair James for his brother and for ye. When I visited Nairns Craig in early autumn of this year and passed along yer latest message to Fiona, she was devastated to learn that the queen's cousin had wed her former lover.

"As the term of the handfast was coming to an end, Fiona asked me to marry her to Colin MacDonald before I returned south for the winter. She believed that there was nothing else for her to do. Now that she is Nairn's true wife, she will not spy for ye. Ye canna blame her, and besides, the information she passed along was not of such great a value that ye will miss her. Let her go, James Stewart."

"Ye have grown fond of her, have ye not?"

Ninian nodded. "I have. She is a fine woman who has faced facts and made the most of her life that she could. She protected her bairn as best she might, and now, married to Nairn, she will give him her complete loyalty. She told me to tell ye her fealty to ye stands. She is yet yer liege woman, but she will not spy for ye."

" 'Tis a strange sort of loyalty she offers me," the king grumbled.

"Give over, James Stewart, and let the lass go. She can bear no more than she has. 'Twas a cruel thing ye did, cousin, when ye forced Fiona Hay into yer service. And ye have robbed Angus Gordon of his son and heir, although I suppose Mistress Elizabeth will give him a houseful of bairns."

The king looked decidedly uncomfortable, but then, knowing whatever he told the priest was confidential, he said, "Elizabeth is not wed to Angus Gordon. She wed Ian Ogilvy. Angus is yet in England with our uncle Atholl negotiating better terms for my maintenance payments."

"Then why," the priest said, an angry edge to his voice, "did ye send word to Fiona Hay that Mistress Elizabeth Williams had wed with a husband of her guardians' choice? It was yer message delivered by me that precipitated her decision to marry The MacDonald of Nairn."

"I only meant for it to keep her in the north with Nairn," the king said. "I knew she would assume I meant the bridegroom was Angus. I thought it would further anger her and make her more determined to remain rather than come sneaking back to her tower on the ben. I did not know there was a child, or that she would wed Nairn. I thought her pride would keep her where I wanted her rather than returning in shame."

"Cousin," the priest said disapprovingly, "ye have meddled in lives with an abandon that belongs only to God, and stolen Angus Gordon's son from him. I do not know what will happen to the laird of Loch Brae, but I thank God that Fiona Hay will be safe in Colin MacDonald's love, for, cousin, love her he does. Have ye confessed all this mischief to yer confessor?"

" 'Tis state business," the king said by way of explanation. "Ye have heard it. These decisions I made for the good of Scotland, ye choose to believe are my sins. Give me a penance, Ninian, and I will perform it."

The priest shook his head in the negative. "Nay, cousin, I will not shrive ye, for ye are not sorry at all for what ye have done. Ye know that a penitent must be penitent." He smiled slightly to take the edge from his decision, for he did not want to offend his cousin.

The king shrugged. "I canna be sorry for doing what I believe is best for Scotland. I do not know what else to do but what I have done. Ye will, I hope, continue to be of service to me."

"Aye," the priest said, "but not just for ye. For all the clansmen and clanswomen who have become my friends over the years I have traveled the north bringing God and His sacraments to those good peoples. They are not yer enemies, cousin. They are a remnant of our past as a proud and free people. In time they will come to ye if ye will but treat them with respect and kindness. Do not listen to the counsel of greedy and ambitious men, cousin."

"I canna show weakness, Ninian."

"To show respect for another, cousin, is not weakness," was the calm reply. The priest drank down the last of his mulled wine, then stood. "Unless ye need me further, I would pay my respects to the abbot and bathe before vespers."

"Go," James Stewart said, "but come and see me often until ye decide to return to the north."

The priest bowed respectfully, then departed.

The king sat back down, swirling the remaining wine and spices in his cup around and around. He was irritated at himself for having misread Fiona Hay. Certainly the information she had sent him had been valuable to a point, but hardly earth-shattering. He had placed her with Nairn because one day, he instinctively knew, she would have something of real value to pass on to him. But now she would not, and all because he had been too heavy-handed in his handling of her. He must accept his loss. Fiona Hay was as gone from his life as she was from Angus Gordon's life.

And here James Stewart felt a twinge of guilt, for he was basically a decent man. Pray God Angus never learn of his part in separating the lovers. Pray God and His Blessed Mother that Angus never learn that he had a son who would grow up known as Alastair MacDonald. The king envied his friend that unknown son, for he wanted a son, too. The queen had already birthed a daughter, whom they had named Margaret. She was a lovely, fat baby with her mother's auburn hair. James Stewart had great plans for his daughter. He dreamed of a marriage that would one day make his daughter queen of France. In the interim the king prayed for a son.

The following spring, the queen bore a second daughter, who was called Isabella. The year after, Queen Joan finally gave Scotland its long-awaited heir, a small prince who was called Alexander, but the baby was weak. It was feared he would not reach manhood, and so it was necessary that the queen continue in her efforts to give Scotland more princes.

The little prince had been born at year's end. Even in the snowy highlands the word had spread that the king at last had a son, and the good-natured highlanders celebrated the child's birth.

At Nairns Craig, Fiona sat at her loom in her hall watching her children playing upon the floor. Alastair would be three in late spring. Mary was sixteen months old, and a new baby would be born before the snows were off the bens in earliest spring. Mary was her father's image, and had been named for both her grandmothers, whose Celtic names were variations on the more Anglicized version.

"Times are changing," Fiona had said after her daughter was born. "Eventually we will make our peace with the king. Our daughter may even go to court to serve the queen. Better her name be understood by all, particularly those who don't speak our Gaelic language."

Moire Rose agreed with her daughter-in-law.

The MacDonald of Nairn laughed. "I cannot win between the two of ye. Is it natural that a wife and a mother-in-law be such good friends?" he teased them.

"If they live in the same house, it certainly is!" Fiona said, and Moire Rose laughed her odd harsh laugh.

The king had not called a gathering of the clans in either 1426 or 1427. The highlands remained relatively calm, but the Lord of the Isles and the majority of the clan chieftains had not yet sworn their fealty to James Stewart. He finally had no choice but to call a gathering of the clans in Inverness or admit to not being in full control of his entire land. The assemblage was set for mid-July. The tower of Inverness Castle was repaired for James Stewart's arrival that summer.

The Lord of the Isles sent out messengers to all the clans ordering them to Inverness in answer to James Stewart's command. In the four years the king had been back in Scotland he had left the highlands to themselves, and The MacDonald had seen that the peace was kept. The Lord of the Isles had almost decided to give this king his fealty. Before he made his final decision, however, he wanted to gain a full measure of the man.

Fiona knew that her brother-in-law would stop at Nairns Craig before reaching Inverness. His messenger said he would be traveling with his mother, the old Countess of Ross, who would also swear her fealty to the king if her son did. The lord's wife, a shy woman, preferred to remain on Islay. As Fiona had not been back to Islay since her initial visit, she had yet to meet either of these women. The old countess was said to be by far the more interesting.

They arrived at Nairns Craig in the company of Father Ninian. Fiona was delighted to see the priest, for she had birthed her second daughter three months prior. The infant, who was to be called Johanna, in honor of the queen, stood in need of baptism. Euphemia MacDonald, Countess of Ross, offered to be the baby's godmother, a great honor for the MacDonalds of Nairn. And afterward when Alastair and Mary had also been admired, and Johanna fed, the family gathered in the hall for the evening meal.

Father Ninian brought news. The infant prince, Alexander Stewart, had not lived through the winter, but the queen was with child again, and it was hoped she would provide the needed heir. "Ye are fortunate in yer bairns, Colin MacDonald," he said. "Yer son, praise God, is a healthy laddie, and yer daughters likewise."

"I'd like another lad," Nairn said, looking to Fiona.

"Ye’ll wait for the next one, Colly," she told him boldly. "I'm worn out bearing yer bairns so quickly. If we're to have another son, then ye must let me rest a bit. When Johanna is weaned, we will discuss it again, my lord."

The Countess of Ross, a big handsome woman, chuckled. "The lassie is right, Nairn. If ye love her, ye'll not kill her with yer bairns." She turned to Fiona. "Don't let him bully ye, lassie!"

Nairn burst out laughing. "Bully her? It is not possible for me to bully Fiona. Rather, she bullies me."

"She but keeps him in line a wee bit," Moire Rose said in defense of her daughter-in-law. "Nairns Craig is a happier place because of Fiona Hay. I bless the day she came here."

"My mother-in-law attributes to me more than I am deserving of, I think," Fiona said, embarrassed, signaling her servants with a raised eyebrow to begin bringing the meal.

"Will ye come to Inverness then, sister?" the lord asked her.

"Indeed. I would not miss it for the world. 'Twill be a grand day when ye and James Stewart make yer peace together."

"I have not yet decided," Alexander MacDonald said, toying with his cup.

"Then why do ye go, and why did ye call the clans to obey the king's summons?" Fiona asked cleverly.

"I merely wish to see the man, and then I will decide." The lord speared a haunch of venison off a platter held out to him by an attentive servant.

Fiona laughed. "Ye lie, Alexander MacDonald. 'Tis yer pride that will not let ye admit that this king is different."

"We shall go and see, my bonnie," the Lord of the Isles replied, but his eyes were twinkling at her boldness. From the moment he had first met Fiona Hay he had loved her for her courage. Of all his sisters-in-law, and he had several, she was his favorite.

They set out from Nairns Craig on a bright summer morning. Once they reached the main road to Inverness, which ran through the town of Nairn and past Cawdor, the road was crowded with the clansmen headed for the gathering. Fiona rode her gelding while the Countess of Ross and Moire Rose shared a comfortable padded cart with Nelly and the children. The countryside about them was beautiful, the blue hills reflected in the blue waters of the lochs. Outside of Inverness the Lord of the Isles left them to join his own troupe of four thousand men, his ranks swollen by those of his sons: Ian, his heir; Celestine of Lochalsh; and Hugh of Sleate.

The town would not have enough room to house the clansmen, especially with the king and court there. It had been decided that they would camp outside Inverness. Great pavilions for the Lord of the Isles were set up in the center of the encampment, with smaller tents surrounding them.

In order to make a great show both to honor James Stewart and to intimidate him just a little, it had been planned that the clans would all come down from the hills surrounding the city at the same time. James Stewart watched, fascinated, from Inverness tower as the highlanders arrived, arrayed in their many colorful plaids, silken banners flying in the wind, their pipes screeching but one tune, the MacDonald march. They covered the hillsides, their feet thumping as they entered the city, led by Alexander MacDonald, Lord of the Isles, and his powerful family. It was a great display.

"He is not shy about his position here, is he?" the king said to his uncle of Atholl.

"Ye must force him to yer will, my liege," Atholl said grimly. "These MacDonalds always have been difficult. If ye can break them for good and all, so much the better for Scotland."

"We will see," the king said with a small smile. He already knew what he would do, but he had shared it with no one lest his plans be revealed to others.

Having displayed their might parading through Inverness, the clans marched to their encampment outside the town. Their servants and women were already there. The fires were blazing, the meat roasting. The Lord of the Isles had invited his younger brother of Nairn and his family to share his accommodations. They had been assigned a large tent that was divided into three rooms. Charcoal braziers were scattered about the space and would take the chill off the evening air. It had been a long day. The children were fed and put to bed with a nursemaid in one of the two sleeping spaces. Moire Rose would also share their quarters. Johanna was in her cradle in the master suite.

Roderick Dhu and Nelly, still courting, had brought food into the lent's living space from the cook fires. There was salmon, just caught that afternoon in the river Ness, which flowed outside their tents and through the town. It was broiled and served with wild cress that had been gathered from the shallows of a nearby stream along their route. And there was also beef that had been packed in salt and roasted over the fires. Bread, butter, and cheese completed the meal for the two women, who ate together, Nairn having joined his brothers and nephews in the Lord of the Isles' pavilion.

"What will happen tomorrow, Fiona?" her mother-in-law asked. "What is this Stewart king really like? Will he be vengeful?"

Fiona shook her head. "I don't know," she said honestly. "I can tell ye that he is determined to rule all of Scotland. He will settle for no less. If he has left us alone these past few years, it was because he was busy in the lowlands, or perhaps he thought to intimidate us, or possibly both. He is a determined man."

Moire Rose nodded. “I would see him, for I have never before seen a king of Scotland."

"I hope ye will not be disappointed," Fiona said. "He is not handsome. The lord and Nairn both tower over him in height but, to be fair, not in stature."

Outside, the encampment began to quiet down. The two women sought their beds. After lifting Johanna from her cradle, Fiona nursed the sleepy child, changed her napkin, and set her back down in her cradle. Then, bathing in a small basin that Nelly had brought her, she asked her servant, "Did ye see the old woman? Is she comfortable?"

"Aye, I helped her to undress and settled her down," Nelly said. "She ought to take a young woman in service, for she needs one. Her poor old Beathag can barely walk now, let alone come on such a trip."

"Beathag has been with Moire Rose her entire life. I think she lives on simply because her mistress needs her," Fiona said. "Go to bed now, Nelly. Tomorrow we'll get to see the king."

"I have seen him," Nelly said sourly. "I do not think much of James Stewart. I think the clans foolish to trust him. Ye trusted him, and look what he did to ye, my lady."

"Hush, Nelly, do not be angry anymore. 1 am content with Nairn, and we have fine bairns. What more can a woman want but a good man and children?" Fiona patted her servant comfortingly.

"Ye do not really love him, and ye have a right to love," Nelly said.

"I do not love him like Black Angus, 'tis true," Fiona admitted, "but I love him in another way, and he loves me. Oh, Nelly, what if Colin MacDonald had been a brute and not the kind of man he is? Neither of us could have borne it these last three years. I have more than I ever expected to have, and ye do, too. When will ye marry Roderick Dhu? He is desperate for ye to become his wife. Ye've courted for two years."

Nelly sighed. "I love the great gawk," she said, "but what if one day we could go back to Brae, my lady? I could not go with ye if I were wed to my highlander. Better I remain a maid."

"Nelly, we will not be going back to Brae. Black Angus has wed with the queen's cousin. I would not be welcome there. I have my own husband, and ye have a chance of a good husband, too. Take it, lassie!"

Nelly bid her mistress good night and went out into the living space, where her pallet was located by a charcoal brazier.

Fiona lay down upon the bed that had been made up of fir boughs covered with a feather bed. Pulling up the fox coverlet, she fell asleep. She awoke to hear her husband swearing softly as he stumbled about in the darkness. "Colin! Ye'll waken the bairn," she cautioned him.

The sound of her voice drew him to the bedding. He yanked his boots off and almost fell upon her. "Ah, sweeting, there ye are," he said, his hands fumbling to find her breasts.

"Yer drunk!" she accused him, but she couldn't help laughing softly. She had never seen him this way.

"Just a wee bit drunk," he assured her. "My brothers could not walk to their beds, and had to be carried," he bragged, placing a wet kiss on her lips. "Jesu, yer sweet," he muttered against her soft hair. "Do ye not love me a little bit, Fiona mine?"

"Aye," she told him. "A wee bit, Colin MacDonald." She shifted to find a more comfortable spot, for he was lying half across her.

He nuzzled her neck. "Ye know what I want, sweeting," he said suggestively. His hands were caressing her gently.

"Colin," she chided him, "ye have to go before the king in the morning. If ye don't get some sleep, yer head will ache ye something fearful, I guarantee ye. Ye’ll shame us all."

His knee was levering her thighs apart as he attempted to slip between her legs. "I'll sleep all the better and awake happier if ye'll love me, Fiona mine," he wheedled tenderly.

"Yer worse than Alastair when he wants a shortbread," she scolded him, but the hardness probing against the insides of her thighs was exciting. She slid her arms about his neck and drew him down. His breath was pungent with wine. "If ye fall asleep on me before 'tis finished, Colin MacDonald," she warned him ominously, "I swear I'll do to ye what we did to that bull calf born last year."

His laughter was low and smoky. "When, Fiona mine," he asked her, "when did I ever not finish what I began?" Then he thrust into her warm body, pleasuring them until both were near unconscious with a mixture of exhaustion and contentment.

When she awoke in the early hours just before dawn, he was snoring softly by her side, his red head against her round shoulder. Fiona crept from the bed, making a great effort not to awaken him. Slipping out into the living space of the tent, she saw Roderick Dhu and Nelly curled together for warmth and companionship. Gently she shook them both.

"Wake yer master," she told the clansman, "and get him down to the river to bathe. I will not have him before James Stewart smelling of stale wine and passion. Then bring me some hot water so I may make my own ablutions and yer master can scrape the fur from his face."

Roderick Dhu was on his feet, nodding at her. "Aye, my lady."

"Fetch Johanna, and I'll feed her," she instructed Nelly.

The encampment was beginning to stir. Nairn returned from the river, bleary-eyed but clean, to find his wife still nursing their daughter. For a moment he stopped to watch her, enjoying the scene. "She's got a head like mine," he noted proudly.

"So does Mary," Fiona reminded him, and handed the infant to Nelly to return to her cradle. "Put on a clean shirt," she instructed her husband. "I'll fetch ye some mulled wine and bread."

The king had called the gathering for ten in the morning. The Lord of the Isles and the other chieftains of the highland clans were invited into the king's hall along with the Countess of Ross. They came to the monarch's castle, flags flying, pipes playing. The castle was set by the edge of the river Ness, a broad blue waterway that flowed into Beauly Loch, and finally Moray Firth. Only the lord, his mother, the clan chieftains, and their women were invited into the king's hall. The clansmen were asked politely to remain outside as neither the castle nor its hall was big enough to contain them all.

