Page 57 of Betrayed

“Why do they come here?” Fiona asked.

“They come here because it is the one place no one will think a gathering would be held,” Nairn told her. “They come to discuss what to do about James Stewart. Will they give fealty or will they not? Will they wait for him to call them to Inverness, or will they go south to Perth or Scone to pledge loyalty?”

Later, Fiona and Nelly stood atop the castle walls of Nairns Craig watching as the invited guests arrived. To their surprise they were joined by Moire Rose, awine-and-dark-green length of Rose family tartan clutched about her narrow shoulders.

“Yecanna possibly know the tartans of the north,” she said dourly, by way of opening the conversation. “I'll instruct ye so ye don't embarrass yerself. There! The red and green with the yellow-and-white stripe is MacRe. The yellow and black with the red stripe is a MacLeod of Lewis.Yeknew the shameless daughter of that clan, Margaret, did ye not? Ah, there are the Chisholms with the red-and-green plaid with a white stripe, and the Camerons with their red and green with the yellow stripe. The Campbells are the blue and green with the yellow stripe, and the MacIntyres are the green and blue with red-and-white stripes.”

“I do recognize some of the tartans,” Fiona said quietly. “The red and green is Matheson, the green with the black-and-white stripes is MacLean, and the red, green, and blue plaid is Macintosh.”

“How do ye know them?” Moire Rose asked, curious in spite of herself. “Ye grew up in the eastern highlands.”

“Those plaids were represented in The MacDonald's hall when we were there last autumn,” Fiona explained.

Below them a man in red-and-green plaid with a white stripe, followed by one in a green-and-blue tartan with light blue, red, and yellow stripes, rode up the castle hill.

“A MacGregor, and a Malcom,” the older woman noted. “Ahh, and here's as fine a pair of troublemakers as Scotland has ever known.” She pointed a bony finger at the two men, one in a red, black, and green plaid whom she identified as Alexander MacRurie, and his companion in his green-and-black tartan with the yellow stripe, one Ian MacArthur.

Fiona made a mental note to ask Nairn's opinion about the two men his mother had spoken so scathingly upon. “Who is the gentleman riding up the hill with the pretty woman, my lady Moire?” she asked her mother-in-law.

“Well, well, well, this is an important meeting,” that lady replied. “’Tis Angus MacKay, and his wife, Elizabeth, who is The MacDonald's sister. And see, behind them. That fat fellow in his green-and-navy plaid with the yellow stripe? ’Tis the Late MacNeill, so called because he is always one of the last to arrive at any gathering.”

Fiona giggled, unable to help herself, and to her great surprise, a faint smile touched Moire Rose's lips, but it was gone before she might really be certain. “I had best prepare a chamber for The MacKay and his wife,” Fiona told her companions. “I was not expecting a lady, and thought to let the men sleep in the hall, but for The MacDonald.”

“Wait,” Moire Rose said, excited. “Listen! Do ye not hear the pipes, lassie? ’Tis The MacDonald, Lord of the Isles himself.”

Sure enough, up the hill came the Lord of the Isles, mounted upon a fine white stallion, led by his four pipers and followed by a large troupe of his men. The first line of the men carried pennants of bright scarlet silk upon which had been embroidered in gold thread the lord's motto, Per Mare Per Terras (By Sea, by Land). The lord and his men all wore a bit of heath, the clan's plant badge, in their caps. The pipers were playing the MacDonald march.

“’Tis how his father came first to Nairns Graig,” Moire Rose said softly, her tone almost tender.

“’Tis verra grand,” Fiona answered her. “Colly says the lords of the Isles are kings, and certainly thislord makes his entrance like one. James Stewart doesn't like such pomp and show.”

“The MacDonalds have more pride than the Stewarts,” Moire Rose said proudly. “They have more pride than any other clan in Scotland.”

The two younger women left Nairn's mother standing upon the tower walls.

In the upper hall Fiona spied a serving maid and sent her for linens for the second-best bedchamber. The Lord of the Isles would be sleeping in their best. The serving girl returned laden down with the necessary sheets and coverlets. Fiona took them from her and sent the girl for firewood for the bedchamber's fireplace. Then she and Nelly quickly made up the big bed and opened the windows to air the room. The maid returned once more and, kneeling, laid a fire, leaving the extra wood in a basket by the fireplace.

“Fill a bowl with flowers, lassie,” Fiona ordered the girl, “and set them here upon the table. Quickly! I must go down to the hall to greet our guests. This room must be ready to receive The MacKay and his wife, who is yer master's half-sister. Come along, Nelly, and help me change my gown so I don't disgrace my husband.” She hurried out and down the hall to their own apartments, Nelly in her wake.

Nelly chose a simple dark blue undergown for her mistress, over which she added the deep blue and silver brocade surcoat. Fiona's dark hair was gathered up into her silver caul. “Ye'll do,” Nelly said.

Fiona hurried from the chamber and down into the hall, reaching it just as The MacKay and his wife entered from the courtyard. Nairn gave her a quick smile and, taking her by the hand, brought her forth to introduce her to his half-sister and her husband.

Elizabeth MacKay was a big-boned handsomewoman with dark chestnut hair and the family's blue eyes. She looked Fiona over boldly and then pronounced, “Alex did not lie, Nairn. Ye have taken a beauty for a wife, and I see she is already full to bursting with a bairn. The MacDonalds do not waste time.”

“It is delightful to see ye again also, sister,” Nairn said drolly. “May I present my wife, Fiona, to ye?”

Fiona curtsied politely, but her sister-in-law said, “Oh, don't be so formal with me, Fiona Hay. Come and give me a kiss on the cheek. When is my nephew due to be born? ’Tis yer first, I know, but have ye figured it out yet?”

Fiona kissed Elizabeth MacKay upon her soft cheek, saying as she did so, “I would think the bairn is due shortly, my lady. ‘Twas conceived almost immediately after yer brother stole me last autumn.”

Her newfound sister-in-law chuckled richly at the remark. “’Tis not really like Nairn to be quite that bold,” she noted. “I have known him to take what he wants in past times, but never have I known him to be quite so verra audacious. Alex says he loves ye. He must.”

“So he tells me, lady,” Fiona answered.

“Ah,” Elizabeth MacKay observed, “yer still not won over entirely by yer insolent husband, are ye?”

“I am reconciled to my fate for now, and perhaps a wee bit softer in my attitude to Nairn than I was several months ago, lady,” Fiona told her, “but ye canna expect me to be mad with love for a man who stole me from a man I did love. I am many things, lady, but I am not a liar where the heart is concerned.”

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