Betrayed (45 page)

“The bull is mine, and ye know it, Angus Gordon,” Fiona snapped. “Now give me my son, damn ye!”

“Ye mean my son, do ye not, lassie?” he replied. “Am I a fool that I canna see myself in the lad's face?”

“Put Alastair down,” Fiona said quietly. “I will not stand upon the step arguing with ye, Angus. We will talk, but not here.”

“Aye, we will talk, lassie,” he said, “but we will talk at Brae. I am taking the lad with me, and when ye are ready to give me an explanation as to where ye disappeared to, and why
my
son thinks he is a MacDonald, ye will be welcome at Brae.”

“My lord!” Her
voice was anguished. “Don't shame the lad!”

“What are ye talking about?” he demanded. “This child is my son, and my heir, and ye have kept him from me by deception. I want to know why, and by God, madam, ye will tell me!”

“So,” she snarled at him, “yer fine English wife has not been able to give ye an heir, Angus! How unfortunate, but she will not have
my
son to call hers. Set him down, or I will kill ye!”

“My English wife?” He looked absolutely puzzled. “I have no wife, English or otherwise, Fiona Hay.”

“No wife?” Fiona looked astounded. “They said ye had a wife. That ye were wed to Elizabeth Williams.”

What the hell was going on? “Who said?” he asked her.

“Angus, if ye ever really loved me, get down off that great beast of yers and come into my hall,” Fiona
pleaded. “We must speak, and it must be now. Please!” She held out her hand to him.

He looked at that hand, once soft and white, now roughened with work, and he felt tears pricking at the back of his dark green eyes. Lifting his son from his saddle, he handed him to the gangling, serious-faced clansman, then dismounted. “Verra well, lassie,” he told her, his voice softening, “let us go into yer hall and speak of all of this.” Turning to give Nelly a small smile, he said, “Is this fellow yer husband, then, Nelly? Yer aunt and uncle will be glad to know yer alive and safe with a good man.”

“Aye, my lord, this is my husband, Roderick Dhu, and my stepson, Ian.” Nelly looked at her mistress. “I'll take the lasses to the kitchen, my lady. Alastair, go back out into the meadow with Ian and Roddy, and begin building that barricade. Ye don't want to lose Colla again.” Taking the little girls by the hand, she went into the tower while the men went out into the field.

“Come, lassie,” Angus Gordon said, and Fiona led him into the tower house. Looking about him, he thought little had changed. It was still a poor place, but it was clean and had an air of contentment about it.

Fiona indicated the single chair by the fire, and she poured him a goblet of wine from the carafe on the high board. “Yer throat will be dry from yer ride,” she said quietly, handing him the goblet before sitting on a stool before him.

“What happened?” he asked her, unable to restrain himself any longer. “Where did ye go, and why did ye leave me, lassie?”

“I didn't leave ye, Angus. I was tricked into it... told ye were to wed with the queen's cousin as a reward for yer loyalty to James Stewart. Told I was to allow The MacDonald of Nairn to abduct me, then to spy
upon the MacDonalds for king and country. I was too afraid to refuse, and I was not certain then I was with bairn.”

“Then ye don't deny that the lad is mine?”

“Of course he is yers, but Nairn, bless him, was so in love with me that he believed the lad was his. He thought he took after me with his dark coloring. Then, too, Nairn's sire was dark. He was a good father to him, Angus. He loved Alastair above everything.”

“Except ye,” the earl observed. “The two wee lasses are his.”

“Aye, they are. He was my husband, Angus. After he took me, he brought me to his brother's hall in Islay and handfasted me. I agreed, because by then I knew my condition. I didn't want Alastair bastard-born. And afterward when I was told ye had wed with Mistress Williams, I married Nairn in the bonds of the church.”

“Who was responsible for all of this?” Angus Gordon asked her, but he already knew. There was but one person in Scotland powerful enough to have arranged this subterfuge.

“The king,” Fiona answered him unhesitatingly.

After a long silence the earl said, “He has always professed to be my friend. He is no friend to me now.”

“Don't condemn him too quickly,” Fiona said. “Let me tell ye all of it, Angus,” and she went on to explain every small detail of her life over the past few years. “I was verra angry and bitter toward James Stewart,” she said as she neared the end of her tale, “but now I can see that he had to do what he did in order to maintain control over all of Scotland. A king does not have the luxury of friendship, Angus. He must do what is best for his country. So James Stewart has done, even to executing his own relations.”

“Yer more forgiving than I am, lassie.”

“I don't say I forgive him, Angus,” Fiona said. “I simply understand now what he did better than I understood in the beginning. I will not forgive him for separating us. He betrayed us all. Ye, and me, and poor Nairn, may God assoil his good soul.”

“Did ye love him?” he asked her bluntly.

“Not as I loved ye.”

“But ye loved him?” he persisted.

“Aye, for it would have taken a hard-hearted woman not to have loved Nairn. He was a bonnie man, if misguided.”

Angus Gordon nodded. He wasn't certain he fully understood her. “Come back to Brae with me,” he said.

Fiona shook her head. “We canna just pick up where we left off five years ago, Angus.”

“Why?”

“Do ye love me?”

“I have always loved ye, lassie. The king offered me Elizabeth Williams, but I would not have her. My family has dragged lass after lass beneath my nose, but none could hold a candle to ye, Fiona Hay. Aye, I love ye, and this time I am not ashamed to say it aloud. Gome home to Brae with me, lassie.
I need ye”

“I will not deny ye the right to get to know yer son, Angus Gordon,” she answered him, “but if ye would make me yer wife, and I will discuss no other arrangement with ye, ye understand, then ye must court me properly, my lord.”

