Highland Master

chapter 8



Catriona watched warily as Ivor took the jug from her, trying to decide if he was angry or amused. Either mood would annoy her, but the latter one was safer.

He said, “Come in, Cat, so I can shut the door. But I warn you, you may not learn all that you want to know. Some things are not for you to hear.”

“Sakes, you of all people should know that I can keep a secret,” she said. “I’ll hold my tongue about the two of you knowing each other,” she added when he frowned. “But only if you will tell me how that came to be so.”

“I hope that is not a threat,” Ivor said, his tone sending a shiver up her spine.

“Don’t scold her, Hawk,” Fin said. “I’ve already promised to tell her what I can, but I did want to discuss things first with you.”

“Aye, well, we met at St. Andrews,” Ivor said, taking the jug from her and pulling out its stopper. As he poured wine into one of the goblets, he added, “You will recall that Granddad and Father sent me to the bishop there some years ago.”

“To study, aye,” she said, trying to remember what she could of those days. “I was no more than a bairn when you left, being six years younger than you are.”

With the quick, unexpected smile that often surprised her after she had irked him, he held the goblet out to Fin and said, “I do know that, lass.”

“I just meant that you cannot expect me to recall much about those days. I must have been about four when you left. And although you came back each year for a visit… long enough to teach me things such as to paddle our raft and to swim… you were away much of the time until I was nearly ten. I don’t know anything about St. Andrews except that you learned to read well there.”

“We did, aye, and learned much else forbye,” Ivor said.

“Also, you did teach me my letters and numbers.”

“Bishop Traill believes in educating anyone who wants to learn, and many who do not,” Ivor said with a wry look. “He believes that if men learn the history of places beyond their ken, and about each other, they will better understand themselves and other men—other countries, too, such as England and France, come to that.”

“But if you were a student with Fin… with Sir Finlagh,” she amended hastily, “then why did you not know his name?” She glanced at Fin, but he kept silent.

“For the same reason that he did not know my name,” Ivor said. “Traill’s students study at St. Andrews by invitation. He chooses mostly younger sons of powerful nobles and clansmen, as well as other lads who show promise in their studies, or with weapons, or in other ways.”

“What other ways?”

Ivor smiled again. “One friend of ours had already gained much expertise in sailing ships and galleys when he joined us.”

“I can see how ships might help the bishop spread understanding, if that is what he was to do. But why would a man of the Kirk teach you skill with weapons?”

“Because, in our world, such skill earns respect,” Fin told her. “And when a man commands respect, others listen to him. If he doesn’t, they don’t.”

“Why younger sons, then?” To Ivor, she added quickly, “In troth, sir, I’d think that James would command respect more easily because he will inherit Rothiemurchus. He might even inherit the captaincy of Clan Chattan.”

“Aye, sure,” Ivor said. “But Traill prefers to teach men more likely to go into the world. Sithee, lass, although some eldest sons do achieve knighthood, all who survive long enough eventually have to tend to their estates and their people.”

“Bishop Traill told us much of this over the years,” Fin said. “He also seeks lads who are less likely than eldest sons to be thoroughly steeped in their clan’s rivalries. The reason that your brother and I did not know each other’s names is that as soon as we arrived at St. Andrews, we received our student names—”

“Hawk and Lion,” she said, remembering that Ivor had called him Lion.

“Aye,” Fin said. “And the others had similar ones. We had to swear by our honor not to seek information about other students, their clans, or their homes. Our world whilst we lived at St. Andrews had to be St. Andrews, because we came from all over Scotland and his reverence did not want clan war to erupt at the castle.”

“I fear that I would have tried to find out, anyway,” Catriona said.

Fin’s smile warmed her. “The bishop made it a matter of honor, my lady, and all of us yearned to seek knighthood. We knew that if we sacrificed our honor to satisfy mere curiosity, that goal would fly beyond our grasp. Traill also believes in chivalry. And he had a strong right arm with a switch or a tawse.”

“So you and Ivor have not seen each other since then, until now?”

The two men looked at each other.

“You have!” she exclaimed. “Did you not learn each other’s names then?”



Understanding from Ivor’s expressionless face that he’d leave it to him to answer that question, Fin said, “We have seen each other once since then. But only once and in circumstances that allowed for only brief conversation.”

