Betrayed (19 page)

“Are ye afraid, my lady?” Nelly asked her mistress as they hurried through the palace corridors toward the courtyard where their escort would be awaiting them. Her own visage was pale, the freckles across the bridge very prominent.

“Aye, I am afraid,” Fiona said, “but that is to the good. As long as I am fearful, I will be careful, Nelly. I don't want to die. Ye must be cautious, too, lassie. Our lives depend on it. Are ye certain ye would go with me? There is still time to change yer mind.”

“Nay,” Nelly said stoutly. “I will not leave ye, my lady.”

They met their escort in the courtyard. Nelly would ride in the baggage cart behind which Fiona's mare was tied. Fiona would ride the laird's gray gelding. The animal had a black mane and tail and was very handsome. Angus would be irritated with its loss,
she knew, but there was no help for it. She had no excuse to leave the beast behind, and frankly preferred it to her own horse. It was surefooted and of a stronger disposition than the little mare.

It was a perfect September day. Fiona rode at the head of the small train with the captain. He remarked on her riding astride, and she laughed. “Have ye ever tried to sit atop a bouncing beastie sideways?” she asked him, and he chuckled. The truth was her long woolen skirts modestly shielded her legs, and what little showed was sheathed by boots. A length of red-and-green Hay plaid was slung about her shoulders. Her black hair was plaited in a single braid, and her head was topped with her chieftain's cap, its eagle feather set at a jaunty angle. Court garb was hardly suited to a ride into the highlands.

They rode the entire morning, stopping at midday to rest the horses, eat, and empty their bladders. The men broke their fast with oatcakes and whatever spirits were in their flasks; Fiona and Nelly opened a basket from the castle kitchens that held a fresh loaf of bread, a small cheese, a roasted chicken, two apples, and two pears. There was also a flask of sweet wine.

“Eat as much as ye can,” Fiona said softly to her servant. “I am not certain when we will eat again. Nairn will strike today. Of that I feel certain. We have traveled north all morning, but we will turn northeast late today. ’Tis to his advantage to take us before then. By evening tomorrow we will be much too close to Brae.”

“I wish we were there now” Nelly said low, and her eyes met those of her mistress, who nodded in agreement. “I am so afraid, my lady” she admitted.

“Nairn is just a man,” Fiona replied, trying to put a more practical light upon their situation. “It is the unknown
that makes us fearful right now, Nelly lass. I'm glad yer with me. An extra pair of eyes and ears will not hurt. And eventually we'll come home again; I promise ye that.
Ye
to Brae, and me to my wee tower on the ben.”

“I'll pray every night for it, my lady,” Nelly said fervently.

Prayer,
Fiona thought as they continued along their way that afternoon. Prayer alone wasn't the answer. She was going to have to keep her wits about her. She could never let her guard down. Angus always claimed that she was brazen, but she wasn't. She was simply a woman with an instinct for survival. Could she really be of help to the king, or did he merely want to get her out of the way so he might marry Angus off to the queen's cousin?

Nay. James Stewart simply could have ordered Angus to do his bidding, and he would have had to obey Fiona sighed. Why had she been so stubborn? Janet Gordon Stewart had wanted her to become Angus's wife ages ago. If only Fiona had let her arrange it, she thought regretfully, she would not be riding north now, waiting to be carried off by The MacDonald of Nairn.

The shadows were beginning to lengthen as the autumn afternoon deepened. The road ran alongside a small blue loch and into a misty glen. Fiona could feel the hair on the back of her neck beginning to rise like the hackles on a dog.
This would be where it would happen.
She could sense it, smell it! The glen was alive with other presences. She wanted to turn her horse back and gallop away from it, but she knew she couldn't. It was like waiting for a blow to fall. Her chest felt tight, and she could scarcely draw a breath.

Suddenly the captain of her escort hissed, “Lady, halt!” He pointed to the far end of the glen, where in
the purple haze a troupe of horsemen stood silently.
“Ghosts!”
the captain whispered, sounding afraid, and indeed the mounted figures did have a spectral look to them. The men behind them murmured nervously, their horses growing skittish.

“They are highlanders,” Fiona snapped back at the captain. “Can ye make out their plaids or badges? I canna tell, for the light is wrong.”

The horsemen began to move toward them. Slowly at first, then more swiftly. Kicking their mounts into a gallop, they waved their claymores over their heads, shouting ferociously as they thundered down the glen toward Fiona and her little train.

