Betrayed (39 page)

Fiona knew her duty. In the morning she stood,
her two eldest children clinging to her skirts, her infant daughter in her arms, watching as her husband and his retainers marched off down the castle hill to the road leading to Inverness. Unlike many of the chieftains who could muster two thousand or more men, The MacDonald of Nairn had but two hundred, and they were Rose family clansmen—his mother's people, for although he was a MacDonald by birth and acknowledged by his father, his inheritance had belonged to a lesser branch of the Rose family.

“They are like little boys playing,” Fiona said grimly as the piper led the troop off, banners flying bravely.

“Will they all come back, I wonder?” Nelly asked.

“I believe so” Fiona said. “This is not a war they go to fight. They go to burn, pillage, and loot a hapless town of women, bairns, and shopkeepers. They should be ashamed of themselves, but they are not. They will all return to their homes boasting of their victory.”

“Yer hard on him,” Moire Rose said, coming up next to Fiona, smiling down at Alastair and Mary.

“Do ye agree with yer son then, lady?”

“No, I don't. I always thought the warfare foolish, but unlike ye, I didn't dare to say it aloud. It is our way and will not change.”

“Ye must say it aloud now” Fiona told her. ‘James Stewart will not take this act of terror lightly. He will retaliate, lady. When he does, I would have Nairn align himself with the king, and not the Lord of the Isles. If both of us nag at yer son, my husband, then perhaps we may turn him from his path of self-destruction.”

“He'll not listen,” Moire Rose said fatalistically. “When Colin went to live with his father on Islay, he was taught the first rule of life was total loyalty to the Lord of the Isles. All Donald's children were taught
that. Not one of them would break that rule, Fiona.
Not one.
Ye have no hope of changing a lifetime's habit, I fear.”

“Then it is unlikely Colly will live to see his bairns grown,” Fiona replied sadly. “They will burn Inverness, and the king will strike back at them. He will bring fire and death to the highlands.”

Alexander MacDonald carried out his purpose and burned Inverness to the ground. His highland army of ten thousand strong slaughtered the inhabitants of the town and looted everything they could. The MacDonald of Nairn returned home laden down with booty on a cold, rainy day. It had been raining for three days straight, and the barren branches of the trees were black against the gray sky as the men rode up the castle hill.

Fiona had grown calm with her purpose over the short time her husband had been away. By the time the king learned of the carnage in Inverness and could prepare a force to come north again, the winter would have set in. It was unlikely the king would strike during the winter months. He would wait until spring. And in those intervening months she intended to convince Colin MacDonald that his first loyalty must be to the king to whom he had sworn fealty. She would use whatever means she had to, attain her goal. Fiona greeted her husband warmly.

Pleased, he grinned boyishly, certain she finally understood his reasoning. He flung his booty at her feet; two bolts of fine soft wool—one the gray-blue color of a winter sky, the other a soft purple heathery tone. There was a forest-green-and-gold-brocade surcoat and several gowns. A length of sheer lawn for making veils. Several gold chains and a jeweled rosary. For his mother he had fetched back a bolt of wool in beige and
cream tones to flatter her hair, several strands of agate, and a gold ring. For Alastair there was a miniature claymore, and for Mary, a pretty blue gown. This last sent a shiver through Fiona. What little lass had the dress belonged to, and had she been slaughtered?

He read her thoughts. “I took it from the shop of a cloth merchant” he told her. “It had been newly made, probably by his wife, who is a seamstress and earned a living sewing.”

She nodded, not wanting to know any more. “Come, my lord,” she said softly, “ye will be hungry, and I have the meal ready. Then ye must bathe, for I will wager ye have not done so since ye left me.”

He flashed her a quick smile. “There is not usually time to bathe when a man is pillaging and looting, Fiona mine.” He was pleased when she laughed aloud at his sally.

They sat down to table, and he ate heartily of the game pie, the capon with the lemon ginger sauce, the freshly caught trout, and the ham. He had grown used to the greens she insisted be served, and actually felt better for eating them. Tonight she served him braised lettuce and cress, small beets, and onions in a dilled cream sauce. The bread was soft and fresh, the butter sweet, the cheese sharp. And best of all, his meal was hot. He hadn't eaten any hot food in the time he had been away. He had missed it, although he had chided himself for growing soft. Nodding at the hovering servant wanting to know if he wished his goblet refilled, he savored the sweet wine. His mother and his wife smiled at each other over his appetite. His piper began to play softly, and Colin MacDonald sat back, content and mellow, glad to be safely home again after his sortie to Inverness.

