Betrayed (24 page)

Now Colin MacDonald stood before the high board in his eldest brother's hall, and before the Lord of the Isles he swore to take Fiona Hay to wife, in hand-fast. When Fiona then declared her intentions to take him as a husband in handfast, they were considered legally wed for the period of one year. If at the end of that time, either decided not to formalize the union
within the church, they were free to go their own way. Any children born of a handfast marriage were considered legitimate despite the parents’ future decision to continue or discontinue the union. The handfast must be sworn to before witnesses, which all the men in the hall constituted.

The meal was served. Roast boar, roe deer, game pies in red wine gravy, stewed eels, raw oysters taken from the beaches and waters surrounding Islay, a single capon in lemon and ginger as a courtesy to Fiona, several large sea trout upon beds of cress, cod in cream and sweet wine. There were fresh-baked bread, tubs of sweet butter, and several wheels of cheese, along with ale and wine.

“Where are the greens?” Fiona asked, slightly taken aback by the heavy bounty. “There is not a pea or a beet, an onion or a carrot to be seen. Have ye no lettuces?”

“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 more
fierce 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 newlyweds
danced 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 her
husband.
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?”

“A MacDonald son served a king in a place called Byzantium. When his term of service was over, he told his master that if he would safely transport two of these mirrors home to Scotland for him, the mercenary MacDonald would take them in lieu of coin for his ten years of service. The other of the mirrors is in the lord's apartments.” He held out his hand to her. “Come, sweeting, and see how beautiful ye are. The glass will not lie to ye.”

Slowly Fiona came to stand before it. For the first time in her entire life she saw all of herself as others saw her. She stared hard at the reflection in the mirror. The warm light from the fire in the hearth and the flickering candles gave her milky skin a pale golden glow. Fascinated, she gazed upon her body, shivering slightly as Colin stepped behind her, his big hands sliding around to cup the globes of her breasts. They nestled in his palms like two doves. She watched, spellbound, as the thumb and forefinger of each hand played with her nipples, pinching them slightly, pulling them out so that they stood hard and pointed. Her head spun slightly, and she realized that she was not breathing. Fiona slowly drew in a deep draught of air to clear her brain. What was happening to her?

“This is our wedding night,” he murmured in her ear, “and I would have it be a night ye will not forget.” His breath was hot in her ear as his tongue tickled the shell of it.

He turned her about so that their bodies touched. Instinctively Fiona pressed her palms flat against his chest in an effort to hold him off. The heat from the pressure of her hands made him almost dizzy with desire. The contact between their two bodies was heady. He groaned with the pure pleasure.

“Ah!” The sound escaped her before she might
stop it. Dear Holy Mother! She must surely have the heart of a whore to be so aroused by this man. Suddenly she wanted to weep, but she forced back her tears. Tears were a luxury she couldn't afford. Then all the anger she had been bottling up these past weeks overcame her, and she began to beat him on his chest and shoulders with her small fists.

“Nah, han, hinny lamb,” he murmured, catching those little hands, kissing them, and then pinioning them behind her back with one great paw. With his other hand he began to caress her, stroking her like a pet cat, knowing he could have gone on all night simply touching her, but realizing that until he possessed her completely, she would continue to fight him. “Don't struggle against me, Fiona mine, for you know I mean to have you. You are my wife, sweeting, and I love you.”

Damn him! How easily he said those words to her, and he did not have to simply to take her.
Damn him!
Why couldn't Angus Gordon have said those words to her? She struggled against Colin MacDonald, swearing at him most colorfully in their native Gaelic tongue, a language that made her maledictions even more threatening.

Another man might have hit her, but The MacDonald of Nairn put a gentle hand over her mouth, admonishing her, “Do you want the entire castle to hear ye, sweeting?”

Fiona bit the hand that covered her mouth. Now it was he who swore, slapping her lightly, his blue eyes finally darkening with anger, and seeing it, she grew still at last. This big man could kill her if he chose, and then where would she be? Certainly no help to the king.

“Hush now, Fiona mine,” he said softly, his anger easing. “Listen to me, sweeting, for I don't want to harm you. You see I am a big man in every aspect. I do not
want to injure you. You must be still. Let me love you. You will find that I can give you great pleasure, even as you will give me pleasure.”

He turned her about again, wrapping a single arm about her torso, drawing her back against his hard body. His hands pushed the mass of her hair aside so he might place kisses upon her neck. The fragrant scent of her newly washed hair excited him further. His hand wandered the length of her, caressing and fondling the soft skin. A single finger insinuated itself between her nether lips, finding with unerring aim the tiny jewel of her sex.

Fiona couldn't look away from the great mirror. She was mesmerized by the sight of this man making love to her. Unable to help herself, she let her head fall back against his shoulder. She sighed as he elicited sweet pleasure from her. She could feel his manhood raging against the flesh of her buttocks, but she could not contain the grinding of her hips into his hot loins.

“You belong to me now, sweeting,” he murmured thickly in her ear.

“I belong to no man,” she managed to gasp. “I will be owned by neither you nor Angus Gordon. I will not be owned by
any manl”

Laughing softly, he kissed her angry mouth.

“I hate you!” she raged.

“Hush, lambkin,” he said low.

He turned her once again to face him, and cupping her buttocks in his palms, he lifted her up to impale her upon his throbbing love rod. Then to her amazement he turned them both about so she might see as he pistoned her.

The sensation of him within her was overwhelming, almost too much for her to bear. He filled her so full that her body felt stretched beyond all bearing.
Completely sheathed, he leaned forward to kiss her lips, to brush kisses across her face and throat, to whisper of how much he adored her. Then her body seemed to widen to accommodate him.

Colin Macdonald knew how to give a woman pleasure, and he gave her extreme delight despite her resistance to him. The subtlety of his movement reached out to Fiona, cajoling her to cease her opposition to his tender blandishments; in spite of herself her body responded to his. His big manhood delved deeper and deeper within her softness. She felt as if she were melting layer by layer. The hard thrusts of his loins grew sharper and quicker. Her eyelids felt heavy and threatened to close. She let her gaze stray to the large mirror in which they were reflected. Had it not been so intriguing, she would have swooned at this sight of their bodies locked together in amorous combat.