She met his gaze and seemed to study him for a long moment before she said, “You are not going to tell me more than that, are you?”

“Not yet,” he said. “Your brother and I must talk more before we do.”

“So, despite all our talks together, you still do not trust me to keep silent.”

He hesitated and, by the look on her face, knew that he had hesitated too long. A glance at Hawk… Ivor… told him that he would get no help there, so Fin caught and held Catriona’s gaze as he said, “I told you that I would reveal what I could, and I have done that. By my troth, although there is more to tell, my not telling you has little to do with my trust in you and much to do with the fact that we do not yet know whether the information may endanger you or even ourselves.”

“But—”

“That will do, Cat,” Hawk said. “You have known the man for little more than a sennight, so you cannot expect him to trust you all in all. Such trust does not bloom so quickly but must grow over time. Moreover, if you expect him to trust you, you need to exert yourself first to trust him. Think, lass! This matter is one about which he—and I, too—know much more than you do. If we tell you that it may be dangerous for you to know too much, you should trust us.”

Fin could tell that she was reluctant to accept Hawk’s argument. So, when she shifted her gaze to himself, he met it and held it until she quirked her mouth wryly and sighed. He knew then that she would yield.

Tempted as he was to promise that he would tell her everything as soon as he could, he would not do so without knowing that he could keep that promise. He would talk to her later, more privately, and if she wanted to fratch with him then, she could. He could tell from Ivor’s expression that he would not extend the discussion to soothe her temper and that Ivor still had more to say to him.

The silence lengthened for another beat or two before Ivor said lightly, “I could tell you some fine tales about Fin’s days at St. Andrews, Cat. But I fear that he may have worse ones to tell about me.”

She smiled then. “I’ll coax those tales out of both of you one day.”

“Aye, sure, you will,” he said. “For now, though, you must leave us to our talk. We do thank you for the wine, although I have a strong suspicion that it was your own notion and not Grandame’s to bring it to us.”

Chuckling, she bade them both goodnight and left the chamber.

Ivor said, “Don’t imagine that you are going anywhere, my lad.”

“I don’t,” Fin said, holding out his goblet. “But I want more wine.”

Ivor refilled both goblets, saying, “It occurs to me that I still don’t know exactly who you are. Don’t you think that it’s time you told me?”

“I do, aye,” Fin said, as several ways of saying it flashed through his mind. Opting for bluntness, he said, “My father was Teàrlach MacGillony.”

“The king of archers, who died at Perth. He must be the man by whom you were kneeling when I saw you. I wasn’t sure then that it was you, not until you stood up. So you are a full Cameron then and not from one of the minor tribes. Have you revealed that interesting fact to my grandfather?”

“I didn’t have to. He said that I look just like my father and took me severely to task for telling Lady Annis that his name was Teàrlach MacGill. Said my da would have clouted me good for saying such a thing. He would have, too.”

“That was a terrible day, that battle at Perth,” Ivor said soberly. “We’re going to have to make a clean breast of it to them, you know.”

“What do you mean?” Fin asked, hoping that his own deeper thoughts about vengeance and sacred oaths had not revealed themselves. “Did you not—?”

“I fear that I was not entirely truthful afterward with my father and others of Clan Chattan, and James was not there. He wields a sword skillfully, but he has not won his knighthood. And, as you will recall, the royal command was for thirty champions on each side that day.”

“So you are a better swordsman than James. That does not surprise me, Hawk. You are more skilled than most, albeit not as skilled as you are with a bow.”

“Not skilled enough with a sword to defeat you, Lion. Sakes, though, I expect that we’d better start calling each other Fin and Ivor now.”

“What did you tell your people?”

“After you dove in, Father asked what you had said to me. That was easy enough, since neither of us had said much of consequence.”

“I said your name,” Fin told him. “I don’t recall what I said after that.” Then he did remember more. “I said that they’d flay you, but you told me you’d be a hero. Not until afterward did I realize that you had meant that they would call me coward. And so I was, I expect. But I could not fight you.”

“Don’t be daft, man. Would you have gone into that river had I not urged you to go? And don’t pretend that I did not. You heard and understood me plainly.”

“Did I? I doubt that I was thinking at all by then.”

“Would you say to my face that I had nowt to do with your departure?”

