Authors: Bertrice Small
“Since ye needed the time to regain strength,” Fiona said sweetly, “we were able to prepare a more substantial meal for ye, my liege.”
“Do ye think to cozen me with a good supper then, madam?” he asked, spearing a piece of goose.
“Ye
might well.”
“I seek nothing from ye, my liege, but what ye would give me. My concern is for my bairns. I am a woman, and not concerned with politics. I advised my husband to take his small troop to ye and not to his brother. I can but regret that he did not heed my advice.”
The king nodded. “Nairn was a fool!”
“Nay,” Fiona contradicted him. “He was loyal to his clan, for that, my liege, is how he was taught. Had ye spent more of yer life in Scotland instead of England, ye would understand that.”
The king's three lieutenants looked at one another behind the king's back. The lady was brave, but then they had seen her at Inverness, and knew that.
“Madam,” the king said, “ye tread upon thin ice with me.”
“I will not allow ye to speak ill of Colin MacDonald,” she retorted. “He was a good man for all his foolish choices, and he is now dead while ye sit in his place, in his hall, eating his food.”
Suddenly the king laughed. “Fiona Hay, what am I to do with ye?”
“That, my liege, is what I would know.”
“I must think upon it,” he said. “Ye have my word that no harm will come to ye, yer bairns, or yer servants, however.”
“I thank ye,” Fiona answered him. “Will ye spend
the night within my walls, sir? I will have the guest chambers made ready for ye and yer men. ‘Twill not take long.”
“Aye, I will,” James Stewart said. “I am tired of the outdoors, and welcome the warmth of yer castle, lady”
“Ye
will excuse me, then,” Fiona replied, “while my servant and I make ready for ye. Roderick will remain to serve ye, and Ian will play his pipes for yer amusement, my liege.” She arose and moved from the hall, Nelly in her wake.
“A spirited mare,” one of the king's companions, Duncan Cummings, said. “Have ye decided her fate? Will ye choose her a new husband?”
“As I told the lady,” the king responded shrewdly, “I have not decided yet. I know this lady from old, and she is not an easy woman. She has perhaps too independent a spirit. My uncle of Atholl thinks her too clever by far. I believe he may be right.”
The morning was gray and chilly as James Stewart descended into the hall of Nairns Craig. A warm meal was ready to be served. The king and his three companions were pleased with the freshly cooked food. Their hostess sat by the fire, her children playing about her. It made a pretty picture, the king thought, and she had deliberately calculated it, it was certain. Finally, when the food had been cleared from the table, the king called to Fiona.
“Come, madam,” he said in a stern voice. “I have made my decision as to what to do with ye and yer children.”
Fiona rose. She was dressed this morning, he noted, in a most practical fashion: a heavy wool skirt, a fine shirt, and a wool shawl. Bringing her children with her, she came to stand before him, then curtsied. “My
lord, I am ready for yer judgment. I can but pray ye will be merciful for the sake of my three young bairns.” Her eyes were lowered.
She was a minx, the king thought. Angus was right about her. “Madam, I have no choice in what I must do. Yer husband broke his oath of fealty to me when he took up arms against me. I canna punish him, for he is dead, but if I don't punish ye, I will appear to be a weak king. Ye have one hour in which to pack what belongings ye can, and then ye will leave Nairns Craig, which I will burn as the MacDonalds burned my town of Inverness.
Ye
may take nothing but what ye can carry yerselves. Do ye understand?”
“I want my horses,” Fiona said coldly.
“Ye are in no position to make bargains with me, lady,” he snapped.
“My liege”
Fiona said in a firm voice,
“I want my horses.”
She drew in a deep breath to calm her thundering heart. “Ye canna send me and my servants out upon the high road totally destitute and without our horses. Look at my bairns! They are no more than infants. Do ye expect them to walk all day? They will die before we reach safety. Colin MacDonald broke his faith with ye, but I have not done so.”
“My lord, ye will not appear weak if ye offer the lady Fiona her horses,” Duncan Cummings said. “Ye are burning her home and the bulk of her possessions. She is widowed, her bairns orphaned. A tiny modicum of mercy would not be taken amiss. Indeed, ye would be thought a just king for this show of leniency toward a helpless woman whose ungrateful husband rose in rebellion against ye. The church, I am certain, would approve yer actions.” He nodded at James Stewart.
“Aye!” his two companions agreed in unison.
