Betrayed (17 page)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I only remember Colly from when we were younger” Maggie said finally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aye, my liege,” she said fervently.

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