Betrayed (44 page)

“I do not blame Angus,” Fiona said. “But ’Tis not right that I tell my son the man he loved as his sire is not his father at all, that he is bastard-born. And what could Angus Gordon possibly want with my laddie? No, better Alastair grow up believing he is the legitimate heir of Nairn, rather than the bastard son of the laird of Loch Brae. What I once told ye was told under the seal of the confessional.
Ye
canna divulge any of it, good Father.”

“No, I canna,” he agreed with her, “but I still believe ye should make yer peace with the lord of Brae and let him know his son.”

Fiona shook her head. “Ye canna know what it is to be a mother, but ye must believe what I do is best for Alastair.”

“I must bow to yer maternal instinct, lady,” the priest said. She was a strong woman, he thought. She would need to be if she intended staying here on her isolated ben to raise her children. All her efforts must
be directed toward their survival. Somehow it did not seem right. He could not break her confidence, but if Brae should learn of her return, the priest wondered just what he would do. He had not married. Did he love her yet? Could they be reunited? He must pray for guidance.

He had broken the seal of the confessional when he had told James Stewart that Alastair was Angus Gordon's son, and not the son of The MacDonald of Nairn. He had done it to protect the boy, however, and God would surely forgive him for it. His royal cousin was a ruthless man when he chose to be. Executing a child whose father had rebelled against him was not beyond this king. James Stewart had made it very plain from the beginning of his reign: He would have all of Scotland, no matter the cost.

Father Ninian departed Hay Tower the next day, traveling south instead of northward. He found his cousin, James, summering in the hills above Scone. The king was surprised to see him, for Ninian did not usually appear south at this time of year. The queen, who was great with child, was pleased, however, to greet this one Stewart cousin who was totally without ambition, and therefore of no danger to her beloved husband. The royal couple sat alone in their private day room with the priest. Wine and sugar wafers had been served by discreet servants. The windows were open, and a light breeze, scented with early heather and roses, blew through the chamber.

“Why have ye returned, cousin?” the king asked him. “Is there some news ye must bring me that canna wait to come through our usual channels? I don't believe I have ever known ye to come south this early.”

“Have ye told the queen of the lady of Nairns
Craig, James? It is of her I would speak to ye,” the priest began.

The king looked distinctly uncomfortable. “No,” he said curtly. Then he turned to his wife. “Would ye leave us, my love? This matter is not yer concern, and I would not have ye distressed in yer condition.”

“Why would
this matter
distress me, James?” the queen asked him shrewdly. “Yer secrecy but intrigues me.” She smiled mischievously

“Joan,” he pleaded with her.

“I should be far more
distressed
to have to leave ye, James, than to learn anything Father Ninian might tell ye.” She looked to the priest. “Is this furtive matter so terrible that it would cause me to miscarry of my child, Ninian?” She cocked her head at him.

The priest smiled a slow smile. “I do not think so at all, madam. In fact I might use your good offices to aid me with yer husband.”

“Oh, verra well,” the king snapped. “Tell her all, Ninian, and then tell us why ye are here!” He crunched loudly on a sugar wafer.

Ninian Stewart briefly told the queen of Fiona Hay, and the queen was delighted to learn that Fiona had survived the highland uprising. “But,” the priest said, “the king promised the lady in exchange for her valuable services a certain number of cattle and a virile bull. After Nairns Craig was burned, its lady made her way back to her childhood home, where she found the king had not repaired the tower as he had agreed to do when he sent her north with The MacDonald of Nairn. Her only manservant and his son were able to make the repairs so she and her maidservant and the bairns might survive the winter months in safety. It was not easy, cousins, but Fiona is a brave lass, and a good mother to her lad and two wee lassies.

“And, cousin, there is the matter of the silver merks ye promised to deposit for her with Martin the Goldsmith. I visited him before I came to ye, James,” and here the priest's voice became severe. “No silver was ever put in Fiona's name. For shame, my lord! Ye must make amends and keep yer word. I would never allow Fiona to learn the truth of this matter. The lack of repairs can be explained away, but the rest canna, I fear.”

“My treasury is not without end, Ninian,” the king said. “We have the English to pay, and they are not patient”

“Ye gave yer word,” the priest said sternly.