“Is the whole town gone?” his mother finally ventured.

He nodded. “We burned the king's hall first. ‘Twas a fine sight, and now the memories of the Lord of the Isles’ shame are no more.”

“Come, my lord,” Fiona said before the conversation could become more detailed. “Ye will want to get out of those stinking garments and bathe yerself before ye go to bed.”

“I'll not bathe if I am to be confined to the hall again,” he threatened her mischievously.

“Oh, Colly,” she told him, “I was angry with ye then, but not now. Indeed, I am relieved to have ye safely home again.” She smiled softly at him. “I have missed ye in our bed.” She held out her hand to him. “Come along, my lord.”

“Good night, madam,” Nairn said to his mother, who nodded pleasantly in his direction at his words and smiled as they departed the hall, knowing full well her daughter-in-law's intentions. Alas, Moire Rose thought, she would not be successful.

They lay, bathed and aroused, on a sheepskin before the fire. Fiona touched his manhood, and Colin groaned.

“Ye like it when I use my tongue on yer little love button, do ye not, sweeting?” he asked. When she nodded slowly, he said, “Give me the same kind of pleasure, Fiona mine. Take me in yer mouth.” His voice was almost strangled with the request.

The truth was, she had wondered about doing such a thing, but had not dared for fear he would be shocked. She was curious and had been for some time. Slowly she began to absorb him, sweetly sucking upon him with slow deep strokes. He moaned, but she did
not cease, for the sound was one of utter pleasure. Fiona was fascinated that she was able to render him so helpless by her actions. Inquisitively she ran her tongue around the ruby head of his member, and again, and yet again. Holding him in one hand, she let her other hand wander to fondle his twin pouch. A single finger strayed innocently beneath him and touched the flesh beneath the pouch. He cried out softly. She pressed the spot again. He cautioned her in a tight voice that he was near to spilling his seed, and she must cease.

Fiona's head was spinning with the erotic sensations she had received by using him in this fashion. He came over her, his big body covering her, and he was like iron as he entered her. She opened to him, taking in his love rod, closing her flesh around him, wrapping her legs about him so he might delve his deepest into the soft hot swamp of her welcoming sex. Fiona sighed deeply, feeling her breasts give way beneath the muscle of his chest. “Oh, Colly!” she whispered. It had never been quite so good between them. Not like this. “Oh! Ohhhhh!”

She was magnificent. She was incredible. He had never known her so totally unsparing of her passions with him. He began to move upon her, his buttocks tightening and releasing, tightening and releasing as he built to a crescendo of passion.

Beneath him Fiona writhed as he plunged within her, arousing her to a fever pitch of excitement such as she had never before experienced. She could feel him throbbing, and she ached for release. Her nails raked down his back. “Please!
Please!”
she whimpered. His body thrust harder and harder. She could feel the approaching maelstrom. She gasped, struggling desperately for air. Her whole body, her very brain was afire, and in a moment she would explode into a thousand
fragments of pure pleasure. She screamed as the wild wave burst over her. His responding cry of utter joy shattered her. They had denied themselves for too long.

Afterward they lay naked before the fire. Smiling, he ran a finger down her length. “Ye have never yielded to me like that before,” he said softly. Bending, he kissed her shoulder.

“Ye
have never yielded to me like that before,” she countered. “It was wonderful, Colin MacDonald.” She turned her head so that their eyes met, and kissed his mouth. “Ummmmm.”

“Do ye finally love me, Fiona mine?”

Her green eyes twinkled. “Possibly, I am beginning to have a wee bit of a
tendre
for ye, my lord.”

“Brazen vixen.” He chuckled, pressing her back against the sheepskin rug. The firelight played across their bodies, its heat adding to their own. He licked up the column of her slender throat. “Yer delicious, sweeting,” he murmured into the hollow of her neck, nibbling delicately at her sweet flesh. Drawing his tongue over her chest, he lapped at her breasts, his mouth closing over a nipple, drawing her milk into his mouth and swallowing it.

