Betrayed (43 page)

“The roof leaks,” she told Roderick Dhu. “The king did not keep a promise he made me long ago to repair it. He thought I should not return, I suppose.” She could but hope he deposited the merks as promised. She suspected they would not find the cattle either. During their journey Fiona had told Roderick Dhu the truth of how she had come to be Nairn's wife. He had been somewhat taken aback, but then he had told her he understood. Afterward Nelly had said her husband agreed that the king had badly used Fiona and Nairn.

“The roof is easily fixed when the rain stops, lady,” the clansman answered her. “We'll make a shelter for the horses that the wolves canna breach in the winter. We have time before the cold weather.”

Along their route that day they had caught several rabbits. Ian had skinned one for his stepmother. Nelly had put it in one of the pots with wild carrots and onions. Now it bubbled enticingly. “I'll make some bread tomorrow,” Nelly said. “Praise heaven for the flour we brought along. I don't know where we'll get any more.”

“We have wheat, do we not?” Fiona asked.

Nelly nodded. “Aye, several sacks.”

“Then we'll grind our own flour. We used to do it when I lived here before. There is not a miller for miles. I'm certain the household implements are exactly where they were left when we departed Hay several years back. We'll look in the morning.”

When the rabbit stew had been cooked, they shared it. Afterward they bedded down together in the hall by the fire. When morning came, they reheated what was left of their previous meal and finished it. Then, taking the children, Nelly and her mistress descended to the
tower kitchen, which was located in the cellar of the building. Because the structure was atop the hill, the part of the cellar where the kitchen was located was higher than the rest of the level. There was a small door that opened out into an equally small walled kitchen garden.

“It's so overgrown,” Fiona said sadly. “My mother began that garden. After her death Flora and I kept it up.”

“But there are probably the same herbs ye grew yet there among the weeds,” Nelly replied. “We've time to weed it before the winter sets in. We'll harvest what we can, and take seeds for next spring.”

Fiona nodded. “Once I went to Brae I never did such humble work as cooking and cleaning, but I well know how, for there were none here but Flora, old Tarn, and my sisters and me to do it.” She began to search the kitchens, and to her delight found everything as they had left it when they went to Brae. It all needed sweeping and washing and cleaning, but the two women set to work with enthusiasm.

“My lord Alastair,” Nelly said to the little boy, “please to watch over yer sisters while yer mam and I set this place to rights.
Ye
may play outside in the garden, for the day is fair.”

The women worked hard while up on the tower roof Roderick Dhu and his son repaired the structure. It took them several days, but shortly Hay Tower was habitable once again. They began to stockpile fuel for the coming winter. Roderick Dhu chopped wood while Ian took Alastair out into the forest to search for fallen branches and kindling. Fiona and Nelly weeded the kitchen garden. To their delight, they found onions and carrots growing along with an abundance of herbs, which they harvested, carefully saving the seeds and
putting them in packets which Fiona marked so they would know what they were planting come spring. Father and son hunted deer and were successful. The carcasses were hung in the kitchen larder.

On the second level of the tower were two rooms that had been bedchambers. Fiona and her children slept in the larger of the two, but she insisted that Nelly and Roderick Dhu have the other.

“Yer old servants slept in the attic,” he protested. “’Tis dry up there now that we've repaired the roof, lady.”

“Should we be attacked,” Fiona said, “the attic is too inconvenient a place for ye to be. Better yer here with us.”

He did not argue further with her, for her logic could not be refuted. “Ian can sleep in the hall,” Roderick Dhu said. “The lad's got ears like a fox and can hear a feather drop in the forest before the bird even knows it's gone,” he said with a smile.

The tower was secure, warm, and dry. It was clean and, if sparsely furnished, at least neat. They were adding to their supply of fuel each day. The larder, while not full, was not bare. Still, they needed more than they had been able to carry with them from Nairns Craig if they were to survive the winter. They found the remains of their old cart, which had been left behind, the laird having supplied his own transportation for them when they left. Together father and son repaired the vehicle so they might take it down the ben to seek what they needed.

