Highland Master (4 page)

“There,” she said, pointing. “We need only row across the loch.”

He looked down to see a curving, mile-long, deep-green loch that looked like a shard from a lass’s looking glass, reflecting the wild beauty of heavily forested slopes and a few steep granite ones that surrounded it like the steep sides of a basin.

Following her gesture southeast to a much nearer point, his gaze fell on an island fortress some hundred yards from where the shore curved around the base of the steep hillside just below them. At the sight of that fortress, he felt a sense of unexpected disorientation and disbelief.

Maintaining an even tone of voice with effort, he said, “Is that not Castle Moigh, the very seat of the Mackintosh?”

“Nay,” she said. “That is Loch an Eilein and my father’s castle of Rothiemurchus. But you are not the first to mistake it for Moigh. See you, we Mackintoshes like islands. They provide more security than other sites do.”

“So you must be kin to the Mackintosh.”

“He is my grandfather,” she said proudly.

“Then you can tell me exactly how far Loch Moigh lies from here.”

“Aye, sure, but why do you want to know?”

“Sithee, I have come into Clan Chattan territory a-purpose to talk with the Mackintosh, to deliver a message to him.”

Her eyes twinkled again. “Have you, in troth?” When he nodded, she added, “Then it is good that you did come with me, sir, because at present the Mackintosh and my
lady grandmother are staying with my mother and me at Rothiemurchus.”

“Our meeting today was fortunate then, was it not?”

“It was, aye,” she agreed, turning away. “We’ll go down now.”

He recalled then her belief that, in her father’s absence, her mother would welcome a “strong man” at Rothiemurchus.

“I trust that your grandfather is in good health and…” He hesitated, having seen enough of her to know that the words on his tongue might offend her.

She looked back, and he saw that the twinkle in her eyes had deepened. “If you were about to suggest that my grandfather is ill or has lost his wits—”

“I did not say that.”

“But you nearly did say it, or something like it. Do you deny that?”

“Nay, but I did hear that he was too elderly to wield a sword with his once-legendary skill. And since I have come to ask a boon of him and would not press him to do aught that he is too feeble to—”

“Feeble?” Her lips twitched in a near smile, and as she turned away, she said over her shoulder, “He came to us because, having learned of trouble stirring in our area, he wanted to look into its cause. However, my mother does hope that my father and brothers will return soon. See you, my grandfather trusts my father to deal with any problem we might face, because he is our Clan Chattan war leader.”

New tension gripped him. Quietly, he said, “Who
is
your father, lass?”

“Shaw Mackintosh, Laird of Rothiemurchus,” she said.
“Before he married my mother and took the name Mackintosh, men knew him as Shaw MacGillivray.”

Stunned, Fin stopped in his tracks.

Shaw MacGillivray was the Clan Chattan war leader he had sworn to kill.

N
oting the sudden silence behind her, Catriona turned, saying, “What is it?”

“Nowt,” Fin of the Battles said—rather curtly, she thought.

She frowned. He seemed paler than before. “Are you dizzy again?” she asked.

Rosy color tinged his cheeks, telling her that he did not like the question. But she thought she detected relief in his expression when he said, “Aye, now and now.”

Clearly, like her brothers, the man hated admitting any weakness.

To prove that to herself, she said, “We’ll reach the boat soon. Crossing takes just a few minutes, and then I’ll take you inside where you can rest.”

Still watching him, she saw a flash of consternation rather than the annoyance she expected from a man reminded of his need to rest.

His gaze met hers. In the open, she saw that his light gray irises would have blended right into the whites were it not that they darkened slightly at the rims. The length and thickness of his lashes now seemed protective rather than just unfair.

Standing close to him as she was now, she realized that the top of her head barely reached his chin. And as she continued to meet his steady gaze, she felt a prickling in her skin that radiated warmly inward.

As she struggled to collect her wits, she sensed new hesitation in him, a stronger reluctance. She felt as if he might say that he had changed his mind and would go on without stopping at Rothiemurchus.

But then he said firmly, “Lead on, my lady. I am eager to speak with your grandfather if he will receive me.”

“He will,” she said as she gestured for Boreas to precede them.

Following the dog, she became more conscious than ever of the man behind her and tinglingly aware of each firm footstep he took.

Fin wondered if the Mackintosh customarily let his granddaughter roam the woods at will, or if she might face rebuke for bringing a stranger home with her. He hoped not, because it would complicate a matter that was complex enough already.

Considering the dilemma that he faced with regard to the lass’s father, Shaw MacGillivray, he wondered next at his own motives. The Clan Chattan war leader’s name had haunted him for nearly four and a half years. That he was about to enter the man’s stronghold produced a host of conflicting thoughts and emotions.

