Highland Master

chapter 3



Catriona would have liked to change her clothing. But when she emerged from the inner chamber, her mother, grandmother, and good-sister were on the dais just outside it. And she knew from the curiosity on all three faces that she would be wearing her old kirtle for a while yet.

“Who is he, my love, and why does he call himself ‘Fin of the Battles’?” Lady Ealga asked. In much the same breath, Lady Annis snapped, “Where does he hail from, Granddaughter? Who are his parents?”

Stifling a sigh, Catriona said, “I wish that one of you had asked him, because I ken no more than what I’ve told you. I was walking with Boreas when we found him. In troth, I worried more about the man’s injury than his antecedents.”

“In faith, Catriona, you should take more care,” her good-sister said sternly.

“Aye, Morag is right,” Lady Annis said. “One should always ken a man’s roots before approaching him. Sithee, Granddaughter, one day your impetuous nature will land ye deep in the suds.”

“He is handsome, is he not?” Ealga said. “It would have been hard to leave him lying on the ground without trying to aid him—sadly inconsiderate, too. And whilst I might have been too cowardly to help him, Annis, I believe that you would have done just as our Catriona did.”

“If I did, it would be because I ken fine that I can defend myself. Can you say as much, Catriona?”

Lady Ealga said, “You do have your wee dirk, do you not, my love?”

“I do, aye,” Catriona said, slipping her right hand through the slit—or fitchet—in her skirt, which let her take the weapon from the sheath strapped to her thigh. Seeing her grandmother’s eyes widen, she said, “My brothers taught me to use it, madam, and said to do so only if I feared for my life. I did not need it.”

Morag shook her head, ever disapproving, and Lady Annis pressed her lips together. Then a twinkle lit the older woman’s pale blue eyes, and she said, “I am not surprised that ye carry a weapon, dear one. And it was both wise and kind of James and Ivor to teach ye to use it properly. However, in my experience, guile and her own claws make better weapons for a woman than aught else.”

Catriona’s mind offered an instant image of her attempt to slap Fin, and she could think of nothing to reply. Despite her grandmother’s own words, Lady Annis would instantly condemn such rudeness to a guest—and rightly so.

Tactfully, Ealga said, “Ye’ll want to change that dress afore we sup, my love.”

“Aye, Mam, but I doubt that our guest will trouble Granddad much longer. I said I would show him to a chamber when they have finished talking.”

“Ye go and change,” her mother said. “Aodán can put him in that room across the landing from the one I am using at present. Will he stay just the one night?”

“I had to persuade him to stay at all,” Catriona said. “But that was before I learned that he was seeking the Mackintosh. When I told him that Granddad was here, he agreed to come. But he gave me no more information.”

“Ye may be sure that I will learn all he can tell us about himself,” her grandmother said. “I want to know who his parents are and much more, forbye.”

Determined to witness that confrontation, Catriona excused herself and hurried upstairs, calling for her maidservant as she went.



At the Mackintosh’s command, Fin took a jug of whisky and two goblets from a niche, poured whisky into each goblet, set one before his host, and left the other where it was. “Shall I put the jug back, my lord?” he asked.

“Nay, we’ll have need of it. Just pull up yon stool and tell me what the devil Davy Stewart means by disturbing an old man’s peace with his royal affairs.”

“He prefers to be known as Rothesay, sir, and he spoke not of your age but only of your power. That, he assured me, is vast enough to serve his ends.”

“Ye’ll no be telling me that he thinks my power exceeds his own.”

Knowing it would be tactless if truthful to say that Rothesay believed no man’s power exceeded his, Fin said, “As heir to the throne and now Governor, he is well aware of his power, sir. He is also aware that he has powerful enemies.”

The Mackintosh cocked an eyebrow. “One in particular, I warrant.”

“Aye, for when Parliament and the King agreed on Rothesay’s coming of age that he should assume the Governorship for three years in the Duke of Albany’s stead, to show that Rothesay can govern, Albany was most displeased.”

“Ye’re being diplomatic, lad. I heard that he was infuriated. But I’ve nae patience with all these new dukes of ours—like the devilish English. Faugh, I say!”

“Scotland still has only two dukes,” Fin assured him. “Rothesay and Albany.”

“Aye, well, Albany was dangerous enough whilst he governed in the King’s stead. To my mind, a man who has no interest in ruling shouldna be King.”

Fin said, “Rothesay will be a much stronger ruler than his father, sir.”

