"Aye, I can," she answered him. "Black Angus taught me."

There was that twinge of guilt again, but the king pushed it aside. "Commit nothing to parchment unless absolutely necessary," he warned her. ' 'Neither the merchant nor the minstrel ever forget anything told them, and the tinker has a unique memory in that he can repeat exactly what is uttered in his presence six months later. It is an interesting talent, for unlike the others whose business it is to remember, the tinker is a simple man, I have been told."

Fiona nodded. "Is there anything else I should know?"

"No," he said.

"How long must I remain with Nairn?" A minute will be too long, she thought, forcing back the panic beginning to overwhelm her.

"Until I tell ye that ye may return, Fiona Hay," the king said.

"A year?" she asked him. Dear Holy Mother, not a year!

"Possibly more," he said honestly, noting how pale she had become, and hoping that she would not swoon. Suddenly he wondered if she was strong enough to do this, but there was no turning back now. He needed her in The MacDonald of Nairn's heart-and bed.

There was a long silence while Fiona calmed herself and gathered her strength again. "I must tell my servant, my liege. She should not have to suffer my fate if she does not want to. I canna allow it. She is a faithful, good girl, and does not deserve unkindness. May I tell her here, sire? You will want me to be discreet, I know."

"Where is she?" the king demanded.

"Waiting for me outside, my liege," Fiona replied.

"Get her."

Fiona went to the door of the king's privy chamber, opened it, and called to Nelly to come in. Wide-eyed, the girl stumbled over her feet as she curtsied to the king, awestruck to be in such close proximity with James Stewart. He graciously invited her to sit, giving up his own seat to stand above the two women. Slowly, carefully, Fiona explained the situation. When she had finished, Nelly burst into tears. Understanding the girl's grief, Fiona remained silent until Nelly's tears finally abated. The king looked decidedly uncomfortable.

"Ye don't have to come with me, Nelly," Fiona said. "But if ye return to Brae, ye must keep this secret from the laird."

"Not come with ye?" Nelly's tear-stained look was indignant. "Of course I'll go with ye, Mistress Fiona! I would not be doing my duty if I deserted ye. I dare not go back to Brae without ye. Me aunt would have me hide; then she would weasel yer secret from me. Ye know she would!"

"Ye could stay behind in the queen's service, Nelly. The king could arrange such an appointment for ye, could ye not, my liege?" He nodded, and Fiona continued, "Yer aunt would not be able to get to ye then. Besides, she would be so proud that ye were serving the queen. She would suspect nothing and consider ye fortunate to have escaped being kidnapped along with me. I love ye, and I know ye love me, but I would not think badly of ye if ye decided to stay behind."

Nelly's eyes filled with tears again. "Mistress Fiona, ye'll need me, and I will not leave ye," she said, "even for a queen."

"Then it is settled," the king said briskly. "The sun is already up, Fiona Hay. Ye had best be on yer way. Scotland will be all the better for yer sacrifice. The merks will be deposited today, and the rest of our arrangement will be put into effect as well. May God and his Blessed Mother watch over ye, lady."

“How do ye dare to invoke God and his Mother under these circumstances?" Fiona's voice had a hard edge to it. Picking up her cloak, she nodded to Nelly, and the two women left the king's privy chamber.

"Are ye afraid, my lady?" Nelly asked her mistress as they hurried through the palace corridors toward the courtyard where their escort would be awaiting them. Her own visage was pale, the freckles across the bridge very prominent.

"Aye, I am afraid," Fiona said, "but that is to the good. As long as I am fearful, I will be careful, Nelly. I don't want to die. Ye must be cautious, too, lassie. Our lives depend on it. Are ye certain ye would go with me? There is still time to change yer mind."

"Nay," Nelly said stoutly. "I will not leave ye, my lady."

They met their escort in the courtyard. Nelly would ride in the baggage cart behind which Fiona's mare was tied. Fiona would ride the laird's gray gelding. The animal had a black mane and tail and was very handsome. Angus would be irritated with its loss, she knew, but there was no help for it. She had no excuse to leave the beast behind, and frankly preferred it to her own horse. It was surefooted and of a stronger disposition than the little mare.


