Highland Master

chapter 4



The water was so cold from its snowmelt tributaries that it took Fin’s breath away. He felt an intense urge to shoot straight back up and out, as if he could then run back across the water to where he’d left his tunic and braies on the rocky shore. So great was the icy shock of diving in that it almost made such a feat seem possible.

When he did surface, gasping, he began to swim hard and fast.

Reflecting the gray dawn light as the loch had, with the spectacular, knife-edged, still snow-covered granite ridges and peaks of the Cairngorms providing a backdrop to the east, the water had looked so silvery and serene that he had felt guilty even to think of disturbing its calm. But he wanted to feel clean again and to see if the water would reopen his wound.

Soon he felt the agreeable awareness of exploring virgin water, and his sense of humor stirred. He was putting his mark on the loch, conquering new territory.

If his wound had opened, the cold water numbed any indication of it.

The lass had said no more about stitching the gash, but when they’d reached Rothiemurchus, her family had given her precious little chance to say anything to him. In truth, though, he did not think it necessary for anyone to sew him up.

The very thought of her sticking a needle into his aching forehead…

Briefly, he shut his eyes.

Focusing again, and warmer, he took powerful strokes toward the eastern shore, less than a quarter-mile away. Despite the water’s hitherto calm appearance, he felt a current trying to tug him toward the north end of the loch. It did not pull hard enough to worry him, only to make him work harder. He would explore later and see where the water spilled out of the loch. It might provide a good waterfall.

He was partial to falls, especially when they were as full as any in that area should be at that time of year, when the snows were still melting.

He had warmed up enough to breathe normally and know that he was not going to freeze. So, when he neared the eastern shore, he turned back toward the castle without pausing. Continuing his fast, powerful strokes, he took pleasure in the exercise until he realized that he was nearing the island shore again. He knew that if he were careless, he might hit a rock with a foot or his fingertips.

Looking ahead to judge how much nearer he could safely swim before feeling for the bottom, he saw Catriona walking with her wolf dog on the shore. She was looking down, watching the ground in front of her.

She had walked confidently with her head up the previous day, despite rougher terrain, so he wondered if she was upset about something. Or, perhaps she had seen him, noted his nudity, and was shy of letting him know that she had.

He had a sudden desire to test that possibility.

She wore the same old blue kirtle that she had worn kilted up the day before. So, either she enjoyed early-morning rambles, as he did, or she had come outside in haste because she had seen him swimming or walking naked on the shore.

The dog glanced his way but stayed at her side.

Her confidence in rowing the overladen boat had assured him that she could swim, because he, too, had spent his childhood on an island in a loch. He and his siblings had learned to swim like fish almost before they could walk. He supposed that she had enjoyed similar training for safety’s sake if for no other reason.

In any event, she had shown no fear of the water.

“Good morning,” he called as he drew nearer.

By then he was certain that she either concentrated harder on her thoughts than any woman he had ever known or purposefully avoided looking his way.

She turned when he called and walked to the water’s edge with the dog at her heels. Returning his greeting, she added, “You are up early, Fin of the Battles. At this season, only osprey and fish swim so early. Is that why they call you Fin, because you swim so well?”

“Nay, they call me so because my name is Finlagh,” he said. Then, because she still watched him, he added, “I’m coming out, lass. If you are going to look, then look. But if you want to protect your modesty, you had best turn away. My clothes lie yonder by that boulder some yards to your right.”

“Shall I fetch them for you?” she asked demurely.

He chuckled, swallowed water, and kicked hard for the shore. Moments later, he touched a granite slope that provided traction enough for him to stand waist deep without incident. He did not want to slip awkwardly back in while she watched.

Shaking water from his head and slicking his hair back with both hands, he walked out of the water, wondering how long she would watch.

In most Highland households, women assisted male guests with their bathing if the men had not brought servants with them. But women who did were usually married servants, not noble granddaughters of confederation captains. He noted with a grin that Catriona looked hastily away before he fully exposed himself.

Still, she had two brothers as well as a father and grandfather, so he suspected that the male anatomy was no secret to her. Her modest demeanor amused him.

Boreas had moved to the water to lap.

“What are you doing out so early, lass?” Fin asked her as he pulled his tunic on over his head. Reaching to his knees, it covered him enough for modesty’s sake as he reached for and pulled on his braies. “Methinks your family would not approve.”

“Aye, they would, though,” she said without turning. “I came out to apologize for… for trying to slap you yesterday.”