“That will not be hard, if Albany lets the lad live that long,” Mackintosh said. “And if his reputed recklessness and profligacy are overstated. Sithee, Davy Stewart is Albany’s own nephew, but Albany is evil. Auld Clootie put the mark of his hoof on him in the cradle. And the older he gets the plainer it becomes that he’ll ever be the devil’s own. Even so, he wields nae power here in the Highlands or in the Isles.”

“Just so, sir, although he did name his own son Lord of the North.”

“Aye, sure, when he was Governor. But he kens fine what will happen if that whelp of his ever tries to seize the Lordship from Alex Stewart,” Mackintosh snapped.

“Alex does hold the Lordship close,” Fin agreed.

“Aye, he rules from Lochindorb as strongly as ever his own sire did.”

“I should tell you that Rothesay also sent word to Lochindorb,” Fin said.

“That castle lies but fifteen miles north of here,” the Mackintosh said. “But if Davy… if Rothesay hopes for his message to reach the Lord of the North, he’s missed his mark. Alex is in the Borders with my own people, aiding the Earl of Douglas.”

“They will soon return,” Fin said. “Douglas is still the most powerful lord in the Borders. And, thanks to such aid from many powerful nobles, he has routed the English again. My men carried the message to Lochindorb, so I could go on to you at Moigh. But after we parted, whilst seeking a path into the mountains west of here, I walked farther south along the Spey than I’d intended without finding a ford—”

He broke off when the Mackintosh chuckled.

“Sakes, lad, we take good care to create no tracks through our mountains east or west,” he said. “If a man does not ken his way, he’ll not find it without help.”

“One of my men knew the way to Lochindorb,” Fin said. “And I ken the Great Glen fine and can reach it from here just by going west.” To avoid further discussion of his error, he added, “Rothesay also sent a message to the Lord of the Isles.”

“So he seeks allies amongst his uncle’s enemies, does he?”

“He does, aye.”

“What does Davy expect from us… from me, especially?”

“He wants you to host a meeting for him at Castle Moigh with the Lord of the Isles and the Lord of the North.”

“To what purpose?”

“To keep Albany’s ambition in check, he said. Beyond that, I cannot tell you. I do not know his exact intent.”

The Mackintosh said thoughtfully, “His provisional term as Governor ends in January. So I’d wager that he wants to be assured of their votes when Parliament meets to consider whether they will extend it or give it back to Albany.”

“I would not bet against your wager, sir. But my orders are to deliver his message and send word to him at Perth if you agree to host the meeting.”

“I see. Then, before I trust your word on this, I would ken more about ye.”

Having hoped that he had diverted the old man from the business of antecedents and fervently hoping that Mackintosh would not detect his uneasiness now, Fin drew a breath and reached for his goblet.

“Help yourself to the whisky and ye need to compose your thoughts,” the Mackintosh said amiably. “But, I’d warn ye, lad, do not lie to me.”

The emphasis in his words forcibly reminded Fin that the Mackintosh held the power of the pit and the gallows. Hanging Davy’s messenger might annoy Davy, but Fin doubted that the old man would spare that a single thought.



With her maidservant Ailvie’s help, Catriona changed to a more becoming moss-green gown and matching silk slippers. Then, curbing her impatience, she let Ailvie brush her tangled hair and plait it into a smooth coil beneath a white veil.

Returning to the great hall, she noted her mother’s approving smile and saw that servants in the lower part of the hall were setting up for the evening meal. Food would not appear for another hour, but her grandfather liked his meals on time, so there must be no delay unless unexpected guests arrived or if, by some stroke of fortune, her father and brothers returned in time to sup with them.

The likelihood of that event was small. When Shaw and his sons entered the Highlands, word would reach Rothiemurchus hours if not days before they did.

“I’ve not seen that gown afore,” Lady Annis said. “It becomes ye well.”

“Her gowns all become her,” Ealga said. “Morag’s become her, too.”

“Thank you, madam,” Catriona said. “I never look as tidy as Morag does, though,” she added, smiling at her good-sister.

“You never take the pains to do so,” Morag said.

“ ’Tis youth that becomes them, Ealga,” Lady Annis said. “Catriona,” she added, “your injured gentleman has not emerged yet, so he’ll get nae rest afore we sup. We must hope that the arrow, in striking his head, did not curdle his brains.”

Catriona chuckled. “If it did, I saw no sign of it. Nor, if he were addled, do I imagine that Granddad would tolerate his presence as long as he has.”

“Let us adjourn to my sitting room whilst they finish setting up the tables,” Lady Ealga suggested. “I told Aodán to show our guest to his room when he does emerge. He will want to refresh himself before facing us again.”

“Before facing Grandame, you mean,” Catriona said, tossing that lady a grin.

