Highland Master

chapter 9



Fin waited until Catriona had disappeared around the curve of the wheel stair before he opened the door to his chamber. Warm candle glow greeted him.

As he had expected, Ian Lennox was waiting to assist with his ablutions. The brush and breeks he held told Fin that Ian had been seeing to his usual chores.

When Ian looked up at him with a smile, Fin shut the door and said bluntly, “How much could you hear just now of what took place out on the stairway?”

Ian’s smile vanished. “Only enough to know that one voice was yours, sir. I heard nowt of the other person and could not make out even if you spoke the Gaelic or Scot. You ken fine, though, that I’d never repeat aught that I’d heard.”

“I do know that, Ian. But whilst we are here at Rothiemurchus, I want you to keep an even closer guard than usual on your tongue. Also, I want you and Toby to learn all you can from others in the yard and in the hall. Practice your Gaelic, for enemies may soon surround us despite Rothesay’s hope of finding allies.”

“Enemies, sir? More than just the Duke of Albany?”

“The Lord of the Isles will be here. He has no love for the Lord of the North and less for Highlanders who resist his own insatiable thirst to add them to his realm. In troth, Donald would control the Highlands from the west coast to Perth.”

“What about the Lord of the North, sir? I ken nowt o’ the man save that his father’s numerous offspring were all bastards.”

“You’d be wise not to prattle about that here, I think,” Fin said.

“I don’t prattle,” Ian said. “Be there more I should know about the man?”

“I doubt that he covets more land, as Donald does. Alex assumed the Lordship of the North despite Albany’s having named his own son to inherit it. But the people hereabouts are doubtless grateful for that. They seem to like Alex.”

“I do know Albany’s son,” Ian said, setting the well-brushed breeks aside. “A soft-living, preening coxcomb, I’d call him, not a man of knightly skills.”

“He has none,” Fin agreed. “Sakes, Albany himself despises him.”

Ian chuckled. “The new Earl of Douglas is the same. Men called his father Archie the Grim, but they call the son ‘the Tyneman’ because he is such a bad leader. Why is it, do you think, that powerful men so often beget weak sons?”

“I can tell you only what my father said about it,” Fin said. “He was a clan war leader, so he saw what happened with other such men. He said most powerful men trust only themselves to resolve problems properly. So, they constantly correct their sons, trying to teach them to think as they do, rather than how to make good decisions. The result, he said, was that they teach their sons instead to have little or no confidence in their own opinions—the opposite of what most fathers seek to do.”

“But is that not how any father teaches a son, by correcting his errors?”

“A wise father acts otherwise,” Fin said. “Or so my own told me. He said it is more important that a man learn to trust his own instincts and his own decisions than to believe that he must try to pattern them after someone else’s.”

“Sakes,” Ian said, “how do you teach anyone that?”

“The same way that I hope I am teaching you,” Fin said. “By letting you make decisions whenever it is safe for you to make a mistake, so that you can learn from those mistakes. A mistake that a man can see and measure for himself—if it does not kill him—will teach him more than any parent or superior can.”

“But you do tell me when I err,” Ian said with an almost comical grimace.

“Aye, sure, I do. That is one consequence of your mistake. But you will note that I rarely intervene beforehand to prevent you from making the mistake.”

“In point of fact, sir, I have noted that and cursed you for it more than once when I thought that you might have warned me,” Ian said dryly. “It occurs to me, however, that you have not given me a clout for some time now.”

“Your decisions and judgment have improved, lad. And you have gained more confidence withal. The result is that you think and act more swiftly and more decisively, which gives the men that you command more confidence in you.”

“They don’t always show it.”

“What do you do when they don’t?” Fin asked him.

Ian smiled. “I seek advice from you, of course.”

“Then you and I discuss the matter privately between us, aye. But, sithee, if a man is always wondering what a mentor would say or do, he slows down the whole process of deciding, which would be fatal error in battle. But by watching and learning from others’ mistakes and talking over things that don’t go as you thought they would, you also learn just what sort of leader you want to be.”