***

It was a perfect September day. Fiona rode at the head of the small train with the captain. He remarked on her riding astride, and she laughed. "Have ye ever tried to sit atop a bouncing beastie sideways?" she asked him, and he chuckled. The truth was her long woolen skirts modestly shielded her legs, and what little showed was sheathed by boots. A length of red-and-green Hay plaid was slung about her shoulders. Her black hair was plaited in a single braid, and her head was topped with her chieftain's cap, its eagle feather set at a jaunty angle. Court garb was hardly suited to a ride into the highlands.

They rode the entire morning, stopping at midday to rest the horses, eat, and empty their bladders. The men broke their fast with oatcakes and whatever spirits were in their flasks; Fiona and Nelly opened a basket from the castle kitchens that held a fresh loaf of bread, a small cheese, a roasted chicken, two apples, and two pears. There was also a flask of sweet wine.

"Eat as much as ye can," Fiona said softly to her servant. "I am not certain when we will eat again. Nairn will strike today. Of that I feel certain. We have traveled north all morning, but we will turn northeast late today. 'Tis to his advantage to take us before then. By evening tomorrow we will be much too close to Brae."

"I wish we were there now," Nelly said low, and her eyes met those of her mistress, who nodded in agreement. "I am so afraid, my lady," she admitted.

"Nairn is just a man," Fiona replied, trying to put a more practical light upon their situation. "It is the unknown that makes us fearful right now, Nelly lass. I'm glad yer with me. An extra pair of eyes and ears will not hurt. And eventually we'll come home again; I promise ye that. Ye to Brae, and me to my wee tower on the ben."

"I'll pray every night for it, my lady," Nelly said fervently.

Prayer, Fiona thought as they continued along their way that afternoon. Prayer alone wasn't the answer. She was going to have to keep her wits about her. She could never let her guard down. Angus always claimed that she was brazen, but she wasn't. She was simply a woman with an instinct for survival. Could she really be of help to the king, or did he merely want to get her out of the way so he might marry Angus off to the queen's cousin?

Nay. James Stewart simply could have ordered Angus to do his bidding, and he would have had to obey. Fiona sighed. Why had she been so stubborn? Janet Gordon Stewart had wanted her to become Angus's wife ages ago. If only Fiona had let her arrange it, she thought regretfully, she would not be riding north now, waiting to be carried off by The MacDonald of Nairn.

The shadows were beginning to lengthen as the autumn afternoon deepened. The road ran alongside a small blue loch and into a misty glen. Fiona could feel the hair on the back of her neck beginning to rise like the hackles on a dog. This would be where it would happen. She could sense it, smell it! The glen was alive with other presences. She wanted to turn her horse back and gallop away from it, but she knew she couldn't. It was like waiting for a blow to fall. Her chest felt tight, and she could scarcely draw a breath.

Suddenly the captain of her escort hissed, "Lady, halt!" He pointed to the far end of the glen, where in the purple haze a troupe of horsemen stood silently. "Ghosts!" the captain whispered, sounding afraid, and indeed the mounted figures did have a spectral look to them. The men behind them murmured nervously, their horses growing skittish.

"They are highlanders," Fiona snapped back at the captain. "Can ye make out their plaids or badges? I canna tell, for the light is wrong."

The horsemen began to move toward them. Slowly at first, then more swiftly. Kicking their mounts into a gallop, they waved their claymores over their heads, shouting ferociously as they thundered down the glen toward Fiona and her little train.

Next to her the captain seemed to panic. "Flee!" he shouted to his men. Turning his horse about, he led a headlong retreat from the hazy glen.

Fiona turned to look to Nelly's safety, watching amazed as the driver of the baggage cart leapt from his seat and ran alongside his companions until one was decent enough to slow his horse so that the man could scramble up behind the rider. "Cowards!" Fiona shouted after them. "Come back, ye bloody cravens! Don't leave us!"

Their attackers dashed past them, chasing after the king's escort, but shortly they turned and reentered the glen to surround the two women. The moment was almost anticlimactic. Nelly had clambered to the cart's seat and now held the frightened mule in check. Fiona, still mounted, was by the vehicle's side, her gelding dancing nervously but under her firm control. Fiona recognized the gray, green, and white tartan that Nairn preferred to the Lord of the Isles' green-and-blue colors.

Colin MacDonald pushed his gray stallion through the press of his men. Mounted he seemed even bigger than she remembered. "Mistress Hay," he said solemnly, reaching for her horse's bridle.