The laird was astounded, but suddenly a great grin split his face. "What a grand shot, my liege!" he said enthusiastically. "Ye must teach me how ye did it so I may equally astonish my own men."
James Stewart laughed. " 'Tis easy," he vowed. "I'll be pleased to teach ye the trick of it. I owe ye for yer company, Angus, for it helps take the weight of my duties from my shoulders. 'Tis not easy to be a king, I am finding. There is so much to be done, and so many who oppose me, whether they say it or not."
"Scotland has lived for too long without a master," Angus Gordon said quietly. "It is like a horse gone wild that must be reconditioned to the bridle and the bit. Ye have done much already this summer, my liege. Perhaps if ye would go a bit easier, ye would have time to win more men to yer cause. There are many who are faithful, and others who would be, I know, if they were but given the chance to know ye better so they might see how worthy ye are."
"I know that ye speak the truth, Angus," James Stewart said, "but there is far more to do to improve life in our land than I can possibly accomplish in an entire lifetime, even were I to live to be a very old man."
"May God see that ye do!" the laird replied enthusiastically.
“Ah, Angus, if half the men at this court were as loyal to me as ye are, I should have no fear for Scotland's future," the king answered, his tone almost sad, "but, alas, too many are ingrained in their bad ways. Soon I must act to make an example within the bosom of my own family if I am to put the fear of God into the others."
While the laird kept his king company, Fiona Hay was with the queen. Joan of England had become genuinely fond of the highland girl, but the noblewomen who surrounded her were less tolerant of the laird's mistress. For one thing, she was much too beautiful-and hardly respectable. She was not from a powerful family, yet she carried herself proudly. She deferred only to the queen and the king.
"She is much too proud for a lass in her position," Lady Stewart of Dundonald said sourly. "She should not be allowed to serve the queen. The wench is no better than a common whore."
"Much the same was said of my grandmother, Catherine Swynford," said the queen, who had overheard Lady Stewart's remarks. "My grandmother, like Mistress Hay, was in the lowest rank of the nobility. She had, thanks to her sister who served Queen Philippa, been given a place in the household of Lady Blanche of Lancaster. She served my grandfather's first wife. My grandfather fell in love with Catherine Swynford, but only after his wife died would she admit her affections for him.
"King Edward III, however, married his son off to a second politically expedient wife, Constance of Castile. He was forced to live in Castile for a time. He had to leave my grandmother and their children behind. His second marriage was of a short duration, for the lady of Castile died. My grandfather returned home to England to wed with Catherine Swynford.
"He spent much time in the assizes, and with the church hierarchy, making certain that his three sons and his little daughter were legitimized. He was successful. My grandmother defied convention for the man she loved. In the end God smiled upon her, for she was a good woman at heart. Mistress Hay has sacrificed herself and her good name to provide for her orphaned sisters. I will not condemn her, nor should any of ye. I am ashamed ye would be so mean-spirited." Having rebuked them, the queen turned her attentions to her needlework.
"Alas," Maggie MacLeod, now Lady Grey of Ben Duff, said to Fiona, "ye are a clever lass, but ye don't have the wit to take advantage of the queen's good nature to bring yer Black Angus to the bridle." The two women had easily become friends over the past few weeks.
"What makes ye think I want to wed with a man who doesn't love me?"
"Yer in love with him." Maggie MacLeod laughed knowingly. "And can ye not see that the man is mad in love with ye? God's boots! He positively glowers at any man foolish enough to give ye a passing glance, Fiona lass. Have ye no eyes in yer head, then, that ye canna see it?"
"He has not said it," Fiona replied stubbornly.
Maggie MacLeod snorted with impatience. "Surely ye are not waiting for Angus Gordon to declare himself, Fiona Hay? Ye cannot be that silly! Men are children; they never grow up. A man needs to be reassured that his suit will not be denied before he can muster up the courage to tell a woman that he truly loves her."
"But I thought I should wait for him to say it first, and the queen agrees."
"Blessed Mother!" Maggie MacLeod swore. "Listen to me, Fiona Hay. I have no doubts that the king loves the queen, but the first thing that crossed his canny Stewart mind when he decided to choose a bride was her suitability. Do ye understand me?" Lady Grey's eyes bored into Fiona's.