“Ten miles past Brae,” Fiona told Roderick Dhu, “is a village that has a market every Wednesday. Ye can get what ye need there. See if ye can find a few laying hens, perhaps a milk cow, some flour to supplement what Nelly and I have ground from our wheat supply, a
large basket of apples, and whatever else ye think we need to get through the winter. Be discreet, and if any should grow suspicious, claim to be from a village farther north that traitorous clansmen wiped out before the king's men rescued ye.” She dug into the pocket of her gown and handed him some coins. “These should pay for what we need.”

Roderick Dhu and his son were gone for two days. When they returned there was a brindled cow tied to the back of the cart. Two greyhounds loped alongside the rickety vehicle. “The bitch is past her prime, and her last offspring, a male, is blind in one eye. The owner was willing to take a penny for them.” He grinned. “They may not be perfect, but they have ears to hear an intruder, and they can still hunt.” He bent down, patting both dogs. He lifted a basket from the cart. “I found this, and her bairns along the road back,” he said. “I thought the lasses would like them.”

Mary and Johanna squealed in unison at the sight of a black cat with a white spot on her chest, and her two kittens. One was a gray tiger stripe. The other was white with patches of ginger.

“They'll keep the tower vermin free,” Fiona noted dryly.

Roderick Dhu had been very resourceful. In addition to the items Fiona had suggested, he had also brought several sacks of onions, a basket of pears, two hams, six small wheels of cheese, a loaf of sugar, and some spices—not to mention half a cart of turf for the fire, atop which were set several barrels of ale and one small barrel of wine. In the next few days they carefully stored the food items while the two dogs and the cat and her kittens made themselves at home.

The clansman had opened a little section of the tower wall beyond the kitchen, and using the stones he
had removed along with wood from the collapsed outbuildings, he built a stable for the milk cow and for the horses. Together he and Ian thatched the roof. The laying hens he had found would also be housed at night there, keeping them safe from predators.

“We should survive the winter verra well now,” Fiona said quietly one night as they finished a simple supper. “No one will find us here. In the spring, Roderick, ye and Ian will go to Perth to see if the king kept his promise to deposit my silver merks with Martin the Goldsmith. The cattle I am owed I don't think we will get, although I will be bold and ask for them.”

“Why would ye think yer silver is in Perth, lady?” Nelly said. “King James promised ye he would repair our tower for yer return one day, but he did not do so. Is it likely that he kept his other promises?”

“We must pray that he did,” Fiona said.

The winter was cold but not particularly hard. Only twice did they hear the wolves howling outside the tower, but the barking dogs seemed to persuade the wolves to move on. They did not go hungry, but neither were they ever really full. Fiona and Nelly rationed the food carefully and nothing was wasted. On March fifth Johanna was two years of age. Alastair would be five in June, and Mary four in September. Nairns Craig was fading from their minds, and they rarely asked now when Colin MacDonald would join them. They saw no one, heard no news. It was as if they were the only people left upon the earth.

Then one May morning, up the ben and through the forest came a familiar figure. He strode along, whistling, his brown robes swinging about his ankles as he came. The children saw him first, and, startled, ran shouting for Roderick Dhu. The big clansman came
forth, his claymore in his hands. Seeing who their visitor was, he handed the weapon to Ian and went forward to greet Father Ninian.

“How did ye know we were here?” he asked the priest.

“The lady Fiona told me her history when we first met.”

Fiona stood in the door of the tower, a smile upon her face. “Welcome, good Father,” she said. “Come in, and let me give ye a cup of wine to slake yer thirst. Will ye stay with us tonight?”

“Gladly!” the priest said, his eyes taking them all in. They were thin, but certainly not beaten down. He had worried about Fiona when he learned that Nairns Craig had been destroyed. The king had assured him, however, that he had given Fiona, her children, and three servants their freedom, their horses, and whatever they could carry away from the castle. James had thought it generous, but Father Ninian had pointed out that a woman and three small bairns were going to be hard put to survive the winter without shelter.

“Tell us all the news!” Fiona demanded when Ninian had been seated by the fire and a cup of wine pressed into his hand. “Ye are the first outsider I have seen since we left Nairns Craig. At least Roddy and Ian went down the ben to find us supplies last autumn.”