Led by the Lord of the Isles, the men entered the hall. It was a good-sized room of gray stone but had no windows. At its far end was a dais with a gilded wooden canopy, beneath which the king sat upon a throne. He watched through narrowed eyes as the highlanders made their way toward him. Although he had never met the Lord of the Isles, he recognized him immediately, not simply because he preceded all the others but because he looked like a dark-haired version of The MacDonald of Nairn, who strode behind him.

Alexander MacDonald bowed before King James. "My lord," he said, "I welcome ye to the highlands. May yer stay be a pleasant one, and may ye return often here." It was a gracious speech, graciously spoken.

The king stood, looking down on all of them. "Ye are late in coming to render me yer obedience, my lords."

"We but awaited yer call to this gathering, my lord," the Lord of the Isles replied. "Ye were slow in issuing it."

"I am told there are some among ye who would have my life," the king answered. "It was necessary that I decide what course of action I would take in the face of such perfidy." Raising his hand, he signaled his guards. Alexander MacRurie and Ian MacArthur were hauled forth from the ranks of their companions and flung at the foot of the dais. "Ye two spoke on my murder. I canna trust ye. Yer deaths will provide an example to yer companions." Again the king signaled, and before anyone realized what was happening, the two unfortunates were pinioned and swiftly beheaded with well-sharpened swords that had been prepared for just this occasion. The heads hardly rolled, but blood gushed from the severed necks of the two men, spilling across the floor, sending the women assembled within the room shrieking and seeking a place where the blood would not reach.

"Seize them all!" the king's voice thundered as he pointed to the Lord of the Isles and his companions. "Throw them in the dungeon prepared for their arrival!" Stepping over the river of blood, he held out his hand to a now stony-faced Countess of Ross. "Come, madam, for ye are to be my guest for the interim."

Fiona stepped forward and cried, " 'Tis dishonorably done, James Stewart! The lord and the chieftains have come unarmed into yer hall this day to make their peace with ye. Is this how ye treat those who would pledge loyalty and friendship to ye? Shame! Shame!"

The king looked across the hall at the woman who had spoken. She was tall for a woman, and he was sure he knew her. She was certainly very fair. A chieftain's wife by the look of her. Then he recognized her. "Once, madam, ye pledged yer loyalty to me," he said meaningfully.

"I have kept my pledge, even to speaking on yer behalf, my liege, in The MacDonald's hall. If he is here today, it is partly because of me. How dare ye break the laws of hospitality to unjustly imprison these men? Ye who love justice above all things. Is this yer justice?"

"She is as brave as she is bonnie," Alexander MacDonald whispered to his brother, Colin MacDonald. "If she weren't yer wife, and if I did not have a wife myself, I would wed her this day!"

"Leave my hall, madam, and don't come back!" the king roared. "Do ye dare to instruct me? A little cattle thief and a whore?"

The Lord of the Isles gripped his brother of Nairn's arm in a tight grasp. "Don't move, Colly, or the bonnie Fiona will be a widow. He only insults her because she has pricked at his conscience."

"Better an honest whore, my liege, than a dishonorable king!" Fiona said with devastating impact, then turned and walked from the hall, the chieftains' wives following behind her.

The king opened his mouth with the full intent to order Fiona's arrest, but in the shadow of his throne his cousin, Ninian Stewart, said softly, She is a woman with three bairns, one new and at her breast. She would make a magnificent martyr, cousin. The highlands would be aflame for years to come. Let her go."

The king's mouth snapped shut audibly.

There was another within the room who, shocked, had also recognized Fiona. Hamish Stewart in a show of family loyalty had accompanied his cousin north. He had known Fiona instantly. Her skirmish with the king had been more than it seemed to the watching court. Slipping from the hall, he hurried after the retreating clanswomen, catching one by the arm, and asking her, "Who was the woman to beard the king, lady?"

" 'Twas The MacDonald of Nairn's wife, sir," the woman replied, pulling away from his grasp to dash after her companions.

Hamish Stewart was amazed. How had Fiona Hay become The MacDonald of Nairn's wife? He would have sworn she would have moved heaven and earth to return home to Brae and Black Angus. Why had she not? Hamish Stewart followed the clanswomen outside, where a roar of disapproval greeted the news that their chieftains were imprisoned on the king's orders. The highlanders moved back from the castle grounds to their encampment just up the river. Hamish Stewart followed along at a discreet distance. He had to find Fiona. He had to know what had happened.

Chapter 14

Hamish Stewart walked slowly through the highland encampment. Already the men were gathering about the fires, not certain what they should do. Hamish knew the Lord of the Isles' pavilion would be in the very center of the camp and he hoped that the tent housing The MacDonald of Nairn would be nearby. Finally, as he sighted the lord's pavilion, he stopped a young clansman, asking him, "Can ye direct me to the tent of The MacDonald of Nairn, lad?"

"What would ye be wanting with him?" the young man asked. "Have ye not heard? Nairn, the lord himself, and all the others who went into the hall to pledge their good faith to James Stewart, were arrested by that king." He spat scornfully. " 'Twas a craven act!"

"I am kin to Nairn's wife," Hamish told the clansman smoothly. "I wish to offer her my aid should she need it."

"Nairn's wife? A courageous woman," said the young man. "My mother says she spoke out verra bravely and to the king's face in the hall, but he insulted her, calling her a cattle thief and a whore. 'Tis what all those south of the Tay think of us, damn them! They are not true Scots, with their Anglicized speech and their English wives."

Hamish nodded in apparent agreement. He had spoken in the Gaelic language of the highlands to the clansman, and the plaid he wore was the ancient Stewart plaid, a mix of deep blue, black, and green with a thin red stripe that was similar to several of the northern clans' colors. "Ye know where my kinswoman is?" he gently prodded the young man.

"Oh, aye," came the reply. "That tent, next to the lord's great pavilion, is Nairn's."

Thanking him, Hamish Stewart walked over to it, lifted the flap, and entered the living space. A tall clansman came forward.

"My lord?"

"Is this the tent of The MacDonald of Nairn?"

"Who would know?" demanded the man.

"I am Hamish Stewart, a friend of his wife's."

"I have never seen ye before," Roderick Dhu said suspiciously.

"Nor have I seen ye. Tell yer mistress that I wish to see her, that I saw her in the hall this day and bring news of her sisters, Jeannie and Morag Hay."

" 'Tis all right, Roddy," Fiona said, stepping forth from behind a curtain that separated the living space from the bed space. "How are ye, Hamish? 'Tis been a long time."

"What happened?" was all he could say. The promise she had shown as a young girl had been more than fulfilled. Fiona was an absolutely beautiful woman with a calm assurance he never would have imagined she could possess. When she had spoken out so boldly in the hall this morning, he had actually felt a swell of pride.

"Sit down, Hamish," she told him. "Ye look as if ye have seen a ghostie. Roderick Dhu, fetch some wine for Lord Stewart. Then tell Nelly to keep Moire Rose amused. I would speak with my old friend privately."

The tall clansman nodded and went off to do her bidding.

Fiona put a finger to her lips. Then she said in deceptively quiet tones, "Tell me of my sisters, my lord. Are they well?"

"Jeannie has finally wed with Jamie-boy, just last year," he said, trying to keep his voice from betraying his excitement. "She is with bairn. 'Twill be born in early winter."

" 'Tis past time, for Jeannie is sixteen now," Fiona noted. "I am happy for her. I know how much she loves her Jamie-boy. Is he good to her, my lord? It would break my heart if 'twere not so."

"She has him wrapped quite securely about her little finger, Fiona Hay," Hamish Stewart said with a small chuckle.

"And my Morag? Have ye found a husband for her?"

"She and my son have taken to each other," he replied. "Like all (he Hay women, she seems to hold a fascination for the gentlemen."

"And Janet? She is well? Ah, Roderick Dhu, here ye are. Set the tray down, then leave us."

The clansman obeyed her, albeit reluctantly, but when he had slipped behind the curtain, Nelly said to him excitedly, " 'Tis Hamish Stewart! What is he doing here?"

"Ye know him?" Roderick Dhu was surprised.

"Of course," Nelly said pertly. "He comes from near the place where I was born, Roddy. How did he know we were here, I wonder."

"He said he had seen our lady in the hall today," Roderick Dhu told the girl. "Be he a good man?"

"Aye!" Nelly averred. "Perhaps he can help our lord. He is distantly related to the king. That is why I think he has come to Inverness. He would want to offer a show of support for his kinsman."

“Where is Moire Rose?'' Roderick Dhu asked.

"The old woman is asleep. This morning was too much of a shock for her. She was not a good mother, I know, but she loves our master with all her heart. She is verra frightened for him. 'Tis better she lie in her bed and rest until we know what we are to do."

Fiona popped her head through the curtain. "Lord Stewart and I are going to walk by the river," she said. Then she was gone.

"Let her be," Nelly said, putting a restraining hand on her husband-to-be's strong arm. "There is nothing amiss. Lord Stewart is like a brother to my lady. He is the first of her old friends she has seen since she came north with our lord. She will want to explain to him in private how this all came to be."

Fiona led Hamish Stewart from the encampment to a narrow path that ran along the river Ness. Here and there the river had cut away a tiny portion of the land, making little islands that were connected to the main shore by rustic wooden bridges. It was to one of these small islands that Fiona took her companion. Making certain that there was no one else upon the small spot of land, they sat down upon an outcropping facing the shore.

"Now Hamish," she said to him, "I shall tell ye everything, but listen closely, for I must, of necessity, keep my voice low. 'Twould not do for anyone else to hear this tale. Even Nairn knows nothing at all."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing. I am Colin MacDonald's wife," Fiona told him. "I am a mother three times. My son is three and is called Alastair. We have a daughter, Mary, who will be two in September, and a daughter, Johanna, who was born in March." Then she went on to explain everything that had happened to her in careful detail since that morning she had left Scone Palace on the road to Brae. She spoke calmly, but he could see the vestiges of pain in her eyes that her soft voice tried to conceal.

Hamish Stewart listened, and when she had finished he took her hands in his. "Ye did what ye had to do, lassie. I am ashamed that my cousin James is so determined to rule all of Scotland that he would have forced a woman to his secret service. I realize, however, that ye dared not refuse him. If only Angus had taken ye home before he hurried off to England to fetch the queen's cousin."

"But the king was determined Angus wed with Mistress Williams," Fiona said. "He said he and the queen wanted to bind Angus closer to them. If I had been at Brae, he would have found a way for The MacDonald to steal me away from there, and good Brae people might have been killed or hurt. It was better this way, I think. No one was really hurt, and certainly as husband to the queen's cousin, Angus stands high in the king's favor. Even more so than before. I did not see him in the hall this morning, and I will admit to ye that I was relieved, but where is he, my lord? I would have thought he would have accompanied the king to the gathering here in Inverness."

"He is in England on king's business," Hamish Stewart said. Why on earth did Fiona believe Angus was wed to Mistress Elizabeth? She had no idea that they had searched high and low for her that autumn and the following spring when the trees began to bud, even before the snow was off the tops of the bens. Aye, they had sought for her, but had been unable to find any trace of her. It was finally decided that she had been murdered along with Nelly and buried in some unmarked grave deep in the bens. In his grief Angus Gordon had remained in England as the king's representative. He had not been back to Brae in almost two years.

And now, he, Hamish Stewart, possessed the answer to the riddle that had plagued them all, yet he would be unable to tell anyone. Fiona was married, possibly even happily. She had children. To tell her that Angus Gordon was not wed to Elizabeth Williams, that he lived in self-imposed exile with his broken heart would serve no purpose. Neither would telling Angus that Fiona yet lived, another man's wife and the mother of his three bairns. "Would ye have me tell yer sisters that ye are alive and content, Fiona?" he asked her. "Ye are. content?"

"Aye," she said softly. Then, "Do not tell Jeannie and Morag, Hamish. They could not keep the secret that I know ye can. I ask but one thing of ye, though. From time to time will ye send me news of my sisters? Anne, Elsbeth, and Margery, too, if ye hear anything."

"I will, Fiona," he said, and then he turned his head sharply at the sound of a small child's voice calling.

"Mama! Mama!" A little lad came into view upon the riverbank.

"Jesu!" Fiona swore, jumping up. "He has gotten away from his nurse, and Nelly, too. Alastair! Stay where ye are, or I will take a birch switch to yer bottom, laddie!"

The child heeded her not, however, and raced across the little wooden bridge to fling himself proudly into her arms. "I found ye, Mama," he said triumphantly.

"Yer a bad bairn," she scolded him, "to run away from nursie and Nelly. They will be frantic looking for ye." She turned to Lord Stewart. "I must get him back quickly else they all have a fit."

Hamish Stewart was staring at the boy. "Jesu!" he said, seeing his brother-in-law, Angus Gordon, in the lad's small face.

Fiona held up a warning hand and spoke to him in the Scots-English dialect she knew her son would not understand. "Ye can say nothing to him, Hamish. When the king forced me to play this game, I was not certain if I was with his bairn. I feared if I was not and cried off with that excuse, he would punish Angus."

"But MacDonald?"

"He believes my son is his son. I will not tell him otherwise for my bairn's sake. Don't look so shocked. Brae's wife will certainly give him an heir if she has not already. He does not need my laddie. Now, I must go. Farewell, Hamish Stewart. 'Twas verra good to see ye again." Then, taking her son by the hand, Fiona departed the small island for the shore, soon disappearing amid the trees along the riverbank.

Hamish Stewart remained sitting upon the outcropping. He needed time to absorb everything she had told him. Had he not heard the story from her own lips, Hamish would not have believed his cousin the king so ruthless. He wondered what would happen to the remaining chieftains the king had imprisoned that day. He did not have long to wait.

The next week the king called for all the clansmen and women who had gathered at Inverness to attend his parliament, where he intended to render his judgment upon their chieftains. The highlanders came fearfully, for a rhyme, attributed to the king, had been making the rounds all the week long regarding the fate of the Lord of the Isles and his allies.

To donjon tower let this rude troop be driven,

For death they merit, by the cross of heaven.

The MacRuries and the MacArthurs had already left the gathering to carry home the decapitated bodies of their chieftains. So as not to appear to be showing favoritism to any of the clans, for MacRurie had been a cousin of Alexander MacDonald, the king also hanged in that week James Campbell, who had been responsible for the murder of the current Lord of the Isles' cousin, Ian MacDonald.

To everyone's surprise and relief, the king fined the chieftains and released them. A lecture, as well as a fine, however, was saved for Alexander MacDonald, Lord of the Isles. "I canna rule Scotland properly if ye are always rousing the north for one imagined offense or another, my lord," the king said severely. "There can be but one king in this land, and I am he, by the grace of God, anointed with the holy oil, in Holy Mother Church. Ye will cease yer turbulent lawlessness against me, my lord, or I will be forced to take arms against ye. I don't want to do that, for war is expensive and a waste of good lives. But be warned, Alexander MacDonald, if ye will not desist in yer proud ways, I will make ye do so. Now, sir, ye may pledge me yer fealty before this parliament, and then may yer friends and allies do so, too."

Reluctantly the Lord of the Isles obeyed the king, not wanting to be further publicly embarrassed, but he was furious over his brief imprisonment. When he arose from his knees, the king said, "Now, ye, Nairn, for so I promised ye several years back that ye would swear second after yer brother."

Colin MacDonald stepped forward, a small smile upon his lips.

"I feared my lord would not swear," Fiona said afterward. They were safely back in their own tent. She had her husband ensconced in a wooden barrel Roderick Dhu had confiscated for her. The barrel had been filled with hot water, and she was now scrubbing her husband's red-gold head with great vigor.

"Ouch! Go gentle, sweeting," he begged her, and then, "My brother does not consider his oath binding, for the king forced it from him. Had he not sworn, James Stewart would not have let him go."

Secretly, Fiona agreed with her brother-in-law, but she would not say so aloud. "An oath sworn before God and witnesses is an oath to be kept," she said severely. "What harm has been done? All yer brother must do is keep the peace. Can he not do that, Nairn?"

"His pride has been compromised, Fiona mine. He has been publicly shamed and made an example of in the king's hall. How can he forget that? It must be made right, or there are those among the clans who will believe he has become weak. Then he will not be able to keep the peace in the north for James Stewart."

"And how does yer brother propose to salve his pride then, my lord?" she asked scathingly, dumping a bucket of warm water over his head.

Colin MacDonald shook his head free of the droplets. "I don't know yet, for he has not decided what he shall do."

Fiona snorted with impatience and handed her husband the scrubbing cloth and some soap. "Wash yerself, and do a good job of it," she cautioned him. "A week in the king's dungeon, and there is enough dirt on ye to grow cabbages, my lord."

"I wish we were at home," he said, "so we might bathe together."

" 'Tis not bathing together yer thinking about." She laughed. "Jesu, Colin MacDonald, ye have just escaped possible death, and do ye give God a prayer of thanks for it? No! Ye think of coupling with yer wife!"

"Aye," he admitted, not in the least ashamed. "The whole time 1 was in the king's jail I didn't fight or fret, for I just kept thinking about yer pretty round little titties, and how sweetly ye sheathe me when we join, Fiona mine."

She laughed again. "Well," she told him. "I canna say I am disappointed that ye thought of me, Nairn. I worried a great deal about ye, particularly when they would not let us see any of ye or even bring ye small comforts. Then when the king hanged James Campbell, those of us in the encampment were hard put not to be frightened."

"Campbell deserved hanging," Colin MacDonald said grimly.

"Well, I’m grateful the king did not hang ye."

