Betrayed (29 page)

Later, Fiona and Nelly stood atop the castle walls of Nairns Craig watching as the invited guests arrived. To their surprise they were joined by Moire Rose, a
wine-and-dark-green length of Rose family tartan clutched about her narrow shoulders.

“Ye
canna possibly know the tartans of the north,” she said dourly, by way of opening the conversation. “I'll instruct ye so ye don't embarrass yerself. There! The red and green with the yellow-and-white stripe is MacRe. The yellow and black with the red stripe is a MacLeod of Lewis.
Ye
knew the shameless daughter of that clan, Margaret, did ye not? Ah, there are the Chisholms with the red-and-green plaid with a white stripe, and the Camerons with their red and green with the yellow stripe. The Campbells are the blue and green with the yellow stripe, and the MacIntyres are the green and blue with red-and-white stripes.”

“I do recognize some of the tartans,” Fiona said quietly. “The red and green is Matheson, the green with the black-and-white stripes is MacLean, and the red, green, and blue plaid is Macintosh.”

“How do ye know them?” Moire Rose asked, curious in spite of herself. “Ye grew up in the eastern highlands.”

“Those plaids were represented in The MacDonald's hall when we were there last autumn,” Fiona explained.

Below them a man in red-and-green plaid with a white stripe, followed by one in a green-and-blue tartan with light blue, red, and yellow stripes, rode up the castle hill.

“A MacGregor, and a Malcom,” the older woman noted. “Ahh, and here's as fine a pair of troublemakers as Scotland has ever known.” She pointed a bony finger at the two men, one in a red, black, and green plaid whom she identified as Alexander MacRurie, and his companion in his green-and-black tartan with the yellow stripe, one Ian MacArthur.

Fiona made a mental note to ask Nairn's opinion about the two men his mother had spoken so scathingly upon. “Who is the gentleman riding up the hill with the pretty woman, my lady Moire?” she asked her mother-in-law.

“Well, well, well, this is an important meeting,” that lady replied. “’Tis Angus MacKay, and his wife, Elizabeth, who is The MacDonald's sister. And see, behind them. That fat fellow in his green-and-navy plaid with the yellow stripe? ’Tis the Late MacNeill, so called because he is always one of the last to arrive at any gathering.”

Fiona giggled, unable to help herself, and to her great surprise, a faint smile touched Moire Rose's lips, but it was gone before she might really be certain. “I had best prepare a chamber for The MacKay and his wife,” Fiona told her companions. “I was not expecting a lady, and thought to let the men sleep in the hall, but for The MacDonald.”

“Wait,” Moire Rose said, excited. “Listen! Do ye not hear the pipes, lassie? ’Tis The MacDonald, Lord of the Isles himself.”

Sure enough, up the hill came the Lord of the Isles, mounted upon a fine white stallion, led by his four pipers and followed by a large troupe of his men. The first line of the men carried pennants of bright scarlet silk upon which had been embroidered in gold thread the lord's motto, Per Mare Per Terras (By Sea, by Land). The lord and his men all wore a bit of heath, the clan's plant badge, in their caps. The pipers were playing the MacDonald march.

“’Tis how his father came first to Nairns Graig,” Moire Rose said softly, her tone almost tender.

“’Tis verra grand,” Fiona answered her. “Colly says the lords of the Isles are kings, and certainly this
lord makes his entrance like one. James Stewart doesn't like such pomp and show.”

“The MacDonalds have more pride than the Stewarts,” Moire Rose said proudly. “They have more pride than any other clan in Scotland.”

The two younger women left Nairn's mother standing upon the tower walls.

In the upper hall Fiona spied a serving maid and sent her for linens for the second-best bedchamber. The Lord of the Isles would be sleeping in their best. The serving girl returned laden down with the necessary sheets and coverlets. Fiona took them from her and sent the girl for firewood for the bedchamber's fireplace. Then she and Nelly quickly made up the big bed and opened the windows to air the room. The maid returned once more and, kneeling, laid a fire, leaving the extra wood in a basket by the fireplace.

“Fill a bowl with flowers, lassie,” Fiona ordered the girl, “and set them here upon the table. Quickly! I must go down to the hall to greet our guests. This room must be ready to receive The MacKay and his wife, who is yer master's half-sister. Come along, Nelly, and help me change my gown so I don't disgrace my husband.” She hurried out and down the hall to their own apartments, Nelly in her wake.