“I think I ken that fine now, sir,” Ian said with a direct look.

“Aye, well, we’ll see. Meantime, I will not need you in the morning, so you may catch up on your sleep unless Toby can use your help.”

Ian nodded and ten minutes later, Fin was alone in the dark room.

It was some time, though, before he slept. He could still taste Catriona’s lips and feel her supple, curvaceous, warm body in his arms. That feeling faded, though, as his thoughts about her took him in another direction.

Having concluded that he had to tell her about his part in the battle at Perth and what happened there, he tried to imagine how to tell her the truth in a way that would not make her loathe him. As he did, it occurred to him that the minute he told her that he had been at Perth, she would know that that was where he and Ivor had had the one meeting that they had admitted having since their St. Andrews days.

Strangely, the urgency of resolving his dilemma had faded.

He no longer felt it looming, waiting for his guard to fall so that his conscience—or the presence of his father that he felt so often in his mind—could pummel him for failing to fulfill his sacred bequest.

At first, while he had spoken so loftily to Ian about learning to make good decisions, he had felt as if Teàrlach MacGillony’s ghost were waiting to leap to life and fling lightning bolts at him by way of reproaches.

Instead, that talk seemed to have eased his sense of urgency more.



After Ailvie had retired to her own cot, Catriona lay in bed trying to sort out her thoughts about Fin. For a time, she let herself dwell on memories of their kiss and thoughts of where he might be imagining it could lead. Was that why he wanted to walk with her? Did he think that she would marry him and let him take her away, only to leave her in Lochaber with his people when he rode off to knightly duties?

What manner of man was he, exactly?

Thinking again of what he and Ivor had said about St. Andrews, she decided that the information was of no aid to her in figuring out what was going on at Rothiemurchus. They had been boys then, not men involved in dangerous acts.

Both were knights, experienced in battle. And they had met once since St. Andrews under circumstances that kept them from learning each other’s true names.

Her next thought followed easily but startled her so that she could scarcely think beyond it. She could imagine only one event that might have allowed such a meeting, and if it had, no wonder they did not trust her to keep silent.

If they had met in battle and Fin had tried to kill Ivor, or Ivor to kill Fin…

What would her father or mother think of that? Or her grandparents!

But if the two men had forgiven each other…

She tried to think more about that, but her thoughts drifted ahead to the morning walk she would have with Fin. She wondered if he would swim again. That thought stirred the sensations she had felt when he kissed her on the stairs, and she let her thoughts linger again on the image of him walking naked on the shore.

She wondered how it would feel to swim with him, to hug him underwater, to feel his skin all damp and slick, to touch him all over and let him touch her.

Familiar scratching at the door rudely jerked her from her fantasy.

Getting up, she let Boreas into the room, chuckling at the sight of the tiny shadow scrambling onto the landing behind him and dashing after the dog into the room. By the time she had climbed back into bed and blown out her candle, both were lying beside the bed, the dog curled around the kitten, the kitten expressing its satisfaction with a purr much louder than its size seemed to warrant.

Catriona shut her eyes to return to her fantasy only to awaken earlier than usual with a start and an exploding fear that she was late, that Fin would already have gone out and come back in. A look out the window reassured her.

The sky had lightened, but the sun had not peeked over the mountains.

Flinging on her blue kirtle, she decided not to waken Ailvie but whisked her shawl across her shoulders and hurried out to the yard with Boreas and his tiny friend following in their own fashion. They crossed the yard, and when a man-at-arms stepped forward, she said, “Prithee open the gate. I am going for a walk.”

“Aye, sure, m’lady. With all these other louts about, ye should ken that Sir Finlagh be out there somewhere. Likely, he’ll keep an eye to your safety.”

Until he spoke, she had not considered that he might try to stop her, but she knew she ought to have brought Ailvie. Her father would say so. But her grandfather had let her walk outside the wall with Fin, so perhaps Shaw would not object.

Fin was but one man, after all. And she could take care of herself.