Nairn rose, pushed himself up and out of the barrel with his strong arms, and attempted to embrace her, but she scolded him, saying, "The living space is not private, and 'tis the middle of the day. What if the children or the servants or, God help us, yer mam, were to come upon us? Behave yerself, Nairn. Now that I have ye safe there will be plenty of time for loving ye, but not here or now, my lord. Did ye sleep well in prison?"

"No," he said, almost purring as she rubbed him dry.

"Then ye will need a good night's sleep, my lord, for unless ye have objection, I would depart for Nairns Craig as early tomorrow as we can go. And when we are home, Colly, ye will not regret controlling yer baser instincts for me now." She drew a clean shirt over his big body, her hand slipping beneath the fabric just a moment to caress his love rod. "If 'tis hungry now, 'twill be even hungrier in two days if I can wait."

He chuckled. "Yer a brazen piece of goods, wife," he told her, but he did not sound displeased with her at all.

Colin MacDonald had no sooner finished dressing than Roderick Dhu ushered in a royal page. "The lad comes from the king," he said dourly.

"What is it, lad?" Nairn asked the boy.

"The king would speak in private with yer lady, sir," the page told them. "I am to accompany her to the castle."

"Why does he wish to speak with my wife?"

"Is this not the lady who spoke out so boldly in the king's hall the opening day of the parliament?" the page replied.

"I am," Fiona admitted.

"Then ye are the lady the king wishes to speak with," the page said firmly. Then he said confidentially, "I think he means to scold ye, lady. He was verra angry that day."

"Was he indeed, lad?" Fiona said, unable to help the small smile that touched her mouth. "He means me no harm, Colly," she reassured her husband. "I think the lad is right. I will go with him and return soon, I promise."

"Mistress!" Nelly came forward and handed her Johanna. "Take the bairn for safety's sake, my lady." She slipped a sling of warm plaid about Fiona's neck and tucked the baby into it so that it lay cradled against Fiona's bosom. "Aye," she said with a small chuckle. "That will do nicely. No man, even a king, can be harsh to a woman with a tiny bairn clinging to her."

Fiona bit her lip, restraining her laughter, and when she had gone with the page, Nairn said to Nelly, "Yer as clever a lass as yer mistress is, Nelly. When do ye intend wedding poor Roderick?"

"When we return to Nairns Craig," Nelly said calmly. " 'Tis time, I'm thinking, that we settled down properly, my lord."

Roderick Dhu looked stunned at this revelation. "Yer finally ready?" he asked, amazed, for Nelly had held him off forever, it seemed. "What has happened to change yer mind, Nelly lass?"

"I saw how easily a woman might lose the man she loves," Nelly told him honestly. "And I do love ye, ye great, gangling gawk of a man."

James Stewart looked at Fiona with a sharp eye. In her fine wool skirts and her creamy silk blouse, a length of plaid about her, she was the picture of a highland chieftain's wife.

"What have ye tucked into that shawl?" he demanded of her.

"My youngest daughter, Johanna, named for yer queen," she replied. "She was born a bit over four months ago. I could not leave her, my liege, when ye called me."

"Ye managed to leave her the first day of the parliament," he said dryly. "Why is today different-or are ye attempting to gain my sympathy because of yer recent maternity, lady?''

"On the day ye so shamefully arrested the chieftains," Fiona replied blandly, "my maidservant looked after my bairns. Now she must watch over my husband's mother, who has been made unwell by all the excitement of the gathering, my liege."

"How many bairns?"

"Three, so far. The eldest is a son, Alastair James. The second, a daughter, Mary," Fiona responded. "Ye have two daughters, I am told."

"Margaret and Isabella," he answered. "I do not ask ye here, lady, to discuss our offspring. Ye have disappointed me, Fiona Hay. Why did ye return my coin?"

"I will not inform upon my husband, my liege," she said. "Nor will I betray his family. Ye have no right to ask it of me. Besides, I am not privy to the Lord of the Isles' thoughts. Nairns Craig is on the opposite side of Scotland from Islay. As for my husband, he is loyal to his brother, it is true, but he is not an instigator of mischief. In all the time I have been with Nairn, I have been to Islay only once, and that immediately after I was taken. There is naught I can tell ye. Now, let me return to my husband. Ye have forced me to lie to him once more, for I shall have to tell him ye scolded me severely for my outburst in the hall last week. We have no other business, my liege."

"I will release ye for now, Fiona MacDonald," he told her, "but there may come a time when I need ye again. Ye canna refuse me. I am yer king and yer overlord, woman. Will ye break yer fealty to me?"

"As I am pledged to ye, my lord, so were ye pledged to me," Fiona answered him fiercely. "When ye forced me into yer service three years ago, ye broke yer trust with me. As I was pledged to give ye service, ye were bound to protect me and my honor. I have served ye well, James Stewart, but ye have not kept yer part of the bargain between overlord and liege woman. I will promise ye this. I will not rebel against ye as my king, but neither will ye demand service of me again. Ye have not the right to do so any longer." She inclined her head to him then and turned to go, but suddenly she stopped, swiveling her head about. "Be advised, my liege. The Lord of the Isles feels ye have shamed him publicly. He may seek to retaliate simply to balance the scales between ye. He will be a good ally after that, though, and ye can trust him, for his sense of honor and justice is a strong one." With that, Fiona left.

He let her go. The truth was that she was no longer important to him. By challenging her he had closed the book on them. Her warning he accepted as a pledge of her good faith, but he did not give it serious consideration. Certainly The MacDonald saw James Stewart's determination. Surely a week in the royal dungeon cooling his heels had reinforced the king's will. It was unlikely that The MacDonald would precipitate any foolish action against the king. No. James Stewart now had the highlands firmly under his control.

"What did he want?" Nairn asked her when she returned to their tent.

Fiona laughed. "It was as the lad said. He scolded me for my bold tongue, but I reminded him that highland women are outspoken, and then I sent my regards to my former mistress, the queen. I do not think he is pleased with me, Colly, but what have I really done but speak the truth? He knew it, and so he sent me on my way."

Colin MacDonald drew his wife into his arms. “I never want to lose ye, Fiona mine," he said. "Ye must not be so brazen and bold, sweeting." His big hand caressed her dark head.

Fiona laughed again and, pulling away from him, looked into his face. "Telling me to not be brazen or bold is like asking the sun to not rise, please," she teased him. "I am who I am, my lord, and verra unlikely to change, I fear. I think it is a good thing that ye love me for the way I am." Then she drew his head down to hers and kissed him softly. "I have missed ye, Colly. I have missed ye verra, verra much."

The smoky hint of passion in her voice was tempting. His grip about her tightened. His eyes narrowed as he contemplated her and the delights they were about to share. She smiled up seductively at him. It was an outrageous and blatant invitation.

Then Roderick Dhu's voice broke the spell. "The lord is calling for ye to come to his pavilion immediately, my lord."

"Dammit!" Fiona swore softly, and her husband laughed.

''I'll be back as quickly as I can, sweeting," he told her, kissing the tip of her nose.

Fiona smiled, watching him go. She had managed to turn his thoughts from her visit to the king. Pray God she would never be put into such a position again. She wondered what Colin MacDonald would think if he ever learned that his abduction of her had been carefully orchestrated by James Stewart. And what would he do if he learned that Alastair was not his natural born son but the offspring of Angus Gordon? She was fortunate he was such a trusting man with a basically sweet nature. But he could be as determined and strong as she was, Fiona knew. She comforted herself with the knowledge that she was a good wife to him, and always had been. Moreover, she was finally willing to admit she was in love with her big highland husband. Meeting Hamish Stewart had been wonderful, yet frightening. What if Black Angus had been with the king? How could she have faced him? He would have despised her, and she could not have borne it. Angus would have believed the worst, as he had always been wont to do. At least Colin loved her for good or bad.

When Fiona awoke in the morning, Colin was already up and dressing. She stretched herself, enjoying the sensation as she did so.

"Yer awake," he said. "It isn't quite dawn, but we should be under way as quickly as possible."

"How late were ye?" she asked, wondering why he had not wakened her and made love to her as he had earlier intended.

"The chieftains had much talking to do," he answered, but no more.

"Tell me that yer brother will not be foolish," she begged.

"Alexander has been insulted by James Stewart. That insult must be redressed. Ye know that is the way of it, sweeting."

Fiona climbed from their camp bed. "So yer brother, having sworn fealty to the king, breaks that fealty and strikes back at James Stewart. What, pray tell, do ye think the king will do, Colly? Do ye believe that he will let it go? Or will he strike back, too? And then it begins anew. The highlands aflame. Crops and cattle destroyed. Women, bairns, and old folk driven from their homes, hounded to their deaths. For what, my lord? Will this redress either your brother's pride or the equally vast pride of James Stewart? Why must we all suffer the conceit and arrogance of those who rule us?"

Putting his arms about her, he tried to comfort her. "Ye don't understand, Fiona mine," he said gently.

She pulled away from him, outraged. "Don't understand? Ye dare to accuse me of not understanding? I understand all too well, my lord. It is verra simple. Men would rather fight. Women would not. There is no more to it, Colin MacDonald. Only that!"

"Hurry and dress, sweeting," he said, ignoring her logic, for it conflicted with his own, and he was certain he was right. "I want to get home to Nairns Craig as quickly as possible. There is much to do to get ready." He cinched a wide leather belt about his waist.

"Get ready for what?" she demanded.

Tipping her chin up, he brushed her lips lightly. "Don't be long," he said with infuriating charm, and then he left her.

Fiona shook her head. What mischief were the MacDonalds up to, and what would the cost to ordinary folk be? Pulling on her skirts and footwear, she called to Nelly to bring Johanna so she might nurse the bairn before they departed. What would be would be. Her main goal was to protect her children and Moire Rose from the chaos that would undoubtedly come.

She thought as they rode that day of how relatively peaceful her childhood had been despite just this sort of squabbling going on about her. She remembered that Black Angus had once told her Hay Tower and Brae escaped the general mayhem because of their relative isolation. Nairns Craig, while inaccessible to direct attack, was near enough to the town of Nairn, the seat of the head of the Rose family, and Cawdor Castle, which had once been home to an evil king called Macbeth, to not be overlooked in any factional fighting between the king's forces and the highlanders, should it come to that. She hoped whatever the Lord of the Isles was planning would not be so dreadful that the king would feel bound to retaliate by setting the highlands aflame. Especially with the autumn coming. She hoped the king would go to Islay to take his revenge should he need to, but she knew he wouldn't. Punishing the highlands would be easier than taking to sea to reach Islay.

She was frightening herself needlessly, Fiona decided. Alexander MacDonald was an honorable man. He had sworn his loyalty to James Stewart. His brief sojourn as the king's "guest" had certainly angered and embarrassed him, but his retaliation would more than likely be a firm protest the king would understand. James Stewart would let it stand, knowing the Lord of the Isles meant nothing more by it than having the last word. Certainly the king would comprehend that, and they would all go on living in peace. Aye! Of course! That was how it would be. No one wanted to rip apart the fragile peace that they had sought for so long between the king and the lord. The king was clever. He would fathom the subtleties of it all.

It was good to be home. The servants had not slacked off in their duties while their mistress was away. The hall was sparkling, a bowl of roses on the high board, the fireplaces clean, the plate shining. Alastair ran happily about, delighted to be free of the confines of the tent, from which he had rarely escaped. His personal nursemaid greeted him joyously, and the two hurried off hand in hand to see the little boy's pony in the stables. Mary would have followed after her brother, but her own personal servant swooped her up for a nap after the long ride. The baby was nursed in the comfort of her own hall, by her own log fire, then turned over to her servant.

Moire Rose sat in her own familiar place opposite her daughter-in-law. "I've done all the traveling I ever hope to do," she said firmly, "and I've seen a Stewart king. Ye were right, Fiona, he was not much to see." She chuckled. " 'Tis good to be back by my own hearth with Nairn safe. I would have died myself had the king executed him like he did MacRurie, MacArthur, and that devil, James Campbell."

"The Lord of the Isles is plotting some revenge on the king for the insult he believes James Stewart visited upon him," Fiona said.

"Aye," Moire Rose answered. "He would, of course."

"It is wrong!" Fiona's voice was near to shouting.

Her mother-in-law looked surprised by the tone. “Why, Fiona lassie, 'tis the way of the highlands to revenge a slight. We have always done so and always will do so. To do less would be weakness."

"If every time someone looks cross-eyed at another someone," Fiona said, trying to master her emotions, "a fight will ensue, how will we ever stop feuds, madam?"

"We will not, Fiona. It is our way." She reached over and patted her daughter-in-law with a bony hand. "Nairns Craig has never had its defenses breached in all the years it has stood here on this spine of rock. It has been here my whole life, my father's life, and long before him. I've waited out a few sieges in my time, lassie."

Nairn made love to his wife. It was a long, sweet bout of tender touches, hot mouth fusing on hot mouth, and skin that tingled in the wake of a thousand kisses. Twice they made each other cry out with pleasure, but afterward, his head upon her breasts, his ragged breathing finally slowing to normal, he sensed her unease.

"What frightens ye so about the normal course of events, Fiona mine?''

"If Alexander is planning something dreadful, don't answer his call, Colly," she begged him.

"He is my brother, sweeting."

Fiona sat up, suddenly forcing him from his comfortable pillow. "I am yer wife," she said quietly. "I am the mother of yer bairns. Do ye not owe me a greater loyalty than ye owe him?"

"Alexander and I are bound by blood, sweeting."

"We are bound by God," she replied. "Would ye place the Lord of the Isles above God, Colin MacDonald? Would ye dare?"

"Aye, I would," he said. He hated it when she spoke to him with such logic. It wasn't womanly. "I would put my brother above God because I shall have to answer to my brother in this life. I shall not have to answer to God until I die, and I shall make my confession repenting my sins, including my loyalty to Alexander MacDonald, before that event takes place."

“If ye have the good fortune to die in yer bed, and how many of ye highland warriors do?" Fiona asked him with devastating effect.

"Don't speak on it," he gently scolded her. "Ye will bring bad fortune to us all."

"I canna help it," she told him. "I have this great sense of foreboding, Colly. It follows me about like a dark cloud. I canna rid myself of it, though I would. Don't go if the lord calls ye!"

He flung himself from their bed. "Yer being foolish," he told her. "I will not disappoint my brother, for I am pledged to him."

"Yer pledged to the king, too," she said angrily.

"The king is not my blood kin," he shouted at her. "Besides, Nair has never fallen, Fiona mine. Ye and the bairns will be safe."

"So yer mam has told me," Fiona snapped, arising also.

Their views were too disparate for them to come to agreement on the matter, and so for the time being they avoided it altogether. Nelly and Roderick Dhu handfasted themselves in the hall before their lord and lady as well as the castle folk. When the priest came, they would repeat their vows, but they did not wish to wait any longer. Nelly, her carrot-red hair loose to signify her maiden state, cried happily when her new husband laid a length of his plaid across her chest, fastening it with a fine pewter pin. Fiona had provided a small celebratory feast, and Nairn honored the two valued servants by declaring a half holiday for all his people. It was a happy time.

Outside in the hills about them autumn had come. The trees blazed with scarlet, gold, tawny orange, and sunny yellow. The loch near them and the lochs they could see in the distance as the leaves fell from the trees, leaving naught but bare branches, were a wonderful shade of bright, deep blue. There seemed to be a peace upon the land. The men hunted deer and boar for the winter store. Fiona and Nelly gathered the seeds of the lacy white flower of the wild carrot that each would ingest to prevent conception.

"I'll bring no more bairns into this world until I am certain Nairn is here to be father to them," Fiona said. "The lord has not deigned his mischief yet, and until it is over and done with, I don't feel safe."

"I know," Nelly agreed. "When I ask him what will happen, my Roddy just pats me like some pretty animal and says, 'Now, then, lassie, such matters are not for the likes of ye.' The great gawk! Does he not think I can understand that a feud with a king can bring naught but trouble to the highlands? What is the matter with men, lady?"

Fiona shook her head. "I do not understand them myself, Nelly," she told her servant. "Ohhh, look over there! 'Tis a great patch of white flowers for us to harvest. We just have time before dark."

The two young women worked diligently, garnering the seeds they needed. When they had finished, the sun was close to setting, a half circle of fiery orange showing just above a bank of dark purple clouds edged in gold. Already the evening star gleamed in the darkening blue above them. As they walked the distance to the castle gate, Nelly suddenly cried out and pointed. Fiona stared, seeing a flame spring up on a distant hill. Was it a woodland fire? she wondered nervously. Then her heart almost rose in her throat to choke her as she saw another fire on another hill, and another, and yet another.

" 'Tis a signal of some sort," Nelly said. "Look! Before our gates the men are lighting one, too."

"God help us!" Fiona whispered. Picking up her skirts, she began to run toward Nairns Craig while all about her the hills blossomed with fires.

Nelly, close on her mistress's heels, did not drop her precious basket of flower heads. They were going to need them, she suspected.

At the gates Fiona demanded of the man-at-arms on duty, "What is this fire being lit for-and the others as well?"

"Why, my lady, 'tis a call to arms from the Lord of the Isles," he replied. "We have been waiting for weeks for it to come. There is another signal fire behind the castle so those in that direction may know the time has come, too."

Fiona hurried past him, making directly for the castle's hall. There she found her husband, a large goblet of wine in his hand. “Why is the Lord of the Isles calling ye to arms?" she demanded. "What is he going to do to avenge his honor?" The last word was uttered scathingly. "Tell me, Colin MacDonald, or as God is my witness, I will cut out yer black heart, and ye'll not go anywhere!" Her dark hair had fallen loose from her caul, and her green eyes flashed angrily.