“Forgive me if I doubt that they even know about that,” he said. “Don’t fret about it, but don’t try it again, either. Such behavior is always unwise.”

His rawhide boots lay nearby, because he had worn them downstairs and across the rocky yard to the shore. But he decided to leave them off. After wearing boots and shoes for so long in the lowlands, his feet needed toughening. Moreover, the boots were still damp from the day before. Leaving them where they lay, he ignored the pricking of numerous small stones as he walked toward her barefoot.

When she turned at last, her eyes widened. Their pupils expanded so much that her irises looked black rather than golden-hazel.

“God-a-mercy!” she exclaimed. “You are not even… uh… shivering!”



Catriona had not noticed his clothes before he had mentioned them, but she had expected him to have brought his plaid, at least, for warmth. Instead he wore only a thin saffron-colored tunic and thinner linen braies. So he had covered himself from shoulders to knees. But with his body still so wet, the garments hid nothing.

Knowing he could not help but notice where she was staring, and not wanting to reveal how impressed she was with his muscular, well-hewn body, she had hastily commented instead on his lack of reaction to the shockingly cold water.

His eyes twinkled when he said, “In troth, I feared that I had plunged into a half-melted block of ice. But, with exercise, the water soon grew bearable. I felt a current though. How far is it from here to the burn that runs out of this loch?”

She shrugged. “A half-hour’s walk along the west shore. Or one can row there with the current in the coble. It would take much longer to return against it.”

“Does the outflow produce a waterfall?”

“Nay, just a tumbling burn that joins the Spey north of here. You must have forded it to get to where I found you, unless you entered the woods from the south.”

“We did come into the Highlands through Glen Garry, but I turned back when my lads and I parted miles north of there,” he said. “I did not realize that I would not find another ford on this side. I do recall fording numerous burns and rivulets, but only the Spey seemed tumultuous enough to produce any good falls.”

“I know of a fine one on the way to Castle Moigh,” she said. “If you should go on to Lochaber from here and take the right path, you will see it for yourself.”

“I still want to see the burn spilling out of Loch an Eilein,” he said. “I like to explore the landscape wherever I am. Will you show me the way after we eat?”

Cocking her head, she said, “You do not need a guide to find that burn. If you just follow the loch shore northward, it will take you there.”

“But your grandfather is more likely to let you take the wee coble. I don’t want to have to swim ashore and back again.”

“The distance from the island to the west shore is less than half the distance you swam just now,” she pointed out, meeting his gaze and instantly feeling the same prickling sense of warmth flowing inward that she had felt the day before.

“I’ll need dry clothes when I get to shore,” he said without looking away.

“Then ask a gillie to row you across and collect you when you return.”

“I don’t want a gillie. I’d rather go with a fine-looking lass and her dog.”

Aware that she was blushing but determined to win, she said, “My grandfather would be even less likely to let you take me with you than his boat.”

“The Mackintosh kens fine that he can trust me with you, for he said nowt about our being together so long yesterday. He might not be so sure about the boat. Sithee, he kens its size and mine. He’d fear that I’d sink it if I treated it carelessly.”

“He would likewise think a dousing no more than you’d deserve for your carelessness,” she retorted. “It would be, too.”

“Would it?” he asked, stepping closer, and holding her gaze as he did.

Swallowing, feeling new heat surge through her body, Catriona fought to ignore the sensation. When he put a hand on her shoulder, she managed to collect her wits enough to say, “You go to him just as you are, sir. Ask him what he thinks of your plan. Even if you change first and dry yourself, you’d best hope that no one who sees us out here tells him how you look now.”

He looked down at himself and chuckled. “You’re right about that, lass. I warrant he’d have a few things to say to me. Still, if he grants us permission, will you walk with me to that outlet?”

“Aye, sure, if he gives permission.” As she said the words, she wondered at his confidence. Perhaps he had not taken her grandfather’s full measure yet. But if he thought he could act so audaciously with the Mackintosh’s granddaughter, he would soon learn his error whether the Mackintosh took exception to it or not.



The lady Catriona’s blushes became her, Fin thought. She was enticingly unlike the women he’d met in Rothesay’s company. Most of them were more skilled at the art of dalliance than Fin had been when he had entered Rothesay’s service.

Before that day, Fin had believed himself well experienced. He was three-and-twenty by then and had not lived as a monk. But few would debate the Mackintosh’s opinion that the young Governor of the Realm was a profligate and reckless, withal.