He would be accepting Shaw’s hospitality, so the voice in Fin’s head shouted that he should seek shelter from anyone but the man he had sworn to kill. Highland law forbade harm to anyone who sought hospitality or
provided
it.

His original plan had been to pass through Strathspey into the mountains to the west and reach Castle Moigh quietly. To that end, he had traveled cautiously, and after parting from his squire and his equerry, he had traveled alone.

The fact was that he was in enemy territory. To be sure, a truce had existed since the great clan battle. But truces could evaporate overnight, especially in conflicts over land. And when a feud had gone on for decades, as the Cameron-Mackintosh feud had… Had whoever shot him known he was a Cameron?

Fin knew that he had kept up his guard. Although he had seen crofts and cottages along the way, he had not wandered near enough to draw undue notice.

After entering the woods where the lass found him, he had felt safer. But although the forest provided more cover for a traveler than open glens and hillsides did, the unseen archer had shot him. And no man shot without seeing his target.

Without the lady Catriona’s timely arrival, the villain might have killed him. In return, he was about to accept her hospitality despite his fell intent toward her father.

She led him downhill at an angle, past the islet, to a granite slope on which a flat-bottomed boat lay beached. As she dragged its oars from nearby shrubbery, Fin said, “Do you expect that wee coble to carry us
and
the dog all the way to yon islet?”

Turning to face him—chin raised, eyes flashing—she stood her oars on the ground with their blade ends against one shoulder. “I do expect that, aye. Art so cowardly, sir, that you fear I shall
not
get you safely across?”

Disliking both the word and her tone but determined not to rise to such obvious bait, Fin noted absently that
her eyes were not light brown but golden-hazel. When she glared at him again, he said, “I do wonder, Lady Imperious, if you habitually speak so to men. But, frankly, I’d not trust anyone except myself to row such a craft, overladen as it will be. But the dog and I can swim, and a ducking will do you no harm.”

When her hand shot up in response, he caught her wrist and held it.

What, Catriona wondered, had come over her to dare such a thing?

His grip would leave bruises, she knew. She also knew that had she dared to taunt either of her brothers so, let alone tried to slap him, he would have flung her into the icy loch if not right over his knee. Worse, Fin was injured, albeit evidently recovering quickly, and he was about to become a guest of her father’s household.

Still annoyed that he had doubted her skill but tingling now in a different, more unusual, and intriguing way in response to the stern look in his eyes, she did not fight his grip or answer his question. Nor would she look away until he released her.

When he did, she put her oars in the boat and began to tug it toward the water. She had not got far before he grabbed the other side to help her.

If he still suffered from dizziness, the speed at which he had caught her hand belied it, as did the ease with which they dragged the boat to the water. Still silent, she gestured to Boreas, and while she and Fin steadied the boat, the dog stepped gingerly into it, then over the oars and the midthwart to curl up in the stern.

Fin continued to eye the boat askance. “Mayhap I
should
row,” he said.

“With you in the middle and Boreas at the stern, the pair of you would likely weigh it under whilst I was still trying to launch it and climb into the bow,” she retorted. “However, you have clearly recovered enough to launch us, and I expect you are agile enough to jump in without getting your feet wet if that concerns you.”

This time when his gaze met hers, something in the look he gave her shot a sense of warning through her. But he said only, “Get in, lass.”

Wondering what demon had possessed her to tease him again, she obeyed at once and took her seat. Facing the stern and Boreas, she freed her kilted-up skirts for propriety’s sake and adjusted the arrow at her girdle more comfortably. Then, taking up her oars, she steadied the coble while Fin of the Battles launched it.

When he swung himself into the bow, water sloshed over the port side, but it was not enough to endanger them. The boat had less freeboard than she liked, but the loch was calm, and she was skilled with the oars.

Glancing over her shoulder, she had to lean and look past her large passenger to be sure she would not hit a rock as she backed away, then turned the bow toward the island. She noted that he watched her narrowly as she wielded the oars. By the time she had executed her turn, he had visibly relaxed. But he did not apologize.

When she was facing away from him again, he said, “You never answered my question about how your people usually treat strangers. However—”

“We treat them civilly, of course, unless they prove uncivil.”

“Then we treat people alike, lass. Moreover, before we met, I had talked with no one since this morning, so I can scarcely have offended anyone.”

“Mayhap whoever you were with this morning took offense at something.”

“Nay, for I was with my own lads, riding from Glen Garry northward.”

She glanced over her shoulder again. “You rode with a tail of men?”

“Two lads only,” he said with a shrug slight enough to show that he still distrusted the coble’s stability.

“Where are they now?” she asked.

“Knowing that the mountains west of here are easier penetrated on foot than on horseback, as we were, I chose to walk on ahead of them.”

“But why did they not just come with you? And where are your horses?”

“I sent the men on an errand, and they were to stable the horses until our return from the mountains. They expect to meet me at Castle Moigh, though.”