Betrayed (16 page)

It was as if an icy hand had touched her. Maggie shuddered, looking at the king with hopelessness in her eyes. “I am yer vassal, sire,” she said, beaten.

The king smiled a slow smile. “I would have ye taunt yer cousin of Nairn as only a woman can torture a man's pride. Tease him into stealing Mistress Hay for himself and taking her back to the north. The perfect time would be when she is returning to Brae. I will send a small troupe of men-at-arms with her. Their orders will be to desert her at the first sign of Nairn's attack, leaving her helpless.”

“But how will ye get Fiona to agree to this, my liege?” Maggie asked him. “She dislikes my cousin verra much. Besides, her heart is with Black Angus. She may die before she allows herself to be taken. Then ye have lost yer advantage, sire.”

“Fiona Hay is a patriotic young woman,” the king said smoothly, “but even I would not depend on her patriotism in view of her passion for her laird. But what if she believed he was to be wed to another at my command, Lady Grey? What would be left for her then? Of course I would not force my friend, Angus Gordon, to the altar, but if Mistress Hay believed it so,”-he chuckled, and Maggie shivered at the sound—“then I believe she would turn her heartbreak to a more useful purpose. I don't want a woman who will fall in love with The MacDonald of Nairn. I want a woman filled with anger and hate who will seek a means of easing her broken heart by helping me to destroy the power held by the Lord of the Isles and his ilk.
I need Fiona Hay!
She is clever and will not falter even under the worst pressure.”

Maggie began to weep. The thought of Fiona being deceived into doing the king's bidding, of her friend believing that Angus Gordon was faithless and would wed another on royal command, was acutely painful. Maggie knew what love was. She had met her own husband when he had come north several years ago on a mission for the old Duke of Albany, and had fallen deep in love with him.

The king was a very cruel man, Maggie thought, sniffling. He had his beloved Joan. Would he sacrifice their love as easily as he was sacrificing Angus Gordon and Fiona Hay? Somehow, looking at him beneath her wet lashes, Maggie thought he would. His greatest passion was Scotland. Unlike his predecessors he was not
satisfied with just part of it. He wanted firm control over it all. He would do whatever he had to do to gain that control.

The king let her cry until finally her soft sobs faded away. Then he said, “Angus Gordon leaves for England in just a few days. By the time he has departed, I want to know that yer cousin's lust has been stoked, that knowing Mistress Hay's route back to Brae, he will be waiting somewhere along that road to steal her for his own. Do not fail me, Maggie MacLeod. From what I can see with my own eyes, it will take little to encourage Colin MacDonald to commit such an outrageous act.”

Maggie looked up at him, her eyes still wet with sorrow. “What will ye tell Black Angus when he returns from England, sire? What will ye say to the most loyal subject ye have? What would he think if he knew what ye had done to him and
to
his Fiona?” Maggie's
voice
was shaking with her audacity. Although she would be forced to obey the king, she did not have to like what he was planning—or the part she must play in his plans. She was not even certain that she liked him any longer. She wondered if the queen knew what sort of man he really was. Or would she, having been raised surrounded by ambition and power, even care? What was Fiona Hay to the mighty but a convenience, a pawn to be used in the greater scheme of things for Scotland. Damn Scotland, Maggie MacLeod thought savagely. Why could men not leave women in peace?

“Angus will be told the
truth,
Lady Grey. He will be told that Mistress Hay's little train was attacked by persons unknown. That she and her servant were carried off. That a search was made, but no trace could be found of either of the two women. Tragic, aye. Later I shall offer him the queen's cousin as a wife.

“And ye, of course, will remain silent, will ye not? After all, Lady Grey, if I find it necessary to question yer loyalty, I may have to question yer husband's loyalty as well. I know ye would not want that. And should ye doubt my sincerity in the matter, I will entrust another wee secret to ye. I shortly intend executing several of my relations. I'm certain ye can guess who. I will allow no one to interfere with my plans to unite Scotland and make her strong.
Ye
do understand that, do ye not?” James Stewart's voice was low and pleasantly modulated, but the threat was there nonetheless. He would have her complete loyalty even if that loyalty meant betraying her best friend into hell.

Maggie MacLeod nodded. “I understand, my liege,” she said. “I understand that Scotland must come before all else.”

