Betrayed (5 page)

“An excellent idea, my lord!” Douglas Forbes said jovially, with a smug grin at Andrew Innes. The Forbes chieftain knew that Innes, a recent widower, had planned to court Fiona Hay this very summer, with an eye to annexing the lands upon the ben for himself.
And he hadn't intended taking no for an answer.
Douglas Forbes chuckled softly to see Andrew Innes so neatly foiled. He had not been happy at the thought of an Innes taking over the ben, and its lands, but he had a wife, and all his sons were wed.

The priest from the Glenkirk Abbey announced that he was ready to begin the ceremony. Fiona Hay led her sisters down the stairs, putting Elsbeth's hand in that of Walter Innes, and Margery's hand in that of Colin Forbes. The twins were garbed as their elder sister, in green velvet skirts and linen blouses. Neither wore a plaid, or a cap upon her head. Instead their hair was loose and flowing to signify their innocence and virtue. In their hands they carried posies of wildflowers that Jean and Morag had gathered for them earlier. The priest performed the ceremony for the two bridal couples together. When he finally pronounced them man and wife, each of the bridegrooms carefully laid their own clan tartans, in sash form, across the breasts of their brides, afixing them to the girls’ shoulders with pretty pewter pins. Margery's was decorated with a piece of green jasper; Elsbeth's was studded with black agate. As the pipes began to play once more, the young couples kissed each other, and congratulations rang through the hall.

Fiona noted with gratitude several Gordon clansmen aiding her two aged servants in passing wine to her guests. The wedding party settled itself about the high board. There were trestles below for the others. Plates were heaped high with lamb, fresh bread, butter, and cheese. The goblets never seemed to grow empty. When everything had been eaten but there was wine yet to be drunk, the trestles were pushed back to the sides of the hall. Crossed swords were laid upon the floor, and as the pipes began to play, the laird of Loch Brae danced for the entertainment of the guests, nimbly treading between the swords, slowly at first, and then prancing more quickly until the dance reached its ending. With a shout each bridegroom followed him. The hall rang with merriment and goodwill.

“Yer most graceful, my lord” Fiona said. “Ye have made more than one contribution to this day, and I am grateful to ye for it. I don't believe this wedding would have been as fine without ye.”

Angus Gordon nodded in acknowledgment of her appreciation, and then he said, “That silly fool, Andrew Innes, lusts after ye. Have ye noticed it, mistress?”

“It isn't me, my lord” Fiona laughed. “Tis the ben and its lands he wants. That's all.”

“Then he's a fool, Fiona Hay, for yer far more valuable than the lands ye believe he covets, and tonight ye shall be mine!” His voice was ragged with his desire, and he silently cursed himself for being so open with her. She would learn soon enough her power over him.

She could hear the hunger in his voice, a hunger she could not understand. A hunger for what? The intensity of it, however, sent a ripple down her spine. For a brief moment she closed her eyes in order to regain her composure. It wasn't that he frightened her, because he didn't. Rather, he excited her with an unspoken promise of something wonderful to come. She should probably be very ashamed of herself, Fiona thought, but she wasn't. She had made an outrageous bargain with this man, but what else could she have done if these marriages were to be brought successfully to a favorable conclusion? She had done the right thing. What happened to her did not matter. Fiona would put a high price on herself, for if she was to be the laird of Loch Brae's mistress, Jeannie and Morag would get better husbands for themselves. Fiona promised her mother when she had died that she would look to her lasses, and Fiona had done so.

It was two hours past noon, and time for the brides to depart with their new husbands. Their chests
with their clothing and linens were lifted up by their new clansmen. Outside the house, Fiona turned over four cattle apiece to each of her brothers-in-law. “The dowry, paid in full,” she said, and they accepted them, nodding in agreement. With each clan's piper playing and leading the way, the Forbeses and the Inneses departed down their respective sides of the ben, driving the beasts before them. The brides hugged Fiona, Jean, and Morag but once, then were happily gone, arms linked with those of their new husbands. The remaining Hay sisters stood with Flora and Tarn until the sound of the pipes had faded completely. It had been a gray day, but they had not noticed until now.