"Joan Beaufort was certainly the most eligible maid in all of England. James Stewart swept her off her innocent little feet with his charm and his attentions. And she, encouraged, no doubt, by her powerful Beaufort relations and by daydreams of a queen's crown blurring her vision, probably whispered shyly to our liege lord that she loved him. Only then, I promise ye, did he say that he loved her.
"That is how it always is in the battle between men and women, and how it is always likely to be. If the women of this world did not take matters into their own hands, not a man would take a woman to wife." She laughed. "How do ye think I caught Ben Duff? A more sly widower there never was, but I was a canny lass, and when my Andrew learned I was carrying his heir, there was no holding him back. He couldn't get me to the priest fast enough!" She laughed again, her bright blue eyes sparkling with mischief.
"What yer saying to me, Lady Grey, is that I have been a damned simpering little fool," Fiona replied. "Is that not so?"
"Aye," Maggie drawled. "Yer a highland woman, Fiona Hay, and we highlanders take what we want. We don't wait to be invited. Did ye not steal yer laird's cattle?"
"I have never admitted to it," Fiona quickly replied, but Maggie MacLeod only laughed louder.
“Ye had better get Black Angus to the altar, lassie, before some bold baggage here at the court decides she wants him, or the king decides to give him a nice English heiress in return for his loyalty." Then she lowered her voice to a deep whisper. "Have ye been taking something to prevent conception?"
Silently Fiona nodded.
"Don't take any more, Fiona Hay. Let yer man put his bairn in yer belly, and for sweet Jesu's sake, tell him that ye love him before it's too late. Happiness is not an easy commodity to find in this world. Ye must hold tight to it when ye do find it." Maggie MacLeod took Fiona's hand in hers and gave it an encouraging little squeeze.
"Now I have two friends at court," Fiona said softly.
"I'm in good company." The older woman chuckled.
The queen's page announced that it was time for them all to adjourn to the Great Hall, where a new group of noblemen and lairds would be coming to pledge their loyalty and have the patents for their lands examined for approval. The queen, accompanied by her women, hurried to join the rest of the court.
"God's boots," Maggie MacLeod murmured, her eye scanning the hall and lighting upon a man. " 'Tis my cousin of Nairn, Colin MacDonald. What brings him here, I wonder, for he is as independent a highlander as was his sire."
"Who was that?" Fiona asked.
"Donald MacDonald, late Lord of the Isles," Maggie said softly. "Nairn is a bastard half-brother to Alexander, the third Lord of the Isles, but Colin MacDonald's first loyalty is to his brother and his clan. Their interests would be unlikely to coincide with the king's. What can he be doing here? The king will go to Inverness eventually to take oaths from the northern lords. Why has The MacDonald of Nairn come all the way to Perth?"
"Why not ask him?" Fiona suggested in practical tones.
Maggie MacLeod laughed. "I don't know if he would tell me the truth. Colin can tell a lie better than any man I have ever known.'' Her fingers worried her blue brocade surcoat as she considered Fiona's pragmatic suggestion. "It's been at least five years since I last saw him. He may not even know me now."
"Ye knew him," Fiona said dryly.
"Coli
n is not a man a woman forgets."
"Ye dinna mean-" Fiona didn't know whether to be shocked or not.
Maggie chuckled. "He had his hands up my skirts when I was twelve. We mature earlier in the northwest." She shrugged. "He was always a wild one, Colin MacDonald."
Across the hall the subject of their discussion watched the two women covertly. A small smile briefly touched the corners of his big mouth. Cousin Maggie had grown into a very pretty woman, but the girl by her side was a rare beauty. He was about to make his way across the chamber to greet his relation and be introduced to her companion when a tall, dark-haired man came up to them. He smiled, a few words were exchanged, and then the man escorted the beauty off. Before Maggie MacLeod might turn away, Colin MacDonald crossed the room in several large steps and was at her side.
"Maggie! And prettier than ever, I see," he said jovially, kissing her on the cheek. “How nice to see a friendly face among all these damned Sassanachs." He spoke to her in the Gaelic of the north.
"Mind yer mouth, Colly," Maggie warned him softly. "Enough of the court speaks the Gael to have ye hung. What are ye doing here?"