Nelly chose a simple dark blue undergown for her mistress, over which she added the deep blue and silver brocade surcoat. Fiona's dark hair was gathered up into her silver caul. “Ye'll do,” Nelly said.

Fiona hurried from the chamber and down into the hall, reaching it just as The MacKay and his wife entered from the courtyard. Nairn gave her a quick smile and, taking her by the hand, brought her forth to introduce her to his half-sister and her husband.

Elizabeth MacKay was a big-boned handsome
woman with dark chestnut hair and the family's blue eyes. She looked Fiona over boldly and then pronounced, “Alex did not lie, Nairn. Ye have taken a beauty for a wife, and I see she is already full to bursting with a bairn. The MacDonalds do not waste time.”

“It is delightful to see ye again also, sister,” Nairn said drolly. “May I present my wife, Fiona, to ye?”

Fiona curtsied politely, but her sister-in-law said, “Oh, don't be so formal with me, Fiona Hay. Come and give me a kiss on the cheek. When is my nephew due to be born? ’Tis yer first, I know, but have ye figured it out yet?”

Fiona kissed Elizabeth MacKay upon her soft cheek, saying as she did so, “I would think the bairn is due shortly, my lady. ‘Twas conceived almost immediately after yer brother stole me last autumn.”

Her newfound sister-in-law chuckled richly at the remark. “’Tis not really like Nairn to be quite that bold,” she noted. “I have known him to take what he wants in past times, but never have I known him to be quite so verra audacious. Alex says he loves ye. He must.”

“So he tells me, lady,” Fiona answered.

“Ah,” Elizabeth MacKay observed, “yer still not won over entirely by yer insolent husband, are ye?”

“I am reconciled to my fate for now, and perhaps a wee bit softer in my attitude to Nairn than I was several months ago, lady,” Fiona told her, “but ye canna expect me to be mad with love for a man who stole me from a man I did love. I am many things, lady, but I am not a liar where the heart is concerned.”

“’Tis better yer not,” Elizabeth MacKay replied. “Men are not verra practical, nor are they as clever as we women are. ’Tis better one of ye has a cool head.
Poor Nairn with his fiery locks is not suited to it at all, is he?” She laughed, patting Fiona's hand.

Fiona liked Elizabeth MacKay. That was becoming a problem. She liked all of the MacDonalds she had met. How coldhearted James Stewart was to believe she could distance herself from Nairn so completely that she could betray him and his family. She understood the king's desire to have complete control of all of Scotland, but she also comprehended the attitude of the MacDonalds, who had always been their own masters, answering to no one but God and the Lord of the Isles, who answered only to God. Change, she realized, was difficult for everyone. She wondered if there was a way in which everyone's objective could be gained without going to war, but then she grimaced at her own folly. This was Scotland, where nothing important, or for that matter unimportant, was settled without a fight. For now her function was to listen to the gathering of chieftains in the hall as she went about her duties as their gracious hostess. Then she must find a way to pass along any information to the king. Why had he not called a gathering of the northern clans yet? In a few months’ time she would have been with Nairn a year.

“Yer looking much too serious for such a pretty lass, my bonnie,” the Lord of the Isles said as he came up to greet her.

“I am considering if I have enough food for all these men,” Fiona told him ingenuously. “I don't want my hospitality lacking, my lord. I've never provided for such a large group before.” She smiled up at him.

“Do not fear,” he told her. “I will wager that virago, his mother, has been in yer kitchens behind yer back making certain that the honor and the hospitality of Nairns Craig is not shabby.”

“She gave me the keys to the household the day I arrived,” Fiona said, not bothering to say the keys were thrown at Nairn's feet.

“This is different. Is she pleasant to ye, or is her tongue as foul as ever?”

“She has kept to her rooms mostly” Fiona said, “for I showed strength with her that first day. Today, however, she joined my Nelly and me upon the walls watching everyone's arrival. She was almost friendly.”

“Then ye have seen a side of her that few have, my bonnie.” He chuckled, then left her to continue overseeing the preparations for the evening meal.

Made curious by his words, Fiona made her way to the kitchens. “Matthew,” she said to her head cook, “has the lady Moire been here to give ye additional instructions this day or previously?”

“Aye, my lady,” the cook answered. “She came early this morning to inquire what I had planned, and then said that ye had decided we needed additional fare. At her order I have roasted an additional roe deer and done another six geese, as well as added a ham to the menu. There is always plenty of bread, butter, and cheese.”