Fin shook his head. “You know I won’t do that. But neither do I agree that you should tell them that it was your idea. I made the choice, my friend.”

“Are we still friends then? Nowt has changed?”

“As far as I am concerned, you and I are still as close as brothers. Sakes, I feel closer to you than I ever felt to Ewan.” Memory of the vengeance that he had sworn to claim stirred then so harshly that it was all he could do not to wince in response to it. But how could he ever kill his best friend’s father, Catriona’s father? He heard her voice then in his mind: “Life is always more important than death,” she had said. “An honorable man cannot kill to protect his honor.”

“What is it?” Ivor asked him.

“Nowt,” Fin said. “If you did not tell them the truth, what did you say?”

“I told them the same thing I’d said to you, that I had had enough of killing for one day and thought that someone from your side ought to stay alive to tell his version of the tale. Father was sure that you must have drowned, but we’ll have to tell him and Granddad the truth—aye, and James, too.”

“And Catriona,” Fin said. “I don’t look forward to that.”

“So you haven’t told her yet about Perth. Not even that you were there?”

“I haven’t mentioned Perth to her.” It occurred to him that, at St. Andrews, Hawk would have been the first person to whom he would have confided his dilemma. They would have talked it over until both had agreed on what the best course of action would be. That he could not do that now added to the pain that his indecision had cost him over the years.

“You must tell her,” Ivor said. “But stand back when you do. We don’t call her Wildcat without reason. She has claws, sharp ones, and although she keeps them sheathed most of the time, she does not hesitate to use them when she’s angry.”

“As I said earlier, I have seen that she has a quick temper, but she seems usually to keep it under control,” Fin said.

“Just wait,” Ivor warned him with a grin. “Now, I keep a dice cup in here. Are you of a mind to throw against me for a while?”

“Aye, sure,” Fin said, drawing up a stool while Ivor moved a table close to the narrow bed and then sat on the bed.

As he did, Fin had a sudden stray notion that Hell might just be a place where every resident faced a dilemma like his, and where the only way out was to find the right answer to an unanswerable question.



Catriona had paused outside Ivor’s door, because as she had closed it, she’d heard Ivor say, “Don’t imagine that you are going anywhere, my lad.”

But once the heavy door had shut, she could hear only the hum of their voices. She could tell Fin’s voice from Ivor’s but could not make out their words.

Moreover, she knew that it might occur to Ivor that she would try to listen. If he caught her, she did not want to think about the consequences.

She did not want to go to her own room, because she was not sleepy and Ailvie would be there. Nor did she want to rejoin the older women. She wanted to think, which required solitude, so she made her way quietly down to the kitchen.

It was dark, except for the glow of embers in the huge fireplace. But the embers cast enough light to show her the way to the scullery and to reveal Boreas curled by the hearth with the kitten that had adopted him sprawled across his neck. Boreas opened his eyes, then shut them when Catriona signaled him to stay.

Lifting the bar from the scullery door, she eased it ajar and stepped outside. Then, leaning against the wall, she inhaled the crisp night air and relaxed, gazing up at the thick blanket of stars in the moonless sky while she considered what Ivor and Fin had told her and tried to imagine their life at St. Andrews.

As she did, she realized that the two men had much in common. Both had an air of easy confidence, and from what she had seen of Fin’s skill with a sword, he was almost as fine a swordsman as Ivor was. She smiled, realizing that they must both have been thinking of Ivor when they’d argued about great archers.

She had always thought Ivor easy to talk to, and by comparison with James, he was. Fin was even easier to talk with, because Fin expressed more interest in what she said. Ivor was impatient and less likely to listen as carefully or discuss things as thoroughly as Fin did. And Ivor had never stirred her senses the way…

Feeling fire surge into her cheeks at the direction her idle thoughts had taken, and imagining Ivor’s outraged reaction to such a comparison, she realized that Fin outdid him in another way. Although she had always tried to avoid arousing Ivor’s quick temper, the very thought of angering Fin disturbed her more.

Where Ivor raged and might even wreak vengeance, Fin had only to look at her to make her feel his displeasure. Thinking then of what else Fin could make her feel, she let her imagination linger on those thoughts.

