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“The men don't like them,” the Lord of the Isles said. “The kitchen will prepare them for my lady, who wishes them. I didn't think to ask the cook tonight, but ye shall have them as long as ye are with us, my bonnie.”
Fiona nibbled on breast of capon and buttered bread, sipping on a fine wine as she did so. She watched, not certain whether to be amazed or appalled, as the men about her devoured all the food laid out for them. Her own belly rolled slightly at the sight and smells. It was much too rich. Only the wine seemed to calm her.
When they had finished eating, the Lord of the Isles's piper took up his pipes and played for them. After a time four crossed swords were placed upon the stone floor of the hall. The Lord of the Isles and The MacDonald of Nairn leapt down from the high board to dance amid the weapons. As the music became morefierce and wild, Fiona realized that the two men were in a serious competition. Their dancing was furious, almost frenzied. She gazed, fascinated, her green eyes glittering with excitement as she leaned forward to watch the two brothers.
“It has always been this way between them,” Owen MacDonald said to her. “They are equally matched in the dance.”
“Who will win?” she wondered aloud.
“Sometimes my lord wins, and at other times yer husband outdances our elder sibling. There is no bitterness. It is all for amusement.”
Her husband.The two words were very startling, for to her the handfast had been nothing more than a means to protect her child. Had she refused the ceremony, she knew that Nairn would have kept her tightly by his side. Their temporary marriage, however, gave her a great freedom. She was now considered one of the MacDonalds. She hated James Stewart for putting her in this position, but he had been right. The priest and the other agents would not have the advantage of intimacy that she would have. She smiled absently, thinking of how she had said she would not marry Nairn, and of the king's response: that it was up to her what she did as long as she passed along what she learned.
“Look, lady,” Owen MacDonald said. “My lord is tiring. Yer husband will take the competition this night.”
And sure enough the Lord of the Isles gave way to his brother of Nairn, grabbing up his swords and laying them aside with a bow. Bounding up onto the high board, he held out his hand to Fiona. “Come, Fiona MacDonald, and dance with yer bridegroom.” He led her down to the hall floor, handing her off to his brother of Nairn.
A shout arose from the men in the hall as the newlywedsdanced together, Fiona lifting her skirts to prance daintily in the familiar steps of the wedding dance that every highland girl learned at an early age. She had never thought to dance it with anyone but Angus Gordon. Then again, her own mother had never danced it at all. How strange, she thought, that both she and her mother loved Gordons but were forced into marriage with other men.
His arm clamped about her waist, and he lifted her up, swinging her about, then back down again. Unable to help herself, Fiona laughed up into his handsome face while the men about them cheered wildly, some leaping onto the floor to join the couple, so that Fiona found herself with several partners. She danced until she could dance no longer, and retired, panting, back to the high board, where a well-trained servant placed a cup of chilled wine into her hand. Her head was spinning.
The atmosphere in the hall was becoming raucous and boisterous.
“Take yer wife to bed,” the Lord of the Isles ordered his brother. “The men are rowdy and will become more strident as the night passes.”
Nairn took his wife's hand, and they quietly slipped from the hall to find their way back to their apartment. There Nelly was already awaiting them. “Help yer mistress, and then be quickly gone,” he told her firmly. “Do not come until ye are sent for in the morning.”
Nelly nodded, and he disappeared into his own chamber while she helped Fiona remove her gown and chemise. Fiona sat as Nelly pulled the shoes off her feet and rolled the stockings down her legs and off her. Standing, Nelly drew the silver caul from Fiona's hair. “There's a basin with warm water to wash yerself,lady. God grant ye good rest,” she said, and hurried from the chamber.
Fiona walked slowly to the basin and, taking up the cloth, bathed her face and hands. Then she scrubbed her teeth with a bit of pumice and ground mint Nelly had left her, rinsing her mouth afterward with wine and water. Taking up her comb, she drew it slowly through her tresses, smoothing the knots out, making it shine in the firelight. Finally satisfied, she peed in the chamber pot, then made her way to the bed, climbing in and drawing the coverlet over herself. She wore no chemise, for she knew he would simply remove it.
Her heart was beginning to beat a little faster as she waited for herhusband.What was the matter with her? She was no virgin to fear coupling with a man. Her idyll with Angus Gordon had been just that, and James Stewart had taken any future she might have had with him out of their hands-and into those of The MacDonald of Nairn.
He was a handsome man, Fiona admitted to herself. He had no end of charm, which he had persisted in working on her. That night by the loch when he had caressed her, touching her so intimately-and she had responded—burned in her memory. How could she claim to love Angus Gordon when she felt the passion in another man's touch? She must not feel any emotions for Colin MacDonald. How could she serve the king if she fell in love with her husband?
He entered her bedchamber saying, “I bathed for ye, sweeting. With soap, too,” he told her proudly. “I smell like a damned flower.”
“I'll prefer the flower to the stink of the horses,” she said, and quickly added, “I didn't know ye were such a fine dancer, my lord. I did not see ye dance at court. The ladies would have loved ye.”
“The ladies loved me despite my seeming lack of social graces” he taunted her. “The ladies have always loved me, Fiona mine.”
“And they may continue to do so, for I care not a whit,” she said wickedly.
He chuckled. She was so prickly, and he liked her that way. He was never certain where he stood with her, and he found it exciting. She did not cling and weep with love over him, although one day he would make her love him, but it would be on Fiona Hay's terms, he knew, not his. She was not a weak woman, and that was to the good. “Come here to me, sweeting,” he said. “I have something to show ye.” He opened the doors of a cabinet that was set on a side of the room.
Slipping from the bed, Fiona approached him, watching as he swung the two doors open wide. Then she gasped, catching her breath.“What is it?”she whispered, amazed.
“’Tis called a mirror,” he said.
“Nay, ’Tis no such thing!” Fiona declared. “Do ye think me a dimwit, my lord? I have seen a mirror before. The queen has one that she held in her hand, and ‘twas set in a silver frame. This is not like that! This is big, and surely magic.”
He stood before the mirror. “What do ye see, sweeting?” he asked her. “Is it not Colin MacDonald reflected in this glass ye see?”
Fiona peered hard. It was indeed he. “Aye,” she said slowly, “but how can this be? The king doesn't have so fine a thing as this surely is.”
He laughed heartily. “The king is not a MacDonald,” he boasted.
“Is it truly a mirror? It must certainly be the biggest mirror ever.” She was awestruck. “Where did it come from?”