Rothesay was the same age now as Fin had been then, but wherever Rothesay went, he assumed that any female he met would welcome his attentions—that noble or not, married or not, she would welcome him in her bed or elsewhere. So far, he had been right most of the time, even when the lady’s husband chanced to be at home. Such was royal privilege, as Davy Stewart himself frequently declared.

Although many knights who served him were years older than he was, they quickly learned that he did not welcome friendly teasing, let alone warnings away from his prey. But most people liked him despite his behavior. He had inherited all the Stewart charm that his uncle Albany lacked, and more.

That females submitted to Rothesay’s slightest smile had often made Fin wonder at such females. However, he had never professed to understand women. His sisters had been mysteries to him, and by the time he might have been old enough to figure them out, he had left home for schooling at St. Andrews.

Catriona kept silent while he collected his boots, and remained so when the two of them turned toward the castle gateway.

“What are you thinking, lass?” he asked.

“I was wondering what my grandfather might say to you,” she said.

“He will give me permission to walk with you round the loch,” Fin said.

“You are exceedingly confident,” she said tartly.

“Will he have broken his fast yet?”

She glanced up at him. “Do you think I ken his every move?”

“I think that a man who has bells rung to tell people when to eat will likely be most regular in his habits. He did not strike me as a slug-a-bed.”

Her eyes twinkled, and she looked away as she said, “Nay, he is not.”

“Then I will don proper clothing and approach him at his breakfast table.”

They parted at his door, and she went to her room, telling herself that Fin of the Battles was about to lose one and wondering why she felt less than certain of that.

Ailvie awaited her with a fresh kirtle of yellow camlet in hand. “Where ha’ ye been so early, m’lady?”

“Outside, walking on the shore,” Catriona said as she cast off her blue kirtle and accepted the yellow one. “Just brush my hair, Ailvie, and confine it in a net,” she added. “I’ve not yet broken my fast.”

When the maidservant had finished, Catriona hurried back downstairs. Her mother and grandmother were at the high table, as was her grandfather.

Fin entered shortly afterward and paused to speak briefly with one of the gillies before taking his own place.

Noting the speculative look that her grandfather shot him, Catriona suspected that the Mackintosh knew that they had met on the shore.

She settled herself to await events.



As Fin approached the dais, he also eyed the Mackintosh, trying to gauge the older man’s mood without blatantly staring at him.

“Good morrow, my lord,” he said when he reached the dais. “I hope I have not overstepped my role as a guest. I asked yon gillie to fetch me a mug of Adam’s ale instead of the ale and whisky that he said the jugs on this table contain. In my experience, such beverages do naught to aid an aching head. And although mine is fast mending, it does keep reminding me that healing takes time.”

“Sakes, lad, in my experience, good whisky will heal aught that ails a man. As for water, for all that they may call it Adam’s ale, it did nowt to keep Adam in his garden, now, did it?”

Smiling at the old sally, Fin said, “As you say, sir. I trust you slept well.”

“Longer than ye did, I’m told,” Mackintosh retorted.

“Then you have heard about my swim,” Fin replied as he sat and his host signed to the gillies to serve him. “Your loch is wondrous refreshing.”

“As was your conversation with our Catriona, I trow.”

“That was also pleasant,” Fin agreed. “She was kind enough to tell me something about the loch, and she agreed to show me more of it. Just nearby and with the dog to guard her, as I am sure you would demand. She did say that we required your permission, sir, but I’d have asked you myself, come to that.”

Mackintosh looked at Catriona. “Be ye willing to take him about, lass?”

Fin could tell that she had not expected the question, because her eyes widened. She kept them fixed on her grandfather and did not even glance at Fin.

“I’d be fain to show him, sir, if you do approve such a plan. He wants to see the burn that runs out of the loch. We would take the coble across to the landing.”

“D’ye trust yourself not to overturn it with the man and the dog?” he asked. When she nodded, he said, “I did hear that ye’d brought the two of them over in that wee thing. I’ll own I was surprised ye did not sink it. Ye might take one of the bigger boats an ye let a pair of our gillies row it.”

“I don’t mind the rowing, and all three of us can swim,” she said, confirming Fin’s earlier deduction.

Mackintosh turned to him. “Can ye no manage a pair of oars yourself, then?”

Fin smiled. “She would not let me.”