"Why, sweeting, there is nothing to fret about. We but go to burn Inverness, scene of our disgrace. That is all."

Chapter 15

The words slammed into her brain like a brand. Burn Inverness. For a moment she couldn't speak, and then a rage such as Fiona had never known overwhelmed her. "Ye would raze Inverness? Have ye lost what few wits ye have, Colin MacDonald?" she screamed at him. "I will not let ye go off blindly to be killed!" She stamped her foot angrily at him.

The MacDonald of Nairn burst out laughing. His poor sweeting had never known such a situation, and she was, of course, frightened. He stepped forward to put his arms about her, but Fiona jumped back, almost hissing at him like a feral beast. "Fiona mine," he said, pleading. "Don't distress yerself. I will leave on the morrow and be back in a few days' time at the most. There is naught to be fearful of, my darling."

"Do ye not understand, Colly?" she demanded of him. "Are ye so thickheaded that ye don't understand? The king will retaliate!'"

"James Stewart is not in Inverness any longer, sweeting. We waited until he was south of the Tay, returned safely to Perth." He smiled at her. "There is no danger. We mean the king no harm, but the insult done to the Lord of the Isles must be avenged or he will be thought weak by the clans."

Fiona shook her head wearily. His loyalty to his brother was so deep and so blind that he could not see the terrible peril they would all be in when the king learned that Inverness had been burned by the Lord of the Isles and the highland clans. "Why would ye burn Inverness?" she asked him. “What have the people of that fair town done to ye that yer brother would destroy all they have? 'Twill not hurt the king. 'Twill only displace the poor townsfolk-and with winter coming on, too!"

“They hosted the king, sweeting. The people of Inverness rebuilt the hall where our disgrace was publicly displayed. We have sworn our fealty to James Stewart, but not to the people of Inverness," Colin MacDonald explained to his disbelieving wife.

"The king believed it necessary to make an example of yer brother," Fiona said to her husband. "I do not agree with him, but then I know Alexander MacDonald a wee bit better than James Stewart did. If he had known yer brother, he would have taken his hand in friendship two years ago instead of attempting to force the clans to his royal will and embarrassing them when he finally called a gathering. But yer brother, who has ruled here in the north, should know that the king believed he must be publicly harsh in order to convince ye that he means to rule all of Scotland and not just south of the Tay. He has executed two bad chieftains and a murdering Campbell for causing the wrongful death of a MacDonald kin. James Stewart favored neither one side nor the other, instead being impartial. Why can Alexander not simply accept what has happened? It is past. Let us have peace."

"Not without the honor of the MacDonalds being restored," Nairn said stubbornly. "This king must surely understand that."

“James Stewart will take the burning of Inverness as an insult upon his honor, Colly," she told him. "He will come north to punish us. Remember, he has learned all he knows from the English, and they are mean fighters, tacticians, and rulers. Yer brother, in his arrogance, is about to poke a stick into a bees' nest. When this is over, we shall all be badly stung, but The MacDonald on Islay less so than those of us here in the highlands. I don't call that just. Yer brother commands us to war, and then we suffer for it."

"Yer a woman, Fiona mine," he said. "Ye canna possibly understand," he told her, but he found that her words discomfited him greatly.

“Yer a man, Colin MacDonald, and canna help yer childish behavior that would put a brother ahead of yer bairns."

He held out his arms to her. "Come and kiss me, sweeting, and let us quarrel no longer."

Fiona shook her head. "I'll not kiss ye, or cuddle ye, or couple with ye until ye are safe home to me again," she told him. "Sleep in the hall tonight, my lord, with yer men. I will not share my bed with ye."

"What if I am killed, sweeting? Will ye not regret yer harsh decision then?"

"Yer hide is too thick for an arrow to pierce, and besides, what danger do ye face from poor frightened townspeople, my lord?" she mocked him. Then she left him.

Eventually, he knew, she would understand the ways of a highland chief. His duties not just to his own people, but to his overlord. He had indeed sworn fealty to the king, but he knew in his heart that his first loyalty would lie, as it had always lain, with the MacDonalds. They were his family, his clan, and he regretted that Fiona could not comprehend it. He would teach Alastair the same loyalty soon, and the sons that would come afterward, too.

Fiona knew her duty. In the morning she stood, her two eldest children clinging to her skirts, her infant daughter in her arms, watching as her husband and his retainers marched off down the castle hill to the road leading to Inverness. Unlike many of the chieftains who could muster two thousand or more men, The MacDonald of Nairn had but two hundred, and they were Rose family clansmen-his mother's people, for although he was a MacDonald by birth and acknowledged by his father, his inheritance had belonged to a lesser branch of the Rose family.

"They are like little boys playing," Fiona said grimly as the piper led the troop off, banners flying bravely.

"Will they all come back, I wonder?" Nelly asked.

"I believe so," Fiona said. "This is not a war they go to fight. They go to burn, pillage, and loot a hapless town of women, bairns, and shopkeepers. They should be ashamed of themselves, but they are not. They will all return to their homes boasting of their victory."

"Yer hard on him," Moire Rose said, coming up next to Fiona, smiling down at Alastair and Mary.

"Do ye agree with yer son then, lady?"

"No, I don't. I always thought the warfare foolish, but unlike ye, I didn't dare to say it aloud. It is our way and will not change."

"Ye must say it aloud now," Fiona told her. "James Stewart will not take this act of terror lightly. He will retaliate, lady. When he does, I would have Nairn align himself with the king, and not the Lord of the Isles. If both of us nag at yer son, my husband, then perhaps we may turn him from his path of self-destruction."

"He'll not listen," Moire Rose said fatalistically. "When Colin went to live with his father on Islay, he was taught the first rule of life was total loyalty to the Lord of the Isles. All Donald's children were taught that. Not one of them would break that rule, Fiona. Not one. Ye have no hope of changing a lifetime's habit, I fear."

"Then it is unlikely Colly will live to see his bairns grown," Fiona replied sadly. "They will burn Inverness, and the king will strike back at them. He will bring fire and death to the highlands."

Alexander MacDonald carried out his purpose and burned Inverness to the ground. His highland army of ten thousand strong slaughtered the inhabitants of the town and looted everything they could. The MacDonald of Nairn returned home laden down with booty on a cold, rainy day. It had been raining for three days straight, and the barren branches of the trees were black against the gray sky as the men rode up the castle hill.

Fiona had grown calm with her purpose over the short time her husband had been away. By the time the king learned of the carnage in Inverness and could prepare a force to come north again, the winter would have set in. It was unlikely the king would strike during the winter months. He would wait until spring. And in those intervening months she intended to convince Colin MacDonald that his first loyalty must be to the king to whom he had sworn fealty. She would use whatever means she had to, to attain her goal. Fiona greeted her husband warmly.

Pleased, he grinned boyishly, certain she finally understood his reasoning. He flung his booty at her feet; two bolts of fine soft wool-one the gray-blue color of a winter sky, the other a soft purple heathery tone. There was a forest-green-and-gold-brocade surcoat and several gowns. A length of sheer lawn for making veils. Several gold chains and a jeweled rosary. For his mother he had fetched back a bolt of wool in beige and cream tones to flatter her hair, several strands of agate, and a gold ring. For Alastair there was a miniature claymore, and for Mary, a pretty blue gown. This last sent a shiver through Fiona. What little lass had the dress belonged to, and had she been slaughtered?

He read her thoughts. "1 took it from the shop of a cloth merchant," he told her. "It had been newly made, probably by his wife, who is a seamstress and earned a living sewing."

She nodded, not wanting to know any more. "Come, my lord," she said softly, "ye will be hungry, and I have the meal ready. Then ye must bathe, for I will wager ye have not done so since ye left me."

He flashed her a quick smile. "There is not usually time to bathe when a man is pillaging and looting, Fiona mine." He was pleased when she laughed aloud at his sally.

They sat down to table, and he ate heartily of the game pie, the capon with the lemon ginger sauce, the freshly caught trout, and the ham. He had grown used to the greens she insisted be served, and actually felt better for eating them. Tonight she served him braised lettuce and cress, small beets, and onions in a dilled cream sauce. The bread was soft and fresh, the butter sweet, the cheese sharp. And best of all, his meal was hot. He hadn't eaten any hot food in the time he had been away. He had missed it, although he had chided himself for growing soft. Nodding at the hovering servant wanting to know if he wished his goblet refilled, he savored the sweet wine. His mother and his wife smiled at each other over his appetite. His piper began to play softly, and Colin MacDonald sat back, content and mellow, glad to be safely home again after his sortie to Inverness.

"Is the whole town gone?" his mother finally ventured.

He nodded. "We burned the king's hall first. 'Twas a fine sight, and now the memories of the Lord of the Isles' shame are no more."

"Come, my lord," Fiona said before the conversation could become more detailed. "Ye will want to get out of those stinking garments and bathe yerself before ye go to bed."

"I'll not bathe if I am to be confined to the hall again," he threatened her mischievously.

"Oh, Colly," she told him, "I was angry with ye then, but not now. Indeed, I am relieved to have ye safely home again." She smiled softly at him. "I have missed ye in our bed." She held out her hand to him. "Come along, my lord."

"Good night, madam," Nairn said to his mother, who nodded pleasantly in his direction at his words and smiled as they departed the hall, knowing full well her daughter-in-law's intentions. Alas, Moire Rose thought, she would not be successful.

They lay, bathed and aroused, on a sheepskin before the fire. Fiona touched his manhood, and Colin groaned.

"Ye like it when I use my tongue on yer little love button, do ye not, sweeting?" he asked. When she nodded slowly, he said, "Give me the same kind of pleasure, Fiona mine. Take me in yer mouth." His voice was almost strangled with the request.

The truth was, she had wondered about doing such a thing, but had not dared for fear he would be shocked. She was curious and had been for some time. Slowly she began to absorb him, sweetly sucking upon him with slow deep strokes. He moaned, but she did not cease, for the sound was one of utter pleasure. Fiona was fascinated that she was able to render him so helpless by her actions. Inquisitively she ran her tongue around the ruby head of his member, and again, and yet again. Holding him in one hand, she let her other hand wander to fondle his twin pouch. A single finger strayed innocently beneath him and touched the flesh beneath the pouch. He cried out softly. She pressed the spot again. He cautioned her in a tight voice that he was near to spilling his seed, and she must cease.

Fiona's head was spinning with the erotic sensations she had received by using him in this fashion. He came over her, his big body covering her, and he was like iron as he entered her. She opened to him, taking in his love rod, closing her flesh around him, wrapping her legs about him so he might delve his deepest into the soft hot swamp of her welcoming sex. Fiona sighed deeply, feeling her breasts give way beneath the muscle of his chest. "Oh, Colly!" she whispered. It had never been quite so good between them. Not like this. "Oh! Ohhhhh!"

She was magnificent. She was incredible. He had never known her so totally unsparing of her passions with him. He began to move upon her, his buttocks tightening and releasing, tightening and releasing as he built to a crescendo of passion.

Beneath him Fiona writhed as he plunged within her, arousing her to a fever pitch of excitement such as she had never before experienced. She could feel him throbbing, and she ached for release. Her nails raked down his back. "Please! Please!" she whimpered. His body thrust harder and harder. She could feel the approaching maelstrom. She gasped, struggling desperately for air. Her whole body, her very brain was afire, and in a moment she would explode into a thousand fragments of pure pleasure. She screamed as the wild wave burst over her. His responding cry of utter joy shattered her. They had denied themselves for too long.

Afterward they lay naked before the fire. Smiling, he ran a finger down her length. "Ye have never yielded to me like that before," he said softly. Bending, he kissed her shoulder.

"Ye have never yielded to me like that before," she countered. "It was wonderful, Colin MacDonald." She turned her head so that their eyes met, and kissed his mouth. "Ummmmm."

"Do ye finally love me, Fiona mine?"

Her green eyes twinkled. "Possibly, I am beginning to have a wee bit of a tendre for ye, my lord."

"Brazen vixen." He chuckled, pressing her back against the sheepskin rug. The firelight played across their bodies, its heat adding to their own. He licked up the column of her slender throat. "Yer delicious, sweeting," he murmured into the hollow of her neck, nibbling delicately at her sweet flesh. Drawing his tongue over her chest, he lapped at her breasts, his mouth closing over a nipple, drawing her milk into his mouth and swallowing it.

Her fingers threaded themselves through his thick red-gold hair. Fiona smiled. She had forgotten to wash it, and it was dusty with his travels. Tomorrow would be time enough. She abandoned herself to the pleasure of his passion, and it was even better than before. Finally in the middle of the night they managed to leave their place before the fire for the warmth of their bed, cuddling beneath the down coverlet. Something had changed. They both realized it as they slid into a contented sleep.

The winter came, and the news that filtered into Nairns Craig from south of the Tay was ominous. The king had been furious to learn that the Lord of the Isles had burned the town of Inverness. Its survivors had trekked to Scone to plead with the king for revenge and reparations. Only the snows kept the highlands safe for the present. In the spring they knew the retaliation would come. Fiona tried to force it from her mind, but Nairn would not let her.

"We had a good harvest last year," he said. "Ye must conserve what is in the granaries and cold storage, for we may not get to plant a new crop in the spring. If we do, it may be destroyed before ye can harvest it. Ye will have to be responsible for Nairns Craig while I am away, sweeting. My mother will help ye."

"Where will ye go?" Fiona asked him as they sat together in the hall, the children romping about them. Johanna was soon to celebrate her first year of life and was already toddling about on unsteady feet.

"When my brother calls, I must follow him into battle," Colin MacDonald said quietly. "Ye know it, sweeting. Don't hide from the truth. If Alexander goes to war, I must follow him."

"Ye must pledge yerself to the king," she said, working hard to keep the desperate tone from her voice. "If yer brother chooses to fight with James Stewart, don't follow him. Ally yerself with yer liege lord. In the end James Stewart will triumph over the lord. I know it! If ye fight by the lord's side, the king will punish ye, too. If ye fight beneath the royal banner, we will all be safe. I know ye love yer brother and feel a deep loyalty to the clan as yer father taught ye, but times are changing, Colly. This world we live in is not yer father's world. Once the lords of the Isles ruled unchallenged, but now their authority is in dispute. James Stewart claims all of Scotland. Even the lord's allies waver in their loyalty. Unless yer brother will accept the king's authority, he and all those who follow him will be made to suffer. We have three bairns, my lord. Yer mother is old. Must we suffer for yer misguided sense of devotion? Please, I beg of ye, don't follow yer brother into battle!" Her eyes were filled with tears as she pleaded with him, and The MacDonald of Nairn was moved by her words, yet he refused to yield to her plea.

"I canna refuse the Lord of the Isles' summons when it comes, sweeting. Do not fear. Ye’ll be safe within Nairns Craig, and the bairns, too. The king will not take any revenge against ye and my mam."

“James Stewart would take revenge against a saint if that saint stood in his way, Colin MacDonald. Don't say ye were not warned. I know what I must now do. If ye leave us, I will take the children, and yer mam if she will come with us, and go home to Hay Tower. There I know we will be safe from the chaotic games ye men play."

Astounded, he said, "Ye must hold Nairns Craig for me."

"If this castle is as invulnerable as ye claim, my lord, then yer servants can hold Nairns Craig until ye return, or the king's men demand its surrender," Fiona told him. "I will not remain here without ye, nor will I allow our children and that old woman to be in danger. Leave us, and I will depart here. If ye survive, ye know where ye may find us. If the king confiscates this castle, ye may be glad of my small house, Colly. 'Tis not grand, but the roof doesn't leak."

He was amazed by her determination. He did not think her a silly and foolish woman who threatened a man, never meaning to follow through. She meant every word she was saying, and he knew it. The idea, while shocking at first, was not such a bad one. If Nairns Craig stood in danger of imminent attack, perhaps it would be a good thing if she took the children and fled to her own holding. She was not rebelling against the king. If she distanced herself from Nairns Craig and he was killed or captured, she could not be held responsible for his behavior-or used to force him into submission. How many children of Stewart enemies had languished their lives away in custodial confinement. He did not want his daughters bartered into unhappy marriages that benefited James Stewart while making them miserable. He did not want his son brought up to be ashamed of his proud heritage.

"Perhaps, sweeting," he told her, "it might be a good thing if ye and the children hid at Hay Tower if war comes. The troubles will not be anywhere near yer home. It will be fought in the north and in the west predominantly. No one would think to seek ye on yer ben."

Fiona sighed. She had thought to coerce him into renouncing his foolish course, but instead she had given him a means to salve his conscience. "I canna change ye, can I, Colin MacDonald?"

He shook his head, a small smile upon his lips. "No, sweeting, ye canna change me. I love ye with all my heart, Fiona mine, but not even for ye will I betray Alexander MacDonald, Lord of the Isles."

"I can but pray we all survive yer misguided loyalties," she answered him, but then she kissed his lips.

The snows were on the bens and the trees showed no sign of budding when the call to arms came. One icy twilight when a new sliver of moon hung in the western skies, first one, and then another, and yet another signal fire sprang up on the hills. Before dark a messenger arrived at Nairns Craig from the Lord of the Isles. James Stewart and a vast army had crossed the Tay River, bound for the north. The king had struck earlier than any of them had anticipated. It was to be a battle to the death.

They had lost not a man at Inverness, but now, as the two hundred assembled in the castle courtyard, Fiona looked upon them with sad eyes, wondering how many, if any, would return unscathed. As Nairn was preparing to make his departure, his mother, frail with the hard winter they had endured and the loss of her old servant, Beathag, spoke earnestly to her only child.

