Betrayed

by Bertrice Small

  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 t
hem 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.