Boreas loped past her, and as her gaze followed him, she saw Fin striding toward her. An urge stirred for her to run to him. To stifle it, she reached down for the kitten, but it eluded her grasp and darted madly after the dog.

Grinning, Fin stopped to watch them, and as she approached him, he said, “I have seen odder friends, I expect. But Boreas does seem to take adoration in stride.”

“He does, and at times to the kitten’s grief. It likes to chase his feet and when it darts after his forepaws, it sometimes gets kicked by the hind ones and goes flying.”

“I trust you slept well,” he said.

Remembering her fantasies before she slept and the lingering remnants of at least one dream, she felt heat flood her cheeks as it had the night before.

To divert his attention, lest he ask again about the fire in them, she said, “Did you and Ivor meet in battle, sir? Is that why you would not tell me more about it?”



Fin decided that the lass was either a witch or far too observant and quick-witted for any man’s peace of mind.

That her blushes had made him want to grab her and kiss her did little to ease his disquiet. He had not meant to begin his explanation with the battle.

To gain time, he said, “What makes you think that?”

She cocked her head. “You are called Fin of the Battles, are you not? And both of you are knights. Moreover, you said that the place and time precluded your learning each other’s true names. What is more likely than that you met in battle?”

Resigned, he said, “We did meet in battle, aye, at the end of it to be precise.”

“Faith, did you fight each other?”

“We did not.”

“But if you were fighting on the same side, then surely—”

“We were not on the same side,” he said. “Let us walk farther from the castle, lass. If we are going to fratch over this, I’d liefer not do it before an audience of your father’s men on that wall.”

“Are we likely to fratch?”

“I don’t know. You will decide that.”

She nodded, and they walked in silence until they reached the woodland.

Then he said, “Since you apparently forgot to bring your maidservant, should we stop where they can still see us, or may we enter the woods?”

“We can go into the woods,” she said. “My grandfather trusts you, and I expect my father has decided to trust you, too. Sithee, the guard at the gate told me that despite the extra men at the castle, I would be safe out here with you.”

“Did he, in troth?”

Nodding again, she led the way into the woods and along the path they had taken before. As they walked, he wondered what sort of game the Mackintosh and Shaw might be playing that they would allow him such liberty with her. Did they put so much faith in the truce between the two confederations?

That they trusted him at all was disconcerting, since the Mackintosh knew his identity and had surely told Shaw at the first opportunity. In Fin’s experience, other people’s trust often created a strong and, at times, even burdensome sense of responsibility. In light of the dilemma he had long carried, however, such trust from the Mackintosh men would, he knew, be a heavier burden than usual.

When he and Catriona came to the old raft leaning against the tree, she stopped and faced him. “Now, sir, prithee explain yourself.”

He raised his eyebrows, but she met the look steadily.

“Shall we sit?” he asked, gesturing toward a fallen tree with a trunk thick enough to let them both sit easily.

“Just tell me when and where you and Ivor met.”

“Nay, now. I’ll tell you, but I’ll tell it in my own way. By my troth, I meant to tell you, in any event. ’Tis the reason that I asked you to walk with me today.”

“It is?” She eyed him narrowly. “That is the reason?”

He returned her look with one of his own. “Sakes, what else did you think? I told you I’d explain it when I could, that I just needed to talk more with Ivor first.”

“Some might think that you two just needed to get your story straight.”

“Might they? Then I am glad that you do not number amongst them.”

“What makes you think I do not?”

“People who leap to such conclusions are usually not trustworthy themselves, lass. Since you insist that you are entirely trust—”

“Enough, sir. I should not have said what I did. I just did not want to tell you what I’d thought. But neither will I let you divert me further from the point.”

“Aye, well, I won’t press you then,” he said. “But I do think that we will be more comfortable if we sit.”

“I don’t want you to be comfortable. I want to know.”

“Aye, well…” He paused. “Sithee, the Bishop of St. Andrews—”

“Bishop Traill.”

