"Not without the honor of the MacDonalds being restored," Nairn said stubbornly. "This king must surely understand that."
“James Stewart will take the burning of Inverness as an insult upon his honor, Colly," she told him. "He will come north to punish us. Remember, he has learned all he knows from the English, and they are mean fighters, tacticians, and rulers. Yer brother, in his arrogance, is about to poke a stick into a bees' nest. When this is over, we shall all be badly stung, but The MacDonald on Islay less so than those of us here in the highlands. I don't call that just. Yer brother commands us to war, and then we suffer for it."
"Yer a woman, Fiona mine," he said. "Ye canna possibly understand," he told her, but he found that her words discomfited him greatly.
“Yer a man, Colin MacDonald, and canna help yer childish behavior that would put a brother ahead of yer bairns."
He held out his arms to her. "Come and kiss me, sweeting, and let us quarrel no longer."
Fiona shook her head. "I'll not kiss ye, or cuddle ye, or couple with ye until ye are safe home to me again," she told him. "Sleep in the hall tonight, my lord, with yer men. I will not share my bed with ye."
"What if I am killed, sweeting? Will ye not regret yer harsh decision then?"
"Yer hide is too thick for an arrow to pierce, and besides, what danger do ye face from poor frightened townspeople, my lord?" she mocked him. Then she left him.
Eventually, he knew, she would understand the ways of a highland chief. His duties not just to his own people, but to his overlord. He had indeed sworn fealty to the king, but he knew in his heart that his first loyalty would lie, as it had always lain, with the MacDonalds. They were his family, his clan, and he regretted that Fiona could not comprehend it. He would teach Alastair the same loyalty soon, and the sons that would come afterward, too.
Fiona knew her duty. In the morning she stood, her two eldest children clinging to her skirts, her infant daughter in her arms, watching as her husband and his retainers marched off down the castle hill to the road leading to Inverness. Unlike many of the chieftains who could muster two thousand or more men, The MacDonald of Nairn had but two hundred, and they were Rose family clansmen-his mother's people, for although he was a MacDonald by birth and acknowledged by his father, his inheritance had belonged to a lesser branch of the Rose family.
"They are like little boys playing," Fiona said grimly as the piper led the troop off, banners flying bravely.
"Will they all come back, I wonder?" Nelly asked.
"I believe so," Fiona said. "This is not a war they go to fight. They go to burn, pillage, and loot a hapless town of women, bairns, and shopkeepers. They should be ashamed of themselves, but they are not. They will all return to their homes boasting of their victory."
"Yer hard on him," Moire Rose said, coming up next to Fiona, smiling down at Alastair and Mary.
"Do ye agree with yer son then, lady?"
"No, I don't. I always thought the warfare foolish, but unlike ye, I didn't dare to say it aloud. It is our way and will not change."
"Ye must say it aloud now," Fiona told her. "James Stewart will not take this act of terror lightly. He will retaliate, lady. When he does, I would have Nairn align himself with the king, and not the Lord of the Isles. If both of us nag at yer son, my husband, then perhaps we may turn him from his path of self-destruction."
"He'll not listen," Moire Rose said fatalistically. "When Colin went to live with his father on Islay, he was taught the first rule of life was total loyalty to the Lord of the Isles. All Donald's children were taught that. Not one of them would break that rule, Fiona. Not one. Ye have no hope of changing a lifetime's habit, I fear."
"Then it is unlikely Colly will live to see his bairns grown," Fiona replied sadly. "They will burn Inverness, and the king will strike back at them. He will bring fire and death to the highlands."
Alexander MacDonald carried out his purpose and burned Inverness to the ground. His highland army of ten thousand strong slaughtered the inhabitants of the town and looted everything they could. The MacDonald of Nairn returned home laden down with booty on a cold, rainy day. It had been raining for three days straight, and the barren branches of the trees were black against the gray sky as the men rode up the castle hill.
Fiona had grown calm with her purpose over the short time her husband had been away. By the time the king learned of the carnage in Inverness and could prepare a force to come north again, the winter would have set in. It was unlikely the king would strike during the winter months. He would wait until spring. And in those intervening months she intended to convince Colin MacDonald that his first loyalty must be to the king to whom he had sworn fealty. She would use whatever means she had to, to attain her goal. Fiona greeted her husband warmly.
Pleased, he grinned boyishly, certain she finally understood his reasoning. He flung his booty at her feet; two bolts of fine soft wool-one the gray-blue color of a winter sky, the other a soft purple heathery tone. There was a forest-green-and-gold-brocade surcoat and several gowns. A length of sheer lawn for making veils. Several gold chains and a jeweled rosary. For his mother he had fetched back a bolt of wool in beige and cream tones to flatter her hair, several strands of agate, and a gold ring. For Alastair there was a miniature claymore, and for Mary, a pretty blue gown. This last sent a shiver through Fiona. What little lass had the dress belonged to, and had she been slaughtered?
He read her thoughts. "1 took it from the shop of a cloth merchant," he told her. "It had been newly made, probably by his wife, who is a seamstress and earned a living sewing."
She nodded, not wanting to know any more. "Come, my lord," she said softly, "ye will be hungry, and I have the meal ready. Then ye must bathe, for I will wager ye have not done so since ye left me."
He flashed her a quick smile. "There is not usually time to bathe when a man is pillaging and looting, Fiona mine." He was pleased when she laughed aloud at his sally.
They sat down to table, and he ate heartily of the game pie, the capon with the lemon ginger sauce, the freshly caught trout, and the ham. He had grown used to the greens she insisted be served, and actually felt better for eating them. Tonight she served him braised lettuce and cress, small beets, and onions in a dilled cream sauce. The bread was soft and fresh, the butter sweet, the cheese sharp. And best of all, his meal was hot. He hadn't eaten any hot food in the time he had been away. He had missed it, although he had chided himself for growing soft. Nodding at the hovering servant wanting to know if he wished his goblet refilled, he savored the sweet wine. His mother and his wife smiled at each other over his appetite. His piper began to play softly, and Colin MacDonald sat back, content and mellow, glad to be safely home again after his sortie to Inverness.
"Is the whole town gone?" his mother finally ventured.
He nodded. "We burned the king's hall first. 'Twas a fine sight, and now the memories of the Lord of the Isles' shame are no more."
"Come, my lord," Fiona said before the conversation could become more detailed. "Ye will want to get out of those stinking garments and bathe yerself before ye go to bed."
"I'll not bathe if I am to be confined to the hall again," he threatened her mischievously.
"Oh, Colly," she told him, "I was angry with ye then, but not now. Indeed, I am relieved to have ye safely home again." She smiled softly at him. "I have missed ye in our bed." She held out her hand to him. "Come along, my lord."