Betrayed

by Bertrice Small

  "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 disapp
rovingly, "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.