“Aye. He taught us more than our numbers and letters.”

“You told me that. He and his minions also taught you weaponry.”

“Aye, and tactics of war from Roman times onward. But more than any of that, he taught us the great and lasting value of strong friendships.”

“Such as the friendship that you have with Ivor?”

“Aye,” he said and saw her relax as he said it. “Now sit, lass, do. I’ll tell you what you want to know, but I can tell it more easily—aye, and more clearly, too—if you do not quiz me or eye me like a wildcat about to seize its prey.”

She chuckled then and moved to sit at the far end of the log, where she could lean against an upturned limb. As she did, she said, “I’m thinking this may have to do with the talk we had about blind obedience the first day we came here. Does it?”

Having expected her to question him more about what he had said that day, Fin had decided that since she did not understand about honor, she had dismissed all he had said then as just another knight’s tale. Doubtless she had heard many such from the men in her family, because tales of combat were common at tables and feasts throughout the Highlands and had been since their earliest days.

To learn that she remembered what he had said about blind obedience gave him pause, because he’d forgotten exactly what he had said then. They had talked both while walking to the outflow and later there in the woods. Remembering, he said, “It does relate to that talk, but there is much that I did not tell you.”

“One thing in particular that you did say has remained with me.”

“What is it?” he asked with a sinking feeling.

“You said that sometimes one agrees to something just because one respects and trusts the person asking him to agree. Did you mean that a man might, in such a case, agree to do something that otherwise he would not do?”

Certain now that she had put blind obedience together with the dilemma he had described to her that day, Fin looked skyward. But he saw no answer there.

Meeting her calm gaze, he said, “This conversation is not going as I had hoped. Nay, do not speak yet,” he added hastily when her mouth opened. “Sithee, I can imagine what will happen if I try to answer your questions as they occur to you. So I would ask a boon of you, one that I am not sure you are even able to grant me.”

She cocked her head. “What boon?”

“That you will let me explain the matter in my own way first, without interrupting, and then—”

“But—” When he held up a hand, she broke off, smiling ruefully. “I am not good at holding my tongue when I want to know something,” she said.

“Doubtless, nearly anything I tell you now will stir questions in your mind,” he said. “So, prithee, let me have my say first. By the time I’ve finished, I’ll likely have told you most of what you want to know.”

“What if I don’t understand something that you say?”

“If I truly confuse you, tell me. But if you keep stopping me with questions, I’ll be unable to explain the thing clearly and we’ll just fratch over one thing or another. Then, I’ll get angry, or you will get angry with me.”

Her mouth twisted wryly before she said with a sigh, “I will try, sir. But that is all I can promise.”

“ ’Tis enough, lass. I know that I can trust you to hold your tongue unless you simply cannot bear to do so any longer.”

Her eyebrows shot upward. “Some people would call that statement no more than a sop to ensure that I keep silent.”

“Would they?”

“I think you know gey well that I think so, aye.”

“Shall we see if it works?”

Chuckling again in a way that both relieved his mind and made him want to snatch her off her log and hug her, she settled back and was silent.

Still on his feet, he said, “Since you deduced that Ivor and I met during battle, I will begin with that, although our meeting did not redound to my credit. Sithee, we were still standing but few others were. I was the only one, in fact, on my side.”

Her lips moved as if she would speak, but she pressed them hard together.

Drawing breath, he said, “Ivor left his people and came toward me. He told me last night that he was unsure then of my identity but suspected it and recognized me before he got close. I expected to have to fight him… sakes, to fight all of them who were still able to wield a sword or a dirk. Instead, he told me to leave.”

Her mouth opened, but she clapped a hand across it.

Amusement stirred at such determination but quickly died. He had come to the point where he must face her reaction to what he had done.

“I dove into the river and swam away.” He made the admission, forcing himself to meet her gaze, trying to prepare himself for the scorn he would see.

She continued to gaze steadily at him over the hand at her mouth.

He waited. His stomach clenched. He shifted his feet.

The silence lengthened beyond bearing.

