the larger of the two, but she insisted that Nelly and Roderick Dhu have the other.
'Yer old servants slept in the attic,' he protested. ' 'Tis dry up there now that we've repaired the roof, lady.'
'Should we be attacked,' Fiona said, 'the attic is too inconvenient a place for ye to be. Better yer here with us.'
He did not argue further with her, for her logic could not be refuted. 'Ian can sleep in the hall,' Roderick Dhu said. 'The lad's got ears like a fox and can hear a feather drop in the forest before the bird even knows it's gone,' he said with a smile.
The tower was secure, warm, and dry. It was clean and, if sparsely furnished, at least neat. They were adding to their supply of fuel each day. The larder, while not full, was not bare. Still, they needed more than they had been able to carry with them from Nairns Craig if they were to survive the winter. They found the remains of their old carl, which had been left behind, the laird having supplied his own transportation for them when they left. Together father and son repaired the vehicle so they might take it down the ben to seek what they needed.
'Ten miles past Brae,' Fiona told Roderick Dhu, 'is a village that has a market every Wednesday. Ye can get what ye need there. See if ye can find a few laying hens, perhaps a milk cow, some flour to supplement what Nelly and I have ground from our wheat supply, a large basket of apples, and whatever else ye think we need to get through the winter. Be discreet, and if any should grow suspicious, claim to be from a village farther north that traitorous clansmen wiped out before the king's men rescued ye.' She dug into the pocket of her gown and handed him some coins. 'These should pay for what we need.'
Roderick Dhu and his son were gone for two days. When they returned there was a brindled cow tied to the back of the cart. Two greyhounds loped alongside the rickety vehicle. 'The bitch is past her prime, and her last offspring, a male, is blind in one eye. The owner was willing to take a penny for them.' He grinned. 'They may not be perfect, but they have ears to hear an intruder, and they can still hunt.' He bent down, patting both dogs. He lifted a basket from the cart. 'I found this, and her bairns along the road back,' he said. 'I thought the lasses would like them.'
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 he had 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, hut 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 came forth, 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 in Edinburgh 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 the cattle? 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?'