She said, “With Boreas in the stern, as he must be, Fin is too heavy to—”

“Ye should properly call the man Sir Finlagh, I’d wager,” Mackintosh interjected, turning back to Fin. “Ye have won your knighthood, aye? As puffed up as your master is in his own esteem, I doubt he’d trust any lesser man with his messages.”

“Who is this puffed-up master of his?” Lady Annis asked her husband.

“I’ll tell ye that later an I tell ye at all. Now whisst, and let the man talk.”

“I do have the honor to hold a knighthood,” Fin admitted.

“And, nae doots, ye won that honor on the battlefield,” Mackintosh said. “Thus earning the name by which others do call ye.”

“That’s right, sir,” Fin said, wondering if the old man would demand a list of the battles he had fought. He devoutly hoped that he would not.

Before the Mackintosh replied, Lady Ealga said, “If you two mean to walk the shore of the loch, you should tell someone to fetch some apples and other food to sustain you until our midday meal. One always gets hungry, rambling about.”

“I havena said that I approve this outing,” the Mackintosh reminded them all.

To Fin’s surprise, Catriona said, “You do know that you can trust Boreas to protect me, sir. If Sir Finlagh should prove dangerous, that is.”

Mackintosh chuckled. “Faith, ye do well enough protecting yourself. Ye may go, aye. Just bear in mind, lad, that I see more and ken more than ye think I do.”

“I had deduced as much, aye, sir,” Fin said with increasing suspicion that the old man did know exactly who he was.

Mackintosh said, “I’ve put out the word to send your lads here when they show themselves. Nae doots, they’ll arrive by suppertime if not afore then.”

Fin thanked him and returned his attention to his food.

While he finished his meal, he tried to recall all that he had heard about the Captain of Clan Chattan. Men had called him canny and shrewd. Others spoke highly of his integrity. All said that his word was his bond and that no one had known him to break it. But the same was true of most Highland lairds.

A Highlander who broke his word lost the trust of neighbors, friends, and family, let alone that of any enemy clan with whom he might have to parley.

No one had suggested, either, that the Mackintosh played the verbal games that some men played when they did give their word, such as arranging their words with care so they could draw on that phrasing later to prove that what seemed to be breaking a promise was not. Such men were likely to earn more scorn than respect.

Fin decided that Mackintosh would be fair with him when he learned that he was a Cameron. If he was fair, he would not erupt in fury or order Fin hanged or thrown into a pit (doubtless water-filled if it lay in a dungeon at Rothiemurchus).

Recalling his safe conduct from Rothesay, Fin sighed. He would do better to depend on the old man’s reputation, considering what Mackintosh thought of Davy.

“Do you want to go at once, Sir Finlagh?”

Lost in thought, aware of little beyond a hum of low conversation, Fin started at the sound of Catriona’s voice. He had not realized that she had risen from her stool and walked behind the others to speak to him.

He said, “I must fetch my sword. Have you aught to do before we go?”

“Just to fetch some apples and Boreas. He’ll be in the kitchen, because our cook is his most favored friend. But I’ve only to shout down the stairs for him.”

“That thin dress won’t keep the chill off,” he pointed out. He noted that the cheerful yellow kirtle fit her body sleekly and looked soft to the touch. It delineated her delightful curves even better than her moss-green gown had the evening before.

“ ’Tis camlet, sir, fine wool,” she said. “I’ll send for a shawl though. It may grow windy.” As she spoke, she gestured to someone in the lower hall.

Collecting his sword and sword belt from his room, Fin went down to the entryway but found the young gillie Tadhg waiting there instead of Catriona.

“I thought ye might need me tae help look after the dog, sir,” Tadhg said. “See you, I mean tae be a knight one day m’self. I can swim, and I’m a fine runner, and I mean tae be a great swordsman, too. Ye could teach me much, I wager.”

Fin smiled at him. “You need to grow a foot or two first, lad.”

“Aye, sure, I will. And Sir Ivor says I ha’ tae learn tae use me head, too.”

Recalling that Ivor was Catriona’s brother, Fin said, “He is right about that, laddie. You cannot come with us today, but we’ll talk more of this anon.”

Grinning, Tadhg dashed off, and Catriona soon joined Fin. Launching the boat as they had the day before, they laughed together at the audible sigh that Boreas gave as he curled himself in the stern and laid his head on his forepaws.

