The smoky hint of passion in her voice was tempting. His grip about her tightened. His eyes narrowed as he contemplated her and the delights they were about to share. She smiled up seductively at him. It was an outrageous and blatant invitation.
Then Roderick Dhu's voice broke the spell. "The lord is calling for ye to come to his pavilion immediately, my lord."
"Dammit!" Fiona swore softly, and her husband laughed.
''I'll be back as quickly as I can, sweeting," he told her, kissing the tip of her nose.
Fiona smiled, watching him go. She had managed to turn his thoughts from her visit to the king. Pray God she would never be put into such a position again. She wondered what Colin MacDonald would think if he ever learned that his abduction of her had been carefully orchestrated by James Stewart. And what would he do if he learned that Alastair was not his natural born son but the offspring of Angus Gordon? She was fortunate he was such a trusting man with a basically sweet nature. But he could be as determined and strong as she was, Fiona knew. She comforted herself with the knowledge that she was a good wife to him, and always had been. Moreover, she was finally willing to admit she was in love with her big highland husband. Meeting Hamish Stewart had been wonderful, yet frightening. What if Black Angus had been with the king? How could she have faced him? He would have despised her, and she could not have borne it. Angus would have believed the worst, as he had always been wont to do. At least Colin loved her for good or bad.
When Fiona awoke in the morning, Colin was already up and dressing. She stretched herself, enjoying the sensation as she did so.
"Yer awake," he said. "It isn't quite dawn, but we should be under way as quickly as possible."
"How late were ye?" she asked, wondering why he had not wakened her and made love to her as he had earlier intended.
"The chieftains had much talking to do," he answered, but no more.
"Tell me that yer brother will not be foolish," she begged.
"Alexander has been insulted by James Stewart. That insult must be redressed. Ye know that is the way of it, sweeting."
Fiona climbed from their camp bed. "So yer brother, having sworn fealty to the king, breaks that fealty and strikes back at James Stewart. What, pray tell, do ye think the king will do, Colly? Do ye believe that he will let it go? Or will he strike back, too? And then it begins anew. The highlands aflame. Crops and cattle destroyed. Women, bairns, and old folk driven from their homes, hounded to their deaths. For what, my lord? Will this redress either your brother's pride or the equally vast pride of James Stewart? Why must we all suffer the conceit and arrogance of those who rule us?"
Putting his arms about her, he tried to comfort her. "Ye don't understand, Fiona mine," he said gently.
She pulled away from him, outraged. "Don't understand? Ye dare to accuse me of not understanding? I understand all too well, my lord. It is verra simple. Men would rather fight. Women would not. There is no more to it, Colin MacDonald. Only that!"
"Hurry and dress, sweeting," he said, ignoring her logic, for it conflicted with his own, and he was certain he was right. "I want to get home to Nairns Craig as quickly as possible. There is much to do to get ready." He cinched a wide leather belt about his waist.
"Get ready for what?" she demanded.
Tipping her chin up, he brushed her lips lightly. "Don't be long," he said with infuriating charm, and then he left her.
Fiona shook her head. What mischief were the MacDonalds up to, and what would the cost to ordinary folk be? Pulling on her skirts and footwear, she called to Nelly to bring Johanna so she might nurse the bairn before they departed. What would be would be. Her main goal was to protect her children and Moire Rose from the chaos that would undoubtedly come.
She thought as they rode that day of how relatively peaceful her childhood had been despite just this sort of squabbling going on about her. She remembered that Black Angus had once told her Hay Tower and Brae escaped the general mayhem because of their relative isolation. Nairns Craig, while inaccessible to direct attack, was near enough to the town of Nairn, the seat of the head of the Rose family, and Cawdor Castle, which had once been home to an evil king called Macbeth, to not be overlooked in any factional fighting between the king's forces and the highlanders, should it come to that. She hoped whatever the Lord of the Isles was planning would not be so dreadful that the king would feel bound to retaliate by setting the highlands aflame. Especially with the autumn coming. She hoped the king would go to Islay to take his revenge should he need to, but she knew he wouldn't. Punishing the highlands would be easier than taking to sea to reach Islay.
She was frightening herself needlessly, Fiona decided. Alexander MacDonald was an honorable man. He had sworn his loyalty to James Stewart. His brief sojourn as the king's "guest" had certainly angered and embarrassed him, but his retaliation would more than likely be a firm protest the king would understand. James Stewart would let it stand, knowing the Lord of the Isles meant nothing more by it than having the last word. Certainly the king would comprehend that, and they would all go on living in peace. Aye! Of course! That was how it would be. No one wanted to rip apart the fragile peace that they had sought for so long between the king and the lord. The king was clever. He would fathom the subtleties of it all.
It was good to be home. The servants had not slacked off in their duties while their mistress was away. The hall was sparkling, a bowl of roses on the high board, the fireplaces clean, the plate shining. Alastair ran happily about, delighted to be free of the confines of the tent, from which he had rarely escaped. His personal nursemaid greeted him joyously, and the two hurried off hand in hand to see the little boy's pony in the stables. Mary would have followed after her brother, but her own personal servant swooped her up for a nap after the long ride. The baby was nursed in the comfort of her own hall, by her own log fire, then turned over to her servant.
Moire Rose sat in her own familiar place opposite her daughter-in-law. "I've done all the traveling I ever hope to do," she said firmly, "and I've seen a Stewart king. Ye were right, Fiona, he was not much to see." She chuckled. " 'Tis good to be back by my own hearth with Nairn safe. I would have died myself had the king executed him like he did MacRurie, MacArthur, and that devil, James Campbell."
"The Lord of the Isles is plotting some revenge on the king for the insult he believes James Stewart visited upon him," Fiona said.
"Aye," Moire Rose answered. "He would, of course."
"It is wrong!" Fiona's voice was near to shouting.
Her mother-in-law looked surprised by the tone. “Why, Fiona lassie, 'tis the way of the highlands to revenge a slight. We have always done so and always will do so. To do less would be weakness."
"If every time someone looks cross-eyed at another someone," Fiona said, trying to master her emotions, "a fight will ensue, how will we ever stop feuds, madam?"
"We will not, Fiona. It is our way." She reached over and patted her daughter-in-law with a bony hand. "Nairns Craig has never had its defenses breached in all the years it has stood here on this spine of rock. It has been here my whole life, my father's life, and long before him. I've waited out a few sieges in my time, lassie."
Nairn made love to his wife. It was a long, sweet bout of tender touches, hot mouth fusing on hot mouth, and skin that tingled in the wake of a thousand kisses. Twice they made each other cry out with pleasure, but afterward, his head upon her breasts, his ragged breathing finally slowing to normal, he sensed her unease.