Nelly sighed. "I love the great gawk," she said, "but what if one day we could go back to Brae, my lady? I could not go with ye if I were wed to my highlander. Better I remain a maid."
"Nelly, we will not be going back to Brae. Black Angus has wed with the queen's cousin. I would not be welcome there. I have my own husband, and ye have a chance of a good husband, too. Take it, lassie!"
Nelly bid her mistress good night and went out into the living space, where her pallet was located by a charcoal brazier.
Fiona lay down upon the bed that had been made up of fir boughs covered with a feather bed. Pulling up the fox coverlet, she fell asleep. She awoke to hear her husband swearing softly as he stumbled about in the darkness. "Colin! Ye'll waken the bairn," she cautioned him.
The sound of her voice drew him to the bedding. He yanked his boots off and almost fell upon her. "Ah, sweeting, there ye are," he said, his hands fumbling to find her breasts.
"Yer drunk!" she accused him, but she couldn't help laughing softly. She had never seen him this way.
"Just a wee bit drunk," he assured her. "My brothers could not walk to their beds, and had to be carried," he bragged, placing a wet kiss on her lips. "Jesu, yer sweet," he muttered against her soft hair. "Do ye not love me a little bit, Fiona mine?"
"Aye," she told him. "A wee bit, Colin MacDonald." She shifted to find a more comfortable spot, for he was lying half across her.
He nuzzled her neck. "Ye know what I want, sweeting," he said suggestively. His hands were caressing her gently.
"Colin," she chided him, "ye have to go before the king in the morning. If ye don't get some sleep, yer head will ache ye something fearful, I guarantee ye. Ye’ll shame us all."
His knee was levering her thighs apart as he attempted to slip between her legs. "I'll sleep all the better and awake happier if ye'll love me, Fiona mine," he wheedled tenderly.
"Yer worse than Alastair when he wants a shortbread," she scolded him, but the hardness probing against the insides of her thighs was exciting. She slid her arms about his neck and drew him down. His breath was pungent with wine. "If ye fall asleep on me before 'tis finished, Colin MacDonald," she warned him ominously, "I swear I'll do to ye what we did to that bull calf born last year."
His laughter was low and smoky. "When, Fiona mine," he asked her, "when did I ever not finish what I began?" Then he thrust into her warm body, pleasuring them until both were near unconscious with a mixture of exhaustion and contentment.
When she awoke in the early hours just before dawn, he was snoring softly by her side, his red head against her round shoulder. Fiona crept from the bed, making a great effort not to awaken him. Slipping out into the living space of the tent, she saw Roderick Dhu and Nelly curled together for warmth and companionship. Gently she shook them both.
"Wake yer master," she told the clansman, "and get him down to the river to bathe. I will not have him before James Stewart smelling of stale wine and passion. Then bring me some hot water so I may make my own ablutions and yer master can scrape the fur from his face."
Roderick Dhu was on his feet, nodding at her. "Aye, my lady."
"Fetch Johanna, and I'll feed her," she instructed Nelly.
The encampment was beginning to stir. Nairn returned from the river, bleary-eyed but clean, to find his wife still nursing their daughter. For a moment he stopped to watch her, enjoying the scene. "She's got a head like mine," he noted proudly.
"So does Mary," Fiona reminded him, and handed the infant to Nelly to return to her cradle. "Put on a clean shirt," she instructed her husband. "I'll fetch ye some mulled wine and bread."
The king had called the gathering for ten in the morning. The Lord of the Isles and the other chieftains of the highland clans were invited into the king's hall along with the Countess of Ross. They came to the monarch's castle, flags flying, pipes playing. The castle was set by the edge of the river Ness, a broad blue waterway that flowed into Beauly Loch, and finally Moray Firth. Only the lord, his mother, the clan chieftains, and their women were invited into the king's hall. The clansmen were asked politely to remain outside as neither the castle nor its hall was big enough to contain them all.
Led by the Lord of the Isles, the men entered the hall. It was a good-sized room of gray stone but had no windows. At its far end was a dais with a gilded wooden canopy, beneath which the king sat upon a throne. He watched through narrowed eyes as the highlanders made their way toward him. Although he had never met the Lord of the Isles, he recognized him immediately, not simply because he preceded all the others but because he looked like a dark-haired version of The MacDonald of Nairn, who strode behind him.
Alexander MacDonald bowed before King James. "My lord," he said, "I welcome ye to the highlands. May yer stay be a pleasant one, and may ye return often here." It was a gracious speech, graciously spoken.
The king stood, looking down on all of them. "Ye are late in coming to render me yer obedience, my lords."
"We but awaited yer call to this gathering, my lord," the Lord of the Isles replied. "Ye were slow in issuing it."
"I am told there are some among ye who would have my life," the king answered. "It was necessary that I decide what course of action I would take in the face of such perfidy." Raising his hand, he signaled his guards. Alexander MacRurie and Ian MacArthur were hauled forth from the ranks of their companions and flung at the foot of the dais. "Ye two spoke on my murder. I canna trust ye. Yer deaths will provide an example to yer companions." Again the king signaled, and before anyone realized what was happening, the two unfortunates were pinioned and swiftly beheaded with well-sharpened swords that had been prepared for just this occasion. The heads hardly rolled, but blood gushed from the severed necks of the two men, spilling across the floor, sending the women assembled within the room shrieking and seeking a place where the blood would not reach.
"Seize them all!" the king's voice thundered as he pointed to the Lord of the Isles and his companions. "Throw them in the dungeon prepared for their arrival!" Stepping over the river of blood, he held out his hand to a now stony-faced Countess of Ross. "Come, madam, for ye are to be my guest for the interim."
Fiona stepped forward and cried, " 'Tis dishonorably done, James Stewart! The lord and the chieftains have come unarmed into yer hall this day to make their peace with ye. Is this how ye treat those who would pledge loyalty and friendship to ye? Shame! Shame!"
The king looked across the hall at the woman who had spoken. She was tall for a woman, and he was sure he knew her. She was certainly very fair. A chieftain's wife by the look of her. Then he recognized her. "Once, madam, ye pledged yer loyalty to me," he said meaningfully.
"I have kept my pledge, even to speaking on yer behalf, my liege, in The MacDonald's hall. If he is here today, it is partly because of me. How dare ye break the laws of hospitality to unjustly imprison these men? Ye who love justice above all things. Is this yer justice?"
"She is as brave as she is bonnie," Alexander MacDonald whispered to his brother, Colin MacDonald. "If she weren't yer wife, and if I did not have a wife myself, I would wed her this day!"
"Leave my hall, madam, and don't come back!" the king roared. "Do ye dare to instruct me? A little cattle thief and a whore?"
The Lord of the Isles gripped his brother of Nairn's arm in a tight grasp. "Don't move, Colly, or the bonnie Fiona will be a widow. He only insults her because she has pricked at his conscience."
"Better an honest whore, my liege, than a dishonorable king!" Fiona said with devastating impact, then turned and walked from the hall, the chieftains' wives following behind her.