"I sense what ye are doing is not right, Colin," she told him. "Don't follow the MacDonalds this time. If not for our sake, then for yer own. No good can come of this fighting." Her eyes were filled with tears that began to flow down her weathered, yet beautiful, aged face. "If ye go, I will not see ye again in this life," she told him.

He tried to comfort her, for he had never in all his life seen her so concerned over him. Putting an arm about her, he said, "I am my father's son, mam, and must do my duty by my family."

Moire Rose looked up at him bleakly as he kissed her cheek.

"God bless ye, Colin, my son," she said. Then, pulling from his embrace, she hobbled back into the castle, leaning heavily upon the cane she now used. She would have no servant helping her since Beathag's death in the winter from old age.

"I'll look after her," Fiona said to her husband, "but there is little I can do to calm her fears. We are right, Colly. Ye should not go with the lord. March for the king's camp and align yerself with him. Ye will not suffer for it, and, believe me, ye will not be the only highland chief who arrays himself with James Stewart. I don't approve the burning of Inverness, but I understand now why ye felt ye must join yer brother in razing the town. This is different. That was to avenge an insult, but this is treason, plain and simple, Colly. Will ye mark yer bairns with a traitor's mark? So will they be if the king wins."

"If," The MacDonald of Nairn said with a jaunty smile.

Fiona wanted to shriek at him. Didn't he understand? The Lord of the Isles believed he had ten thousand men beneath his banner, but human nature being what it was, Fiona was certain that a number of the clansmen, seeing the king's might, would switch sides. The messenger last night had stated that the king's troops were equal in size to Alexander MacDonald's. Looking into her husband's eyes, she saw that there was nothing she might say or do that would turn him from the path of his own destruction. It was madness, but she had to admire his sense of loyalty and determination. He was not a complicated man, just a good one. Pulling his head down to hers, she kissed him passionately until both their heads began to spin with the pleasure. He broke the embrace, smiling down at her.

"Farewell, my love," Fiona said. "May God guard you and bring you home safe to us."

"So," he said, his blue eyes suddenly alight, "you do love me, Fiona mine." His big hand caressed her rosy cheek.

A quick sally sprang to her lips, but she swallowed it back, saying, "Aye, I love ye, Nairn." Then, before he might see her tears, she turned away from him, walking back into the castle as his voice called after her, "I always knew ye would love me one day, Fiona mine!"

The days took on a sameness. While not isolated, Nairns Craig was off the beaten track. As the ground grew soft again, Fiona oversaw the planting in their few fields that were tillable. Mayhap they would get to harvest them. She carefully rationed every particle of grain in her storage bins, set extra watches on their cattle and sheep. She sent a lad, too young for battle and disappointed that he wasn't allowed to go off with the men, to sit down by the roadside and question any travelers so they might learn what news they could. Fiona knew she should leave, but she could not seem to do so. During the day the yett was drawn down over the entry to Nairns Craig; each night the heavy iron-bound oak doors were shut behind it.

Beathag, whose frail old body had been stored in the cold cellars during the winter months, was now laid to rest in a newly dug grave. This event seemed to make Moire Rose sink even lower. She barely ate anymore, and each day she grew weaker and weaker. One afternoon when the sun shone brightly from a clear blue sky, Fiona had her mother-in-law carried to the roof of one of the towers so she might enjoy the soft air and see the countryside about her. Below, the hills were lush with fresh new greenery, and the lochs about them sparkled, reflecting back the sky's fine color. Together the two women sat for several hours, Fiona sewing a garment for Alastair, who was growing quickly. Finally, as the afternoon waned, Fiona suggested it was time to go inside.

"Let me see the sunset," Moire Rose said in quavery tones.

"If it pleases ye, lady. Ye are not cold, are ye? We have been out here for some time."

"I am all right."

Together they watched as the sun sank below the western hills. The sky was a panorama of blazing colors. Orange melted into a slender length of pale green, which oozed into lavender. Rose-pink clouds edged in violet and gold hung in an aquamarine sky. The horizon was a rich royal purple beneath which the molten red sun slowly sank, while above the castle swallows darted like dark shadows amid the twilight.

Finally Fiona arose and called down to her servants to come and carry Moire Rose back to her bedchamber. The litter was carefully lowered through the trapdoor and carried through the corridor to the old woman's chamber. Once inside, however, as they made to lift Moire Rose back to her bed, Fiona noted how still she was.

"Wait," she said, and fetched the little silver hand mirror Donald MacDonald had once given her mother-in-law. Holding the mirror to Moire Rose's nostrils, she immediately saw that there was no breath of life reflected upon the glass. Her mother-in-law's blue eyes were but half-open. Fiona closed them gently. "The lady is dead," she told the servants. "Put her gently upon the bed. She must be prepared for burial tomorrow." Then she hurried out to find Nelly.

At the gravesite the following morning Fiona wished that Father Ninian had been with them. They had not seen him in well over a year. Moire Rose's delicate body had been washed and dressed in her finest gown. She was then sewn into a cloth sack, for there was no one to fashion a proper wooden coffin. The young boy who watched the road had dug the grave for her, then filled it in.

Several days later came word that clans Chattan and Cameron had deserted the ranks of the Lord of the Isles and allied themselves with King James. It was a terrible blow, for both families were very powerful and had been longtime adherents of the MacDonald lords. He was greatly weakened without them. Fiona prayed that her husband would remember her words and reconsider his position, but in her heart she knew that he would not. If anything, the desertion of longtime former partisans and supporters would but strengthen his resolve to remain by his brother's side until the very end.

One afternoon the boy by the high road came racing up the castle hill, shouting, "Him's been defeated! Him's been defeated!" They brought the lad to Fiona immediately.

"Who has been defeated, Ian?" she asked. "Has the king been defeated, laddie? Tell me what ye heard."

"The Lord of the Isles has been defeated at Lochaber, lady. 'Twere a terrible slaughter, they say. Terrible!"

"Who told ye this?"

"Clansmen of the Rose family returning home. Not our people. The Great Rose's people. They say the lord has asked for peace and forgiveness. The king's troops are pursuing the clansmen into the highlands. They come this way bringing destruction with them. There is not a field left unburned to the south and west of us, lady. So they say."

"Go back down to the high road, Ian," Fiona told him, "and learn whatever else ye can."

"The men on the road could use some water, lady," Ian told her, "and if I can give them some, they will not come up the castle road. They'll be those looking to loot anything, and bitter with their loss to the king. We have really little defense but to close the gates, and if we do, lady, then how can we learn what is happening?"

"I'll send water down to ye," Fiona replied, thinking that the boy was particularly intelligent and loyal.

The next morning Nelly said quietly to her mistress, "Have ye noticed that there are few castle folk about?"

Fiona nodded. "They are fleeing. I canna blame them."

"Should we not take the bairns and go to Hay Tower now, my lady?" Nelly gently asked her. "My Roddy knows where to find us. He has shown me a secret track that goes through the hills south and east toward Brae. We would be safe there. If the king's forces come this way, they will surely destroy Nairns Craig to revenge themselves on yer husband. If we are here, they may kill us and the bairns."

"If Alexander MacDonald has sued the king for peace," Fiona reasoned, "then Nairn should be coming home soon. This castle has never been taken in war. Once the gates are closed, we are safe. Let us gather in all our stores. If the king's forces approach Nairns Craig, we will simply close our gates and wait for them to go away. When Nairn returns home, we will decide what to do. If the king will accept Alexander MacDonald's submission, he will certainly accept Colin Mac-Donald's submission as well."

The grain in their few fields was not ready for harvest. If they were attacked, they must count the crop a loss. Fiona was glad she had been so chary with last year's harvest. Her bins within the castle walls were more than half full. They could eke those stores out over a winter if necessary. Anything edible, however, was gathered up and brought into the castle. When the time came, they would drive what cattle and sheep they could behind the walls. The poultry already lived there for safekeeping from fox and badger.

One morning Fiona realized that she, Nelly, and the children were virtually alone but for half a dozen elderly retainers and the boy, Ian. She gathered them all in the hall, saying, "If ye have family elsewhere with whom ye would shelter, ye may go. But be certain to return when the troubles are over. Ye will be welcomed." She watched as they all, but for the lad, hurried from the hall. She looked at him. "Do ye not wish to leave, Ian?"

"Where would I go?" he asked her. "Nairns Craig is my home."

"What of yer mother?" Fiona said. "Will she not want ye with her?"

"Me mam's dead," he said.

"And yer father is off with Nairn, I suppose," Fiona replied. "Ye have no grandparents to whom ye might flee?"

"There is only me da," the boy said.

"Do I know him?"

The boy shuffled his feet nervously but said nothing.

Suddenly Nelly gave a little gasp, her hand flying to cover the cry. Then she let her hand drop from before her mouth. "Yer Roderick Dhu's son, are ye not?" she asked, but she already knew the answer. Why had she not seen it before? Though only eleven, the lad was the image of her great, gangling gawk of a husband.

"Me mam died when I was born," Ian said. "They were handfast, and I be legitimate, mistress. Me grandparents raised me, but by last year both were dead. I was brought to serve in the castle. Me da were afraid to tell ye, mistress, lest ye not wed him."

"The big fool," Nelly said.

"Ye’ll not be angry at me da, mistress, will ye?"

"Oh, come and give me a kiss, Ian," Nelly said. "Yer the easiest bairn I'll ever have," she concluded with a smile, hugging him.

"Then we are three, and the bairns," Fiona said quietly. "Ian, I think we have learned all we need to know from the men on the road. Go up on the south tower and watch. If ye see any armed party of men approaching, come and warn me. Nelly and I will keep the gates locked today just to be certain we are not taken unawares. Is there any other way into the castle but through the gates, lad?"

"There be a secret passage leading out into the forest behind the castle, lady, but only me da and my lord know of it. Me da told me of it and showed it to me before he left. He gave me orders to help ye and Mistress Nelly escape with the bairns if necessary." He held up a brass key. "This be the key to the door. There be no other, and the entry is so well hidden that even knowing it was there it would be difficult to find. We have a fine rabbit hole to escape through should the fox besiege our den, lady," the boy finished, then went to keep watch upon the roof.

"Wake the bairns," Fiona said to Nelly, "and feed them. See they are dressed warmly. From this moment on we must be ready to leave immediately should we be attacked."

"Why should we leave at all?" Nelly said. "Unless, of course, we wish to go to Hay Tower. For now we are safe here behind these walls, lady. Outside, the countryside is swarming with clansmen, and they do not care whose side we would espouse."

Nelly was probably right, Fiona thought, when she had been left alone. Still, it could not hurt to be prepared to flee if it became necessary. What would she take? It could not be a great deal, for they did not dare to have a cart. A cart would slow them down and make them prey to every returning highlander who came upon them. It could not be easily hidden in the trees if a troop of horsemen rode by. Still, she would find a place for the silver cups the Lord of the Isles had given Alastair as a baptismal gift and for the fine brooch the old Countess of Ross had given her daughter, Johanna. Moire Rose's silver mirror she would save for Mary. Other than that, they could carry only as much clothing as they could stuff into the saddlebags, and food.

Fiona tried to remember what furnishings were at Hay Tower. They were scant, but she had raised her sisters in that cold heap of stones, and she would raise her children there as well. Eventually, when it was safe, she would find a means of contacting her siblings so that the children might be matched. She sighed. They would never wed with their equals, but at least their futures would all be secure. She owed it to Nairn to provide for the children.

Colin MacDonald. Had he survived, and if he had, why had he not returned home? Had he any idea how worried she was about him? She had been planning for a future without him, she realized. Was it intuition? And what of Nelly's husband? Was he alive, or was it possible that they were both widows now? She realized that she would have to remain at Nairns Craig until she was absolutely certain of exactly what had happened.

The countryside about them was almost unnaturally quiet during the next few days. The stream of returning clansmen on the road below the castle had become nonexistent. It was as if they were the only people left alive in the entire world. They knew they were not, however, for they could see the fires burning in the distance. The fires in fields, cottages, and chieftains' houses burned with an eerie light during the day, and bright red-orange during the night hours. The horizon was hazy blue with smoke. The fires came closer and closer to Nairns Craig, yet still there was no sign of Colin MacDonald.

Then one afternoon Ian scrambled down the ladder from the tower roof and dashed into the hall. "There's a large party of armed men several miles off, lady," he gasped. "They seem to be coming in this direction. Oh, lady, there are so many of them!"

"Alastair!" Fiona called to her son, who was now four years of age. "Go with Ian. He will watch from the roof and, when the men are nearer, will call down to ye. Then ye must come to the hall and tell me immediately, for the enemy will be upon us, I fear. Mary, watch Johanna. Nelly, come with me. We must be certain the gates are fast."

The two women ran out into the courtyard to check that the great wooden beams that they had lifted into place with Ian's help several days before were tightly in place. They were. Beyond it was the iron yett. Together the two women lowered an interior yett that was not used except in case of attack. If the enemy could batter the first yett and the gates down, he would find himself faced with yet another iron barricade to overcome. Content that their preparations were as good as they could be, Fiona and Nelly returned to the hall, bolting the door of the castle behind them. There was plenty of food within the castle, and an interior well for water. They could hold out indefinitely if they chose to do so. They waited.

Finally, Alastair came racing into the hall. "They be on the castle road, Mam," he called to Fiona, who jumped up to hurry to the tower roof.

Ian pulled her up the last step. "They're almost here," he said.

Fiona looked over the edge of the parapet. The sight was a very frightening one. The high road was filled with men on horseback and men-at-arms for as far as the eye could see. The castle road was overflowing with horsemen, and a very impressive host had arrayed itself before the castle gates. Fiona felt the blood draining from her face.

"Dear God!" she whispered. " 'Tis the king himself. The king has come to Nairns Craig, Ian!"

A horseman moved forward, banging his lance hard upon the gates so that a loud noise reverberated like thunder throughout the castle.

"Open in the name of the king!" he shouted.

Fiona stepped up onto the parapet of the walls, steadying herself with a hand on the stonework. "I will not open the gates to any man," she called down to them, "until my husband returns. Why does the king besiege the home of an innocent woman and her bairns?"

"Mistress Fiona," the king called up, "open yer gates! Yer husband, the traitorous MacDonald of Nairn, has come home." James Stewart signaled with his hand, and a horseman came forward leading another beast. The horseman was Roderick Dhu, and the animal he led was Colin MacDonald's great stallion, across which was slung a body.

"I have brought him back, lady," Roderick Dhu called up to her. His dirty face was wet with his unashamed tears.

Fiona thought her heart would break. She felt enormous grief for Colin MacDonald, a man who had loved her so unconditionally and whom she had grown to love. "The family burial ground is there," she said, pointing. “If ye would be so kind, my liege, to have yer men dig my husband's grave, I will allow ye entry to Nairns Craig after he is properly laid to rest. Have ye a priest among that rabble of yer retainers?"

"Aye," the king answered.

"Dig the grave next to his mother, whom we buried but a few weeks back. Yer men will easily find the spot." She stepped down from the parapet and out of their view. "When they are ready, come into the hall, Ian, and we will go out. Thank God yer father has survived."

"What will happen to us, lady?"

"I don't know," Fiona said quietly, and then she climbed down the ladder from the roof and went down into the hall.

"What has happened?" Nelly asked her fearfully.

"The king is outside our gates with yer husband, who has survived, and the body of Nairn. When Nairn's grave is dug we will go out. They have a priest with them. Let us dress the children properly so we may not be ashamed before the king." She hiccuped a sob but swallowed it hard, jamming the cry so fiercely back down her throat that it ached. She had no time now for grief.

When the grave had been dug, Ian came to tell them. From a corner of the hall he picked up his pipes, for he had been apprenticed to the castle's piper. The children were fearful. Fiona took a moment to calm them.

"Yer father is dead," she said quietly. "The king has brought his poor body home to us for burial. It is a kindly act," she lied to them. "He waits outside our gates. Ye will be respectful of the king, for he has the power of life and death over us. Do ye understand me, my bairns?"

"Am I now Nairn?" Alastair asked astutely.

Fiona shook her head. "No," she said. "The king will send us from this place, for yer father rebelled against him. Ye, my son, must not ever rebel against yer liege lord. The king will punish us for yer father's fault, but he is right."

"Is not my uncle Alexander king?" the boy asked, confused.

"There is but one king in Scotland, Alastair," Fiona told her son. "His name is James Stewart. Remember that, laddie."

The boy nodded.

"Now, let us go outside to greet the king and bury yer father," Fiona said, leading them from the castle.

Outside the gates the assembled men heard the sound of an interior yett being raised. It creaked and groaned as its ancient pulley drew it up. Some few minutes elapsed, and the second yett was slowly raised. Then the gates were flung open. Two women and three small children stood in the entry of Nairns Craig. A young lad led them forth, his pipes playing the MacDonald lament as they came. They walked with dignity, ignoring the king and his men as they directed their steps toward the graveyard. Neither James Stewart nor his men moved as the little party of mourners strode past them. They had faced many widows and orphans over the past few weeks, but none quite this close. The king had insisted upon coming to Nairns Craig when they found Roderick Dhu, wounded and protecting his lord's body on the field of battle at Locha-ber. Not just a few men wondered why the king had singled out The MacDonald of Nairn and personally escorted his body home.

In the tiny family graveyard Fiona looked down at the shroud-covered body of her husband. "Let me see his face, Roderick Dhu," she said. She knelt by him, clucking in a motherly fashion. Drawing forth a small piece of cloth, she wet it with her own spittle.