“Aye, laugh,” Lady Annis said with a piercing look from under her thin, gray eyebrows. “But know this, impudent one. Ye’ve taken your temperament from me rather than from your gentle mam, so ye’d do well to take a bit o’ my good sense as well. Ye’re impetuous as well as impudent, lassie, and ye can be willful withal.”

Catriona knew better than to return a saucy reply to that observation, especially since it was true. She said coaxingly instead, “You turned out well, Grandame. And I do have you to show me how to go on.”

“Ye do, aye, if ye’ll but listen to me. Now, do we go upstairs, or not?”



Still reluctant to risk declaring himself a member of Clan Cameron, which, truce or none, would likely prejudice his host against him, Fin said, “I will gladly tell you about myself, sir. But I must warn you, I am not at my best and might do better to ascertain first if you have questions about hosting Rothesay’s meeting.”

“I will stay here until Shaw returns,” the Mackintosh replied. “If Davy Stewart wants his meeting before then, we’ll hold it here. Rothiemurchus was my seat until just a few years ago and is as safe as Moigh would be for such a meeting.”

“It does seem safe enough,” Fin agreed. “But the lady Catriona did speak of trouble hereabouts… enough to draw you here from the peace and safety of Castle Moigh. Should Rothesay be wary of such trouble?”

Mackintosh snorted. “Wary of the worthless Comyns? Why should he be? That clan clings to its very existence whilst claiming title to land that has been in Mackintosh hands for a century. They are nobbut a nuisance. One of them has even dared to offer for our Catriona. And some, including my grandson James, do say that we might lay the troubles to rest were her father and I to agree to the match.”

The notion of the forthright lady Catriona involved in such a marriage seemed preposterous to him, but Fin said only, “Such weddings can sometimes succeed in allying otherwise unfriendly clans.”

“Aye, sure,” Mackintosh said. “But Rory Comyn is a lackwit too full of himself for his own good or anyone else’s and too quick to seek offense where none is meant. Moreover, the proposed alliance would benefit only Clan Comyn, because they want Castle Raitt added to Catriona’s tocher, which is a thing I will not do.”

“So Raitt sits on the land that the Comyns claim.”

“It does, but we drift from the main subject, lad, so tell me more about Davy Stewart. I’ll admit that Scotland has seemed more peaceful since he took on the Governorship.” With a chuckle reminiscent of his granddaughter’s, he added dryly, “I doubt that the King’s life is more peaceful, though.”

“There have been ructions,” Fin admitted. Knowing that it would be unwise to add that the ructions had occurred most often with men whose pretty wives had caught Rothesay’s eye, he said, “Doubtless that is one reason he seeks allies who will at least give an appearance of supporting him against Albany.”

“Aye, well, I want to think a bit more on the matter,” Mackintosh said. “Sithee, the lad does be one to reck nowt, and he is headstrong. But drink up now, Fin of the Battles. They’ll be serving supper after they ring yon bell for vespers.”

“Do you keep a chaplain here, sir, or do you lead a service in the hall?”

“Neither. I leave Kirk matters to parsons, bishops, and the like. But I do want to ken the time of day. They’ll be ringing that bell soon, though, and I warrant ye’ll want to have a wash afore our ladies see ye again.”

“I would, aye,” Fin said, feeling a rush of relief at the respite.

“Ye’ll not have time to go upstairs, so just use the ewer and basin in yonder corner,” Mackintosh added, pointing. “The jib door beside the washstand opens on the service stair. If ye want the garderobe, it lies three steps up on your right.”

Realizing that he would be putting off the inevitable if he delayed further, Fin said, “You did say that you wanted to know more about me, sir.”

“I did, aye, but I want to think now. Forbye, the women will ask ye all that at supper, and I’m thinking I have nae need to hear ye spit out the details twice.”



Having returned to the hall with her grandmother and mother while Morag ran up to get a shawl, Catriona had just begun to think that her grandfather might have ordered supper put back when the inner chamber door opened and he stepped through the doorway. Fin followed him, looking freshly scrubbed but tired.

Immediately feeling guilty again about trying to slap him, Catriona smiled and felt a rush of pleasure when he smiled back. The smile was not the small one she had seen on the hillside earlier but wider and more natural, lighting his eyes and revealing his even white teeth.

The Mackintosh strode to the central chair at the long high table, facing the lower hall, and gestured Fin to the seat at his right. Morag hurried in as the other three women took their places. Lady Annis sat at her husband’s left with Ealga next to her, Morag next to Ealga, and Catriona at the end.

For some time, everyone’s attention fixed on servers who proffered platters of food and jugs of whisky and claret. But when Lady Annis had accepted all that she wanted, she leaned forward and said across her husband to their guest, “One trusts that ye’ve found all ye need, sir. Did they show ye to your chamber?”

