At Hay Tower Fiona was delighted by the arrival of her cattle and the virile bull. Now she could survive! They had reclaimed several small fields upon the ben this spring, planting them with grain and hay. What deficiency they had in fodder could be purchased in the autumn. Ninian Stewart had brought Fiona all her silver, explaining that he feared the king might confiscate it at a later date from the goldsmith.
'Ye can hide it here within the tower,' he told her. 'At least ye need not fear James Stewart will take it back from ye if it is here.'
'How can I ever thank ye, Father Ninian?' Fiona asked. 'Ye arc-always welcome upon Ben Hay!'
The priest quickly departed then for the north, satisfied that justice had been served. He would come again in late autumn, he promised, on his way to his abbey.
The summer was surprisingly pleasant. If there were any troubles in Scotland, Fiona and her little family did not know of them, safe in their isolation. The cattle browsed upon the ben, carefully watched over by Ian and the dogs. Alastair, now five and tall for his age, had taken to following Ian into the meadow each day. He was not afraid of the cattle or the bull.
'He should be a little lord, not a cowherd,' Nelly fussed.
Fiona laughed. 'He is happier with a simple life.'
'For now,' Nelly answered her mistress. 'But what of when he is older, my lady? Do ye have the right to deny him his birthright?'
It was a question Fiona had asked herself since the priest had pricked her conscience, but what else could she do? Even if Angus Gordon were not a married man, would he welcome her back into his life? She did not think so, but it was a moot point. Angus had a wife and no doubt several children, certainly another son, who would be considered the heir to Brae. She had told the priest she would not allow her son to learn that rather than being the true-born son of The MacDonald of Nairn, he was the bastard-born son of the laird of Loch Brae. And she would not. She would keep Alastair, indeed all her bairns, safe from harm of any sort. Safe from the hurtful outside world.
One summer's morning Alastair ran out early into the small meadow where the cattle grazed. He had grown to love the great shaggy beasts with their big horns. He knew them all by sight and, much to his family's amusement, had taken to naming the creatures.
'Good morrow Moibeal. Good morrow Milread,' he called to two of them, and the cattle raised their heads to gaze benignly upon the lad. 'Good morrow Narsali and Moireach, Giorsal and Sesi.' Wandering among the herd, Alastair suddenly realized that Colla, the bull, was missing. 'Colla!' he called. Usually the bull, an unusually mild fellow, would bellow softly back at the sound of his name, but this morning there was no reply. Alastair searched back and forth amid the cattle for him, but the bull was simply not there.
Where could he have gotten to? the little boy wondered. Would Ian get into trouble with his father and with Mam for the bull's disappearance? Colla had been there last night, Alastair knew, for he had bid all the beasts of the field a good night before he had gone inside for his supper. Had the bull been stolen? He was, after all, a very fine bull. They needed him. He was a good breeder, Ian said, for already ten of the herd were with calf.
Alastair's small brow furrowed in thought. There was, he remembered hearing his mother say in the hall, a fine meadow below in the glen. He recalled it because his mam and Roderick Dhu had spoken of possibly barricading their own meadow so the cattle would not wander. Was it possible that Colla had wandered down into the glen and found another meadow of good sweet grass? Alastair didn't wait to ask anyone's permission. He slipped into the forest and began to descend the ben. No one else was up yet, and by the time they were, he would be back with Colla.
Eventually the trees began to thin. Alastair forded a pretty little stream, jumping from rock to rock until he reached the other side. After passing through a grove of birch trees, he found himself in a beautiful large open meadow that was filled with fat cattle. 'Colla!' Alastair called out, immediately hearing a soft bellow in reply. Laughing, he followed in the direction of the sound, sighting the bull placidly browsing on the thick, sweet grass, surrounded by an admiring group of females. 'Colla, 'tis not yer meadow-or yer wives, ye old knave.' Alastair picked up a stick and began to herd the bull back to where they had come from. 'Come along now, Colla. We must go home before they find us gone, or Mam will be angry.'
The bull moved reluctantly, slowly at the lad's insistence, meandering in rambling fashion across the meadow, stopping every now and then to munch another mouthful of grass. They had almost reached the edge of the pastureland when there was the sound of hoofbeats behind them. Surprised, Alastair turned about to see a dark man upon a large black stallion bearing down upon him. The boy stopped dead, afraid.
The horseman came abreast of them, and the rider dismounted. “Have I caught me a cattle thief?' the deep voice demanded as he towered over the child. He seemed very tall and very dark to Alastair, whose small heart thumped nervously.
'No, my lord,' the lad finally quavered. 'I am not a cattle thief. Colla, our bull, wandered down the ben into yer meadow. I wanted to fetch him back before Ian got into trouble for his loss.'
The Earl of Brae looked down into his own face, reflected in miniature. Startled, he could feel the heart he had thought he no longer possessed crack achingly. Struggling to find his voice, he finally said, 'What is yer name, lad? Where do ye come from?'
'I am Alastair MacDonald,' the little boy replied stoutly, 'and I live upon Ben Hay with my mam, my sisters, Nelly, Roderick Dhu, and Ian.'
'What is yer mam's name?' the earl asked, knowing it before the child even spoke it.
'Fiona,' Alastair replied.
Angus Gordon shook his dark head slowly. He did not know how he felt, but he certainly was not angry at the little lad. 'I'll help ye take yer bull back home, laddie,' he said gently. 'Would ye like to ride with me upon my horse? Have ye ever seen a beast so fine?'
'Aye,' Alastair told him frankly. 'My father had a great war horse like yers, but his was as gray as storm clouds. My father was killed at Lochaber.'
The earl remounted his horse, reached down, and took the boy up on the saddle before him. The child was light and thin against him. Then, using his mount and the boy's stick, Angus Gordon herded the big bull back up the ben and into its own meadow. His gaze took in the fine cattle grazing there. For a brief moment he wondered if he was missing any of his own beasts.
On the edge of the small upland pasture a boy of about twelve appeared. Seeing Alastair upon the earl's horse, he turned on his heel, racing for the tower house. The earl smiled almost grimly. By the time the lad had reached the tower, its door was wide open. At the top of the steps stood a small group of people. A very tall clansman, the boy, Nelly between them and very much with child, two little girls with red-gold hair,
The earl brought his horse to a stop. 'Well, madam,' he said in a stern voice, 'what have ye to say to me?'
'I don't owe ye any explanations, Angus Gordon,' Fiona said. 'Now put my son down. Where did ye get him?'
'Like his mother before him, in my meadow, stealing my cattle, though he says the bull is yers,' the earl taunted her.
'The bull is mine, and ye know it, Angus Gordon,' Fiona snapped. 'Now give me my son, damn ye!'
'Ye mean my son, do ye not, lassie?' he replied. 'Am I a fool that I canna see myself in the lad's face?'
'Put Alastair down,' Fiona said quietly. 'I will not stand upon the step arguing with ye, Angus. We will talk, but not here.'
'Aye, we will talk, lassie,' he said, 'but we will talk at Brae. I am taking the lad with me, and when ye are ready to give me an explanation as to where ye disappeared to, and why
'What are ye talking about?' he demanded. 'This child is my son, and my heir, and ye have kept him from me by deception. I want to know why, and by God, madam, ye will tell me!'
'So,' she snarled at him, 'yer fine English wife has not been able to give ye an heir, Angus! How unfortunate,