Fiona kept her eyes lowered. She fell to her knees
before the king in a gesture of submission. Would he refuse her? she wondered, truly frightened. She desperately needed those horses; Holy Mother, let him say aye!
“Very well, madam,” the king finally agreed. “Ye may have yer horses, but yer cattle and yer sheep are forfeit along with the rest of yer goods and chattel but that which ye can carry.”
“Oh, thank ye, my lord!” Fiona cried. Catching his hand, she kissed it gratefully, scrambling to her feet as she did so.
“One hour, madam,” he said sternly.
She curtsied, then slowly withdrew from the hall, the children following behind her. The four men watching her go were impressed with her dignity. She had accepted the punishment upon her husband's family honorably. So many wives of the defeated howled and fussed.
Ian was waiting for her outside the hall. With a nod he took Johanna from her and signaled to Alastair and Mary to follow him. Fiona hurried to her own apartment, where Nelly and Roderick awaited her.
“We have the horses!” she said triumphantly.
“I'll ride his lordship's stallion,” Roderick Dhu said. “Ian will take my animal; Nelly, the white mare; and ye, the gray gelding. Young Nairn will have his pony. I took the two beasts we will use for pack animals down into the forest behind the castle this morning. They are fully loaded with the items ye and Nelly packed early yesterday.”
“I've packed plenty of food from the kitchens,” Nelly said briskly. “We'll not have to exist on oatcakes forever. I've cheese, bread, and apples that Ian and I gathered from the orchard, salted meat, and a fat goose I roasted this day!” she finished with a grin.
“I don't know what I would do without ye two,” Fiona said gratefully. “I could not do this without ye. When we are safe at Hay lower, ye are free to leave me for Brae should ye choose. I can ask no more of ye than ye have already given me.” Fiona took the hand of each servant and squeezed. “Thank ye.”
“We'll not leave ye, lady,” Nelly said in a determined voice.
“Ye have not seen my wee tower,” Fiona said with a small laugh. “After Brae and Scone and Nairns Craig, it will seem a verra poor place.”
Roderick Dhu patted her shoulder. “Lady, we will survive together. I would not leave young Nairn as I did not leave his father”
Fiona felt the first twinge of guilt in many years at Roderick Dhu's words. Like everyone else, he believed Alastair to be Colin MacDonald's son and heir. She wondered if she would ever be able to tell her child the truth, or if, perhaps, it would be better left unsaid.
“We will take the horses through the inner passage that opens out into the forest,” Roderick Dhu said.
“Where is the entry?” Fiona asked him, surprised.
“In the stables, lady. When the passage was first excavated, it was thought better that it open into the stables rather than into the castle itself. That way, should an enemy discover it, that enemy could not enter the castle directly. Before I left with my lord, Ian and I inspected the passage carefully and swept it free of debris from creatures. Ian has kept it during my absence. Also, I oiled the lock and the hinges on the door at the end of the passage that will open out into the forest.”
Fiona nodded. “Yer have prepared well.”
“We canna ride our beasts through the passageway, as the ceiling is but a wee bit above my head,”
Roderick Dhu explained. “Let us go then, for Ian will be waiting for us with the bairns.”
The two women donned warm wool cloaks over their garments. Fiona looked about the rooms where she had lived with Colin MacDonald. But for the children, it almost seemed a dream now. She followed Nelly and her husband from the apartment, dry-eyed. She had no time for weeping now. She had to think of the children.
They crossed to the stables. The courtyard was quiet, as the king had not yet allowed his soldiery in to loot Nairns Graig before he fired it. The horses were saddled and waiting, as were Ian and the three little ones. Roderick Dhu went to the back of the stables and opened a door. Lighting a torch, he showed Fiona the passageway, which slanted downward like a ramp.
“It goes beneath the walls and down the hillside,” he explained to her. “We will have to carry torches to see the way. I hope the bairns are not fearful, for ‘twill be darker than night.”
Alastair was mounted upon his pony, and insisted on taking his sister Mary up behind him. The little girl grasped her brother about his middle, hanging on for dear life. Roderick Dhu went first, carrying a large torch to light the passage. Behind him and the stallion came Alastair and Mary, who could ride the pony without fear for their heads in the low passage. Fiona was next, leading the gelding with one hand, holding a torch with the other. She was followed by Nelly, who had Johanna upon her hip and led the white mare. Last was young Ian, who after carefully closing the door behind them and bolting it from the inside, picked up the reins of his father's horse and his torch to bring up the rear.
