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Mary and Johanna squealed in unison at the sight of a black cat with a white spot on her chest, and her two kittens. One was a gray tiger stripe. The other was white with patches of ginger.
“They'll keep the tower vermin free,” Fiona noted dryly.
Roderick Dhu had been very resourceful. In addition to the items Fiona had suggested, he had also brought several sacks of onions, a basket of pears, two hams, six small wheels of cheese, a loaf of sugar, and some spices—not to mention half a cart of turf for the fire, atop which were set several barrels of ale and one small barrel of wine. In the next few days they carefully stored the food items while the two dogs and the cat and her kittens made themselves at home.
The clansman had opened a little section of the tower wall beyond the kitchen, and using the stones hehad removed along with wood from the collapsed outbuildings, he built a stable for the milk cow and for the horses. Together he and Ian thatched the roof. The laying hens he had found would also be housed at night there, keeping them safe from predators.
“We should survive the winter verra well now,” Fiona said quietly one night as they finished a simple supper. “No one will find us here. In the spring, Roderick, ye and Ian will go to Perth to see if the king kept his promise to deposit my silver merks with Martin the Goldsmith. The cattle I am owed I don't think we will get, although I will be bold and ask for them.”
“Why would ye think yer silver is in Perth, lady?” Nelly said. “King James promised ye he would repair our tower for yer return one day, but he did not do so. Is it likely that he kept his other promises?”
“We must pray that he did,” Fiona said.
The winter was cold but not particularly hard. Only twice did they hear the wolves howling outside the tower, but the barking dogs seemed to persuade the wolves to move on. They did not go hungry, but neither were they ever really full. Fiona and Nelly rationed the food carefully and nothing was wasted. On March fifth Johanna was two years of age. Alastair would be five in June, and Mary four in September. Nairns Craig was fading from their minds, and they rarely asked now when Colin MacDonald would join them. They saw no one, heard no news. It was as if they were the only people left upon the earth.
Then one May morning, up the ben and through the forest came a familiar figure. He strode along, whistling, his brown robes swinging about his ankles as he came. The children saw him first, and, startled, ran shouting for Roderick Dhu. The big clansman cameforth, his claymore in his hands. Seeing who their visitor was, he handed the weapon to Ian and went forward to greet Father Ninian.
“How did ye know we were here?” he asked the priest.
“The lady Fiona told me her history when we first met.”
Fiona stood in the door of the tower, a smile upon her face. “Welcome, good Father,” she said. “Come in, and let me give ye a cup of wine to slake yer thirst. Will ye stay with us tonight?”
“Gladly!” the priest said, his eyes taking them all in. They were thin, but certainly not beaten down. He had worried about Fiona when he learned that Nairns Craig had been destroyed. The king had assured him, however, that he had given Fiona, her children, and three servants their freedom, their horses, and whatever they could carry away from the castle. James had thought it generous, but Father Ninian had pointed out that a woman and three small bairns were going to be hard put to survive the winter without shelter.
“Tell us all the news!” Fiona demanded when Ninian had been seated by the fire and a cup of wine pressed into his hand. “Ye are the first outsider I have seen since we left Nairns Craig. At least Roddy and Ian went down the ben to find us supplies last autumn.”
Father Ninian looked about the hall. There was a high board with a long bench behind it. His was the only chair in the hall. Upon a narrow side board were set the six cups the Lord of the Isles had sent Alastair for his baptism. It was all very simple. He took a deep breath.
“The rebellion is over,” he began. “At least for the time being. On the eve of Saint Augustine in November, Alexander MacDonald came into Holyrood Church inEdinburgh attired only in his shirt and drawers. The church was full. The Lord of the Isles was forced to come up the aisle upon his knees to the high altar, where he presented his claymore, holding it by its tip, to the king, who took it by the hilt and broke it. The Lord of the Isles then begged the king's forgiveness, admitting his faults and saying aloud for all to hear that he deserved nothing less than death. The king was quite willing to see the Lord of the Isles executed, but the queen publicly begged him to show mercy. And so he did.
“Alexander MacDonald is imprisoned in Tantallon Castle in east Lothian. It is virtually impregnable, lady, protected by the sea on two sides and by earthworks and ditches blocking the other approaches. It is a stronghold of the Douglases, who are again back in favor with the king. Undaunted, however, the lord's people have chosen his first cousin, Donald Ballach, to oversee the lord's power during his captivity. Donald Ballach is a hothead. The clansmen will rise again.”
“So Alexander MacDonald has escaped death while Colin MacDonald lies in a cold grave, his castle in ruins, his family reduced to poverty,” Fiona said bitterly. “Damn him-and all who war-to hell!”
The priest could not say he disagreed with her. “What can I do to help ye, lady?”
“When the king forced me north, he swore to repair my tower for my return, and he pledged me two dozen cattle and a virile bull—and he promised to deposit five hundred silver merks with Martin the Goldsmith in High Street in Perth. But when I returned to Hay last autumn, the tower was not repaired. Roderick Dhu made the repairs himself with Ian. I don't know if the merks are on deposit, and I don't have my cattle. How can I live, good Father, without the coin and thecattle? The king has taken everything from my children but the little we could carry from Nairns Craig. My son will have no property but mine one day. It is not much, and will not bring him a wife of good family. I will have to settle him with some minor chieftain's daughter, and he deserves better. And what of Nairn's daughters? How will I dower my lasses without my silver? I have endured much for the king, good Father. I ask naught of him but that which he promised me. Can ye help me?”
“I will go to him, lady, and I will plead yer case. There is no guarantee that he will heed my words, but I promise ye I will do my best. I agree that it is unfair of the king to abandon ye now.”
“Thank ye, good Father.”
“If yer silver is with the goldsmith, what will ye have me do?” the priest asked Fiona. “Will ye have me bring it to ye?”
“Bring me but fifty merks,” Fiona told him. “It will be more than enough to support us for some time, and the rest will remain secure in Perth. We are safe upon the ben, fornoneknow that we are here. In my sisters’ time we were fairly self-sufficient. I can be so again. As long as we remain upon the ben, not showing ourselves, none will disturb us. As Roddy and Ian are not known hereabouts, it is they who will seek out what we need from the villages. Eventually we will not need to go down the ben at all, and I may raise my bairns in safety.”
“We must speak privately, my daughter,” the priest said.
Nelly, hearing him, gathered up the three children and took them off as her husband and stepson went outside again to continue their work.
“Yer son deserves to know his father” the priest said, coming directly to the point. “It is not fair ye keepAlastair from Angus Gordon, my lady Fiona. I know ye did what ye did to protect the lad, but Colin MacDonald is dead, may God assoil his good soul, and yer son should know his rightful sire.”
“Know his rightful sire, good Father, and then be known as a bastard? No! Colin MacDonald was my son's father, if not by blood, then by love and caring. I will not take that away from either of them.” Fiona's eyes were filled with tears. She had not cried for Nairn. There had never seemed to be any time to weep, but now she was close to it.
“Angus Gordon did not know ye were with child when he went to England to fetch the queen's cousin,” the priest replied. “Even ye were not certain of yer condition, lady. Do not assign blame to Lord Gordon unfairly, my lady. ’Tis not right.”
“I do not blame Angus,” Fiona said. “But ’Tis not right that I tell my son the man he loved as his sire is not his father at all, that he is bastard-born. And what could Angus Gordon possibly want with my laddie? No, better Alastair grow up believing he is the legitimate heir of Nairn, rather than the bastard son of the laird of Loch Brae. What I once told ye was told under the seal of the confessional.Yecanna divulge any of it, good Father.”