He answered her question with one of his own. "Who was the exquisite creature with ye a moment back?"
"Answer me first, cousin," she said firmly.
"Alex wants the lay of the land," Colin MacDonald said frankly.
"Why?"
The MacDonald of Nairn snorted. ' 'Maggie, ye know that as well as I do. My brother does not know if he will swear fealty to this Stewart king. We may be better off as we are in the north allied to the English."
"James Stewart is allied to England now. This king will not let the highlands run wild," Maggie warned him. "He will, I suspect, destroy ye all first, Colly. I know ye love Alex and are his man, but look to Nairn and its future before ye decide yer own course." She eyed him appreciatively. "God's boots, I had forgotten how handsome ye are, cousin of mine." She chuckled at his suddenly cocked eyebrow. "Don't get any wicked ideas in yer head, Colin MacDonald, for I'm a respectably married woman now."
"And who is the fortunate man?"
"Andrew Grey of Ben Duff," she said, "and, aye, he's the borderer I left the north with because I was sick of all the killing and clan warfare. I wanted a quiet man who would love me and give me bairns. I'll have my first wee laddie or lass in the coming winter."
The MacDonald of Nairn took his cousin's hand in his, raised it to his lips, and kissed it. "If yer happy, Maggie MacLeod, then who am I to say no to ye? I'll want to meet yer husband, of course, but now tell me who that beautiful lassie ye were with is."
"Fiona Hay, the laird of Loch Brae's mistress, but don't even consider a seduction. Angus Gordon would kill ye, for he is fearfully jealous of any man who even looks at his Fiona. Besides he intends to wed her, I am certain. The queen wants it, and his family wants it."
"Does she want it?"
"Aye, verra much," Maggie said. Then she laughed softly. "Have ye any idea of how those long legs of yers poking from beneath yer kilt are affecting the ladies here? Why even Atholl'.s wife has a lustful look in her eye, and I thought her dried up long ago."
"Present me to Mistress Hay," The MacDonald of Nairn said, ignoring her teasing remarks.
"Colly, she will have none of ye, I swear it!" He hadn't changed at all from the heedless boy she had known as a child, Maggie thought. He saw something, he wanted it, and nothing would satisfy him until he had it. “Did ye hear nothing I said to ye? Angus Gordon is mad for her! And jealous. Verra, verra jealous."
He grinned. "I don't blame him, for Mistress Fiona Hay is the bonniest lass I have ever seen, but I will meet her, Maggie, even if ye will not present me in a proper manner."
"Not now," Maggie MacLeod said, knowing that she was beaten.
"When?"
Damn him, he was so stubborn! "In a more casual setting than the Great Hall at Scone," Maggie said. "I promise."
"Good. Now, Maggie, let us find yer good lord so we may be introduced, eh?"
As he escorted her across the hall to where Andrew Grey of Ben Duff stood, the eyes of many of the women in the hall followed admiringly, their heads swiveling shamelessly. Colin MacDonald was a striking man who stood six feet four inches tall. Everything about him was long. His arms. His legs. His face with its high cheekbones and squared chin with its deep dimple. His eyes were, like Maggie's, sparkling bright blue. But it was his shoulder-length hair, a flaming red-gold, that attracted almost as much attention as his great height. He wore the ancient hunting tartan of the MacDonalds. The green, gray, and white wool was wrapped about his loins in a kilt; a second length of it was slung across his broad chest and shoulder and affixed with a clan badge.
"Who is that?" the king asked his uncle, the Earl of Atholl.
"I don't know," Walter Stewart said, "but I will find out."
Amused, the king watched the open interest of the women in his hall and, turning to his queen, said, "I think, my Joan, that ye and Fiona Hay are the only two women in the chamber not yearning after yon fiery-headed giant. He looks to be a highlander by his dress."
"Why would I long for another when I am wed to the best man in all of Scotland?" the queen replied with a sweet smile.
Walter Stewart's son, Alan, came onto the dais and whispered into his father's ear. The Earl of Atholl turned and said to the king, "The big highlander is Colin MacDonald, known as The MacDonald of Nairn, nephew. He's a bastard of Donald of Harlaw and half-brother to the current Lord of the Isles. I cannot help but wonder why he is in here at yer court."