They moved slowly, carefully down the tunnel. It
was dank and chilly within the passageway, but they knew the outdoors would be no more welcoming. The torches flickered eerily along the stone walls; the light they gave was almost ominous. To Fiona's surprise the children were very quiet as they traveled the length of the underground corridor. Finally, to everyone's great relief, Roderick Dhu said, “Ah, here's the end.” They heard him fit the key in the lock of the dark wooden door. There was an audible click, and then the door swung open, revealing a tangle of brambles. Roderick Dhu sliced through the growth until they were able to lead their horses through. Free of the blackness of the stone walls, they all breathed easier.
Roderick Dhu helped his lady and then his wife into their saddles. Nelly had Johanna before her. He transferred Mary from her brother's pony to his son's mount, stilling the children's protest when he said, “We have a long way to travel today, and the wee pony will be tired enough at day's end just carrying young Nairn, Mistress Mary. Ye would not want to kill the poor beastie, would ye?”
Mary shook her head, her eyes large. “No, Roddy,” she said, then smiled when he blew her a kiss.
Mounting the big stallion, Roderick Dhu led the little party onto a barely discernible path and into the deep forest. Shortly they stopped. The clansman slipped into the brush on foot to emerge a few minutes later with the two heavily laden pack horses. “The king will be surprised to find little of great value at Nairns Craig,” he said with a wicked grin.
They rode on for several hours in the damp weather, finally stopping to rest the horses and feed the children. They found themselves upon the crest of a hill. Looking back, they could see the flames that were
consuming Nairns Craig. The clansman's stare was black.
“How many of Nairn's men survived Lochaber?” Fiona asked him. It was the first time she had actually had the opportunity to discuss the battle with him. “Were there any besides yerself?”
He shook his head. “No, lady. All were killed. I escaped because I was with my lord. He and I stood off those who tried to prevent the Lord of the Isles’ escape. When my lord was mortally wounded and died—it was a quick death, lady; he did not suffer—I stayed by his body, defending it from mutilation. The king came, saw us, and forbade that any kill me. Loyalty such as mine, he said, was a rare and valuable quality. Then, lady, he looked at Nairn, and when he recognized him, he said that he would bring his body home for an honorable burial even though Nairn had not acted honorably toward him.”
“He understood Nairn no more than Nairn understood him,” Fiona said sadly. “I am glad my husband's death was quick, Roderick Dhu. I wish I had the means by which to reward ye for yer fidelity. The king was right when he said it was a rare quality.”
“I have my lord's claymore within the luggage,” the clansman said. “I have saved it for the young Nairn. I will teach him how to use it when he is old enough, lady.”
They traveled farther and farther away from Nairns Craig, going south, then east toward Ben Hay. They stayed off the high road, taking a longer but safer route. At first the children were amused by the journey, but after several days Alastair and Mary began to whine and complain that they wanted to go home to Nairns Craig. They were damp, and they were chilled, and they were tired.
They rode on. Suddenly, the land about them began to take on a familiar look. Through the fog and mist of a September afternoon Fiona saw Ben Hay. Within the hour they were toiling up its steep sides. Reaching the top, Fiona looked about her. She was dismayed. While the tower itself was intact, the few outbuildings were gone. Had the king kept his promise to her to repair the roof? She drew forth the key to the door, which she had carried with her since the day she had left Ben Hay. She fit it into the lock and turned it. The door creaked open, and she breathed a soft sigh of relief. The hall was swept clean, and there was some turf and dry wood by the fireplace. At least they would be warm tonight.
“We'll have to stable the horses inside with us,” Roderick Dhu said. “At least until we can get some sort of stable built for them.”
Fiona nodded and led her gelding inside, the others following close behind. “There's a cellar beneath the tower,” she said. “Go down, Ian, and see if there is any straw there so we may bed the animals.” Climbing the stairs to the second floor of the tower, she shook her head. It was dank and full of cobwebs. She climbed to the third-floor attic, where old Tarn and Flora had slept, sighing as she saw that the roof had not been repaired and was leaking. She hoped the autumn weather would turn dry and warm, as it often did, so they might make the repairs necessary to Hay Tower. Back downstairs, she found one end of the hall strewn with straw, and the horses being watered and fed with the remaining precious fodder they had brought with them for when their beasts could not browse. There was a fire in the fireplace, and Nelly had several pots hanging over the flames, from which some delicious smells were rising.
The children were playing happily near the warmth of the hearth.