Flora sniffled, wiping her rheumy eyes with her apron. “God keep them safe, my bairns,” she sobbed.

“Now, then, old woman,” her husband said gruffly, but Flora cut him short.

“Don't ye scold me, Tarn Hay!” she said fiercely. “Yer just as brokenhearted as I am, and don't ye attempt to deny it!”

The Gordon clansmen were beginning to regroup in the clearing before the tower house. “It is time for us to go, too,” Angus Gordon said to Fiona Hay. He turned to the elderly servants. “I would have ye stay here tonight. Pack the lassies’ belongings, and tomorrow my brother will return with the men to bring ye to Brae.”

“Aye, my lord,” they chorused, accepting his authority, and Flora curtsied to him.

“Can we walk to Brae by nightfall?” Fiona asked him.

“Jamie has left the horses at the foot of the ben,” the laird told her. “Have ye ever ridden?”

“The pony, but not often,” Fiona admitted. “I
would like to learn to really ride, my lord. Will ye teach me?”

“Aye, lassie,” he promised her, taking her hand in his. “I will teach ye to ride all manner of beasties before much more time has passed. Come, now, and let us go home to Brae.” He turned and called to the two younger girls. ‘Jeannie, Morag, we are ready to go. Follow closely now, and don't get lost in the trees.”

“Will I ever come back here, my lord?” Fiona asked, suddenly unsure of herself for the first time. Had it been only yesterday when he had come into her life? Somehow it seemed much longer.

“The ben is yers, lassie, as Dugald Hay's eldest child,” he reassured her. “I'll keep it safe for ye, and I'll keep ye and yer sisters safe, too, but first we have a wee matter of payment for the eight cattle that have gone off down the ben with the Forbeses and the Inneses, and the four that went with the Keiths last autumn. Are ye ready to meet yer obligations, lassie?”

“Aye,” she said slowly, and her heart beat just a little faster as he squeezed her hand.

Fiona Hay had never been farther from home than Glen Hay, a small valley separating the bens of Brae from her own mountain tower. They had walked down the treed slope to the glen, where the horses were waiting for them. The laird had casually ordered that two of his men take Jean and Morag up upon their mounts. Little Morag had gone, wide-eyed, with a big, red-bearded clansman, a man called Roddy, who lifted the little lass up and, giving her a kiss on the cheek, set her before him. Jean Hay, however, chose her own companion.

“Take me up with ye, Jamie-boy,” she wheedled the laird's brother, giving him her most winning smile.

“And have all the lasses at Brae laughing at me for carrying a bairn like ye? I think not, Jeannie Hay.” James Gordon was seventeen and thought himself quite a man.

“Then I must walk all the way to Brae, for I'll ride with no other, Jamie-boy,” Jean answered him boldly, not in the least discouraged by his rude refusal, or the fact that she was only ten.

“Take her up with ye, Jamie-boy,” Angus Gordon ordered his brother sternly. “We don't have time to stand here and argue.” He bent, and lifted Fiona into the saddle before him. “Are ye comfortable?” he asked.

“Aye.” She nodded as they moved off. She had never been in such close proximity to a man before. The hard arm, firmly clasped about her narrow waist,
was disconcerting, but even more confounding was that the only way she could be truly comfortable was to lay her head against his shoulder. The leather of his jerkin was soft against her cheek, its coolness offsetting the heat she felt in her face.

“If ye don't breathe, Fiona Hay,” he said to her as they rode, “ye'll soon swoon. There is nothing to be afeared of, lassie.” He struggled with the urge to kiss the top of her head in its velvet chieftain's cap. What on earth was the matter with him?

“I'm not afraid of ye, Angus Gordon,” she replied. “I am simply in awe of so many new places and experiences. I've never been farther than the glen in all my life, and we only just came to the glen last year for the games. Our father didn't want confrontations with our grandfather.” She drew a deep breath, blew it out gustily, and then she laughed up into his face. “Aye, that's much better!” she said.