“Aye, madam, it must. I will be merciless, even ruthless, to attain that goal,” the king said grimly. Then he reached out and patted her hand comfortingly. “Though I arrange matters like someone arranging a chessboard, Lady Grey, I am not entirely heartless. If Fiona Hay eventually returns from the north, I will reward her lavishly for her sacrifice and her patriotism. I will even find her a good husband to care for her for the rest of her life.”

Maggie said nothing. She could not, for her mouth was too full of terrible words she dared not utter to the king. She swallowed them back, almost choking with the effort it cost her.

The king arose and drew her to her feet, taking her now empty goblet from her cramped fingers. She hadn't even realized that she had drunk all her wine. He led her to the same door through which she had entered, pressing a hidden catch so that it swung open. “Thank ye for coming, Lady Grey, and my especial
thanks for yer cooperation in this delicate matter. Young Douglas will see ye back to yer own chamber. I will speak to ye again in a few days to assess yer progress.” The door closed behind her, and the page was at her elbow.

She couldn't tell Ben Duff of this meeting. She couldn't tell anyone. Their very lives, and the life of their unborn child, were at stake. She must not dwell upon what had to be lest she endanger the bairn, but half-grown, nesting in her womb. No matter how she felt about the dreadful thing she must do now, it must be done. She couldn't save Fiona Hay or prevent Angus Gordon's broken heart, Maggie MacLeod thought, but when this treachery was over and done with, she would go home with her husband and never return to court again. The memory of what she had done would remain with her wherever she might be, and damn James Stewart for it.
Damn him!

Before they reached the chamber that Maggie shared with her husband, however, The MacDonald of Nairn stepped into her path, greeting her. She dismissed the page, saying, “I will walk out of doors with my cousin.” Maggie put her hand through Colin MacDonald's arm. “I think we will soon go home to Ben Duff,” she said. “Shortly I shall not be able to travel with my belly. Will ye return north, Colly?”

“Aye,” he replied. “I have learned what I came to learn.”

They strolled outside. The rain had finally let up, and the sun was peeping through the gray clouds, giving tantalizing little glimpses of blue sky. There was a light fresh breeze with the scent of September heather upon it. Autumn was definitely here.

“What a pity ye canna make progress with Mistress Hay,” Maggie said innocently. “Ye must be losing
yer charm, Colly. I've never known a pretty girl to turn ye away before.” She laughed mischievously, but her heart felt like a stone.

“I canna get near the lass” her cousin grumbled. “That damned bonnet laird of hers is always hovering about her like a dark cloud.”

“He'll be off to England in a few days on a wee mission for the king. He is to fetch the queen's cousin, Mistress Williams, back to court, for the queen misses her verra much.”

“Ah.”

“But Fiona is to return to Loch Brae while Angus is gone. Ye'll lose yer chance entirely to seduce her.” She giggled. “’Tis fortunate that none of our relations are here to see ye made a fool of, cousin,” Maggie said.

That evening Colin MacDonald kept his cousin and her husband company in the Great Hall. His eyes strayed constantly to Fiona Hay, and Maggie MacLeod marked his interest well.

“Scarlet is a color that suits Mistress Hay well,” she said innocently. “It makes her skin even fairer by comparison, do ye not think, Colly? She really is a beautiful lass. I'll miss her, but ’Tis time we both go our separate ways. I'll probably not see her again, for her laird will not leave his lands except for a royal emergency, and he will not bring Fiona under dangerous conditions. She'll probably have a bairn within a year of their wedding, when he finally decides to marry her, and several others afterward. Her mam was a verra good breeder, she tells me.
Ye
should find yerself a wife, Colly. ’Tis past time, I'm thinking.”

The MacDonald of Nairn said nothing, but he never took his eyes from Fiona Hay. He felt a stab of jealousy as she looked meltingly up into the face of the laird of Loch Brae. He knew he had no right to this girl,
but he wanted her nonetheless. Her bonnet laird had treated her shamefully, but Colin MacDonald would not treat her that way. Given the chance, he knew that he could make her love him.
But how?
He could never get her alone to speak to her, and she would soon be gone from court.

Across the hall Fiona Hay was not even aware of The MacDonald of Nairn. For her he did not exist. Only Angus Gordon existed, and he would shortly be off to England while she went home to Loch Brae.
Home.
Aye, Loch Brae was her home, and its laird was her man. She was close to weeping with the happiness that was even now filling her.
I love ye!