"Nairn, Nairn, I'll not let ye go to yer grave with a dirty face," she said, fiercely scrubbing the black and sweat of battle that had dried upon his handsome visage. Then bending her head she kissed his cold, stiff lips.

"Godspeed, my lord. I really did come to love ye." She rose and brought the children to gaze upon their father for the last time. "He loved ye all, my bairns," she said to the three solemn children.

This done, she ordered Roderick Dhu to draw the shroud back up over her husband's head. The body was laid in its grave. The king's confessor came to their side and prayed over the corpse. The pipes played mournfully as the dirt was shoveled over Colin MacDonald's dead body. Fiona stood stonily silent until the ground was once again filled in. Beside her, Alastair and Mary were weeping softly. Next to them Johanna stood, her fingers in her mouth, uncertain of what was happening.

When the burial had been completed, Fiona thanked the priest and the two clansmen in Stewart plaid who had helped them. Nelly could scarcely take her eyes from her husband. She caught his hand, squeezing it tightly, her other hand drawing Ian between them. She felt almost guilty that her husband had survived when Fiona's had not, but Fiona, seeing them, smiled.

"Better one than none," she said to Nelly. " 'Twas God's choice, not ours, lass. Just remember to pray for Nairn's good soul." She took her children, the others following her, and walked to where the king sat upon his horse. Reaching him, she curtsied low.

A tiny smile touched the king's lips upon seeing the tiniest of the children, a wee lass, struggling to emulate her elder sibling.

When they had made their obeisance, Fiona stood proudly and held out her hand, offering James Stewart the keys to the castle.

Gravely he took them from her. "We will speak later," he told her. "For now I am hungry and long for a good supper."

"Alas, my liege," Fiona said, "I regret I canna oblige ye. The servants departed the castle when they learned of yer victory. Food, I have, in quantity, but no servants to prepare it. There is a rabbit stew, some bread, and cheese Nelly and I have prepared for our supper, but it will not feed this army ye have brought to my gates."

"Were ye not expecting me, then, my lady Fiona?" he asked her, laughing softly at the predicament she found herself in at this moment.

"I did not intend to ask ye to supper, my liege," Fiona replied, and about them those nearest, hearing her retort, chuckled.

"Ye have not changed," the king told her. "I shall share yer meager rations provided the bairns don't suffer hunger."

"Then come into Nairns Craig," Fiona invited him, "although I canna say yer welcome."

Chapter 16

Fiona and Nelly went to the kitchens to see with what, if anything, they might supplement their scanty fare to serve the king and the three lieutenants who had entered the castle with him. To their relief they discovered two fat geese hanging in the larder. The geese were quickly put upon the spit for roasting. Ian took a line and went down to the stream, caught half a dozen small trout in quick order, brought them back, and prepared them so Nelly might broil them.

"Yer a handy laddie," she noted approvingly.

"Me gran and old da were not young. I helped where I could. Old da taught me to fish. 'Tis not difficult if ye know how," Ian said.

At last the meal was ready. Roderick Dhu had kept the king and his men supplied with wine and ale so that they barely noticed the time going by. It was pleasant to sit in a warm hall instead of out in the forest or on a damp hillside.

"Go and put on a clean gown," Nelly said, chasing her mistress from the kitchen. "Yer the lady of Nairn until he says ye ain't, and ye must sit at the high board with him. Ian can look after the bairns. Roddy and me will do the serving."

Fiona hurried through the hall unnoticed and, reaching her own chamber, washed herself in the basin. She put on a clean chemise, her emerald-green undergown, and finally the green-and-gold-brocade surcoat Colin had brought her from the sack of Inverness. She had never before worn it, but tonight it somehow seemed appropriate. She could almost hear Nairn's laughter at her choice. Digging through her chest, she pulled out a gilded leather girdle and affixed it about her hips. Brushing her long dark hair out, she parted it in the center and gathered it into a gold mesh caul. She peered at herself in her small mirror. Her color was high, but she was surprisingly calm for a woman who had just learned of her husband's demise and buried him that same afternoon. She wanted to cry, but she would not until she could have her privacy. She would not go into her hall tonight with red and puffy eyes. This was the second time James Stewart had taken away the man she loved. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that she grieved. He had no right to gloat over her misfortune. After sliding her feet into her house slippers, Fiona went to the hall.

The king, from a comfortable chair, raised a sandy eyebrow. "Ye would join us, madam?''

"With yer permission, my liege. Until ye tell me otherwise, I am still mistress of this castle," Fiona responded quietly with dignity. She signaled to Roderick Dhu. "Tell Nelly we are ready to be served," she told him. "My lords, will ye come to the table, please?"

She gave the king the place of honor, as was his right, seating herself on his left and letting his three men decide for themselves where they would sit. Nelly and her husband hurried forth with the meal. The two geese had been roasted to a turn. The trout lay broiled in butter and wine upon a silver salver. The rabbit stew had gained a flaky pie crust over its top. There was a bowl of small peas and tiny onions, bread, butter, and cheese. The table was set with white linen, and the single silver candelabra glittered with beeswax candles. On the far side of the table were lain fresh ferns and rose petals.

"Since ye needed the time to regain strength," Fiona said sweetly, "we were able to prepare a more substantial meal for ye, my liege."

"Do ye think to cozen me with a good supper then, madam?" he asked, spearing a piece of goose. "Ye might well."

"I seek nothing from ye, my liege, but what ye would give me. My concern is for my bairns. I am a woman, and not concerned with politics. I advised my husband to take his small troop to ye and not to his brother. I can but regret that he did not heed my advice."

The king nodded. "Nairn was a fool!"

"Nay," Fiona contradicted him. "He was loyal to his clan, for that, my liege, is how he was taught. Had ye spent more of yer life in Scotland instead of England, ye would understand that."

The king's three lieutenants looked at one another behind the king's back. The lady was brave, but then they had seen her at Inverness, and knew that.

"Madam," the king said, "ye tread upon thin ice with me."

"I will not allow ye to speak ill of Colin MacDonald," she retorted. "He was a good man for all his foolish choices, and he is now dead while ye sit in his place, in his hall, eating his food."

Suddenly the king laughed. "Fiona Hay, what am I to do with ye?"

"That, my liege, is what I would know."

"I must think upon it," he said. "Ye have my word that no harm will come to ye, yer bairns, or yer servants, however."

"I thank ye," Fiona answered him. "Will ye spend the night within my walls, sir? I will have the guest chambers made ready for ye and yer men. 'Twill not take long."

"Aye, I will," James Stewart said. "I am tired of the outdoors, and welcome the warmth of yer castle, lady."

"Ye will excuse me, then," Fiona replied, "while my servant and I make ready for ye. Roderick will remain to serve ye, and Ian will play his pipes for yer amusement, my liege." She arose and moved from the hall, Nelly in her wake.

"A spirited mare," one of the king's companions, Duncan Cummings, said. "Have ye decided her fate? Will ye choose her a new husband?"

"As I told the lady," the king responded shrewdly, "I have not decided yet. I know this lady from old, and she is not an easy woman. She has perhaps too independent a spirit. My uncle of Atholl thinks her too clever by far. I believe he may be right."

The morning was gray and chilly as James Stewart descended into the hall of Nairns Craig. A warm meal was ready to be served. The king and his three companions were pleased with the freshly cooked food. Their hostess sat by the fire, her children playing about her. It made a pretty picture, the king thought, and she had deliberately calculated it, it was certain. Finally, when the food had been cleared from the table, the king called to Fiona.

"Come, madam," he said in a stern voice. "I have made my decision as to what to do with ye and yer children."

Fiona rose. She was dressed this morning, he noted, in a most practical fashion: a heavy wool skirt, a fine shirt, and a wool shawl. Bringing her children with her, she came to stand before him, then curtsied. "My lord, I am ready for yer judgment. I can but pray ye will be merciful for the sake of my three young bairns." Her eyes were lowered.

She was a minx, the king thought. Angus was right about her. "Madam, I have no choice in what I must do. Yer husband broke his oath of fealty to me when he took up arms against me. I canna punish him, for he is dead, but if I don't punish ye, I will appear to be a weak king. Ye have one hour in which to pack what belongings ye can, and then ye will leave Nairns Craig, which I will burn as the MacDonalds burned my town of Inverness. Ye may take nothing but what ye can carry yerselves. Do ye understand?"

"I want my horses," Fiona said coldly.

"Ye are in no position to make bargains with me, lady," he snapped.

“My liege,'' Fiona said in a firm voice, “ I want my horses.'' She drew in a deep breath to calm her thundering heart. "Ye canna send me and my servants out upon the high road totally destitute and without our horses. Look at my bairns! They are no more than infants. Do ye expect them to walk all day? They will die before we reach safety. Colin MacDonald broke his faith with ye, but I have not done so."

"My lord, ye will not appear weak if ye offer the lady Fiona her horses," Duncan Cummings said. "Ye are burning her home and the bulk of her possessions. She is widowed, her bairns orphaned. A tiny modicum of mercy would not be taken amiss. Indeed, ye would be thought a just king for this show of leniency toward a helpless woman whose ungrateful husband rose in rebellion against ye. The church, I am certain, would approve yer actions." He nodded at James Stewart.

"Aye!" his two companions agreed in unison.

Fiona kept her eyes lowered. She fell to her knees before the king in a gesture of submission. Would he refuse her? she wondered, truly frightened. She desperately needed those horses; Holy Mother, let him say aye!

"Very well, madam," the king finally agreed. "Ye may have yer horses, but yer cattle and yer sheep are forfeit along with the rest of yer goods and chattel but that which ye can carry."

"Oh, thank ye, my lord!" Fiona cried. Catching his hand, she kissed it gratefully, scrambling to her feet as she did so.

"One hour, madam," he said sternly.

She curtsied, then slowly withdrew from the hall, the children following behind her. The four men watching her go were impressed with her dignity. She had accepted the punishment upon her husband's family honorably. So many wives of the defeated howled and fussed.

Ian was waiting for her outside the hall. With a nod he took Johanna from her and signaled to Alastair and Mary to follow him. Fiona hurried to her own apartment, where Nelly and Roderick awaited her.

"We have the horses!" she said triumphantly.

''I'll ride his lordship's stallion," Roderick Dhu said. "Ian will take my animal; Nelly, the white mare; and ye, the gray gelding. Young Nairn will have his pony. I took the two beasts we will use for pack animals down into the forest behind the castle this morning. They are fully loaded with the items ye and Nelly packed early yesterday."

"I've packed plenty of food from the kitchens," Nelly said briskly.

"We'll not have to exist on oatcakes forever. I've cheese, bread, and apples that Ian and I gathered from the orchard, salted meat, and a fat goose I roasted this day!" she finished with a grin.

"I don't know what I would do without ye two," Fiona said gratefully. “I could not do this without ye. When we are safe at Hay Tower, ye are free to leave me for Brae should ye choose. I can ask no more of ye than ye have already given me." Fiona took the hand of each servant and squeezed. "Thank ye."

"We'll not leave ye, lady," Nelly said in a determined voice.

"Ye have not seen my wee tower," Fiona said with a small laugh. "After Brae and Scone and Nairns Craig, it will seem a verra poor place."

Roderick Dhu patted her shoulder. "Lady, we will survive together. I would not leave young Nairn as I did not leave his father."

Fiona felt the first twinge of guilt in many years at Roderick Dhu's words. Like everyone else, he believed Alastair to be Colin MacDonald's son and heir. She wondered if she would ever be able to tell her child the truth, or if, perhaps, it would be better left unsaid.

"We will take the horses through the inner passage that opens out into the forest," Roderick Dhu said.

"Where is the entry?" Fiona asked him, surprised.

"In the stables, lady. When the passage was first excavated, it was thought better that it open into the stables rather than into the castle itself. That way, should an enemy discover it, that enemy could not enter the castle directly. Before I left with my lord, Ian and I inspected the passage carefully and swept it free of debris from creatures. Ian has kept it during my absence. Also, I oiled the lock and the hinges on the door at the end of the passage that will open out into the forest."

Fiona nodded. "Ye have prepared well."

“We canna ride our beasts through the passageway, as the ceiling is but a wee bit above my head," Roderick Dhu explained. "Let us go then, for Ian will be waiting for us with the bairns."

The two women donned warm wool cloaks over their garments. Fiona looked about the rooms where she had lived with Colin MacDonald. But for the children, it almost seemed a dream now. She followed Nelly and her husband from the apartment, dry-eyed. She had no time for weeping now. She had to think of the children.

They crossed to the stables. The courtyard was quiet, as the king had not yet allowed his soldiery in to loot Nairns Craig before he fired it. The horses were saddled and waiting, as were Ian and the three little ones. Roderick Dhu went to the back of the stables and opened a door. Lighting a torch, he showed Fiona the passageway, which slanted downward like a ramp.

"It goes beneath the walls and down the hillside," he explained to her. "We will have to carry torches to see the way. I hope the bairns are not fearful, for 'twill be darker than night."

Alastair was mounted upon his pony, and insisted on taking his sister Mary up behind him. The little girl grasped her brother about his middle, hanging on for dear life. Roderick Dhu went first, carrying a large torch to light the passage. Behind him and the stallion came Alastair and Mary, who could ride the pony without fear for their heads in the low passage. Fiona was next, leading the gelding with one hand, holding a torch with the other. She was followed by Nelly, who had Johanna upon her hip and led the white mare. Last was young Ian, who after carefully closing the door behind them and bolting it from the inside, picked up the reins of his father's horse and his torch to bring up the rear.

They moved slowly, carefully down the tunnel. It was dank and chilly within the passageway, but they knew the outdoors would be no more welcoming. The torches flickered eerily along the stone walls; the light they gave was almost ominous. To Fiona's surprise the children were very quiet as they traveled the length of the underground corridor. Finally, to everyone's great relief, Roderick Dhu said, "Ah, here's the end." They heard him fit the key in the lock of the dark wooden door. There was an audible click, and then the door swung open, revealing a tangle of brambles. Roderick Dhu sliced through the growth until they were able to lead their horses through. Free of the blackness of the stone walls, they all breathed easier.

Roderick Dhu helped his lady and then his wife into their saddles. Nelly had Johanna before her. He transferred Mary from her brother's pony to his son's mount, stilling the children's protest when he said, "We have a long way to travel today, and the wee pony will be tired enough at day's end just carrying young Nairn, Mistress Mary. Ye would not want to kill the poor beastie, would ye?"

Mary shook her head, her eyes large. "No, Roddy," she said, then smiled when he blew her a kiss.

Mounting the big stallion, Roderick Dhu led the little party onto a barely discernible path and into the deep forest. Shortly they stopped. The clansman slipped into the brush on foot to emerge a few minutes later with the two heavily laden pack horses. "The king will be surprised to find little of great value at Nairns Craig," he said with a wicked grin.

They rode on for several hours in the damp weather, finally stopping to rest the horses and feed the children. They found themselves upon the crest of a hill. Looking back, they could see the flames that were consuming Nairns Craig. The clansman's stare was black.

"How many of Nairn's men survived Lochaber?" Fiona asked him. It was the first time she had actually had the opportunity to discuss the battle with him. "Were there any besides yerself?"

He shook his head. "No, lady. All were killed. I escaped because I was with my lord. He and I stood off those who tried to prevent the Lord of the Isles' escape. When my lord was mortally wounded and died-it was a quick death, lady; he did not suffer-I stayed by his body, defending it from mutilation. The king came, saw us, and forbade that any kill me. Loyalty such as mine, he said, was a rare and valuable quality. Then, lady, he looked at Nairn, and when he recognized him, he said that he would bring his body home for an honorable burial even though Nairn had not acted honorably toward him."

"He understood Nairn no more than Nairn understood him," Fiona said sadly. "I am glad my husband's death was quick, Roderick Dhu. I wish I had the means by which to reward ye for yer fidelity. The king was right when he said it was a rare quality."

"I have my lord's claymore within the luggage," the clansman said. "I have saved it for the young Nairn. I will teach him how to use it when he is old enough, lady."

They traveled farther and farther away from Nairns Craig, going south, then east toward Ben Hay. They stayed off the high road, taking a longer but safer route. At first the children were amused by the journey, but after several days Alastair and Mary began to whine and complain that they wanted to go home to Nairns Craig. They were damp, and they were chilled, and they were tired.

They rode on. Suddenly, the land about them began to take on a familiar look. Through the fog and mist of a September afternoon Fiona saw Ben Hay. Within the hour they were toiling up its steep sides. Reaching the top, Fiona looked about her. She was dismayed. While the tower itself was intact, the few outbuildings were gone. Had the king kept his promise to her to repair the roof? She drew forth the key to the door, which she had carried with her since the day she had left Ben Hay. She fit it into the lock and turned it. The door creaked open, and she breathed a soft sigh of relief. The hall was swept clean, and there was some turf and dry wood by the fireplace. At least they would be warm tonight.

"We'll have to stable the horses inside with us," Roderick Dhu said. "At least until we can get some sort of stable built for them."

Fiona nodded and led her gelding inside, the others following close behind. "There's a cellar beneath the tower," she said. "Go down, Ian, and see if there is any straw there so we may bed the animals." Climbing the stairs to the second floor of the tower, she shook her head. It was dank and full of cobwebs. She climbed to the third-floor attic, where old Tam and Flora had slept, sighing as she saw that the roof had not been repaired and was leaking. She hoped the autumn weather would turn dry and warm, as it often did, so they might make the repairs necessary to Hay Tower. Back downstairs, she found one end of the hall strewn with straw, and the horses being watered and fed with the remaining precious fodder they had brought with them for when their beasts could not browse. There was a fire in the fireplace, and Nelly had several pots hanging over the flames, from which some delicious smells were rising. The children were playing happily near the warmth of the hearth.