Father Ninian looked about the hall. There was a high board with a long bench behind it. His was the only chair in the hall. Upon a narrow side board were set the six cups the Lord of the Isles had sent Alastair for his baptism. It was all very simple. He took a deep breath.

“The rebellion is over,” he began. “At least for the time being. On the eve of Saint Augustine in November, Alexander MacDonald came into Holyrood Church in
Edinburgh attired only in his shirt and drawers. The church was full. The Lord of the Isles was forced to come up the aisle upon his knees to the high altar, where he presented his claymore, holding it by its tip, to the king, who took it by the hilt and broke it. The Lord of the Isles then begged the king's forgiveness, admitting his faults and saying aloud for all to hear that he deserved nothing less than death. The king was quite willing to see the Lord of the Isles executed, but the queen publicly begged him to show mercy. And so he did.

“Alexander MacDonald is imprisoned in Tantallon Castle in east Lothian. It is virtually impregnable, lady, protected by the sea on two sides and by earthworks and ditches blocking the other approaches. It is a stronghold of the Douglases, who are again back in favor with the king. Undaunted, however, the lord's people have chosen his first cousin, Donald Ballach, to oversee the lord's power during his captivity. Donald Ballach is a hothead. The clansmen will rise again.”

“So Alexander MacDonald has escaped death while Colin MacDonald lies in a cold grave, his castle in ruins, his family reduced to poverty,” Fiona said bitterly. “Damn him-and all who war-to hell!”

The priest could not say he disagreed with her. “What can I do to help ye, lady?”

“When the king forced me north, he swore to repair my tower for my return, and he pledged me two dozen cattle and a virile bull—and he promised to deposit five hundred silver merks with Martin the Goldsmith in High Street in Perth. But when I returned to Hay last autumn, the tower was not repaired. Roderick Dhu made the repairs himself with Ian. I don't know if the merks are on deposit, and I don't have my cattle. How can I live, good Father, without the coin and the
cattle? The king has taken everything from my children but the little we could carry from Nairns Craig. My son will have no property but mine one day. It is not much, and will not bring him a wife of good family. I will have to settle him with some minor chieftain's daughter, and he deserves better. And what of Nairn's daughters? How will I dower my lasses without my silver? I have endured much for the king, good Father. I ask naught of him but that which he promised me. Can ye help me?”

“I will go to him, lady, and I will plead yer case. There is no guarantee that he will heed my words, but I promise ye I will do my best. I agree that it is unfair of the king to abandon ye now.”

“Thank ye, good Father.”

“If yer silver is with the goldsmith, what will ye have me do?” the priest asked Fiona. “Will ye have me bring it to ye?”

“Bring me but fifty merks,” Fiona told him. “It will be more than enough to support us for some time, and the rest will remain secure in Perth. We are safe upon the ben, for
none
know that we are here. In my sisters’ time we were fairly self-sufficient. I can be so again. As long as we remain upon the ben, not showing ourselves, none will disturb us. As Roddy and Ian are not known hereabouts, it is they who will seek out what we need from the villages. Eventually we will not need to go down the ben at all, and I may raise my bairns in safety.”

“We must speak privately, my daughter,” the priest said.

Nelly, hearing him, gathered up the three children and took them off as her husband and stepson went outside again to continue their work.

“Yer son deserves to know his father” the priest said, coming directly to the point. “It is not fair ye keep
Alastair from Angus Gordon, my lady Fiona. I know ye did what ye did to protect the lad, but Colin MacDonald is dead, may God assoil his good soul, and yer son should know his rightful sire.”

“Know his rightful sire, good Father, and then be known as a bastard? No! Colin MacDonald was my son's father, if not by blood, then by love and caring. I will not take that away from either of them.” Fiona's eyes were filled with tears. She had not cried for Nairn. There had never seemed to be any time to weep, but now she was close to it.

“Angus Gordon did not know ye were with child when he went to England to fetch the queen's cousin,” the priest replied. “Even ye were not certain of yer condition, lady. Do not assign blame to Lord Gordon unfairly, my lady. ’Tis not right.”