“Madam, ye try my patience!”

“I must be certain it is truly me ye still love,” she told him, “that it is not just yer son ye want.” Her look was direct.

“Brazen as ever,” he said, a twinkle suddenly in his eye. Then to her surprise he rose from the chair, pulling her up from the stool. “Where, madam, is yer chamber?”

“Yer
…yer …yer shameless, no, insolent, no, much too bold, my lord!” Fiona cried. But memories, long dormant, memories of lying in his arms were surfacing, and the blood rushed to her cheeks, staining them a bright pink.

“Yer chamber, lassie,” he growled, taking a step even closer to her, then sweeping her up in his arms.

Fiona began to struggle in the cradle of his arms, even as he began to mount the stairs. “Put me down, ye great fool!” she said. “Do ye think I can be won over by yer manhood alone? I'm not some innocent and breathless lass,” She squirmed. “Put me down!”

Angus Gordon began to laugh. He had missed her. God, how he had missed her! He reached the top of the stairs. “Which door?” he demanded of her.

“That one” she pointed, wishing she were not so weak-willed, but oh, she had missed him! She had never before allowed herself to even think of it. Not since Nairn had stolen her. Particularly when she had been his wife. But her husband was dead, and she was alive. Holy Mother, she was very much alive. Her heart was pounding as he set her on her feet, looking directly at her as he pulled off his garments. Fiona bit her lip in vexation. She had to make a decision. She could either run, or…She began removing her own clothing, and then they were both naked, standing before each other, and it was as if the years that they had been separated never existed.

Angus Gordon stepped forward. Taking her heart-shaped face between his hands, he bent his head, his lips brushing tentatively over hers. She was drowning in his dark green eyes, unable to look away, his name sounding over and over again in her head. His mouth closed over hers finally in a long, hard kiss. Fiona didn't know if her own eyes had closed or if she was just lost
in his gaze. With a deep sigh she slid her arms up about his neck.

He drew her against him, his head spinning at the touch of her round, full breasts upon his chest. He had never forgotten the wonderful feel of her body against his. Her thighs pressed against him, her soft belly.

“Fiona,” he murmured, his fingers swiftly undoing her plait, loosening the night cloud of her hair, which fell like a curtain about them. He caught up a fistful of it and sniffed it. “Heather,” he said as the remembrances overcame him. “I can never smell it without thinking of ye, lassie.” His mouth foraged over hers once again, their tongues exploring each other, renewing their acquaintance with each other.

His kisses were the headiest she had ever experienced. His lips moved over her face and her throat. His tongue teased within the shell of her ear before his mouth moved onward. He inhaled the very scent of her. Knees weakening, Fiona fell against his arm, exposing her bosom to his eager touch. His tongue licked at her; his teeth nibbled on her; his mouth suckled upon her flesh. Each sweet new assault brought a tiny cry of pleasure from her. She wanted to do naught but rest in his arms being adored.

He laid her upon the bed, and for a moment she regained her equilibrium. “Wait!” she begged him urgently. When he acquiesced, Fiona leaned over him, her dark hair caressing his hip, and she covered him with sweet hot kisses. To his surprise she took his manhood in her mouth, teasing it with her tongue, caressing his pouch with tender fingers, suckling upon him until he thought that he would die of the pure pleasure. She seemed to understand when he had reached the limit of her delicious torture, and rolling upon her back, she drew him down so they might kiss once more.

Fiona let herself melt into his strong, fierce embrace. She spread herself open to him and, with a cry of undiluted happiness, welcomed him into her body. Wrapping her legs about him, she encouraged his appetite until they were both senseless with the hot pleasure that engulfed them. He rode her with a sense of familiarity, and yet she was a different woman. She felt the hardness of him driving into her very depth, and cried aloud when her pleasure blossomed and burgeoned, and engulfed the two of them in a soaring spiral of fiery passion.

And afterward as they lay sated, their bodies relaxed and replete with pleasure, Fiona said, “Don't think ye can win me over so easily, Angus Gordon. I'm not yer mistress any longer, nor will I ever be again. I have been a wife, and a wife is what I will once more be.”

“And a countess, too, lassie,” he told her. “Ye were given a hard task to complete for the king, but I, his friend, was given an earldom for what I believed was my loyalty. ’Tis ye, my darling, whom I think more deserving of such an honor than I ever was. Now, don't be difficult with me, lassie.” Positioning himself upon his elbow, he looked down into her beloved face. “Come home to Brae with me, Fiona. ’Tis where we all belong, and ye know it, even if yer too stubborn to admit it.”

She looked up into his face. His dear, dear face. He was the man she loved, although it would be best, she thought, if he were kept just a wee bit in doubt of that. “Oh, verra well, Angus” she said to him. “If ye insist, I suppose we must go home to Brae. But be warned, I'll not go to court even if the king were to beg me upon bended knee. ’Tis too dangerous a place, even for a brazen wench like me.”

“Yell have no time for the court,” he told her firmly.

“And why is that?” she asked, laughing up at him.

“We have a great deal of time to make up, Fiona Hay,” he said. “First the priest to marry us. And an earldom needs more than one heir and two wee heiresses.
Ye
and I have a great deal to do, lassie. I fear there will not be a moment for court or kings or anything else.”

“No time but for our love, and for our bairns, and for Brae. ’Tis more than enough for me, my lord. Now,” Fiona told him, her hand teasing him in a most sensitive spot, “if we're to service yer earldom with more bairns, my lord, had we best get started?”

“Brazen,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her mouth. “Yer the most brazen woman I have ever known.”

“And ye would not have me any other way,” Fiona declared, kissing him hungrily “Ye would have me no other way.”