Once ashore, Fin slung on his sword belt so that the weapon lay across his back in its sling. Then he and Catriona strode northward along the track.

He smiled when she raised her face to the cloudy sky and drew a long breath. Despite her smaller size, he barely had to shorten his stride to accommodate her. Moreover, much of the track was wide enough for them to walk abreast.

“Do you know the Cairngorms?” she asked ten minutes later.

“We caught glimpses of them on our way here,” he said. “I cannot say that I know them, but they do look as forbidding as men say they are.”

“They can be gey dangerous, aye,” she said. She was silent again for a time. Then, she said, “I want to ask you something else.”

“Ask me anything,” he said rashly. “If I can answer you, I will.”

“You mentioned Lochaber yesterday and told my grandmother that you spent your childhood there. The first seat of the Mackintosh lies in Lochaber, albeit at a distance from Loch Ness. Do you know of Tor Castle?”

“Aye, sure,” he said, hoping that his tone concealed his reluctance to discuss that topic at any length yet. “I’d wager that anyone from Lochaber has heard of Tor Castle, although it lies high in the mountains, in Glen Arkaig.”

“My grandfather wants to be buried there. He goes there every Christmas.”

Fin nearly admitted that he knew that, too. But he managed to hold his tongue. After a period of silence, he told her about meeting Tadhg and what the boy had said.

She chuckled. “Aye, Ivor says he’ll make a fine knight. But if he doesn’t, Tadhg has declared that being a running gillie would be almost as good.”

Fin laughed. “I doubt he’d find carrying messages as much fun as a tiltyard.”

She smiled again, and the sun had come out. It was a fine day.

Boreas trotted ahead of them. Carrying his snout high, the dog ranged back and forth from one side of the trail to the other, taking scents from the air.

They approached a narrowing of the track where dense shrubbery closed in on both sides. On the landward side, the shrubs covered much of the steep hillside until woodland took over. Fin slowed to let Catriona go ahead of him.

As she did, Boreas stopped and turned to look uphill, sniffing, ears aprick.

Catriona halted. Fin, perforce, did likewise.

The dog’s growl started low and deep in its throat. But it was loud enough for Fin to hear. Putting a hand on each of Catriona’s shoulders and feeling her start at his touch, he murmured, “Let me by, lass.”



So intently had Catriona concentrated on Boreas that she had not sensed how close Fin had come. When his warm hands grasped her shoulders, although she started, she felt an immediate sense of safety.

“Prithee, sir, stay as near the downhill shrubbery as you can when you pass me,” she said quietly. “I need to watch Boreas, so I can command him if need be.”

She was pleased when he did not question her or ignore her request as many men would have. He just shifted his left hand to her right shoulder and eased past her, pressing into what, on him, was waist-high shrubbery.

His body brushed against hers, so near that he pressed the sheathed dirk she wore under her skirt into her hip and thigh. Only after he had moved ahead did she see that he had drawn his own dirk. His sword remained in its sling.

Boreas blocked the path, his head still high.

Snapping her fingers twice, Catriona watched the dog shift body and head until both aligned with the direction of the disturbing scent.

When Fin glanced back at her, lifting an eyebrow, she murmured, “Whatever he senses is directly ahead of him.”

“Man or beast?”

“I cannot say for sure, but human, I think. Were it a wolf or a deer, he would show excitement rather than wariness. He looks much as he did yestermorn, with you, although he showed more intensity then because of the blood. Likely one man, or more, lurks ahead. Were they in the open, fishing or the like, Boreas would not be so wary. His behavior indicates that he is curious but also protective.”

“So he does not trust me to protect you. Is that it?”

“He is not thinking about you, only of what lies ahead of him, and of me.”

“Then we’d best find out what it is,” Fin said.

As she watched him stride toward the dog, Catriona reached through the right-hand fitchet in her kirtle to grip the handle of her dirk. Their apples, in a small cloth sack with its long end wrapped around her linked girdle, were out of her way.

Boreas had not moved. But as Fin neared him, Catriona put two fingers to her mouth and gave a low whistle. At the signal, the dog began loping up the hill, ranging back and forth and barking deeply.

If archers lay in wait there, they might shoot. But the weaving dog made a poor target for any man concealed in woodland or shrubbery.

Fin made a better one.

She was about to shout that he should beware when a man stepped out of the shrubbery. Pulling off his cap to reveal thick, curly red hair, he shouted, “Call off yon blasted dog, lass! ’Tis only me!”