“Not yet, my lady,” he said. “We talked too long.”

Catriona had leaned forward when her grandmother did, and his gaze caught hers long enough for her to smile before he shifted it politely back to Lady Annis.

“What did ye talk about?” her ladyship demanded of him.

If the question disconcerted Fin, he did not show it. But the Mackintosh said curtly, “What we discussed concerns others, my lady, and will remain between us.”

The emphasis on that single word made Catriona look to her mother, hoping that Ealga might understand what he meant. But Ealga watched her own mother.

Lady Annis kept a gimlet gaze on her husband but turned it at last to Fin and said, “Do such concerns include where ye hail from, Fin of the Battles?”

“At present, my lady, I come from the Scottish Borders,” he said.

“Ye’re not a Borderer by birth, I trow,” she said. “Ye lack the sound and manner of such. Ye sound like ye hail from a place nearer to Glen Mòr.”

“I have lived in the Borders for years, but I do know the Great Glen,” he said. “I spent my childhood in Lochaber near the west shore of Loch Ness. I regret to admit, though,” he added glibly, “that I never saw the monster that dwells there.”

Ignoring that gambit, if gambit it was, Lady Annis said, “My father was Hugh Fraser of Lovat, on the east shore of Loch Ness. I ken most folks fine from Inverness down both shores to Loch Lochy. Who are your parents?”

“My father was known as Teàrlach MacGill, my mother as Fenella nic Ruari,” he said. “I also spent some years in Fife, madam, near its eastern coast.”

A movement from her grandfather—almost a start—diverted Catriona’s attention as Fin spoke. But she could not read the Mackintosh’s expression, because he had fixed his attention on Fin and did not say a word.

Her grandmother said, “Your father’s name does sound as if I ought to know it, but MacGill is a general sort of patronymic, is it not? I expect that your business with the Mackintosh pertains more to your having come here from the Borders. Still, I suppose I must not question you about what you did there or…”

She paused, clearly hoping that he would invite her to question him. But Fin just smiled as if he were waiting for her to finish her sentence.

Sighing, she said, “What did your father do in Fife that required him to take your family so far from Lochaber?”

Fin looked startled then, as if he had not expected the question, but Catriona could not imagine why he would not, since he had mentioned Fife himself. Evidently, they were not to pursue the subject, though, because the Mackintosh said, “Bless me, lad, if I did not forget to ask ye how soon ye’d be expecting your men to join ye.”

“His men?” Lady Annis shifted her attention to her husband again and then back to Fin. “Ye’ve men of your own hereabouts, too? Where are they?”

“I can boast of only two, madam, and they should rejoin me tomorrow or the next day. But now that you bring them to mind, sir, it occurs to me that they’ll seek me at Castle Moigh unless I can get word to them to come here instead.”

The Mackintosh laughed. “By morning, there won’t be a man in Strathspey who does not ken that Catriona brought ye here. I’ll put out word for our people to watch more keenly than usual for strangers, but I trow that your lads will find ye.”

Conversation became desultory after that, although Catriona had hoped that her grandmother would press Fin harder for information about himself and his family, because she had sensed soon after meeting him that he was keeping secrets. Moreover, although his antecedents sounded common, he had traveled more than most Highlanders did and spoke better than most other noblemen.

And his sword was that of a warrior.

However, the Mackintosh bore him away to the inner chamber again when the two had finished eating, saying cryptically that he had made his decision.

The statement stirred her curiosity. What decision, and why not share it with all of them? They would doubtless learn of it in time, but she wanted to know now.



Following the Mackintosh into his chamber, Fin was glad to see that he did not reach for the whisky jug. His head ached, and he was sure that it ached as much from the whisky he’d had before supper as from the gash suffered earlier. The ache had a familiar dullness about it and a depth that reminded him of mornings in his youth that had come too early, after he had imbibed too freely of the potent stuff.

He would have liked a mug of spring water. But he decided that, rather than troubling his host, he would ask a gillie to fetch some for him when he retired.

Mackintosh returned to his chair but gestured Fin to remain standing. “Ye look as if ye’d do better to take to your bed, lad, so I’ll not keep ye,” he said. “I do agree to host Rothesay’s meeting here with the lords of the Isles and the North.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Aye, well, I ken them both. Donald of the Isles and Alex of Lochindorb are both men of their word, so I’ll grant them safe conduct to come here. But I’ll want their word, and Davy Stewart’s, that they’ll come here without great tails of men.”