Her fingers threaded themselves through his thick red-gold hair. Fiona smiled. She had forgotten to wash it, and it was dusty with his travels. Tomorrow would be time enough. She abandoned herself to the pleasure of his passion, and it was even better than before. Finally in the middle of the night they managed to leave their place before the fire for the warmth of their bed, cuddling beneath the down coverlet. Something had changed. They both realized it as they slid into a contented sleep.

The winter came, and the news that filtered into Nairns Craig from south of the Tay was ominous. The
king had been furious to learn that the Lord of the Isles had burned the town of Inverness. Its survivors had trekked to Scone to plead with the king for revenge and reparations. Only the snows kept the highlands safe for the present. In the spring they knew the retaliation would come. Fiona tried to force it from her mind, but Nairn would not let her.

“We had a good harvest last year,” he said. “Ye must conserve what is in the granaries and cold storage, for we may not get to plant a new crop in the spring. If we do, it may be destroyed before ye can harvest it. Ye will have to be responsible for Nairns Craig while I am away, sweeting. My mother will help ye.”

“Where will ye go?” Fiona asked him as they sat together in the hall, the children romping about them. Johanna was soon to celebrate her first year of life and was already toddling about on unsteady feet.

“When my brother calls, I must follow him into battle,” Colin MacDonald said quietly. “Ye know it, sweeting. Don't hide from the truth. If Alexander goes to war, I must follow him.”

“Ye
must pledge yerself to the king,” she said, working hard to keep the desperate tone from her voice. “If yer brother chooses to fight with James Stewart, don't follow him. Ally yerself with yer liege lord. In the end James Stewart will triumph over the lord. I know it! If ye fight by the lord's side, the king will punish ye, too. If ye fight beneath the royal banner, we will all be safe. I know ye love yer brother and feel a deep loyalty to the clan as yer father taught ye, but times are changing, Colly This world we live in is not yer father's world. Once the lords of the Isles ruled unchallenged, but now their authority is in dispute. James Stewart claims all of Scotland. Even the lord's allies waver in their loyalty. Unless yer brother will accept the king's authority, he
and all those who follow him will be made to suffer. We have three bairns, my lord. Yer mother is old. Must we suffer for yer misguided sense of devotion? Please, I beg of ye, don't follow yer brother into battle!” Her eyes were filled with tears as she pleaded with him, and The MacDonald of Nairn was moved by her words, yet he refused to yield to her plea.

“I canna refuse the Lord of the Isles’ summons when it comes, sweeting. Do not fear. Ye'll be safe within Nairns Graig, and the bairns, too. The king will not take any revenge against ye and my mam.”

‘James Stewart would take revenge against a saint if that saint stood in his way, Colin MacDonald. Don't say ye were not warned. I know what I must now do. If ye leave us, I will take the children, and yer mam if she will come with us, and go home to Hay Tower. There I know we will be safe from the chaotic games ye men play.”

Astounded, he said, “Ye must hold Nairns Craig for me.”

“If this castle is as invulnerable as ye claim, my lord, then yer servants can hold Nairns Craig until ye return, or the king's men demand its surrender,” Fiona told him. “I will not remain here without ye, nor will I allow our children and that old woman to be in danger. Leave us, and I will depart here. If ye survive, ye know where ye may find us. If the king confiscates this castle, ye may be glad of my small house, Colly. ’Tis not grand, but the roof doesn't leak.”

He was amazed by her determination. He did not think her a silly and foolish woman who threatened a man, never meaning to follow through. She meant every word she was saying, and he knew it. The idea, while shocking at first, was not such a bad one. If Nairns Craig stood in danger of imminent attack, perhaps it
would be a good thing if she took the children and fled to her own holding. She was not rebelling against the king. If she distanced herself from Nairns Graig and he was killed or captured, she could not be held responsible for his behavior-or used to force him into submission. How many children of Stewart enemies had languished their lives away in custodial confinement. He did not want his daughters bartered into unhappy marriages that benefited James Stewart while making them miserable. He did not want his son brought up to be ashamed of his proud heritage.

“Perhaps, sweeting,” he told her, “it might be a good thing if ye and the children hid at Hay Tower if war comes. The troubles will not be anywhere near yer home. It will be fought in the north and in the west predominantly. No one would think to seek ye on yer ben.”