Next to her the captain seemed to panic.
“Flee! ”he
shouted to his men. Turning his horse about, he led a headlong retreat from the hazy glen.

Fiona turned to look to Nelly's safety, watching amazed as the driver of the baggage cart leapt from his seat and ran alongside his companions until one was decent enough to slow his horse so that the man could scramble up behind the rider. “Cowards!” Fiona shouted after them. “Come back, ye bloody cravens! Don't leave us!”

Their attackers dashed past them, chasing after the king's escort, but shortly they turned and reentered the glen to surround the two women. The moment was almost anticlimactic. Nelly had clambered to the cart's seat and now held the frightened mule in check. Fiona, still mounted, was by the vehicle's side, her gelding dancing nervously but under her firm control. Fiona recognized the gray, green, and white tartan that Nairn preferred to the Lord of the Isles’ green-and-blue colors.

Colin MacDonald pushed his gray stallion through the press of his men. Mounted he seemed even bigger
than she remembered. “Mistress Hay” he said solemnly, reaching for her horse's bridle.

Fiona yanked the gelding away from his grasp. “Are ye mad, my lord?” she hissed at him. “Ye have deliberately frightened away my escort. How are we to get home to Brae? Or do ye propose to escort us there yerself ?” She glared furiously at him, watching out of the corner of her eye as a lad with the men climbed up upon the wagon next to Nelly, giving her a saucy grin and pinching her cheek.

Nelly slapped the boy, saying loudly, “I'll thank ye to keep yer paws to yerself, ye little highland savage!”

The men about them guffawed loudly, amused by both Nelly's actions and the lad's acute red-faced embarrassment.

“Tell yer men to leave my servant alone,” Fiona said coldly to Colin MacDonald. “She is a good lass. I will not have her tampered with by force. I'll kill any man who harms her! Do ye savages understand?” Her gloved hand moved menacingly to her dirk. “Now get out of our way! We have several miles to go yet before we reach the convent of Saint Margaret, where we will spend the night. Hopefully our
brave
escort will have recovered their courage, and will meet us there,” she finished boldly.

The MacDonald of Nairn moved his stallion next to Fiona's gelding again and reached once more for her bridle. She slapped his hands away angrily, but this time he caught her wrist in a hard grip. “Mistress Hay,” he said, “ye are not going to Brae.
Yer
coming with me.” His bright blue eyes bored into her.

“My lord, this is outrageous! Those poor fools ye frightened were the king's men. Surely ye knew that?” Fiona said.

Releasing her wrist, Colin MacDonald surprised
Fiona by leaning from his horse, wrapping an arm about her waist, and lifting her from her saddle onto his, seating her before him. “It will soon be dark,” he said over her sputtered protests. “It is a ways to the place we will shelter tonight.” He turned away from her, calling, “Roderick Dhu, see to the wench, the wagon, and my lady's horse. The wench is not to be touched by anyone.” Then, kicking his mount, he moved forward.

“My lord!” Fiona protested as they rode. “I find your conduct most outrageous. Ye have no feud with the Gordons of Brae. Why do ye wish to start one? Give me back my horse at once!” She squirmed against him in an apparent effort to escape him.

“Do ye never shut yer mouth, woman?”

“I will not be treated in such a despicable fashion, my lord!” Fiona declared spiritedly. She attempted to slide from his grasp. “Let me go, ye uncouth heathen! Let me go this minute!”

“Woman,” Colin MacDonald said grimly, “don't make me regret my actions this day in stealing ye away from the laird of Loch Brae.”

“Stealing me?
I will not be stolen!” she insisted. “Why would ye steal me from my Black Angus, my lord?”

“Because, Fiona Hay,” he answered her, “I want ye for my own wife.
Yet
laird has had many a long month to make an honest woman of ye, but he would not do it. Well, I will! The moment I first saw ye I wanted ye, and by the blessed rood, I will have ye, woman!”

“Well, I will not have ye!” Fiona said angrily.

“Ye have no choice in the matter.”

“Ye canna wed me if I'll not have ye,” she insisted.

He laughed suddenly. She talked too much. She was opinionated, but by God, she made him laugh. He needed a woman who could do that. She was beautiful,
and he had wanted her not even knowing the sort of woman she was. He had thought it wouldn't matter because he desired her. He hadn't even cared, but now that he could see some of her many aspects, he was becoming more intrigued, more fascinated by her.