“Oh, verra well,” the king snapped. “I will deposit the silver.”

“No. Ye will give it all to me. I will see it is put safely with the goldsmith. Now, we have the cattle to discuss, cousin.”

“A dozen, it was, I believe,” the king said.

“Two dozen, and a virile bull,” the priest replied firmly.

The queen giggled, unable to help herself. This caused her spouse to look very aggrieved.

“Two dozen, then, and that damned virile bull, too. Now, are ye satisfied, Ninian?”

“I am, and I will escort the cattle myself. They canna go by way of Brae. Fiona has told me the way to bring them, and her man will meet me at an assigned place, where yer people will turn the cattle over to him. That way her location will remain secret to strangers who might consider a woman in an isolated ben fair game.”

The king nodded. “As always, she is a canny woman,” he said, his tone one of grudging admiration.

“Tell me of her bairns,” the queen said eagerly. “She has a son, does she? Ah, she is fortunate!”

“Alastair is a fine lad, and Fiona's daughters, Mary and Johanna-named for ye, my lady—are pretty little lasses,” the priest told the queen. “They resemble their father, Nairn, verra much.”

“And the lad?”

“He is dark-haired like his mam.”

“And this is all that has brought ye back south?” the king demanded of his cousin.

“Like ye, I have a passion for justice to be served. When I return to Hay it will be.” Ninian's warm amber eyes twinkled.

“Does Brae know of her return?” James Stewart asked.

“Brae knows naught of Fiona since the day she disappeared,” the priest said quietly “I have spoken to her, but she will have none of it, cousin. She will be independent, she says. I canna force her to reason, though I believe the bairns would be better off. ’Tis a hard life she has chosen, but she will be beholden to none.”

The king made all the arrangements for the silver and the cattle, and Ninian left to go north.

At Hay Tower Fiona was delighted by the arrival of her cattle and the virile bull. Now she could survive! They had reclaimed several small fields upon the ben this spring, planting them with grain and hay. What deficiency they had in fodder could be purchased in the autumn. Ninian Stewart had brought Fiona all her silver, explaining that he feared the king might confiscate it at a later date from the goldsmith.

“Ye can hide it here within the tower,” he told her. “At least ye need not fear James Stewart will take it back from ye if it is here.”

“How can I ever thank ye, Father Ninian?” Fiona asked.
“Ye
are always welcome upon Ben Hay!”

The priest quickly departed then for the north, satisfied that justice had been served. He would come again in late autumn, he promised, on his way to his abbey.

The summer was surprisingly pleasant. If there were any troubles in Scotland, Fiona and her little family did not know of them, safe in their isolation. The cattle browsed upon the ben, carefully watched over by Ian and the dogs. Alastair, now five and tall for his age, had taken to following Ian into the meadow each day. He was not afraid of the cattle or the bull.

“He should be a little lord, not a cowherd,” Nelly fussed.

Fiona laughed. “He is happier with a simple life.”

“For now,” Nelly answered her mistress. “But what of when he is older, my lady? Do ye have the right to deny him his birthright?”

It was a question Fiona had asked herself since the priest had pricked her conscience, but what else could she do? Even if Angus Gordon were not a married man, would he welcome her back into his life? She did not think so, but it was a moot point. Angus had a wife and no doubt several children, certainly another son, who would be considered the heir to Brae. She had told the priest she would not allow her son to learn that rather than being the true-born son of The MacDonald of Nairn, he was the bastard-born son of the laird of Loch Brae. And she would not. She would keep Alastair, indeed all her bairns, safe from harm of any sort. Safe from the hurtful outside world.

One summer's morning Alastair ran out early into the small meadow where the cattle grazed. He had grown to love the great shaggy beasts with their big
horns. He knew them all by sight and, much to his family's amusement, had taken to naming the creatures.

“Good morrow Moibeal. Good morrow Milread,” he called to two of them, and the cattle raised their heads to gaze benignly upon the lad. “Good morrow Narsali and Moireach, Giorsal and Sesi.” Wandering among the herd, Alastair suddenly realized that Colla, the bull, was missing. “Colla!” he called. Usually the bull, an unusually mild fellow, would bellow softly back at the sound of his name, but this morning there was no reply. Alastair searched back and forth amid the cattle for him, but the bull was simply not there.