At last, she lowered the hand that had covered her mouth. “Is that all?” she said. When he nodded, she said, “But where did you go?”

“To St. Andrews.”

“Why?”

Not so easy, that question. The truth was that he had gone to Bishop Traill, hoping that Traill would tell him what he must do to find an honorable answer to his dilemma. But Traill had failed him.

He knew that he could not explain all that to her, just as he knew that he had already—albeit without knowing as much—decided that he could not kill her father.

Shaw was not only the Clan Chattan war leader. He was also her father and Hawk’s. All that Fin had heard about Shaw, and what he had seen of him so far, he respected. He respected the Mackintosh, too. Moreover, both men had trusted him with something very precious to them, Catriona herself.

Since he was explaining any of it, part of him insisted that he ought to tell her everything. As he tried to imagine how he could best describe the dilemma he had faced, another, perhaps wiser voice suggested that he would simply be sharing a burden with her that was his alone to carry. The voice was so strong that he decided to heed its counsel long enough to consider longer before he told her.

She was frowning, waiting for him to explain why he had gone to St. Andrews. But that only made it more difficult, because he did not want to lie.

Suddenly, her brow cleared. “God-a-mercy!” she exclaimed. “That is why you asked if I thought a man who hated war must be a coward. You acted without thinking, and now you think that the act was cowardly! But you fled because Ivor told you to, so that is what you meant about agreeing to an act simply because you trusted the one who had told you to do it!”

Fin could not speak. He had not meant that at all. He had been trying to admit that the dilemma he’d once described to her was his own and explain that he had sworn to the second oath because his dying father had demanded it. But he realized as emotions surged through him that he could not tell her she was wrong. She wasn’t. He had left when Ivor had said to go because he had trusted Ivor.

But that did not alter the fact of his having left the field as he had.



He looked so shocked that Catriona could not bear it. “Ah, poor laddie,” she said then, softly. “You do believe that your leaving in such a way was cowardly. That is why you wanted to discuss war and cowardice.”

“You don’t understand, lass,” he said. “Leaving in such a way was—”

His voice cracked, revealing the emotion he felt over what he had so clearly feared was an issue she believed that only a man could think was important.

Still speaking softly, because she knew how important the subject was to him, she said, “Men often say that women don’t understand them. But I do understand about men and cowardice, and even about their sometimes strange notions of honor. You should think instead about what the outcome would have been had you not done as Ivor told you to do.”

“I would have died, but I would have died honorably.”

“Don’t be stupid; dying is dying,” she said, wishing she could hug him. “Had you died, you would not be here. Had you died, Rory Comyn would have found me alone on the trail that day.” She nearly added that Boreas would have killed Rory, but that would not aid her argument. Standing, she moved closer to Fin. “Did I not say that life is always the right choice? Had you stayed, Ivor would have felt obliged to kill you. How honorable would it have been to put your good friend in that position?”

His mouth twitched as if he would protest, but he did not.

“What?” she demanded, confronting him toe-to-toe. “Are you now afraid to tell me what you are thinking?”

“Nay, but you won’t like it. Honor would have demanded that I kill Ivor.”

“You could not. He is a very fine swordsman. Moreover,” she added as a clincher, “if you had killed him, the others would have killed you. Aye, and it has just occurred to me that this battle of which you speak is likely the clan battle at Perth, and Clan Chattan ended that battle with eleven men still living, did we not?”

“Eleven living, aye, but not—” He broke off when she put a finger to his lips.

“Hush now, for you will not persuade me,” she said. “You could not have killed so many, nor must you forget that had you died that day, Rothesay would not be having his so-important meeting here now, and I would never have met you. To think that for years I believed I hated all Camerons. But I find now that I do not.”

He caught hold of her hand, but he did not speak. He just gazed down into her eyes as if he might read more of her thoughts there.

“Just what the devil do you two think you are doing?”

Catriona whirled to see her brother James standing on the trail that they had followed from the castle. He stood with arms akimbo, looking very angry.