Realizing abruptly that the longer she stayed the more she risked discovery, she went back inside and replaced the bar across the door, hoping she would not meet her father on her way upstairs. With so many extra men at the castle, Shaw would not accept the excuse that she had just sought solitude and fresh air. Wincing at the thought of his most likely response—that he would give her all the solitude she needed by confining her to her bedchamber for a sennight—she went quickly.



“There is one other thing I’d like to ask you,” Fin said after he and Ivor had cast dice for exorbitant, albeit imaginary, wagers for a time. “Sithee, I’ve been thinking more about Bishop Traill and our meeting here as we did.”

“I have, too,” Ivor said, scooping the dice up into the cup. Covering a yawn, he added, “Traill may have much more to do with this business than we knew.”

“I’m coming to think so,” Fin admitted. “As Bishop of St. Andrews, he has the ear of the royal family, and thus wields influence over the King and the Queen, as well as Rothesay, so perhaps he influences Albany, too. And perhaps…” He paused. “Do you know yet who else will be attending Rothesay’s meeting here?”

“I thought that it was to be just my grandfather, my father, Alex, and Davy’s minions. Do you mean to say that someone else is coming?”

Fin nodded. “The Lord of the Isles.”

“Donald? But everyone in the Great Glen—aye, and west of it, too—would do all they can to keep his ships from touching shore, let alone allow him to cross their lands with his army to get here. Sakes, everyone knows that he covets control of the western Highlands, and more. How the devil will he get here?”

“He’ll carry safe conducts from Rothesay and the Mackintosh, and he brings no army but only a small tail of men, as Alex will,” Fin said. “Sithee, Rothesay needs them both to stand with him against Albany. The Mackintosh suggests, and I agree, that Davy likely wants them both to promise him their votes when his provisional term as Governor of the Realm expires in six months. After all, if they will agree to that, most men who support them will also support Davy.”

“Then it is possible that someone else from our group is serving Donald, as I serve Alex and you serve Davy. Any number of us may be mixed up in this.”

“Aye,” Fin agreed. “And if so, we become part of a much greater conspiracy against Albany, do we not? My concern is that the more people Davy involves, the greater the risk grows that Albany will learn of it.”

“I’d wager that he already has. Does Davy understand the danger he is in?”

“He knows that Albany wants to take the Governorship back into his own hands. In troth, Davy believes that his uncle covets the throne.”

“Albany is not next in line,” Ivor pointed out.

“Nay, but Davy’s brother, James, is just seven, and Albany is next after him.”

“Some would say that Albany is better suited to take the throne than Davy is. Many more agree that Scotland does need a stronger king.”

“Aye, but Davy is the heir, and I believe that he will be a strong king. Sithee, he believes in the people. Albany believes only in acquiring power for Albany.”

“We’ll have to wait, then, and see who triumphs, won’t we?”

“Aye,” Fin said. But he felt a chill shoot up his spine as he said it.

“I’m for bed,” Ivor said. “I’ve not slept a full night in four months.”

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Fin said, putting out his hand. “ ’Tis glad I am to have you as my friend, Hawk, and to be talking things over with you again.”

Firmly grasping his outstretched hand, Ivor shook it, saying, “I, too, Lion.”

Fin left then, hoping that they would still be friends when the events they had set in motion had played themselves out.

As he rounded the torchlit curve before his landing, he met Catriona hurrying upstairs. She stopped, staring wide-eyed at him, her cheeks suffusing with color.

Amused, he said sternly, “And just what mischief have you been up to, my lass, to put such fire in your cheeks?”



Catriona gaped at Fin, feeling his gaze with every fiber of her being.

Standing two steps above her, he looked taller and larger than ever, and he filled the stairway so that she knew she would have to brush against him to get by.

She felt the heat in her cheeks spread elsewhere when the thought of pressing against him grew to a mental image that included his arms slipping around her and pulling her close. She drew a sharp breath but could not think.

“Cat got your—” He broke off, chuckling. “I expect that that old saw does not find much favor with you, does it?”

“It does not, although my brothers have long delighted in finding new ways to say such things. One of James’s favorites was always to promise that he would do something before Cat could lick her ear.”

“Is that your tactful way of saying I’d be wiser not to call you Cat as they do?”

“I did not mean that, nay.” Aware that she was standing outside her mother’s room and wondering if the other women had come upstairs, or the men, she glanced warily at the closed door.

