Highland Master (47 page)

Fin thought she looked ready to murder him, so he kissed her and said, “You most likely saved my life again, sweetheart, and I know that you would not have shot me. If you’d shot anyone, it would have been Comyn for being daft enough to jump in front of your arrow.”

“Are you suggesting that for me to hit anything it would have to jump in front of me?” she demanded.

“I am not. Recall that you told me you can shoot. I deduced from that that Ivor had taught you, and although I doubt that you are as fine a shot as he is, I would trust you not to hit me in error. Call it instinctive trust, if you like. I don’t think I’d be daft enough to think such a thing just because I love you.”

“Do you?”

“Can you doubt it? Would I have trusted a lass I don’t love or who does not love me to stand on me whilst I was underwater boring holes in that devilish dam?”

“You can trust your instincts, sir,” she said, putting a soft hand to his cheek. “I do love you, and I have seen that your instincts are sound.”

“I should have trusted them myself long before now,” he said soberly. “I came to realize that whilst I was boring those holes.”

“Mercy, how?”

“Since I did not think it helpful to ponder what might happen if the water’s weight alone should bring down that dam, or to fret about the icy water, I turned my thoughts to other things. Mayhap it will help if I explain that I once
told Ian I believe in teaching men to learn by their own mistakes, because I think that teaches them to make better decisions. Then you asked me if a man’s training was not the very thing that develops the instincts he trusts in battle… and in life, come to that. You also reminded me that an honorable man cannot kill to protect his honor. In short, lass, I came to see that one can make a decision by
not
making it. I did that.”

“Your dilemma,” she said. “That is what you were thinking then? Does that mean that you are ready now to tell me about it?”

“I thought you must soon have deduced that the friend whose dilemma I told you about was myself. I can remember Ivor telling tales like that before he learned that he could tell me anything.”

“You’re right,” she said. “Who was the kinsman you found dying?”

“My father.”

“Oh, Fin.” She moved closer and put her arms around him. “And who…?” She stiffened but soon relaxed. “Your father was the war leader,” she said. “So he would have wanted vengeance against my father, at least. And you came here—”

“I came because Rothesay sent me. I did not know that Shaw was your father until you told me so, and I accepted your hospitality here because I had to see the Mackintosh. But, sweetheart, what I’m trying to tell you is that I had already made my choice between those two oaths. I just hadn’t known it. Cat, it is four and a half years since the battle at Perth. Had I believed that killing your father was right—”

“You’d have done it long since, aye. I do see that. So,
I agree that you made the decision without realizing it, simply by not choosing. That was instinct, was it not? It would have been better, though, I think, if you had recognized long ago the plain fact that one should always choose life be over death.”

“Aye, perhaps, but I’m a warrior, sweetheart, and a good one. The likelihood is that I will kill again, and you know it.”

“I do, but I don’t want to talk about war or killing now. I want you to hold me. And in troth, sir, if you want to take me, you’d best do it soon, because much as I love you, I am so tired that I can scarcely keep my eyes open.”

“You don’t know how glad I am to hear that,” he murmured, kissing her. “I’m going to put out those candles.”

“There is something I should tell you, too,” she said. “Sithee, for those four and a half years, I thought all Camerons were sons of the devil. Then I met you and came to think of you as a good friend. So, later, your being a Cameron didn’t seem so dreadful. But I assumed that your family would feel about Mackintoshes the way I’d felt about Camerons. Then I met Ewan, and he was just your brother and I your wife. I doubt that I thought of him as a wicked Cameron even when you told me who he was. I like him, and I want to see Tor Castle with you.”

“I think we’ll still spend most of our time at Castle Raitt,” he said. “But we’ll see Ewan often, too. And we’ll all spend Christmas together at Tor Castle.”

Cat watched him put the candles out and felt him climb back into bed but knew nothing more until the kitten demanded release the next morning. Even then, she barely
noticed Fin getting up to let it out and was asleep before he returned.

When he woke her, midday sunlight was streaming through the open window and he was already dressed.

“It is nearly time to eat,” he said. “And Ivor is back.”

“Already?”

“Aye, and grievously annoyed.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Why? If he is back, then Albany must have turned back at the Cairngorms. So whatever nuisance he intended to create—”

“Need no longer concern us for now,” he said. “But although the army that tried to get through there did fly a royal banner, it was Sir Martin Redmyre, one of Albany’s captains, who led it. There was no sign of Albany, or so Ivor heard from watchers who met him and told him that the weather in the high pass had defeated them. He would have been back sooner if the rain had not come down so hard, but they took shelter and made camp. So he is annoyed that he missed all that happened here, as well. And your father sent a messenger.”

“Then he must have routed Douglas’s men in Glen Garry.”

“Aye, and likewise without a battle,” Fin said. “He sent two lads ahead to meet Douglas, pretending to be Comyns. They told him that Rothesay and Alex had fled and assured him that the wicked weather would prevent the other army from making it through the high passes. They also mentioned that your father’s army was waiting at the top of the glen. Douglas turned back at once.”

“But Rothesay still has no alliance,” she said.

“Alex will do what he can, but Donald will do nowt,” Fin said, stripping off his tunic. “Shaw’s messenger brought
more bad news, too. Douglas told his men that the Queen is ailing. They say it is not grave, but Rothesay is upset.”

“So would anyone be,” she said. “She is his mother, after all.”