He turned to look down into her face. “Did ye speak, lassie?” he asked, his glance warm.

“Only with my heart, Angus,” she told him softly.

The smile that creased his face lit up his eyes. He squeezed her hand. “I think we might escape, and no one be the wiser,” he said.

The smile that touched her lips was as conspiratorial as his. Hand in hand, they slipped from the hall. The king, watching them go, had not even the slightest twinge of conscience. A woman agent,
his agent,
in the midst of the MacDonalds, would give him a great advantage over the highland lords. Had there been any other woman he might have chosen, had there been any other way, he would not have betrayed his loyal friend.
But there was no other woman. There was no other way.
Fiona Hay must be sacrificed for the good of Scotland.

Unaware of her fate, Fiona Hay could only revel in the kisses being rained upon her face and throat by her lover. They had practically run from the hall and through the stone corridors of the palace to the little sanctuary the king had given them for their own. One
look at them, and Nelly curtsied, saying that if her mistress didn't need her any longer this evening, she would go to bed. They scarcely heard her, but Angus Gordon had the presence of mind to turn the key in the lock behind him even as his other hand was fumbling with the laces on Fiona's dress. Laughing softly, she helped him, and her garments fell away until she was naked before him.

“Brazen.” He groaned, his hands caressing her.

Her hands darted about him, undoing, pulling, tugging until he was naked, too. “Yer beautiful,” she said softly. “I thought it the first time I saw ye without yer clothing, and I still think so.”

His big hands fastened about her waist, and he slowly lifted her up, drawing her closer to him as he did so, his lips kissing her sensitive flesh, and she felt as if he were branding her with his mouth. Then, after what seemed an eternity, he slowly lowered her, their lips met, and they sighed in unison with the delicious contact of lips and naked flesh. As he had lowered her, her arms slid about his neck, and she stood on tiptoes, their mouths welded together, drinking in each other's essence as if they were parched. Finally, when breathing again became a necessity, they drew apart briefly, reluctantly.

“What sorcery is this that ye weave about me, lassie?” he said, bemused, for the passion between them this night was greater than it had ever been before. But why? He touched her cheek with a fingertip.

“Ye've worked the magic yerself, my Black Angus,” she told him, her hand caressing the back of his neck. Her nipples teased him.

“How?” he demanded, his hands cupping the halves of her bottom, drawing her hard against him, against his raging member.

“Do ye not love me, Angus Gordon?” she asked softly.

“Ye brazen, thieving wench, was it not enough for ye that ye stole my cattle?” he teased her, his dark green eyes warm. “Must ye have my heart as well, lassie?”

“Aye!” she responded. Damn him! Why would he not admit he loved her? She knew he did. Why else had he kept her?

His fingers delicately kneaded her flesh. His lips brushed her brow. He took her face between his hands, his thumbs softly brushing along the sides of her mouth. Then his lips took hers in a warm kiss, once, twice, a third time. Lifting her into his arms, he walked slowly across the chamber to place her gently upon their bed. He lay on his side, propped upon an elbow. His fingers trailed down her throat and across her chest. Bending his head, he rubbed his cheek against the swell of her right breast.

Fiona sighed deeply. He had never been a rough lover, but neither had he ever been so tender with her. There was something exceptionally exciting and alluring about him this night. She twined her fingers through his black hair, trying to draw him back to taste her lips, for his kisses were intoxicating. She felt his mouth opening, then closing over her nipple. He sucked strongly, and Fiona felt as if lightning were tearing through her. Never had her breasts been as sensitive to his loving as they were this night. An arm about her shoulder pinioned her lightly. His other hand slipped slowly, seductively down her torso, insinuating its long, slender digits between her soft nether lips.

“Ah,” she let her breath out in a long hiss. “Ah!”

His fingers teased at her only long enough to stoke her rising excitement; then they caressed the velvety
insides of her rounded thighs. He moved to take her left nipple into his mouth, his tongue encircling the hardened little nub. Her breasts felt hard, and ached with his attentions. She felt his tongue begin to lick at her skin, and Fiona shivered with delight. Pulling the hand on her thigh up to her mouth, she began to suck his fingers, each in its turn, and he shuddered at her voluptuous and carnal act. She had the most incredible instincts for the sensual. “Witch!” He groaned, knowing that if he did not soon plunge himself into her willing body, he would shatter into a thousand bits.