“How do ye dare to invoke God and his Mother under these circumstances?" Fiona's voice had a hard edge to it. Picking up her cloak, she nodded to Nelly, and the two women left the king's privy chamber.
"Are ye afraid, my lady?" Nelly asked her mistress as they hurried through the palace corridors toward the courtyard where their escort would be awaiting them. Her own visage was pale, the freckles across the bridge very prominent.
"Aye, I am afraid," Fiona said, "but that is to the good. As long as I am fearful, I will be careful, Nelly. I don't want to die. Ye must be cautious, too, lassie. Our lives depend on it. Are ye certain ye would go with me? There is still time to change yer mind."
"Nay," Nelly said stoutly. "I will not leave ye, my lady."
They met their escort in the courtyard. Nelly would ride in the baggage cart behind which Fiona's mare was tied. Fiona would ride the laird's gray gelding. The animal had a black mane and tail and was very handsome. Angus would be irritated with its loss, she knew, but there was no help for it. She had no excuse to leave the beast behind, and frankly preferred it to her own horse. It was surefooted and of a stronger disposition than the little mare.
It was a perfect September day. Fiona rode at the head of the small train with the captain. He remarked on her riding astride, and she laughed. "Have ye ever tried to sit atop a bouncing beastie sideways?" she asked him, and he chuckled. The truth was her long woolen skirts modestly shielded her legs, and what little showed was sheathed by boots. A length of red-and-green Hay plaid was slung about her shoulders. Her black hair was plaited in a single braid, and her head was topped with her chieftain's cap, its eagle feather set at a jaunty angle. Court garb was hardly suited to a ride into the highlands.
They rode the entire morning, stopping at midday to rest the horses, eat, and empty their bladders. The men broke their fast with oatcakes and whatever spirits were in their flasks; Fiona and Nelly opened a basket from the castle kitchens that held a fresh loaf of bread, a small cheese, a roasted chicken, two apples, and two pears. There was also a flask of sweet wine.
"Eat as much as ye can," Fiona said softly to her servant. "I am not certain when we will eat again. Nairn will strike today. Of that I feel certain. We have traveled north all morning, but we will turn northeast late today. 'Tis to his advantage to take us before then. By evening tomorrow we will be much too close to Brae."
"I wish we were there now," Nelly said low, and her eyes met those of her mistress, who nodded in agreement. "I am so afraid, my lady," she admitted.
"Nairn is just a man," Fiona replied, trying to put a more practical light upon their situation. "It is the unknown that makes us fearful right now, Nelly lass. I'm glad yer with me. An extra pair of eyes and ears will not hurt. And eventually we'll come home again; I promise ye that. Ye to Brae, and me to my wee tower on the ben."
"I'll pray every night for it, my lady," Nelly said fervently.
Prayer, Fiona thought as they continued along their way that afternoon. Prayer alone wasn't the answer. She was going to have to keep her wits about her. She could never let her guard down. Angus always claimed that she was brazen, but she wasn't. She was simply a woman with an instinct for survival. Could she really be of help to the king, or did he merely want to get her out of the way so he might marry Angus off to the queen's cousin?
Nay. James Stewart simply could have ordered Angus to do his bidding, and he would have had to obey. Fiona sighed. Why had she been so stubborn? Janet Gordon Stewart had wanted her to become Angus's wife ages ago. If only Fiona had let her arrange it, she thought regretfully, she would not be riding north now, waiting to be carried off by The MacDonald of Nairn.
The shadows were beginning to lengthen as the autumn afternoon deepened. The road ran alongside a small blue loch and into a misty glen. Fiona could feel the hair on the back of her neck beginning to rise like the hackles on a dog. This would be where it would happen. She could sense it, smell it! The glen was alive with other presences. She wanted to turn her horse back and gallop away from it, but she knew she couldn't. It was like waiting for a blow to fall. Her chest felt tight, and she could scarcely draw a breath.
Suddenly the captain of her escort hissed, "Lady, halt!" He pointed to the far end of the glen, where in the purple haze a troupe of horsemen stood silently. "Ghosts!" the captain whispered, sounding afraid, and indeed the mounted figures did have a spectral look to them. The men behind them murmured nervously, their horses growing skittish.
"They are highlanders," Fiona snapped back at the captain. "Can ye make out their plaids or badges? I canna tell, for the light is wrong."
The horsemen began to move toward them. Slowly at first, then more swiftly. Kicking their mounts into a gallop, they waved their claymores over their heads, shouting ferociously as they thundered down the glen toward Fiona and her little train.
Next to her the captain seemed to panic. "Flee!" he shouted to his men. Turning his horse about, he led a headlong retreat from the hazy glen.
Fiona turned to look to Nelly's safety, watching amazed as the driver of the baggage cart leapt from his seat and ran alongside his companions until one was decent enough to slow his horse so that the man could scramble up behind the rider. "Cowards!" Fiona shouted after them. "Come back, ye bloody cravens! Don't leave us!"
Their attackers dashed past them, chasing after the king's escort, but shortly they turned and reentered the glen to surround the two women. The moment was almost anticlimactic. Nelly had clambered to the cart's seat and now held the frightened mule in check. Fiona, still mounted, was by the vehicle's side, her gelding dancing nervously but under her firm control. Fiona recognized the gray, green, and white tartan that Nairn preferred to the Lord of the Isles' green-and-blue colors.
Colin MacDonald pushed his gray stallion through the press of his men. Mounted he seemed even bigger than she remembered. "Mistress Hay," he said solemnly, reaching for her horse's bridle.
Fiona yanked the gelding away from his grasp. "Are ye mad, my lord?" she hissed at him. "Ye have deliberately frightened away my escort. How are we to get home to Brae? Or do ye propose to escort us there yerself?" She glared furiously at him, watching out of the corner of her eye as a lad with the men climbed up upon the wagon next to Nelly, giving her a saucy grin and pinching her cheek.
Nelly slapped the boy, saying loudly, "I'll thank ye to keep yer paws to yerself, ye little highland savage!"
The men about them guffawed loudly, amused by both Nelly's actions and the lad's acute red-faced embarrassment.
"Tell yer men to leave my servant alone," Fiona said coldly to Colin MacDonald. "She is a good lass. I will not have her tampered with by force. I'll kill any man who harms her! Do ye savages understand?" Her gloved hand moved menacingly to her dirk. "Now get out of our way! We have several miles to go yet before we reach the convent of Saint Margaret, where we will spend the night. Hopefully our brave escort will have recovered their courage, and will meet us there," she finished boldly.
The MacDonald of Nairn moved his stallion next to Fiona's gelding again and reached once more for her bridle. She slapped his hands away angrily, but this time he caught her wrist in a hard grip. "Mistress Hay," he said, "ye are not going to Brae. Yer coming with me." His bright blue eyes bored into her.