Bertrice Small - Betrayed

"The king is outside our gates with yer husband, who has survived, and the body of Nairn. When Nairn's grave is dug we will go out. They have a priest with them. Let us dress the children properly so we may not be ashamed before the king." She hiccuped a sob but swallowed it hard, jamming the cry so fiercely back down her throat that it ached. She had no time now for grief.

When the grave had been dug, Ian came to tell them. From a corner of the hall he picked up his pipes, for he had been apprenticed to the castle's piper. The children were fearful. Fiona took a moment to calm them.

"Yer father is dead," she said quietly. "The king has brought his poor body home to us for burial. It is a kindly act," she lied to them. "He waits outside our gates. Ye will be respectful of the king, for he has the power of life and death over us. Do ye understand me, my bairns?"

"Am I now Nairn?" Alastair asked astutely.

Fiona shook her head. "No," she said. "The king will send us from this place, for yer father rebelled against him. Ye, my son, must not ever rebel against yer liege lord. The king will punish us for yer father's fault, but he is right."

"Is not my uncle Alexander king?" the boy asked, confused.

"There is but one king in Scotland, Alastair," Fiona told her son. "His name is James Stewart. Remember that, laddie."

The boy nodded.

"Now, let us go outside to greet the king and bury yer father," Fiona said, leading them from the castle.

Outside the gates the assembled men heard the sound of an interior yett being raised. It creaked and groaned as its ancient pulley drew it up. Some few minutes elapsed, and the second yett was slowly raised. Then the gates were flung open. Two women and three small children stood in the entry of Nairns Craig. A young lad led them forth, his pipes playing the MacDonald lament as they came. They walked with dignity, ignoring the king and his men as they directed their steps toward the graveyard. Neither James Stewart nor his men moved as the little party of mourners strode past them. They had faced many widows and orphans over the past few weeks, but none quite this close. The king had insisted upon coming to Nairns Craig when they found Roderick Dhu, wounded and protecting his lord's body on the field of battle at Locha-ber. Not just a few men wondered why the king had singled out The MacDonald of Nairn and personally escorted his body home.

In the tiny family graveyard Fiona looked down at the shroud-covered body of her husband. "Let me see his face, Roderick Dhu," she said. She knelt by him, clucking in a motherly fashion. Drawing forth a small piece of cloth, she wet it with her own spittle.

"Nairn, Nairn, I'll not let ye go to yer grave with a dirty face," she said, fiercely scrubbing the black and sweat of battle that had dried upon his handsome visage. Then bending her head she kissed his cold, stiff lips.

"Godspeed, my lord. I really did come to love ye." She rose and brought the children to gaze upon their father for the last time. "He loved ye all, my bairns," she said to the three solemn children.

This done, she ordered Roderick Dhu to draw the shroud back up over her husband's head. The body was laid in its grave. The king's confessor came to their side and prayed over the corpse. The pipes played mournfully as the dirt was shoveled over Colin MacDonald's dead body. Fiona stood stonily silent until the ground was once again filled in. Beside her, Alastair and Mary were weeping softly. Next to them Johanna stood, her fingers in her mouth, uncertain of what was happening.

When the burial had been completed, Fiona thanked the priest and the two clansmen in Stewart plaid who had helped them. Nelly could scarcely take her eyes from her husband. She caught his hand, squeezing it tightly, her other hand drawing Ian between them. She felt almost guilty that her husband had survived when Fiona's had not, but Fiona, seeing them, smiled.

"Better one than none," she said to Nelly. " 'Twas God's choice, not ours, lass. Just remember to pray for Nairn's good soul." She took her children, the others following her, and walked to where the king sat upon his horse. Reaching him, she curtsied low.

A tiny smile touched the king's lips upon seeing the tiniest of the children, a wee lass, struggling to emulate her elder sibling.

When they had made their obeisance, Fiona stood proudly and held out her hand, offering James Stewart the keys to the castle.

Gravely he took them from her. "We will speak later," he told her. "For now I am hungry and long for a good supper."

"Alas, my liege," Fiona said, "I regret I canna oblige ye. The servants departed the castle when they learned of yer victory. Food, I have, in quantity, but no servants to prepare it. There is a rabbit stew, some bread, and cheese Nelly and I have prepared for our supper, but it will not feed this army ye have brought to my gates."

"Were ye not expecting me, then, my lady Fiona?" he asked her, laughing softly at the predicament she found herself in at this moment.

"I did not intend to ask ye to supper, my liege," Fiona replied, and about them those nearest, hearing her retort, chuckled.

"Ye have not changed," the king told her. "I shall share yer meager rations provided the bairns don't suffer hunger."

"Then come into Nairns Craig," Fiona invited him, "although I canna say yer welcome."

Fiona and Nelly went to the kitchens to see with what, if anything, they might supplement their scanty fare to serve the king and the three lieutenants who had entered the castle with him. To their relief they discovered two fat geese hanging in the larder. The geese were quickly put upon the spit for roasting. Ian took a line and went down to the stream, caught half a dozen small trout in quick order, brought them back, and prepared them so Nelly might broil them.

"Yer a handy laddie," she noted approvingly.

"Me gran and old da were not young. I helped where I could. Old da taught me to fish. 'Tis not difficult if ye know how," Ian said.

At last the meal was ready. Roderick Dhu had kept the king and his men supplied with wine and ale so that they barely noticed the time going by. It was pleasant to sit in a warm hall instead of out in the forest or on a damp hillside.

"Go and put on a clean gown," Nelly said, chasing her mistress from the kitchen. "Yer the lady of Nairn until he says ye ain't, and ye must sit at the high board with him. Ian can look after the bairns. Roddy and me will do the serving."

Fiona hurried through the hall unnoticed and, reaching her own chamber, washed herself in the basin. She put on a clean chemise, her emerald-green undergown, and finally the green-and-gold-brocade surcoat Colin had brought her from the sack of Inverness. She had never before worn it, but tonight it somehow seemed appropriate. She could almost hear Nairn's laughter at her choice. Digging through her chest, she pulled out a gilded leather girdle and affixed it about her hips. Brushing her long dark hair out, she parted it in the center and gathered it into a gold mesh caul. She peered at herself in her small mirror. Her color was high, but she was surprisingly calm for a woman who had just learned of her husband's demise and buried him that same afternoon. She wanted to cry, but she would not until she could have her privacy. She would not go into her hall tonight with red and puffy eyes. This was the second time James Stewart had taken away the man she loved. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that she grieved. He had no right to gloat over her misfortune. After sliding her feet into her house slippers, Fiona went to the hall.

The king, from a comfortable chair, raised a sandy eyebrow. "Ye would join us, madam?''

"With yer permission, my liege. Until ye tell me otherwise, I am still mistress of this castle," Fiona responded quietly with dignity. She signaled to Roderick Dhu. "Tell Nelly we are ready to be served," she told him. "My lords, will ye come to the table, please?"