Bertrice Small - Betrayed

"How did ye know we were here?" he asked the priest.

"The lady Fiona told me her history when we first met."

Fiona stood in the door of the tower, a smile upon her face. "Welcome, good Father," she said. "Come in, and let me give ye a cup of wine to slake yer thirst. Will ye stay with us tonight?"

"Gladly!" the priest said, his eyes taking them all in. They were thin, but certainly not beaten down. He had worried about Fiona when he learned that Nairns Craig had been destroyed. The king had assured him, however, that he had given Fiona, her children, and three servants their freedom, their horses, and whatever they could carry away from the castle. James had thought it generous, but Father Ninian had pointed out that a woman and three small bairns were going to be hard put to survive the winter without shelter.

"Tell us all the news!" Fiona demanded when Ninian had been seated by the fire and a cup of wine pressed into his hand. "Ye are the first outsider I have seen since we left Nairns Craig. At least Roddy and Ian went down the ben to find us supplies last autumn."

Father Ninian looked about the hall. There was a high board with a long bench behind it. His was the only chair in the hall. Upon a narrow side board were set the six cups the Lord of the Isles had sent Alastair for his baptism. It was all very simple. He took a deep breath.

"The rebellion is over," he began. "At least for the time being. On the eve of Saint Augustine in November, Alexander MacDonald came into Holyrood Church in Edinburgh attired only in his shirt and drawers. The church was full. The Lord of the Isles was forced to come up the aisle upon his knees to the high altar, where he presented his claymore, holding it by its tip, to the king, who took it by the hilt and broke it. The Lord of the Isles then begged the king's forgiveness, admitting his faults and saying aloud for all to hear that he deserved nothing less than death. The king was quite willing to see the Lord of the Isles executed, but the queen publicly begged him to show mercy. And so he did.

"Alexander MacDonald is imprisoned in Tantallon Castle in east Lothian. It is virtually impregnable, lady, protected by the sea on two sides and by earthworks and ditches blocking the other approaches. It is a stronghold of the Douglases, who are again back in favor with the king. Undaunted, however, the lord's people have chosen his first cousin, Donald Ballach, to oversee the lord's power during his captivity. Donald Ballach is a hothead. The clansmen will rise again."

"So Alexander MacDonald has escaped death while Colin MacDonald lies in a cold grave, his castle in ruins, his family reduced to poverty," Fiona said bitterly. "Damn him-and all who war-to hell!"

The priest could not say he disagreed with her. "What can I do to help ye, lady?"

"When the king forced me north, he swore to repair my tower for my return, and he pledged me two dozen cattle and a virile bull-and he promised to deposit five hundred silver merks with Martin the Goldsmith in High Street in Perth. But when I returned to Hay last autumn, the tower was not repaired. Roderick Dhu made the repairs himself with Ian. I don't know if the merks are on deposit, and I don't have my cattle. How can I live, good Father, without the coin and the cattle? The king has taken everything from my children but the little we could carry from Nairns Craig. My son will have no property but mine one day. It is not much, and will not bring him a wife of good family. I will have to settle him with some minor chieftain's daughter, and he deserves better. And what of Nairn's daughters? How will I dower my lasses without my silver? I have endured much for the king, good Father. I ask naught of him but that which he promised me. Can ye help me?"

"I will go to him, lady, and I will plead yer case. There is no guarantee that he will heed my words, but I promise ye I will do my best. I agree that it is unfair of the king to abandon ye now."

"Thank ye, good Father."

"If yer silver is with the goldsmith, what will ye have me do?" the priest asked Fiona. "Will ye have me bring it to ye?"

"Bring me but fifty merks," Fiona told him. "It will be more than enough to support us for some time, and the rest will remain secure in Perth. We are safe upon the ben, for none know that we are here. In my sisters' time we were fairly self-sufficient. I can be so again. As long as we remain upon the ben, not showing ourselves, none will disturb us. As Roddy and Ian are not known hereabouts, it is they who will seek out what we need from the villages. Eventually we will not need to go down the ben at all, and I may raise my bairns in safety."

"We must speak privately, my daughter," the priest said.

Nelly, hearing him, gathered up the three children and took them off as her husband and stepson went outside again to continue their work.

"Yer son deserves to know his father," the priest said, coming directly to the point. "It is not fair ye keep Alastair from Angus Gordon, my lady Fiona. I know ye did what ye did to protect the lad, but Colin MacDonald is dead, may God assoil his good soul, and yer son should know his rightful sire."

"Know his rightful sire, good Father, and then be known as a bastard? No! Colin MacDonald was my son's father, if not by blood, then by love and caring. I will not take that away from either of them." Fiona's eyes were filled with tears. She had not cried for Nairn. There had never seemed to be any time to weep, but now she was close to it.

"Angus Gordon did not know ye were with child when he went to England to fetch the queen's cousin," the priest replied. "Even ye were not certain of yer condition, lady. Do not assign blame to Lord Gordon unfairly, my lady. 'Tis not right."

"I do not blame Angus," Fiona said. "But 'tis not right that I tell my son the man he loved as his sire is not his father at all, that he is bastard-born. And what could Angus Gordon possibly want with my laddie? No, better Alastair grow up believing he is the legitimate heir of Nairn, rather than the bastard son of the laird of Loch Brae. What I once told ye was told under the seal of the confessional. Ye canna divulge any of it, good Father."

"No, I canna," he agreed with her, "but I still believe ye should make yer peace with the lord of Brae and let him know his son."

Fiona shook her head. "Ye canna know what it is to be a mother, but ye must believe what I do is best for Alastair."

"I must bow to yer maternal instinct, lady," the priest said. She was a strong woman, he thought. She would need to be if she intended staying here on her isolated ben to raise her children. All her efforts must be directed toward their survival. Somehow it did not seem right. He could not break her confidence, but if Brae should learn of her return the priest wondered just what he would do. He had not married. Did he love her yet? Could they be reunited? He must pray for guidance.

He had broken the seal of the confessional when he had told James Stewart that Alastair was Angus Gordon's son, and not the son of The MacDonald of Nairn. He had done it to protect the boy, however, and God would surely forgive him for it. His royal cousin was a ruthless man when he chose to be. Executing a child whose father had rebelled against him was not beyond this king. James Stewart had made it very plain from the beginning of his reign: He would have all of Scotland, no matter the cost.

Father Ninian departed Hay Tower the next day, traveling south instead of northward. He found his cousin, James, summering in the hills above Scone. The king was surprised to see him, for Ninian did not usually appear south at this time of year. The queen, who was great with child, was pleased, however, to greet this one Stewart cousin who was totally without ambition, and therefore of no danger to her beloved husband. The royal couple sat alone in their private day room with the priest. Wine and sugar wafers had been served by discreet servants. The windows were open, and a light breeze, scented with early heather and roses, blew through the chamber.