Bertrice Small - Betrayed

Colin MacDonald drew himself up to his full six feet four inches and sneered down at the six-foot-two laird, “I managed to beat ye last time quite handily, Gordon, with just such a grip."

"Ye won at the end by only a stroke-and only because the wind blew a wee bit of grit into my eye," the laird snapped.

"But I won. I always win when I choose to win, Gordon. Be advised of that. By the way, how is yer pretty little mistress? She is surely the bonniest lass in all of Scotland." He grinned wickedly, and his bright blue eyes silently challenged the laird.

The laird of Loch Brae clenched his teeth and, concentrating with all his might, hit his ball a tremendous length down the green. Then he turned, grinning his own challenge to The MacDonald of Nairn. "Ye’ll be going north again soon, I imagine," he said pleasantly.

“Those two are worse than a pair of lads," groused the Earl of Atholl. "Squabbling over a damned game of golf."

" 'Tis not golf they squabble over," the king said.

"Eh?" his uncle asked, confused.

The king watched the two younger men as they walked ahead of Atholl and himself. "I think it has something to do with Mistress Hay, although I have not yet figured out exactly what. If she is not with the queen, she is in Angus's company, yet I have seen Nairn eyeing her most covetously. I don't know if he has even spoken to her."

"Little escapes ye, laddie, does it?" the earl asked thoughtfully.

The king smiled cryptically. Then he said to his uncle, "I plan to execute Albany and his sons for treason. It will all be done under the law, of course. Albany will die for his presumption, and his offspring because they have the misfortune to be born his sons. I will not be threatened by my own kin."

Atholl nodded, fully understanding the unspoken warning his nephew had just given him. He was shrewd, and the moment he had met James Stewart, he had realized the mettle of the man and wisely chosen to be loyal. "When?" was all he said to the king.

"Soon. Ye are not sentimental, Uncle, are ye? There is no place for sentiment if a man is to be king."

"I have no sentiment where Albany and his whelps are concerned, Nephew," the earl assured the king. Then he drove his own ball down the long length of the green, pleased at his skill.

While the king played golf, the queen and her ladies were tossing a ball among themselves, laughing as Mistress Hay and Lady Grey got into a contest to see who could toss the wooden ball the highest. Finally the two women collapsed upon the grass, wheezing, while their companions took up the game. The queen, however, chose to sit demurely watching as her ladies raced back and forth, their hair becoming loose and blowing in the afternoon breeze.

"Ye have not met my cousin of Nairn yet, and he will soon be returning north," Maggie MacLeod said, her breath finally restored.

"I don't think it wise," Fiona said, breathing deeply. "Angus says he looks at me like a wolf eyeing a lambkin." She laughed. "I don't want to make him jealous, Maggie."

"Why would ye say that?" her companion asked. "Of course ye want to make him jealous, ye silly little fool! Ye’ll get him to the altar a whole lot quicker if he thinks another man wants ye. They're all like that. Men are such donkeys! Besides, ye don't have to encourage Nairn. Personally I advise that ye don't, but it canna hurt to be presented to him. He's been dying to meet ye. I canna discourage him, but mayhap ye can. Actually I think the only reason he is hanging about the court is in hopes of meeting ye. So let him, and then ye can send him packing, for I certainly have no influence with him, and Ben Duff is beginning to get suspicious, for Nairn will tease him by making all sorts of suggestive remarks with reference to our childhood. Ye would be doing me a great favor, Fiona Hay, and I will not forget ye for it."

Fiona laughed again. "Oh, verra well, Maggie, for ye have been a good friend, but I warn ye I shall not be sweet."

"Don't be sweet!" Maggie MacLeod chuckled. "He would take it as a sign of encouragement, and ye don't want that!"

The king and his golfing partners returned to find the queen and her ladies still playing upon the grass. Colin MacDonald's eyes went immediately to Fiona Hay. She was wearing a yellow silk gown called a houppelande. Its short waist was set beneath her small round breasts, the long skirts flowing down into the green of the lawn. She was flushed, and her hair was loose about her face. He had never wanted a woman more in his life than he wanted Fiona Hay at that moment. Then he felt hard eyes upon him, and turned to meet Angus Gordon's gaze. Colin MacDonald smiled insolently but said nothing.

The laird of Loch Brae's heart and mind were filled with dark thoughts of murder and mayhem in that brief moment. He wanted to gouge those bold blue eyes from The MacDonald of Nairn's head so that they would never look with lust upon Fiona Hay again. They had to go home! They could no longer delay their departure. He wanted to be back at Loch Brae. He walked across the green lawn and slipped his arm about Fiona. "Did ye miss me, lassie?"

She smiled radiantly. "Aye, Black Angus, I did. Do ye think that means I love ye?" she teased him.

His heart soared at her words. "Do ye love me, lassie? Truly?" Before he could get his answer, the king called out.

"Angus, come to me, man!"

Angus Gordon brushed Fiona's lips lightly, his eyes warm. Then, turning about, he answered the royal summons. "My lord?"

"I know ye want to return to yer beloved Loch Brae, Angus, but will ye do me but one favor before ye go?"

"Anything, my liege," the laird said enthusiastically.

"Will ye go down into England and fetch back the queen's cousin, Mistress Elizabeth Williams, for us, Angus? Ye need go no farther than York. She will be awaiting ye there. It is a long and perhaps even a frightening journey for a lass who has been as sheltered as Beth. 'Twill not take ye long, and 'tis not as if I were sending ye all the way to London."

The laird nodded his head in agreement. "I will go, my liege," he said, but he was perhaps just a trifle annoyed by the request. Was the king taking a wee bit of advantage of his good nature and his unswerving loyalty? He had been away from his home too long.