“Have ye any idea of what ye have really agreed to, Fiona Hay?” he asked, suddenly overwhelmed by a surprising wave of guilt. This was no simple peasant lass. This was a maid of good family. Despite her thievery, it had been as wrong of him to accept her brazen proposal as it had been for her to even make such a suggestion of payment to him. Yet had he not, he would have looked the fool before his men … before everyone. Now, however, he was having second thoughts.

“Tell me exactly what I have agreed to, Angus Gordon,” Fiona asked. “In truth I have never known a man. I have never even kissed one. I know a maidenhead is the most valuable possession of any woman. I know when it is lost outside of marriage a lass is not considered pure. I realize that in giving myself to ye I will not be fit to become any man's wife, but I don't mind. I promised my mam on her deathbed that I would see my
sisters safely wed. It is great good fortune that my sisters have fallen in love with the men they married. My mam insisted that they not be sent to loveless marriages.” She took a deep breath. “Now, tell me what I face.”

The simply spoken frankness of her words, said without any remorse, or even a touch of self-pity, impressed him. He realized that Fiona Hay was as proud as he was. She would insist upon keeping the bargain she had made with him. She would never admit to having stolen his cattle, he suspected, but her innocent willingness to meet her obligation to him stemmed from an innate honesty. Only Fiona's deep desire to keep her promise to the desperate, dying Muire Hay had driven the lassie to the pilferage of his herds. He should have looked to the welfare of Ewan Hay's young granddaughters before he had so casually annexed the glen to the Gordon holdings. Perhaps if he had, this situation would not have arisen.

“My Lord?”
She looked anxiously into his handsome face.

“Between yer legs,” he began slowly,
“is
an opening into yer body. I will join my body with yers through that opening.” He didn't know how else to explain it to her. He wasn't certain there was another way.

Fiona looked a trifle confused. “How?” she asked him. “How will ye join yer body to mine, Angus Gordon? Certainly there is something ye are not telling me.” A small chuckle escaped her. “This is as hard for ye as it is for me, I expect. I don't imagine that ye have ever had to make such an explanation to a lass before.”

He laughed, almost relieved by her practical approach to the whole matter. “No, sweetheart, I have never had to explain bedsport to a maid, and yer right. I have forgotten something. We will be joined by an appendage that all men are blessed with.”

“I think I have heard of such a thing,” Fiona said thoughtfully. “Is it called a manhood?”

“Aye,” he answered. “Where did ye hear of one before?”

“When our sister, Anne, married Duncan Keith, she came after a few months to tell us that she would have a bairn by Lammas next. I asked her if she was still happy with her man. She said, aye, she was, that Duncan has a verra fine manhood, and kept her happy. I asked her what a manhood was, but Annie just laughed. She said ‘twas not for a maiden to know such things and mat when I wed would be time enough for me to learn about manhoods.”

“I have told ye enough for now,” Angus said. “Ye will learn by example, Fiona Hay, but I promise ye mat I will not be rough with ye. There are certain men who enjoy being cruel, but I am not one.”

When they had finally reached the shores of Loch Brae, Angus Gordon drew his horse to a stop so she might see the castle in all its beauty. He loved his home deeply and never grew weary of it, happy to remain there. “Brae Castle,” he told her.

Fiona caught her breath in wonderment. She had never in all her life imagined such a beautiful place.

Brae Castle had been built in the year 1295, in the reign of John Balliol. This unfortunate king had sworn his fealty to the English king, Edward I, better known, in Scotland as the Hammer of the Scots. The castle was situated on an island just off the north shore of an inland loch. The loch was considered small in comparison to the more famous lakes of Scotland, but it was big enough, being almost a mile and a half across at its widest point and four miles in length, for protection.

The island was connected to the shore by a wooden bridge. The builder of the castle had originally thought
to construct the bridge of the same stone as the castle, but his wife, the legend went, had pointed out that in case of an attack, an enemy could march easily over a fine stone bridge right up to the doors of the castle, whereas a wooden bridge could be torched, making it difficult for an enemy to reach the island.