Betrayed (14 page)

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

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

“Answer me first, cousin,” she said firmly.

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

“Why?”

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

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

“And who is the fortunate man?”

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

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

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

“Does she want it?”

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

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

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

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

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

“When?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thank ye, my lord.”

“And will ye swear yer fealty to me now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“’Tis not golf they squabble over,” the king said.

“Eh?” his uncle asked, confused.

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

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

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