Apparently oblivious to her concern, he said in a normal speaking tone, “You still have not said what happened to put such color in your cheeks.”

“Perhaps you do not know that you are blocking my way.”

“Am I?” He stepped down a step.

Tension filled the air around her, raising the hairs on her arms and drying her lips. Wetting them with the tip of her tongue, she glanced again at the door of her mother’s bedchamber and listened for footsteps that might be her father’s coming up the stairs. Looking up at Fin, she muttered, “You know that you are.”

His eyes twinkled. “Nay, then, why should I? Nervous, lass? I’ll wager that you have been up to mischief, then. If so, and if I am to let you pass, I believe I should collect a toll as a small penalty for your misbehavior.”

“I have not misbehaved.”

“Ah, but you have. Why else would you keep looking at that door as if you expect it to open and an ogre to leap out and call you to account for yourself?”

“Prithee, sir, keep your voice down. Anyone on this stairway will hear you.” But she looked at the door again, sure that it was about to fly open.

“If you fear discovery, you had best get upstairs, had you not? I’ll just tell anyone who comes that I was flirting with a maidservant who has since fled.”

“Good sakes, do you flirt with maidservants in other people’s households? I thought that only your royal master did such things. I expect I should have known that you would be just like him, though.”

His eyes narrowed dangerously, but before she had time to realize that the feeling that raced up her spine was not fear but delight at having stirred him to such a look, it vanished. He said, “Art going to tell me where you have been or not?”

Pretending to consider which answer she would give, she said, “Not, I think. Why should I trust you with such a confidence when you do not trust me?”

“So that still rankles, does it?” He stepped down again, so that he stood on the landing with her, crowding her as if to see if she would step back.

She did not, but her body hummed at his nearness.

“I won’t insist that you tell me,” he said quietly. “But, as Ivor and I told you, if word of what we discussed drifts beyond these walls, it could put others at risk. I’d wager that you would put only yourself at risk by answering my question.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “But you do want to know, and that makes us even.”

“Does it?” He put a finger under her chin, tilting her face higher. Moving his own face close enough so that she could feel his breath on her lips, he said softly, “Art so sure now that we are even, little Cat?”

That single fingertip seemed to burn into the soft skin under her chin, and she could smell the subtle essence of wine on the breath that caressed her lips. Without conscious thought, her lips parted.

He bent nearer, slowly, so slowly that she could not think, could not even breathe. She could only anticipate the moment when his lips would touch hers.

The moment stretched until her whole body tingled and warmed, and then his mouth brushed hers… lightly and so softly that it was as if no more than a warm wind had followed his wine-scented breath to caress her.

He did it again, and she was concentrating so hard on what he would do next with his mouth that when his hands touched her shoulders and stroked lightly downward, she gasped and leaned toward him on tiptoe, pressing her lips to his.

His felt warm and soft, but she scarcely had time for that thought to enter her mind before he slid his arms around her and his right hand moved gently up her back and under her veil until his fingers could weave themselves in the plaits at her nape. He held her so, kissed her, and tasted her lips with his tongue, gently at first and then more urgently until she parted them, and he slid his tongue inside.

The hand that had remained on her shoulder moved slowly, tantalizingly, to the small of her back, teasing her senses as it moved. Then he pressed her closer to him until she felt his body move against hers. His mouth moved more possessively as his tongue explored hers, and she could feel her breasts swelling against him. They had come alive when he touched her, in a way she had never known before.

With a sigh, he gave her a last soft kiss on the lips and then set her back on her heels. Somehow his hands came to rest lightly again on her shoulders.

She blinked and looked up at him, wishing that he had not stopped.

“You go up to your chamber now, lass. But we must talk more. Will you walk with me on the shore again in the morning, early?”

She stared at him, wondering what had come over her… sakes, over him! Was he imagining that one such kiss meant that she sought more? What was he thinking?

Striving to sound as if she were in full possession of her senses, she said, “Ailvie will have to come with us. My father would dislike it otherwise.”

He frowned. “I don’t want to share what I have to say to you, lass. Would it suffice if she walks far enough behind to see us without hearing us?”

“Aye, I’ll tell her.”

“At dawn then,” he said. “Now go.”