"The roof leaks," she told Roderick Dhu. "The king did not keep a promise he made me long ago to repair it. He thought I should not return, I suppose." She could but hope he deposited the merks as promised. She suspected they would not find the cattle either. During their journey Fiona had told Roderick Dhu the truth of how she had come to be Nairn's wife. He had been somewhat taken aback, but then he had told her he understood. Afterward Nelly had said her husband agreed that the king had badly used Fiona and Nairn.

"The roof is easily fixed when the rain stops, lady," the clansman answered her. "We'll make a shelter for the horses that the wolves canna breach in the winter. We have time before the cold weather."

Along their route that day they had caught several rabbits. Ian had skinned one for his stepmother. Nelly had put it in one of the pots with wild carrots and onions. Now it bubbled enticingly. "I'll make some bread tomorrow," Nelly said. "Praise heaven for the flour we brought along. I don't know where we'll get any more."

"We have wheat, do we not?" Fiona asked.

Nelly nodded. "Aye, several sacks."

"Then we'll grind our own flour. We used to do it when I lived here before. There is not a miller for miles. I'm certain the household implements are exactly where they were left when we departed Hay several years back. We'll look in the morning."

When the rabbit stew had been cooked, they shared it. Afterward they bedded down together in the hall by the fire. When morning came, they reheated what was left of their previous meal and finished it. Then, taking the children, Nelly and her mistress descended to the tower kitchen, which was located in the cellar of the building. Because the structure was atop the hill, the part of the cellar where the kitchen was located was higher than the rest of the level. There was a small door that opened out into an equally small walled kitchen garden.

"It's so overgrown," Fiona said sadly. "My mother began that garden. After her death Flora and I kept it up."

“But there are probably the same herbs ye grew yet there among the weeds," Nelly replied. "We've time to weed it before the winter sets in. We'll harvest what we can, and take seeds for next spring."

Fiona nodded. "Once I went to Brae I never did such humble work as cooking and cleaning, but I well know how, for there were none here but Flora, old Tam, and my sisters and me to do it." She began to search the kitchens, and to her delight found everything as they had left it when they went to Brae. It all needed sweeping and washing and cleaning, but the two women set to work with enthusiasm.

"My lord Alastair," Nelly said to the little boy, "please to watch over yer sisters while yer mam and I set this place to rights. Ye may play outside in the garden, for the day is fair."

The women worked hard while up on the tower roof Roderick Dhu and his son repaired the structure. It took them several days, but shortly Hay Tower was habitable once again. They began to stockpile fuel for the coming winter. Roderick Dhu chopped wood while Ian took Alastair out into the forest to search for fallen branches and kindling. Fiona and Nelly weeded the kitchen garden. To their delight, they found onions and carrots growing along with an abundance of herbs, which they harvested, carefully saving the seeds and putting them in packets which Fiona marked so they would know what they were planting come spring. Father and son hunted deer and were successful. The carcasses were hung in the kitchen larder.

On the second level of the tower were two rooms that had been bedchambers. Fiona and her children slept in the larger of the two, but she insisted that Nelly and Roderick Dhu have the other.

"Yer old servants slept in the attic," he protested. " 'Tis dry up there now that we've repaired the roof, lady."

"Should we be attacked," Fiona said, "the attic is too inconvenient a place for ye to be. Better yer here with us."

He did not argue further with her, for her logic could not be refuted. "Ian can sleep in the hall," Roderick Dhu said. "The lad's got ears like a fox and can hear a feather drop in the forest before the bird even knows it's gone," he said with a smile.

The tower was secure, warm, and dry. It was clean and, if sparsely furnished, at least neat. They were adding to their supply of fuel each day. The larder, while not full, was not bare. Still, they needed more than they had been able to carry with them from Nairns Craig if they were to survive the winter. They found the remains of their old carl, which had been left behind, the laird having supplied his own transportation for them when they left. Together father and son repaired the vehicle so they might take it down the ben to seek what they needed.

"Ten miles past Brae," Fiona told Roderick Dhu, "is a village that has a market every Wednesday. Ye can get what ye need there. See if ye can find a few laying hens, perhaps a milk cow, some flour to supplement what Nelly and I have ground from our wheat supply, a large basket of apples, and whatever else ye think we need to get through the winter. Be discreet, and if any should grow suspicious, claim to be from a village farther north that traitorous clansmen wiped out before the king's men rescued ye." She dug into the pocket of her gown and handed him some coins. "These should pay for what we need."

Roderick Dhu and his son were gone for two days. When they returned there was a brindled cow tied to the back of the cart. Two greyhounds loped alongside the rickety vehicle. "The bitch is past her prime, and her last offspring, a male, is blind in one eye. The owner was willing to take a penny for them." He grinned. "They may not be perfect, but they have ears to hear an intruder, and they can still hunt." He bent down, patting both dogs. He lifted a basket from the cart. "I found this, and her bairns along the road back," he said. "I thought the lasses would like them."

Mary and Johanna squealed in unison at the sight of a black cat with a white spot on her chest, and her two kittens. One was a gray tiger stripe. The other was white with patches of ginger.

"They'll keep the tower vermin free," Fiona noted dryly.

Roderick Dhu had been very resourceful. In addition to the items Fiona had suggested, he had also brought several sacks of onions, a basket of pears, two hams, six small wheels of cheese, a loaf of sugar, and some spices-not to mention half a cart of turf for the fire, atop which were set several barrels of ale and one small barrel of wine. In the next few days they carefully stored the food items while the two dogs and the cat and her kittens made themselves at home.

The clansman had opened a little section of the tower wall beyond the kitchen, and using the stones he had removed along with wood from the collapsed outbuildings, he built a stable for the milk cow and for the horses. Together he and Ian thatched the roof. The laying hens he had found would also be housed at night there, keeping them safe from predators.

"We should survive the winter verra well now," Fiona said quietly one night as they finished a simple supper. "No one will find us here. In the spring, Roderick, ye and Ian will go to Perth to see if the king kept his promise to deposit my silver merks with Martin the Goldsmith. The cattle I am owed I don't think we will get, although I will be bold and ask for them."

"Why would ye think yer silver is in Perth, lady?" Nelly said. "King James promised ye he would repair our tower for yer return one day, hut he did not do so. Is it likely that he kept his other promises?"

"We must pray that he did," Fiona said.

The winter was cold but not particularly hard. Only twice did they hear the wolves howling outside the tower, but the barking dogs seemed to persuade the wolves to move on. They did not go hungry, but neither were they ever really full. Fiona and Nelly rationed the food carefully and nothing was wasted. On March fifth Johanna was two years of age. Alastair would be five in June, and Mary four in September. Nairns Craig was fading from their minds, and they rarely asked now when Colin MacDonald would join them. They saw no one, heard no news. It was as if they were the only people left upon the earth.

Then one May morning, up the ben and through the forest came a familiar figure. He strode along, whistling, his brown robes swinging about his ankles as he came. The children saw him first, and, startled, ran shouting for Roderick Dhu. The big clansman came forth, his claymore in his hands. Seeing who their visitor was, he handed the weapon to Ian and went forward to greet Father Ninian.

"How did ye know we were here?" he asked the priest.

"The lady Fiona told me her history when we first met."

Fiona stood in the door of the tower, a smile upon her face. "Welcome, good Father," she said. "Come in, and let me give ye a cup of wine to slake yer thirst. Will ye stay with us tonight?"

"Gladly!" the priest said, his eyes taking them all in. They were thin, but certainly not beaten down. He had worried about Fiona when he learned that Nairns Craig had been destroyed. The king had assured him, however, that he had given Fiona, her children, and three servants their freedom, their horses, and whatever they could carry away from the castle. James had thought it generous, but Father Ninian had pointed out that a woman and three small bairns were going to be hard put to survive the winter without shelter.

"Tell us all the news!" Fiona demanded when Ninian had been seated by the fire and a cup of wine pressed into his hand. "Ye are the first outsider I have seen since we left Nairns Craig. At least Roddy and Ian went down the ben to find us supplies last autumn."

Father Ninian looked about the hall. There was a high board with a long bench behind it. His was the only chair in the hall. Upon a narrow side board were set the six cups the Lord of the Isles had sent Alastair for his baptism. It was all very simple. He took a deep breath.

"The rebellion is over," he began. "At least for the time being. On the eve of Saint Augustine in November, Alexander MacDonald came into Holyrood Church in Edinburgh attired only in his shirt and drawers. The church was full. The Lord of the Isles was forced to come up the aisle upon his knees to the high altar, where he presented his claymore, holding it by its tip, to the king, who took it by the hilt and broke it. The Lord of the Isles then begged the king's forgiveness, admitting his faults and saying aloud for all to hear that he deserved nothing less than death. The king was quite willing to see the Lord of the Isles executed, but the queen publicly begged him to show mercy. And so he did.

"Alexander MacDonald is imprisoned in Tantallon Castle in east Lothian. It is virtually impregnable, lady, protected by the sea on two sides and by earthworks and ditches blocking the other approaches. It is a stronghold of the Douglases, who are again back in favor with the king. Undaunted, however, the lord's people have chosen his first cousin, Donald Ballach, to oversee the lord's power during his captivity. Donald Ballach is a hothead. The clansmen will rise again."

"So Alexander MacDonald has escaped death while Colin MacDonald lies in a cold grave, his castle in ruins, his family reduced to poverty," Fiona said bitterly. "Damn him-and all who war-to hell!"

The priest could not say he disagreed with her. "What can I do to help ye, lady?"

"When the king forced me north, he swore to repair my tower for my return, and he pledged me two dozen cattle and a virile bull-and he promised to deposit five hundred silver merks with Martin the Goldsmith in High Street in Perth. But when I returned to Hay last autumn, the tower was not repaired. Roderick Dhu made the repairs himself with Ian. I don't know if the merks are on deposit, and I don't have my cattle. How can I live, good Father, without the coin and the cattle? The king has taken everything from my children but the little we could carry from Nairns Craig. My son will have no property but mine one day. It is not much, and will not bring him a wife of good family. I will have to settle him with some minor chieftain's daughter, and he deserves better. And what of Nairn's daughters? How will I dower my lasses without my silver? I have endured much for the king, good Father. I ask naught of him but that which he promised me. Can ye help me?"

"I will go to him, lady, and I will plead yer case. There is no guarantee that he will heed my words, but I promise ye I will do my best. I agree that it is unfair of the king to abandon ye now."

"Thank ye, good Father."

"If yer silver is with the goldsmith, what will ye have me do?" the priest asked Fiona. "Will ye have me bring it to ye?"

"Bring me but fifty merks," Fiona told him. "It will be more than enough to support us for some time, and the rest will remain secure in Perth. We are safe upon the ben, for none know that we are here. In my sisters' time we were fairly self-sufficient. I can be so again. As long as we remain upon the ben, not showing ourselves, none will disturb us. As Roddy and Ian are not known hereabouts, it is they who will seek out what we need from the villages. Eventually we will not need to go down the ben at all, and I may raise my bairns in safety."

"We must speak privately, my daughter," the priest said.

Nelly, hearing him, gathered up the three children and took them off as her husband and stepson went outside again to continue their work.

"Yer son deserves to know his father," the priest said, coming directly to the point. "It is not fair ye keep Alastair from Angus Gordon, my lady Fiona. I know ye did what ye did to protect the lad, but Colin MacDonald is dead, may God assoil his good soul, and yer son should know his rightful sire."

"Know his rightful sire, good Father, and then be known as a bastard? No! Colin MacDonald was my son's father, if not by blood, then by love and caring. I will not take that away from either of them." Fiona's eyes were filled with tears. She had not cried for Nairn. There had never seemed to be any time to weep, but now she was close to it.

"Angus Gordon did not know ye were with child when he went to England to fetch the queen's cousin," the priest replied. "Even ye were not certain of yer condition, lady. Do not assign blame to Lord Gordon unfairly, my lady. 'Tis not right."

"I do not blame Angus," Fiona said. "But 'tis not right that I tell my son the man he loved as his sire is not his father at all, that he is bastard-born. And what could Angus Gordon possibly want with my laddie? No, better Alastair grow up believing he is the legitimate heir of Nairn, rather than the bastard son of the laird of Loch Brae. What I once told ye was told under the seal of the confessional. Ye canna divulge any of it, good Father."

"No, I canna," he agreed with her, "but I still believe ye should make yer peace with the lord of Brae and let him know his son."

Fiona shook her head. "Ye canna know what it is to be a mother, but ye must believe what I do is best for Alastair."

"I must bow to yer maternal instinct, lady," the priest said. She was a strong woman, he thought. She would need to be if she intended staying here on her isolated ben to raise her children. All her efforts must be directed toward their survival. Somehow it did not seem right. He could not break her confidence, but if Brae should learn of her return the priest wondered just what he would do. He had not married. Did he love her yet? Could they be reunited? He must pray for guidance.

He had broken the seal of the confessional when he had told James Stewart that Alastair was Angus Gordon's son, and not the son of The MacDonald of Nairn. He had done it to protect the boy, however, and God would surely forgive him for it. His royal cousin was a ruthless man when he chose to be. Executing a child whose father had rebelled against him was not beyond this king. James Stewart had made it very plain from the beginning of his reign: He would have all of Scotland, no matter the cost.

Father Ninian departed Hay Tower the next day, traveling south instead of northward. He found his cousin, James, summering in the hills above Scone. The king was surprised to see him, for Ninian did not usually appear south at this time of year. The queen, who was great with child, was pleased, however, to greet this one Stewart cousin who was totally without ambition, and therefore of no danger to her beloved husband. The royal couple sat alone in their private day room with the priest. Wine and sugar wafers had been served by discreet servants. The windows were open, and a light breeze, scented with early heather and roses, blew through the chamber.

"Why have ye returned, cousin?" the king asked him. "Is there some news ye must bring me that canna wait to come through our usual channels? I don't believe I have ever known ye to come south this early."

"Have ye told the queen of the lady of Nairns Craig, James? It is of her I would speak to ye," the priest began.

The king looked distinctly uncomfortable. "No," he said curtly. Then he turned to his wife. "Would ye leave us, my love? This matter is not yer concern, and I would not have ye distressed in yer condition."

"Why would this matter distress me, James?" the queen asked him shrewdly. "Yer secrecy but intrigues me." She smiled mischievously.

"Joan," he pleaded with her.

"I should be far more distressed to have to leave ye, James, than to learn anything Father Ninian might tell ye." She looked to the priest. "Is this furtive matter so terrible that it would cause me to miscarry of my child, Ninian?" She cocked her head at him.

The priest smiled a slow smile. "I do not think so at all, madam. In fact I might use your good offices to aid me with yer husband."

"Oh, verra well," the king snapped. "Tell her all, Ninian, and then tell us why ye are here!" He crunched loudly on a sugar wafer.

Ninian Stewart briefly told the queen of Fiona Hay, and the queen was delighted to learn that Fiona had survived the highland uprising. "But," the priest said, "the king promised the lady in exchange for her valuable services a certain number of cattle and a virile bull. After Nairns Craig was burned, its lady made her way back to her childhood home, where she found the king had not repaired the tower as he had agreed to do when he sent her north with The MacDonald of Nairn. Her only manservant and his son were able to make the repairs so she and her maidservant and the bairns might survive the winter months in safety. It was not easy, cousins, but Fiona is a brave lass, and a good mother to her lad and two wee lassies.

"And, cousin, there is the matter of the silver merks ye promised to deposit for her with Martin the Goldsmith. I visited him before I came to ye, James," and here the priest's voice became severe. "No silver was ever put in Fiona's name. For shame, my lord! Ye must make amends and keep yer word. I would never allow Fiona to learn the truth of this matter. The lack of repairs can be explained away, but the rest canna, I fear."

"My treasury is not without end, Ninian," the king said. "We have the English to pay, and they are not patient."

"Ye gave yer word," the priest said sternly.

"Oh, verra well," the king snapped. "I will deposit the silver."

"No. Ye will give it all to me. I will see it is put safely with the goldsmith. Now, we have the cattle to discuss, cousin."

"A dozen, it was, I believe," the king said.

"Two dozen, and a virile bull," the priest replied firmly.

The queen giggled, unable to help herself. This caused her spouse to look very aggrieved.

"Two dozen, then, and that damned virile bull, too. Now, are ye satisfied, Ninian?"

"I am, and I will escort the cattle myself. They canna go by way of Brae. Fiona has told me the way to bring them, and her man will meet me at an assigned place, where yer people will turn the cattle over to him. That way her location will remain secret to strangers who might consider a woman in an isolated ben fair game."

The king nodded. "As always, she is a canny woman," he said, his tone one of grudging admiration.

"Tell me of her bairns," the queen said eagerly. "She has a son, does she? Ah, she is fortunate!"

"Alastair is a fine lad, and Fiona's daughters, Mary and Johanna- named for ye, my lady-are pretty little lasses," the priest told the queen. "They resemble their father, Nairn, verra much."

"And the lad?"

"He is dark-haired like his mam."

"And this is all that has brought ye back south?" the king demanded of his cousin.

"Like ye, I have a passion for justice to be served. When I return in Hay it will be." Ninian's warm amber eyes twinkled.

"Does Brae know of her return?" James Stewart asked.