Where could he have gotten to? the little boy wondered. Would Ian get into trouble with his father and with Mam for the bull's disappearance? Colla had been there last night, Alastair knew, for he had bid all the beasts of the field a good night before he had gone inside for his supper. Had the bull been stolen? He was, after all, a very fine bull. They needed him. He was a good breeder, Ian said, for already ten of the herd were with calf.

Alastair's small brow furrowed in thought. There was, he remembered hearing his mother say in the hall, a fine meadow below in the glen. He recalled it because his mam and Roderick Dhu had spoken of possibly barricading their own meadow so the cattle would not wander. Was it possible that Colla had wandered down into the glen and found another meadow of good sweet grass? Alastair didn't wait to ask anyone's permission. He slipped into the forest and began to descend the ben. No one else was up yet, and by the time they were, he would be back with Colla.

Eventually the trees began to thin. Alastair forded a pretty little stream, jumping from rock to rock until he reached the other side. After passing through a grove of
birch trees, he found himself in a beautiful large open meadow that was filled with fat cattle. “Colla!” Alastair called out, immediately hearing a soft bellow in reply. Laughing, he followed in the direction of the sound, sighting the bull placidly browsing on the thick, sweet grass, surrounded by an admiring group of females. “Colla, ’Tis not yer meadow-or yer wives, ye old knave.” Alastair picked up a stick and began to herd the bull back to where they had come from. “Come along now, Colla. We must go home before they find us gone, or Mam will be angry.”

The bull moved reluctantly, slowly at the lad's insistence, meandering in rambling fashion across the meadow, stopping every now and then to munch another mouthful of grass. They had almost reached the edge of the pastureland when there was the sound of hoofbeats behind them. Surprised, Alastair turned about to see a dark man upon a large black stallion bearing down upon him. The boy stopped dead, afraid.

The horseman came abreast of them, and the rider dismounted. “Have I caught me a cattle thief?” the deep voice demanded as he towered over the child. He seemed very tall and very dark to Alastair, whose small heart thumped nervously.

“No, my lord,” the lad finally quavered. “I am not a cattle thief. Colla, our bull, wandered down the ben into yer meadow. I wanted to fetch him back before Ian got into trouble for his loss.”

The Earl of Brae looked down into his own face, reflected in miniature. Starded, he could feel the heart he had thought he no longer possessed crack achingly. Struggling to find his voice, he finally said, “What is yer name, lad? Where do ye come from?”

“I am Alastair MacDonald,” the little boy replied
stoutly, “and I live upon Ben Hay with my mam, my sisters, Nelly, Roderick Dhu, and Ian.”

“What is yer mam's name?” the earl asked, knowing it before the child even spoke it.

“Fiona,” Alastair replied.

Angus Gordon shook his dark head slowly. He did not know how he felt, but he certainly was not angry at the little lad. “I'll help ye take yer bull back home, laddie,” he said gently. “Would ye like to ride with me upon my horse? Have ye ever seen a beast so fine?”

“Aye,” Alastair told him frankly. “My father had a great war horse like yers, but his was as gray as storm clouds. My father was killed at Lochaber.”

The earl remounted his horse, reached down, and took the boy up on the saddle before him. The child was light and thin against him. Then, using his mount and the boy's stick, Angus Gordon herded the big bull back up the ben and into its own meadow. His gaze took in the fine cattle grazing there. For a brief moment he wondered if he was missing any of his own beasts.

On the edge of the small upland pasture a boy of about twelve appeared. Seeing Alastair upon the earl's horse, he turned on his heel, racing for the tower house. The earl smiled almost grimly. By the time the lad had reached the tower, its door was wide open. At the top of the steps stood a small group of people. A very tall clansman, the boy, Nelly between them and very much with child, two little girls with red-gold hair,
and Fiona,

The earl brought his horse to a stop. “Well, madam,” he said in a stern voice, “what have ye to say to me?”

“I don't owe ye any explanations, Angus Gordon,”
Fiona said. “Now put my son down. Where did ye get him?”

“Like his mother before him, in my meadow, stealing my cattle, though he says the bull is yers,” the earl taunted her.