"A boon, my liege," he said, and when the king waved his hand, Angus Gordon continued, "When I go, will ye have my lass escorted home to Loch Brae? I shall want to join her as soon as I have brought Mistress Williams to ye. The autumn is upon us."

"Of course, Angus," the king agreed expansively, relieved to have the problem of Beth's journey taken care of so easily. "Ye need not leave for several days. The English messenger has only come this day saying that Mistress Williams has left the queen's mother and is en route. Her train, small though it may be, will move slowly." Such a simple request, the king thought, and yet his wife had wept with joy when he had told her that Beth was on the way.

Maggie MacLeod had seen her opening and, dragging her cousin of Nairn quickly across the lawn, she had greeted Fiona Hay. "Ye have not met my cousin, Colin MacDonald of Nairn," she said brightly. "He'll soon be going back north, and he has admired ye all this summer long."

Fiona turned her head up to meet the startling blue gaze of the man before her. "I have not seen a man so big before," she said bluntly.

"I have not seen a lass so bonnie, Mistress Hay," he responded.

"Yer bold," she snapped.

"Ye encourage it," he rejoined, his eyes dancing.

"Ye are mistaken, my lord," Fiona said coldly. "I don't encourage ye at all. I am not a woman to encourage a stranger, even out of kindness."

"Ye have a mouth that begs to be kissed."

"And ye a cheek that deserves a smack," Fiona retorted, furious to feel the flush warming her face. Quickly she turned her attention to Maggie. "I have said it," she told her friend. Then without another word Fiona hurried off to join the laird, who welcomed her with a warm smile.

"I must have her," Colin MacDonald said softly.

"Are ye mad?" his cousin whispered nervously.

"He will never have her as a wife, but I will," The MacDonald of Nairn said firmly. Then he laughed. "Don't fret, Maggie, but don't doubt my word either. Fiona Hay will be mine even if I have to kill Angus Gordon to have her. What sons I can breed upon that fiery wench!"

Maggie MacLeod felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her belly where even now her unborn child slumbered. Fiona had made it very plain that she wanted nothing to do with him. More than likely Angus Gordon would complain to the king if Colin MacDonald accosted Fiona. The king's justice would certainly be severe against a highlander who had not sworn fealty to James Stewart and who threatened the happiness of the king's good friend. No! It was absolutely impossible.

"Why do ye fret, Maggie?" her husband asked, coming to stand by her side. When she had told him, Lord Grey said soothingly, "Do not worry yer pretty head about it, Maggie, my love. There is little chance of yer wild cousin carrying off Mistress Hay. She is safe here at court. He would not dare antagonize James Stewart, for not only would the king want his head, but his brother, the Lord of the Isles, would, too. Colin MacDonald does not strike me as a fool. Don't get yerself in a stew."

The king sent for Lady Grey of Ben Duff to come to him in secret. She was to tell no one of the summons, not even her husband. Maggie MacLeod came fearfully, wondering what it was that James Stewart could possibly want of her. Her husband was but a simple border lord. Nervously she followed along after the royal page, her hands plucking at the fabric of her gown of rose-colored silk. It was a color she loved, and it flattered her auburn hair. The lad ahead of her stopped suddenly and put his hand on the wall. A hidden door sprang open and light spilled out into the dim corridor. The boy pointed. Swallowing hard, Maggie stepped through the small doorway into the king's privy chamber.

It was a small room with paneled walls and a coffered ceiling. There was a stone fireplace, flanked with stone greyhounds, within which burned a bright fire. Beyond the single window the rain poured down, graying the day. A table with a silver tray, a carafe of ruby-colored wine, and two silver goblets stood before the window. The only other furniture in the room were two chairs that faced each other on either side of the hearth.

"Come in, Lady Grey," the king said. His hand motioned to her from one of the chairs.

The doors closed behind her as she slowly made her way to stand before James Stewart. Maggie curtsied low, amazed her legs could still function so capably. "My liege," she said softly.

"Sit down, Lady Grey, and I shall tell ye why I have asked ye to come visit with me in private." Then, seeing her pale visage, he arose, saying, "Ye’ll have a wee bit of wine, of course. 'Tis a wickedly dank day." He poured two goblets of wine, handed her one, and returned to his place by the fire, then sat facing his visitor.

Maggie tried hard not to gulp or spill her wine, but until she knew what the king wanted of her, it was difficult to control her nervousness. Had she somehow offended the monarch or his queen? Why was she here?

The king observed his companion furtively. Would she tell him the truth? Would he know it if she did? "Lady Grey," he began, focusing his eyes directly upon her pretty face, "I would have ye tell me why yer cousin of Nairn has come to court."

“Because his half-brother, the Lord of the Isles, would know the sort of man ye are, my liege. He has not decided whether he will swear fealty to ye." Maggie felt a wave of relief sweeping over her. She hadn't offended the king or his wife. She was in no difficulty, nor was she a danger to her husband.

The king had recognized immediately that Maggie MacLeod was being truthful with him. It was as he had suspected. Colin MacDonald had come to reconnoiter for his elder brother. “Why did ye leave the north, Lady Grey?" he suddenly asked her.

"Because I was tired of all the fighting. I didn't want to spend my life burying my men and living in fear of rapists and looters." She sighed deeply. " 'Tis so beautiful, my liege, but the beauty of the countryside canna make up for the constant danger."

"I don't suppose ye would consider a short visit to yer relations to introduce yer husband to them," the king ventured.

"I am with child, my lord," Maggie replied softly. "Besides, my relations would not accept Ben Duff, for to them he is a Sassanach, a southerner, and not even worthy of their scorn."