"Brae knows naught of Fiona since the day she disappeared," the priest said quietly. "I have spoken to her, but she will have none of it. cousin. She will be independent, she says. I canna force her to reason, though I believe the bairns would be better off. 'Tis a hard life she has chosen, but she will be beholden to none."

The king made all the arrangements for the silver and the cattle, and Ninian left to go north.

At Hay Tower Fiona was delighted by the arrival of her cattle and the virile bull. Now she could survive! They had reclaimed several small fields upon the ben this spring, planting them with grain and hay. What deficiency they had in fodder could be purchased in the autumn. Ninian Stewart had brought Fiona all her silver, explaining that he feared the king might confiscate it at a later date from the goldsmith.

"Ye can hide it here within the tower," he told her. "At least ye need not fear James Stewart will take it back from ye if it is here."

"How can I ever thank ye, Father Ninian?" Fiona asked. "Ye arc-always welcome upon Ben Hay!"

The priest quickly departed then for the north, satisfied that justice had been served. He would come again in late autumn, he promised, on his way to his abbey.

The summer was surprisingly pleasant. If there were any troubles in Scotland, Fiona and her little family did not know of them, safe in their isolation. The cattle browsed upon the ben, carefully watched over by Ian and the dogs. Alastair, now five and tall for his age, had taken to following Ian into the meadow each day. He was not afraid of the cattle or the bull.

"He should be a little lord, not a cowherd," Nelly fussed.

Fiona laughed. "He is happier with a simple life."

"For now," Nelly answered her mistress. "But what of when he is older, my lady? Do ye have the right to deny him his birthright?"

It was a question Fiona had asked herself since the priest had pricked her conscience, but what else could she do? Even if Angus Gordon were not a married man, would he welcome her back into his life? She did not think so, but it was a moot point. Angus had a wife and no doubt several children, certainly another son, who would be considered the heir to Brae. She had told the priest she would not allow her son to learn that rather than being the true-born son of The MacDonald of Nairn, he was the bastard-born son of the laird of Loch Brae. And she would not. She would keep Alastair, indeed all her bairns, safe from harm of any sort. Safe from the hurtful outside world.

One summer's morning Alastair ran out early into the small meadow where the cattle grazed. He had grown to love the great shaggy beasts with their big horns. He knew them all by sight and, much to his family's amusement, had taken to naming the creatures.

"Good morrow Moibeal. Good morrow Milread," he called to two of them, and the cattle raised their heads to gaze benignly upon the lad. "Good morrow Narsali and Moireach, Giorsal and Sesi." Wandering among the herd, Alastair suddenly realized that Colla, the bull, was missing. "Colla!" he called. Usually the bull, an unusually mild fellow, would bellow softly back at the sound of his name, but this morning there was no reply. Alastair searched back and forth amid the cattle for him, but the bull was simply not there.

Where could he have gotten to? the little boy wondered. Would Ian get into trouble with his father and with Mam for the bull's disappearance? Colla had been there last night, Alastair knew, for he had bid all the beasts of the field a good night before he had gone inside for his supper. Had the bull been stolen? He was, after all, a very fine bull. They needed him. He was a good breeder, Ian said, for already ten of the herd were with calf.

Alastair's small brow furrowed in thought. There was, he remembered hearing his mother say in the hall, a fine meadow below in the glen. He recalled it because his mam and Roderick Dhu had spoken of possibly barricading their own meadow so the cattle would not wander. Was it possible that Colla had wandered down into the glen and found another meadow of good sweet grass? Alastair didn't wait to ask anyone's permission. He slipped into the forest and began to descend the ben. No one else was up yet, and by the time they were, he would be back with Colla.

Eventually the trees began to thin. Alastair forded a pretty little stream, jumping from rock to rock until he reached the other side. After passing through a grove of birch trees, he found himself in a beautiful large open meadow that was filled with fat cattle. "Colla!" Alastair called out, immediately hearing a soft bellow in reply. Laughing, he followed in the direction of the sound, sighting the bull placidly browsing on the thick, sweet grass, surrounded by an admiring group of females. "Colla, 'tis not yer meadow-or yer wives, ye old knave." Alastair picked up a stick and began to herd the bull back to where they had come from. "Come along now, Colla. We must go home before they find us gone, or Mam will be angry."

The bull moved reluctantly, slowly at the lad's insistence, meandering in rambling fashion across the meadow, stopping every now and then to munch another mouthful of grass. They had almost reached the edge of the pastureland when there was the sound of hoofbeats behind them. Surprised, Alastair turned about to see a dark man upon a large black stallion bearing down upon him. The boy stopped dead, afraid.

The horseman came abreast of them, and the rider dismounted. “Have I caught me a cattle thief?" the deep voice demanded as he towered over the child. He seemed very tall and very dark to Alastair, whose small heart thumped nervously.

"No, my lord," the lad finally quavered. "I am not a cattle thief. Colla, our bull, wandered down the ben into yer meadow. I wanted to fetch him back before Ian got into trouble for his loss."

The Earl of Brae looked down into his own face, reflected in miniature. Startled, he could feel the heart he had thought he no longer possessed crack achingly. Struggling to find his voice, he finally said, "What is yer name, lad? Where do ye come from?"

"I am Alastair MacDonald," the little boy replied stoutly, "and I live upon Ben Hay with my mam, my sisters, Nelly, Roderick Dhu, and Ian."

"What is yer mam's name?" the earl asked, knowing it before the child even spoke it.

"Fiona," Alastair replied.

Angus Gordon shook his dark head slowly. He did not know how he felt, but he certainly was not angry at the little lad. "I'll help ye take yer bull back home, laddie," he said gently. "Would ye like to ride with me upon my horse? Have ye ever seen a beast so fine?"

"Aye," Alastair told him frankly. "My father had a great war horse like yers, but his was as gray as storm clouds. My father was killed at Lochaber."

The earl remounted his horse, reached down, and took the boy up on the saddle before him. The child was light and thin against him. Then, using his mount and the boy's stick, Angus Gordon herded the big bull back up the ben and into its own meadow. His gaze took in the fine cattle grazing there. For a brief moment he wondered if he was missing any of his own beasts.

On the edge of the small upland pasture a boy of about twelve appeared. Seeing Alastair upon the earl's horse, he turned on his heel, racing for the tower house. The earl smiled almost grimly. By the time the lad had reached the tower, its door was wide open. At the top of the steps stood a small group of people. A very tall clansman, the boy, Nelly between them and very much with child, two little girls with red-gold hair, and Fiona.

The earl brought his horse to a stop. "Well, madam," he said in a stern voice, "what have ye to say to me?"

"I don't owe ye any explanations, Angus Gordon," Fiona said. "Now put my son down. Where did ye get him?"

"Like his mother before him, in my meadow, stealing my cattle, though he says the bull is yers," the earl taunted her.

"The bull is mine, and ye know it, Angus Gordon," Fiona snapped. "Now give me my son, damn ye!"

"Ye mean my son, do ye not, lassie?" he replied. "Am I a fool that I canna see myself in the lad's face?"

"Put Alastair down," Fiona said quietly. "I will not stand upon the step arguing with ye, Angus. We will talk, but not here."

"Aye, we will talk, lassie," he said, "but we will talk at Brae. I am taking the lad with me, and when ye are ready to give me an explanation as to where ye disappeared to, and why my son thinks he is a MacDonald, ye will be welcome at Brae."

"My lord!" Her voice was anguished. "Don't shame the lad!"

"What are ye talking about?" he demanded. "This child is my son, and my heir, and ye have kept him from me by deception. I want to know why, and by God, madam, ye will tell me!"

"So," she snarled at him, "yer fine English wife has not been able to give ye an heir, Angus! How unfortunate, but she will not have my son to call hers. Set him down, or I will kill ye!"

"My English wife?" He looked absolutely puzzled. "I have no wife, English or otherwise, Fiona Hay."

"No wife?" Fiona looked astounded. "They said ye had a wife. That ye were wed to Elizabeth Williams."

What the hell was going on? "Who said?" he asked her.

"Angus, if ye ever really loved me, get down off that great beast of yers and come into my hall," Fiona pleaded. "We must speak, and it must be now. Please!" She held out her hand to him.

He looked at that hand, once soft and white, now roughened with work, and he felt tears pricking at the back of his dark green eyes. Lifting his son from his saddle, he handed him to the gangling, serious-faced clansman, then dismounted. "Verra well, lassie," he told her, his voice softening, "let us go into yer hall and speak of all of this." Turning to give Nelly a small smile, he said, "Is this fellow yer husband, then, Nelly? Yer aunt and uncle will be glad to know yer alive and safe with a good man."

"Aye, my lord, this is my husband, Roderick Dhu, and my stepson, Ian." Nelly looked at her mistress. "I'll take the lasses to the kitchen, my lady. Alastair, go back out into the meadow with Ian and Roddy, and begin building that barricade. Ye don't want to lose Colla again." Taking the little girls by the hand, she went into the tower while the men went out into the field.

"Come, lassie," Angus Gordon said, and Fiona led him into the tower house. Looking about him, he thought little had changed. It was still a poor place, but it was clean and had an air of contentment aboul it.

Fiona indicated the single chair by the fire, and she poured him a goblet of wine from the carafe on the high board. "Yer throat will be dry from yer ride," she said quietly, handing him the goblet before sitting on a stool before him.

"What happened?" he asked her, unable to restrain himself any longer. "Where did ye go, and why did ye leave me, lassie?"

"I didn't leave ye, Angus. I was tricked into it… told ye were to wed with the queen's cousin as a reward for yer loyalty to James Stewart. Told I was to allow The MacDonald of Nairn to abduct me, then to spy upon the MacDonalds for king and country. I was too afraid to refuse, and I was not certain then I was with bairn."

"Then ye don't deny that the lad is mine?"

"Of course he is yers, but Nairn, bless him, was so in love with me that he believed the lad was his. He thought he took after me with his dark coloring. Then, too, Nairn's sire was dark. He was a good father to him, Angus. He loved Alastair above everything."

"Except ye," the earl observed. "The two wee lasses are his."

"Aye, they are. He was my husband, Angus. After he took me, he brought me to his brother's hall in Islay and handfasted me. I agreed, because by then I knew my condition. I didn't want Alastair bastard-born. And afterward when I was told ye had wed with Mistress Williams, I married Nairn in the bonds of the church."

"Who was responsible for all of this?" Angus Gordon asked her, but he already knew. There was but one person in Scotland powerful enough to have arranged this subterfuge.

"The king," Fiona answered him unhesitatingly.

After a long silence the earl said, "He has always professed to be my friend. He is no friend to me now."

"Don't condemn him too quickly," Fiona said. "Let me tell ye all of it, Angus," and she went on to explain every small detail of her life over the past few years. "I was verra angry and bitter toward James Stewart," she said as she neared the end of her tale, "but now I can see that he had to do what he did in order to maintain control over all of Scotland. A king does not have the luxury of friendship, Angus. He must do what is best for his country. So James Stewart has done, even to executing his own relations."

"Yer more forgiving than I am, lassie."

"I don't say I forgive him, Angus," Fiona said. "I simply understand now what he did better than I understood in the beginning. I will not forgive him for separating us. He betrayed us all. Ye, and me, and poor Nairn, may God assoil his good soul."

“Did ye love him?'' he asked her bluntly.

"Not as I loved ye."

"But ye loved him?" he persisted.

"Aye, for it would have taken a hard-hearted woman not to have loved Nairn. He was a bonnie man, if misguided."

Angus Gordon nodded. He wasn't certain he fully understood her. "Come back to Brae with me," he said.

Fiona shook her head. "We canna just pick up where we left off five years ago, Angus."

"Why?"

"Do ye love me?"

"I have always loved ye, lassie. The king offered me Elizabeth Williams, but I would not have her. My family has dragged lass after lass beneath my nose, but none could hold a candle to ye, Fiona Hay. Aye, I love ye, and this time I am not ashamed to say it aloud. Come home to Brae with me, lassie. I need ye."

"I will not deny ye the right to get to know yer son, Angus Gordon," she answered him, "but if ye would make me yer wife, and I will discuss no other arrangement with ye, ye understand, then ye must court me properly, my lord."

"Madam, ye try my patience!"

"I must be certain it is truly me ye still love," she told him, "that it is not just yer son ye want." Her look was direct.

"Brazen as ever," he said, a twinkle suddenly in his eye. Then to her surprise he rose from the chair, pulling her up from the stool. "Where, madam, is yer chamber?"

"Yer… yer… yer shameless, no, insolent, no, much too bold, my lord!" Fiona cried. But memories, long dormant, memories of lying in his arms were surfacing, and the blood rushed to her cheeks, staining them a bright pink.

"Yer chamber, lassie," he growled, taking a step even closer to her, then sweeping her up in his arms.

Fiona began to struggle in the cradle of his arms, even as he began to mount the stairs. "Put me down, ye great fool!" she said. "Do ye think I can be won over by yer manhood alone? I'm not some innocent and breathless lass." She squirmed. "Put me down!"

Angus Gordon began to laugh. He had missed her. God, how he had missed her! He reached the top of the stairs. "Which door?" he demanded of her.

"That one," she pointed, wishing she were not so weak-willed, but oh, she had missed him! She had never before allowed herself to even think of it. Not since Nairn had stolen her. Particularly when she had been his wife. But her husband was dead, and she was alive. Holy Mother, she was very much alive. Her heart was pounding as he set her on her feet, looking directly at her as he pulled off his garments. Fiona bit her lip in vexation. She had to make a decision. She could either run, or… She began removing her own clothing, and then they were both naked, standing before each other, and it was as if the years that they had been separated never existed.

Angus Gordon stepped forward. Taking her heart-shaped face between his hands, he bent his head, his lips brushing tentatively over hers. She was drowning in his dark green eyes, unable to look away, his name sounding over and over again in her head. His mouth closed over hers finally in a long, hard kiss. Fiona didn't know if her own eyes had closed or if she was just lost in his gaze. With a deep sigh she slid her arms up about his neck.

He drew her against him, his head spinning at the touch of her round, full breasts upon his chest. He had never forgotten the wonderful feel of her body against his. Her thighs pressed against him, her soft belly.

"Fiona," he murmured, his fingers swiftly undoing her plait, loosening the night cloud of her hair, which fell like a curtain about them. He caught up a fistful of it and sniffed it. "Heather," he said as the remembrances overcame him. "I can never smell it without thinking of ye, lassie." His mouth foraged over hers once again, their tongues exploring each other, renewing their acquaintance with each other.

His kisses were the headiest she had ever experienced. His lips moved over her face and her throat. His tongue teased within the shell of her. ear before his mouth moved onward. He inhaled the very scent of her. Knees weakening, Fiona fell against his arm, exposing her bosom to his eager touch. His tongue licked at her; his teeth nibbled on her; his mouth suckled upon her flesh. Each sweet new assault brought a tiny cry of pleasure from her. She wanted to do naught but rest in his arms being adored.

He laid her upon the bed, and for a moment she regained her equilibrium. "Wait!" she begged him urgently. When he acquiesced, Fiona leaned over him, her dark hair caressing his hip, and she covered him with sweet hot kisses. To his surprise she took his manhood in her mouth, teasing it with her tongue, caressing his pouch with tender fingers, suckling upon him until he thought that he would die of the pure pleasure. She seemed to understand when he had reached the limit of her delicious torture, and rolling upon her back, she drew him down so they might kiss once more.

Fiona let herself melt into his strong, fierce embrace. She spread herself open to him and, with a cry of undiluted happiness, welcomed him into her body. Wrapping her legs about him, she encouraged his appetite until they were both senseless with the hot pleasure that engulfed them. He rode her with a sense of familiarity, and yet she was a different woman. She felt the hardness of him driving into her very depth, and cried aloud when her pleasure blossomed and burgeoned, and engulfed the two of them in a soaring spiral of fiery passion.

And afterward as they lay sated, their bodies relaxed and replete with pleasure, Fiona said, "Don't think ye can win me over so easily, Angus Gordon. I'm not yer mistress any longer, nor will I ever be again. I have been a wife, and a wife is what I will once more be."

"And a countess, too, lassie," he told her. "Ye were given a hard task to complete for the king, but I, his friend, was given an earldom for what I believed was my loyalty. 'Tis ye, my darling, whom I think more deserving of such an honor than I ever was. Now, don't be difficult with me, lassie." Positioning himself upon his elbow, he looked down into her beloved face. "Come home to Brae with me, Fiona. 'Tis where we all belong, and ye know it, even if yer too stubborn to admit it."

She looked up into his face. His dear, dear face. He was the man she loved, although it would be best, she thought, if he were kept just a wee bit in doubt of that. "Oh, verra well, Angus," she said to him. "If ye insist, I suppose we must go home to Brae. But be warned, I'll not go to court even if the king were to beg me upon bended knee. 'Tis too dangerous a place, even for a brazen wench like me."

"Ye’ll have no time for the court," he told her firmly.

"And why is that?" she asked, laughing up at him.

"We have a great deal of time to make up, Fiona Hay," he said. "First the priest to marry us. And an earldom needs more than one heir and two wee heiresses. Ye and I have a great deal to do, lassie. I fear there will not be a moment for court or kings or anything else."

"No time but for our love, and for our bairns, and for Brae. 'Tis more than enough for me, my lord. Now," Fiona told him, her hand teasing him in a most sensitive spot, "if we're to service yer earldom with more bairns, my lord, had we best get started?"

"Brazen," he murmured, his lips brushing against her mouth. "Yet the most brazen woman I have ever known."

"And ye would not have me any other way," Fiona declared, kissing him hungrily. "Ye would have me no other way."