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Grey of Ben Duff put a protective arm about his wife and led her off to where she might sit and be more comfortable, not in the least aware of how neatly his wife had turned him away from the subject of Colin MacDonald of Nairn. The less said about her cousin, the better, Maggie MacLeod thought. While she was delighted to see the charming rogue, she was also made uneasy by his presence. She had striven hard to distance herself from her northern roots—and all they entailed. She glanced across the room to where her MacDonald relation was now bowing politely to the king.
“What brings ye to court, my lord?” James Stewart said.
“Did ye not put forth an order that the nobility bring their patents of titles and lands to ye to be reconfirmed, my lord?” Colin MacDonald said boldly. “Well, I have come at yer command and for no other reason. I should just as soon be hunting the red deer in my forests right now as crowding myself into a hall full of people, most of whom have not bathed in weeks, if at all this year.”
The Earl of Atholl leapt to his feet, his hand on his dirk. “Ye'Il speak to the king with more respect than that, MacDonald, or I'll slit yer bold gullet for ye,” he said angrily.
“I meant no offense, my lord,” Colin MacDonald said, ignoring Atholl, “but we highlanders are used to speaking our minds. We don't couch our words in pretty phrases that only hide their meaning.”
The king nodded. “I prefer plain speaking myself,” he said. “Tell me, how came ye by yer lands in Nairn,for I am given to understand that yer father was Donald of Harlaw, late Lord of the Isles”
“My mother, Moire Rose, was the heiress of Nairn. She was my father's mistress for a time. My father made it known to my grandfather that he wanted me to have my mother's inheritance. My grandfather made me his heir. I came into my own several years ago.” Reaching into a space between his shirt and the swath of plaid across his chest, he drew out a silk pouch and handed it to the king.
After carefully taking papers from the pouch, James Stewart spent the next several minutes perusing them. “These are all quite in order, my lord, the line of descent clear.” He folded the sheets of parchment, put them back into the pouch, and handed it to Colin MacDonald. “See my secretary in the morning, and he will affix the proper seals to yer documents. Ye are reconfirmed in yer titles, lands, and rights.”
“I thank ye, my lord.”
“And will ye swear yer fealty to me now?”
“No, lord, I cannot, for I am vassal to my brother, Alexander, Lord of the Isles. ‘Twould not be right for me to swear my fealty to ye before my brother swears his. Indeed, my brother would be verra angry at me for such a presumption. I know that ye understand.”
“I will expect ye at Inverness when I come, Colin MacDonald,” the king said quietly, but there was a hint of a smile about the corners of his lips. “Ye will swear me yer fealty directly after yer brother.”
The MacDonald of Nairn nodded his head in apparent agreement. “Aye, and I will. First to ye, James Stewart, and then to yer fair queen, may God make her fruitful.” He bowed to them both.
“A wicked rogue if I ever saw one,” Fiona Hay said when Colin MacDonald had taken his leave of thethrone and moved back into the hall.“Yehad best beware of him, my liege. No MacDonald ever had Scotland's interests at heart, I fear.”
“But he has great charm.” The queen laughed softly, watching the big highlander make his way out of the hall.
“A dangerous man,” the king said knowingly “Aye, Mistress Hay, ye are wise to not be fooled by an easy smile and manner.”
“I don't like the bold way he looked at ye,” Angus Gordon said darkly.
“Did he look at me?” Fiona said, surprised. “I didn't notice. Have ye told me that ye are the only man for me, my Black Angus?” Fiona teased him wickedly, and the royal couple laughed.
“Yer a brazen baggage,” Angus Gordon pretended to grumble. “I don't know why I even put up with ye,” His eyes were twinkling.
“He'll wed her soon, before the year's end,” the queen said wisely to her husband when the laird and Fiona had taken their leave and moved away from the dais.
“I thought to give him a nice English wife like I have,” the king teased his bride. “Do ye not think he would like one, Joan?”
“If he were not so deeply in love with Fiona Hay, and she with him,” the queen replied, “I would want him for my cousin, Elizabeth Williams. He is a good man, James, but then ye know that.”
“Yemiss Beth,” James Stewart said. It was a statement.
“Aye,” the young queen replied, “I do. In the autumn Mistress Hay will return to Loch Brae with the laird. They are so desperate to get home, James. We cannot in fairness keep them here much longer, butthen I shall have no confidant of my own age. Beth was always my confidant.”
“In a few more weeks,” James Stewart told his wife, “I will send down into England for your cousin. One little English girl can hardly offend the Scots, and ye will have yer dearest companion again.”
“I'm glad,” the queen said, and then, leaning over, she whispered into her husband's ear. He grinned, but Joan put her finger to her lips, pledging him to silence for now.
June passed, then July. Though the king worked hard at the business of restoring order and justice to Scotland, he also made time for pleasure. There were more young people at the court than there had been in many years. They hunted deer in the hills about Scone and waterfowl near the river Tay, and they fished for trout and salmon in the swiftly moving streams. The king enjoyed the game of golf. As it happened, the two best players at court were Angus Gordon and The MacDonald of Nairn, who fell into an immediate and fierce competition.
“Ye shouldn't grip yer club like that,” Angus Gordon scoffed one afternoon as they played with the king and the Earl of Atholl. “Ye cannot gain any distance with yer ball if ye have such a grip.”
Colin MacDonald drew himself up to his full six feet four inches and sneered down at the six-foot-two laird, “I managed to beat ye last time quite handily, Gordon, with just such a grip.”
“Ye won at the end by only a stroke—and only because the wind blew a wee bit of grit into my eye,” the laird snapped.