“Verra good, Matthew” Fiona said. She didn't know whether to be angry, offended, or amused by her mother-in-law's actions. Then she realized that Moire Rose had probably saved her a great deed of embarrassment by her timely actions, even if she hadn't spoken with Fiona first. Back in the hall she did not see Moire Rose. Realizing suddenly that the woman would not come into the hall unless invited, she called to a servant, saying, “Go to the lady Moire's apartments, and bid her join us in the hall this night.”

The servant bowed, clearly surprised by the request, but he hurried off.

Fiona walked slowly about the hall, picking up snatches of conversation here and there. She knew the serious talking would not begin until after the meal. Making certain that the men all had wine, or ale cups in their hands, she joined Elizabeth MacKay as she sat before the fire in a comfortable high-backed chair.

“I hope ye found yer chamber to yer liking. ’Tis only the second-best, I fear, for I had to put yer brother in the best,” she explained with a small smile. “I didn't know ye were coining until I saw ye riding up the castle hill with yer lord.”

“’Tis a fine room for any guest, expected or not,” her sister-in-law said, smiling back. “The bowl of primroses is a pretty touch.” She sipped at a silver cup of wine. Then suddenly she said, “God's boots! There is herself entering the hall. We're all in for it now.”

Fiona arose heavily, making her way as quickly as she could across the room, greeting Moire Rose politely. “Welcome, lady. I am happy ye have joined us this night.” Then she lowered her voice. “I thank ye for yer aid in the kitchen. We should have been embarrassed without yer timely intervention. I didn't realize the Lord of the Isles would arrive with so large a troupe of men. Should ye see me about to make a mistake like that again, will ye not come and tell me? I canna learn without yer help. My tower house was small compared to Nairns Craig.”

“Yer a clever lass,” Moire Rose said quietly, and again there was that ghost of a smile upon her lips. Then she said, “Ah, there is my old friend, William MacFie. I shall go and greet him. ‘Twill frighten him to death, for he was always fearful of me when we were children.”

“Why?” Fiona asked her, very curious.

“Why?” Her mother-in-law laughed harshly. “I
was bigger than he was, for he is a verra little man. The Wee MacFie, they call him. I gave him the name, and it stuck. I am a small woman, but I could beat him in foot races every time. He didn't like me for it at all.”

“Yet he is yer friend?” Fiona was surprised.

Moire Rose chortled, and without another word she made her way across the hall to greet the Wee MacFie, who actually blanched at the sight of her approach, looking desperately for an escape and finding none.

Now here was something she would not have thought. Moire Rose had a sense of humor. A dark one, but nevertheless it was there. She wondered if Nairn realized it. There was more to this woman than she or anyone else had thought. Her tongue was sharp, her heart was bitter, but perhaps she was not quite as bad as they had all believed.

Nairn came to her side, chuckling as he attempted to put an arm about her now nonexistent waist. “There have been many comments on how truly pleasant the hall looks, and how fine our ale and wine are, sweeting. I know the dinner will be as good.”

“It will, and thanks to yer mother, my lord, for I had not ordered enough, never having entertained so large an assembly. She suspected it and discreetly advised Matthew to prepare more, saying I had thought better on it. It was a kind thing she did.”

“Is that why ye tendered her an invitation into the hall this night?”

Fiona nodded absently, looking about and deciding it was time to serve the meal. “Let me go, Nairn” she told him. “I must be about my duties before the men are too drunk on our ale and wine to eat the fine meal Matthew has prepared for them.” She hurried off to instruct the castle steward, and within minutes the servers were coming into the hall with plates and bowls,
platters and pitchers. The high board was restricted to the family members to prevent insult to any of the chieftains by implying that one was more important than another. Only The MacKay and his wife were, understandably, at the high board. Below the dais the other chieftains scrambled for places.

The meal, consisting of a roast pig, two roe deer, a dozen geese, six capons, a ham, a large eel stew, a great pie filled with small game birds, several broiled trout from the swiftly flowing streams belonging to Nairns Craig, bowls of new peas, and lettuces braised in white wine, was much appreciated by the men. With gusto they ate and drank, tearing great hunks from the loaves of bread, spreading them lavishly with sweet butter using their thumbs, slicing wedges of sharp cheese with their dirks, washing it all down with wine or brown ale. The servants ran back and forth refilling pitchers and platters until the appetites of all the guests had been satisfied. When all the dishes had been cleared away, a servant brought bowls of tiny strawberries to the three ladies at the high board.