business of antecedents and fervently hoping that Mackintosh would not detect his uneasiness now, Fin drew a breath and reached for his goblet.
“Help yourself to the whisky and ye need to compose your thoughts,” the Mackintosh said amiably. “But, I’d warn ye, lad, do not lie to me.”
The emphasis in his words forcibly reminded Fin that the Mackintosh held the power of the pit and the gallows. Hanging Davy’s messenger might annoy Davy, but Fin doubted that the old man would spare that a single thought.
With her maidservant Ailvie’s help, Catriona changed to a more becoming moss-green gown and matching silk slippers. Then, curbing her impatience, she let Ailvie brush her tangled hair and plait it into a smooth coil beneath a white veil.
Returning to the great hall, she noted her mother’s approving smile and saw that servants in the lower part of the hall were setting up for the evening meal. Food would not appear for another hour, but her grandfather liked his meals on time, so there must be no delay unless unexpected guests arrived or if, by some stroke of fortune, her father and brothers returned in time to sup with them.
The likelihood of that event was small. When Shaw and his sons entered the Highlands, word would reach Rothiemurchus hours if not days before they did.
“I’ve not seen that gown afore,” Lady Annis said. “It becomes ye well.”
“Her gowns all become her,” Ealga said. “Morag’s become her, too.”
“Thank you, madam,” Catriona said. “I never look as tidy as Morag does, though,” she added, smiling at her good-sister.
“You never take the pains to do so,” Morag said.
“ ’Tis youth that becomes them, Ealga,” Lady Annis said. “Catriona,” she added, “your injured gentleman has not emerged yet, so he’ll get nae rest afore we sup. We must hope that the arrow, in striking his head, did not curdle his brains.”
Catriona chuckled. “If it did, I saw no sign of it. Nor, if he were addled, do I imagine that Granddad would tolerate his presence as long as he has.”
“Let us adjourn to my sitting room whilst they finish setting up the tables,” Lady Ealga suggested. “I told Aodán to show our guest to his room when he does emerge. He will want to refresh himself before facing us again.”
“Before facing Grandame, you mean,” Catriona said, tossing that lady a grin.
“Aye, laugh,” Lady Annis said with a piercing look from under her thin, gray eyebrows. “But know this, impudent one. Ye’ve taken your temperament from me rather than from your gentle mam, so ye’d do well to take a bit o’ my good sense as well. Ye’re impetuous as well as impudent, lassie, and ye can be willful withal.”
Catriona knew better than to return a saucy reply to that observation, especially since it was true. She said coaxingly instead, “You turned out well, Grandame. And I do have you to show me how to go on.”
“Ye do, aye, if ye’ll but listen to me. Now, do we go upstairs, or not?”
Still reluctant to risk declaring himself a member of Clan Cameron, which, truce or none, would likely prejudice his host against him, Fin said, “I will gladly tell you about myself, sir. But I must warn you, I am not at my best and might do better to ascertain first if you have questions about hosting Rothesay’s meeting.”
“I will stay here until Shaw returns,” the Mackintosh replied. “If Davy Stewart wants his meeting before then, we’ll hold it here. Rothiemurchus was my seat until just a few years ago and is as safe as Moigh would be for such a meeting.”
“It does seem safe enough,” Fin agreed. “But the lady Catriona did speak of trouble hereabouts… enough to draw you here from the peace and safety of Castle Moigh. Should Rothesay be wary of such trouble?”
Mackintosh snorted. “Wary of the worthless Comyns? Why should he be? That clan clings to its very existence whilst claiming title to land that has been in Mackintosh hands for a century. They are nobbut a nuisance. One of them has even dared to offer for our Catriona. And some, including my grandson James, do say that we might lay the troubles to rest were her father and I to agree to the match.”
The notion of the forthright lady Catriona involved in such a marriage seemed preposterous to him, but Fin said only, “Such weddings can sometimes succeed in allying otherwise unfriendly clans.”
“Aye, sure,” Mackintosh said. “But Rory Comyn is a lackwit too full