“Rothesay told them the same, sir, because he does not want them to draw notice, as they would with their normal entourages. But Donald will need your safe conduct, since he is not welcome in the western Highlands, where he covets much land. When my lads arrive, I’ll send one to Perth to tell Rothesay you have agreed.”

“Aye, good. Now, just shout up yon service stair for my man, Conal, and ask him to show ye to your chamber. He’ll ken where they’ve put ye, and that way ye’ll not have to talk more with the women but can get right to sleep.”

Fin, feeling his weariness again, was more than willing to obey.




Stirling Castle



Robert Stewart, erstwhile Earl of Fife and now Duke of Albany, looked up from the document he had been reading when, with a single sharp rap, a gillie opened the door to his sanctum and stepped back to admit a visitor.

Still lanky and fit in his sixty-first year, his dark hair streaked white in places, but otherwise showing few signs of age, the duke continued as always to favor all-black clothing and obedient minions. In his usual curt way, when the gillie had shut the door again, Albany said, “What news have you, Redmyre?”

“We ken little of note yet,” Sir Martin Lindsay of Redmyre said. “He is still in Perth, but I have found someone from the area in question to aid us.”

“You may speak freely here,” Albany said, pouring him a goblet of claret.

The two men had known and trusted each other for years, because although the stocky Redmyre was younger by more than a decade, they shared like views on Albany’s right to power. They also shared a loathing for the heir to Scotland’s throne.

Redmyre accepted the wine, saying, “Right, then. I’ve found a man to watch Rothesay if he heads into the Highlands. And my chap, Comyn, has kinsmen who will aid us if it means stirring trouble for the Lord of the North. I ken fine that you have men listening everywhere, but are you sure Rothesay will make for Strathspey?”

“I am, because Davy drinks too much and then talks too much.”

“Aye, and wenches too much, by God,” Redmyre growled.

“Just so, but your sister is safe now, and her husband won’t dare to abandon her. I do not know that Davy will go to Lochindorb, but he does want help from Alex. In any event, Davy is unfit to rule this realm as Governor, and must be unseated.”

“Aye, then, we’re in agreement. I’ll report to you when I learn more.”

Albany knew that he would, and that Redmyre would exert every effort to bring Rothesay to book. There were others like Redmyre, too, who would help.



When Catriona, her mother, and Morag went upstairs to their bedchambers, they went together as far as the landing outside Lady Ealga’s room. Noting that the smaller room across from it showed no candlelight under the door, Catriona hoped that her grandfather had sent Fin to bed. He had looked woefully tired.

When she and Morag had bade Ealga goodnight and continued up the stairs, Morag muttered, “I hope your mam will be safe with that man sleeping there.”

“God-a-mercy, why should she not be?” Catriona said. “He is injured and exhausted, so I warrant he wants only to sleep.”

“Doubtless, James would agree with me,” Morag said stubbornly.

“Then I wish James were here, because if he was, mayhap you would cease to be so glum all the time,” Catriona replied, and was instantly sorry.

Her good-sister was not a close friend, but Catriona knew that Morag was unhappy at Rothiemurchus. Indeed, her unhappiness had long since persuaded Catriona that she never wanted to marry and have to live among strangers.

“I apologize, Morag,” she said sincerely. “I should not have said that.”

“Nay, you should not,” Morag said, passing her to go to her own room.

Letting her go, Catriona went to bed and lay contemplating the man she had met that day, wondering how it was that, having known him such a short time, she could feel as if she knew him well one moment and not at all the next, and how he had so easily stirred a temper that she thought she had learned to keep well banked.

She slept at last, and when she awoke, the sky outside her unshuttered window was gray. From her bed, it was hard to tell the hour, but it seemed earlier than usual, so she got up, wrapped her quilt around her to keep the chill off, and went to the window.

Her view extended over the wooded north end of the island to the loch, and she could see over the wall to the northeastern shoreline beyond it to her right.

A figure walked there, a well-shaped masculine figure, completely naked. Feeling chillier just watching him, she drew the quilt closer. He turned then and raised his face toward the gray eastern sky. She had suspected who it was the moment she saw him, but there could be no mistaking him now.

As she watched, he looked from the gray sky back to the equally gray water before him, took a few running steps, and dove in.

Flinging the quilt aside, Catriona snatched her old blue kirtle from the hook where Ailvie had hung it, threw it on over her head, pulled the front lacing tight, and tied it swiftly. Without a thought for her hair, let alone for washing her face or hands, she flew barefoot down the stairs and past the great hall to the main entry.

There she paused. Drawing a deep breath, she pulled open the door and went with more dignity down the timber stairs and across the yard to the gateway.