The king caught the laird of Loch Brae's eye, and when Angus Gordon had come over to him the king said, "Angus, the big highlander with the flaming pate speaking with Lady Grey and her good husband is The MacDonald of Nairn. Bring him to me."
The laird nodded and turned away, silently approving Fiona's actions, for she had come to stand by the queen's side when he had answered the king's summons. Hurrying across the hall, he approached Andrew Grey, his wife, and their companion. Bowing to them, he said, "The king would speak with The MacDonald of Nairn."
Maggie MacLeod paled. "What does he want of my cousin, Angus?"
"Yer cousin, is he?" The laird looked The MacDonald of Nairn directly in the eye although there was a difference in their heights. "I think the king is but curious. 'Tis not often we are treated to the sight of red-haired giants in kilts in the Great Hall of Scone." His tone was slightly mocking, for there was something about The MacDonald of Nairn that annoyed him, although he could not put his finger on the source of the irritation. "Will ye come with me, then, man?" he asked brusquely.
"Aye, I'll come," Colin MacDonald drawled, "although I am not a man used to following another, but for my brother."
"Oh, Colly, do mind yer manners," Maggie fussed at him.
Colin MacDonald laughed, his long finger touching her cheek. "Don't fret, sweet coz, I'll not offend the king, for in doing so I would offend Alex, who has yet to make up his mind in the matter." He turned and walked away with the laird.
"A dangerous man," Andrew Grey murmured softly. "Is he really yer cousin, Maggie? And just how well did ye know him?"
"Our mothers were cousins," Maggie answered her husband, "and I know Colly as well as any cousin knows another cousin. He is at least eight years my senior, and I was hardly of interest to him except as a relation, Andrew." She clutched suddenly at his arm. "Ah! I think I felt the bairn move, my lord, or perhaps it was my belly rumbling, for I am ferociously hungry these days."
Grey of Ben Duff put a protective arm about his wife and led her off to where she might sit and be more comfortable, not in the least aware of how neatly his wife had turned him away from the subject of Colin MacDonald of Nairn. The less said about her cousin, the better, Maggie MacLeod thought. While she was delighted to see the charming rogue, she was also made uneasy by his presence. She had striven hard to distance herself from her northern roots-and all they entailed. She glanced across the room to where her MacDonald relation w
as now bowing politely to the king.
"What brings ye to court, my lord?" James Stewart said.
“Did ye not put forth an order that the nobility bring their patents of titles and lands to ye to be reconfirmed, my lord?" Colin MacDonald said boldly. "Well, I have come at yer command and for no other reason. I should just as soon be hunting the red deer in my forests right now as crowding myself into a hall full of people, most of whom have not bathed in weeks, if at all this year."
The Earl of Atholl leapt to his feet, his hand on his dirk. "Ye’ll speak to the king with more respect than that, MacDonald, or I'll slit yer bold gullet for ye," he said angrily.
"I meant no offense, my lord," Colin MacDonald said, ignoring Atholl, "but we highlanders are used to speaking our minds. We don't couch our words in pretty phrases that only hide their meaning."
The king nodded. "I prefer plain speaking myself," he said. "Tell me, how came ye by yer lands in Nairn, for I am given to understand that yer father was Donald of Harlaw, late Lord of the Isles."
"My mother, Moire Rose, was the heiress of Nairn. She was my father's mistress for a time. My father made it known to my grandfather that he wanted me to have my mother's inheritance. My grandfather made me his heir. I came into my own several years ago." Reaching into a space between his shirt and the swath of plaid across his chest, he drew out a silk pouch and handed it to the king.
After carefully taking papers from the pouch, James Stewart spent the next several minutes perusing them. "These are all quite in order, my lord, the line of descent clear." He folded the sheets of parchment, put them back into the pouch, and handed it to Colin MacDonald. "See my secretary in the morning, and he will affix the proper seals to yer documents. Ye are reconfirmed in yer titles, lands, and rights."
"I thank ye, my lord."
"And will ye swear yer fealty to me now?"
"No, lord, I cannot, for I am vassal to my brother, Alexander, Lord of the Isles. 'Twould not be right for me to swear my fealty to ye before my brother swears his. Indeed, my brother would be verra angry at me for such a presumption. I know that ye understand."
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