“I wanted ye. I have taken ye, and there is an end to it, Fiona Hay,” he told her firmly. “Now be quiet, for I must concentrate upon the track in this fading light if we are to reach the safety of our shelter tonight. Remember, there is not an early moon to guide us.”

Fiona grew silent. It had gone well, she thought. The king would be quite pleased. Now she must follow her instincts in order to keep Colin MacDonald interested in her without boring him. If he was learning about the woman he desired, she, too, must learn about the man he was. She snuck a peek at him. His handsome long face was deep in concentration as he carefully moved his mount along the barely discernible trail, leading the men behind him. Once they had exited the glen, there was a bit more light, but not for very long. They had turned northwest, Fiona noted, for the sunset was almost directly ahead of them. Nairn was more north. Where were they going?

They rode for close to another hour, and then in the last fading vestiges of the twilight Fiona saw stone walls and buildings ahead of them. Was it St. Margaret's? It couldn't be. Shortly she discovered that their destination was the ruins of some small castle. Their party entered the courtyard and dismounted. The horses were carefully tethered in a wooden shed that had a roof. A fire was started in the courtyard's center. Water was drawn from the castle's well and given to the animals.

Fiona and Nelly sat silently in the cart, watching as the clansmen skinned and gutted the rabbits they had
hunted along their way, then put them on spits over the fire.

“At least we'll not starve,” Nelly said quietly to her mistress. “We have some bread, fruit, and cheese left in our basket, too.”

Soon they were brought a joint of the hot, freshly cooked rabbit to share. When they had finished their meal, Nelly hurried across the courtyard beneath the hot eyes of the men to fetch some water from the well so they might wash the grease from their hands and faces. Then the two women sat quietly together, wondering where they were to sleep. Finally The MacDonald of Nairn, in the company of Roderick Dhu, joined them.

“Yer servant will sleep in the cart,” he said. “The men have been warned again that she is not to be touched. Roderick will watch over her.”

“Thank ye, my lord,” Fiona said quietly. “Nelly is dear to me. I should be most angry if anything were to happen to her.”

“I’ll guard her with my life, lady,” Roderick Dhu said.

Fiona nodded at him.

Colin MacDonald took her hand in a firm grasp. “Come with me,” he said, and before she might demur, he pulled her from the cart, half dragging her away from the fire and into the darkness of the night.

“Where are we going?” she demanded of him, her heart beginning to pound quickly. It was too soon! She wasn't ready for this!

He said nothing, leading her instead from the courtyard and around behind the castle, away from the others. Finally he stopped. The moon was just beginning to rise over the eastern hills, and in its dim light
Fiona watched as he spread a cloak upon the grassy embankment.

“No!”
she said, backing away from him.

He caught her hand. “Come now, Fiona mine.”

“I am not yers,” she said softly.

“Aye, sweeting, ye are,” he answered. “From the first moment I laid eyes upon ye, ye were mine, though ye knew it not.” Inexorably he drew her into his embrace. Fiona turned from his passionate gaze, but Colin MacDonald caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, his mouth taking possession of hers.

The touch of his lips on hers was strange, for she had never kissed any man but Angus Gordon. His lips were warm, firm, demanding. She had only begun to explore the sensation of his proximity when he kicked her legs out from beneath her, lowering her to the cloak upon the grassy knoll. Fiona gasped with her surprise to find herself upon her back, and Colin MacDonald straddling her. “’Twas not fair!” she cried at him.

He laughed softly at her. “I mean to have my way with ye, Fiona sweeting,” he told her bluntly. He pinioned her between his legs, resting himself upon his heels so that his great size would not crush her.

“’Twas unfairly done,” she said indignant

In response to her protest he reached out, drawing her plaid aside, and began to unlace her blouse. She caught at his hands, but Colin MacDonald shook his head admonishingly at her and, grasping her wrists in one of his big hands, imprisoned them above her head. “No, no, Fiona sweeting, don't hinder me. Those sweet breasts of yers have tantalized me for weeks. I must see them!” His large fingers were surprisingly supple and skilled. Swiftly they unlaced the garment, then the chemise. Pushing aside the soft fabric, he gazed upon
her bared bosom. “Ah, Fiona,” he finally said, “how perfect ye are.”