Fin’s lips twitched in a near smile. Lady Annis was too polite to insult him by demanding that he leave his weapons behind. But she evidently believed that one guard could protect the Captain of Clan Chattan if the need arose.
There would be no such need, which was just as well. Wounded or not, Fin knew that he could win a fair fight against any single opponent.
“This way, sir,” the lass said, gesturing toward the dais. “In Father’s absence, my grandfather uses our inner chamber.” Then, quietly enough to keep anyone else from hearing but with the note of humor that he had heard before, she added, “I warrant he will occupy it after Father comes home, too.”
“The Mackintosh likes to get his own way, too, does he?” Fin murmured.
Her twinkling gaze met his. “All men expect to get their own way.”
“Women do, too, do they not?”
She shook her head. “Women may hope to do so in some things. But, surely, you know that when heads knock together, men usually win.”
“Not always?”
This time, she chuckled. “Nay, as you did see for yourself.”
He hid a smile of his own but let her have the last word, for now.
A gillie appeared from an alcove at the end of the dais to Fin’s right and hurried to open the door at the rear of it for them. Catriona stepped into the room beyond with Fin at her heels and the man-at-arms, Aodán, behind him.
“Sakes, is this an invasion?” a gruff voice demanded, drawing Fin’s gaze from the huge bed in front of him, where he had expected to see the Mackintosh, to a table at the far right of a room that looked to be the same width as the great hall.
The Mackintosh sat in a two-elbow chair behind a table laden with scrolled documents. And Fin saw at once that the lass had been right.
Although her grandfather had long since passed what many tactfully called the age mark, from middle to old age, his shoulders and arms still looked muscular enough to wield the huge sword that had made him famous in his youth. The old man’s scowl was piercing, with a strong glint of intelligence behind it.
Fin realized that he had based his earlier opinion solely on the fact that four years before, Clan Chattan had declared the old age and infirmity of their captain as the reason that his war leader had led them at the clan battle in his stead. No man had questioned the reason, because all there had known that the eighth chief of Clan Mackintosh had already been Captain of Clan Chattan for more than three decades.
“This is no invasion, my lord,” Catriona said, ignoring her grandfather’s scowl and smiling as they approached his table. “I come at your command, as you ken fine, and beg leave to present our guest to you.” She gestured gracefully toward Fin.
As he stepped nearer to make his bow, she added, “I found him in the woods beyond the west ridge, injured as you see. When I learned that he was heading for Moigh to speak to you, I brought him here.”
“How came ye to be injured?” the Mackintosh demanded of Fin.
“Evidently someone shot me with an arrow, sir,” Fin replied.
“I found him unconscious with that gash on his forehead,” Catriona said. “Boreas found the arrow in nearby shrubbery with the blood on it still tacky.”
“Is that the arrow at your waist, lass?”
“Aye, sir,” she said, pulling it free of her girdle and laying it before him.
“Had they not found me when they did, sir, I suspect I would be in no case now to accept hospitality from anyone,” Fin said as the old man examined the arrow.
“Ye suspect someone of murderous intent then, do ye?” He glanced at his granddaughter, and Fin noted silent communication in his expression. He could not observe her response without turning his head, but the Mackintosh added, “I must ask ye to curb your wandering for a time, lass. Things being as they are…”
Without looking at her, Fin sensed her resistance. But she did not argue.
The Mackintosh added, “Ye’d better go away now and let me talk with him.”
“When you are finished with him, sir,” she said, “I will show him to a chamber so that he may rest.”
“Aodán, ye go along, too,” the Mackintosh said. “I’ll have nae need of ye.”
Their footsteps—hers light, the man-at-arms’s plodding and heavy—sounded behind Fin as they crossed the floor. Related noises followed as the man opened the