“She is more than that, lass. She is his strongest ally. Annabella Drummond has powerful allies of her own. But without her to stir them to his defense, they may not be so eager to support him. If Davy loses her…”

“He will have even fewer friends than he has now,” she said. “Why are you taking off all your clothes if we are about to dine, sir?”

“Because we can have food anytime, my love, and I believe we began something last night that we were both too exhausted to finish. Move over, so I can teach you more ways to please me.”

After that, their activities took on a sense of urgency. As soon as he lay beside her, she felt his cock throbbing eagerly against her, seeking her nest. Her own body responded at once, but Fin eased lower, stroking her, teasing her with his caresses, and kissing her, lingering to savor her breasts while one hand sought to see if she was ready for him.

She could tell that she was, but he took time to trail kisses down her body, teasing it more until she was pleading for release. At last, grabbing a handful of his hair, chuckling, she twisted up and tried to get out from under him. But he caught her and pressed her to her back, leaning over her as he had at Moigh, grinning.

“Would you conquer me, lass?”

“I thought I might try,” she said, twinkling at him.

“Sakes, I’ll show you how myself.”

She had already learned ways to excite him, but he
showed her a few more, and she responded eagerly to his instruction. He also taught her new ways that he could excite her, especially with his agile tongue.

At last, though, he took her swiftly and hard, demanding more and more of her until their passion sent them soaring at last to ecstasy.

Lying in her husband’s arms afterward, sated, Cat purred.

Dear Reader,

I hope you enjoyed
Highland Master
. The story evolved from a Mackintosh legend about the Comyns damming a loch. The incident, never dated, may have taken place at Castle Moigh or the island castle at Loch an Eilein, known as Rothiemurchus (as was most of that part of Strathspey then and as much of it is to this day). I chose to set the book at Rothiemurchus, because the basin in which Loch an Eilein sits seemed a more plausible location for such an effective dam than Loch Moy would be.

Wolves were common in Scotland and northern England in medieval times, and there are many tales of their extinction. The last wolf in northeast Scotland died at Kirkmichael, Banffshire, in 1644. Sir Ewen Cameron of Lochiel at Killiecrankie killed the last one in Perthshire in 1680. And a MacQueen, stalker to the laird of Mackintosh, killed the last wolf of all in 1743
(Dictionary of Scottish History).

The Clan Battle of Perth, September 1396, is much studied, but controversy still exists over which two clans were involved. Nearly all historians agree that the victor was Clan Chattan, but many have suggested clans other than Clan Cameron as their opponent. The only one that makes logical sense to me is Cameron.

Clan Cameron was not only another powerful confederation but one with whom Clan Chattan, specifically the Mackintoshes, had been feuding forever over land that both clans claimed. That a continuing feud between two confederations, with many tribes in each, might make enough trouble in the Highlands that the King would bestir himself to intervene makes sense.

Also, a truce did exist between the two of them for a
number of years, which began shortly after the clan battle. The legal issue was not resolved until the sixteenth century, however, when the courts decided in the Mackintoshes’ favor. One sticking point with regard to the Camerons’ being the second clan was that they continued to reside at Loch Arkaig in Lochaber, which was the land in question. Logically, the Mackintosh ought to have been able to kick them out.

I consulted my chief expert, however, and we agreed that my solution to that question in
Highland Master
is the most likely, given the circumstances.

Albany’s armies and those of his allies frequently attempted to pursue Highlanders into the Highlands but rarely with much success.

Readers often ask where I get information about wedding ceremonies. The words for the one in this book come from a missal used during the reign of Richard II in England (1377–99). The Scottish and English churches at the time both derived their rites from the Roman ones, so the ceremonies would have been the same.

After serving as Captain of Clan Chattan for nearly forty years, Lachlan mac William Mackintosh died at a ripe old age in 1407, leaving, by his wife Agnes, daughter of Hugh Fraser of Lovat, one son, Ferquhard, who succeeded him, and a daughter, whose name probably was not Ealga and who married Chisholm of Strathglass, not Shaw Mackintosh. He married “a daughter of Robert mac Alasdair vic Aona,” and therefore his daughter here, Catriona, is entirely fictional, as is Fin.

My sources for
Highland Master
include
The Confederation of Clan Chattan, Its Kith and Kin
by Charles Fraser-Mackintosh of Drummond, Glasgow, 1898;
The
House and Clan of Mackintosh and of the Clan Chattan
by Alexander Mackintosh Shaw, Moy Hall, n.d., and, of course, the always impressive Donald MacRae.

I must also thank my webmaster, David Durein, for sharing his expert knowledge and personal experience in both creating and removing a similarly placed but well intended dam, and the always efficient Julie Ruhle, who keeps me sane by dealing with the trivia whenever she can.

As always, I thank my wonderful agents, Lucy Childs and Aaron Priest, my terrific editor, Frances Jalet-Miller, Senior Editor Selina McLemore, Production Manager Anna Maria Piluso, copyeditor extraordinaire Sean Devlin, Art Director Diane Luger, Cover Artist Claire Brown, Editorial Director Amy Pierpont, Vice President and Editor in Chief Beth de Guzman, and everyone else at Hachette Book Group’s Grand Central Publishing/Forever who contributed to this book.

If you enjoyed
Highland Master
, please look for
Highland Hero
,
the story of Sir Ivor Mackintosh, an impertinent lass who ignores Sir Ivor’s infamous temper (and happens to be the King’s ward), and a seven-year-old prince with a habit of commanding all in his orbit. It should be at your favorite bookstore in October 2011.