Highland Master - By Amanda Scott Page 0,37

a grin, gesturing toward the gateway.

Evidently pleased with the outcome, Boreas headed for the kitchen with the third kitten hurling itself at and between his legs in scrambling leaps and bounds.

When she laughed, Fin said, “That’s better.” He turned away long enough to pick up the wet sack, which still lay where she had left it after freeing the kittens.

“We should go in,” she said. “Our visitors will arrive soon, whoever they are.”

“You still have not learned who is coming?”

“Nay, although I did hear that it might be the Lord of the North returning to Lochindorb. But you do know who is coming.” When he did not reply, she added, “I heard that they show no banner, sir. But no one seems to be alarmed.”

“I told you, your grandfather is content to let them come.”

“Aye, you did say that,” she said, frowning thoughtfully at him.

Catriona knew that those her grandfather would most readily welcome were her father and brothers, but they would fly the Mackintosh banner, just as Alex Stewart would fly his own as Lord of the Isles. She was certain that Fin knew them, whoever they were, and that he had persuaded her grandfather to let them come.

After she parted from him, she found Ailvie and said, “I want a bath before supper, Ailvie, so prithee, order hot water for me.”

“Aye, sure, m’lady. Then, I’ll come up straightaway to help ye.”

With Ailvie’s help, Catriona washed her hair, bathed, and donned the air-freshened yellow camlet gown. When she went back downstairs, her hair still damp but neatly plaited under her veil, she learned that the Mackintosh, despite his usual punctuality, had ordered supper set back an hour in expectation of guests.

Deciding to dry her hair by the hall fire, she drew a stool up by the hearth, took off her veil, and undid her plaits. She was still running fingers through her hair to let the heat of the fire dry it when Fin found her there.

“I hear that the Mackintosh does expect visitors,” he said. “Do you not fear that they may walk in and find you at your task?”

“Nay, for we will hear when they shout for the boats. The windows are unshuttered, sir, and such shouts echo long at this hour when the loch is calm.”

“I think your grandfather already sent boats across to await them.”

“Faith, why did no one tell me?”

Hastily, she began plaiting her hair again, aware that he watched closely as she did, because his gaze stirred the tingling sensation he so often stirred in her. It still surprised her how quickly and easily her body responded to his presence.

Hearing the first arrivals coming up from the yard, she twisted the two plaits together at her nape. She was pinning her veil into place when Fin stopped her.

“You’ve pinned it askew, lass,” he said, reaching to unpin and tug her veil into its proper place. The air around them seemed suddenly to crackle, making it hard for her to breathe, and the great hall seemed smaller. She was conscious only of him.

“Thank you,” she murmured to the air between them when he had finished.

But he did not reply, nor take his hand away. And the air, rather than crackling, filled with new tension. Looking at him, she saw that he stared toward the entrance, his face ashen. Following his gaze, she saw her father and James first, then Ivor. Other men were on the stairs behind them, but Ivor had stopped, blocking their way. The expression on his face reflected the one on Fin’s.

“God-a-mercy, you know Ivor!” she exclaimed. “Why ever did you not say so?”

Chapter 7

Having barely heeded Catriona’s words as he stared in consternation at Hawk, Fin glanced at her, realized that he still had his fingertips on her veil, and drew his hand back as he said, “That man in the doorway is your brother Ivor?”

“Aye, of course it is. Don’t pretend that you do not know each other, for it is plain to me that you do.”

“My lady, I must leave you for a time,” Fin said, collecting his wits when he saw Rothesay push past Hawk. “My own master is there, by your brother—”

“But why did you not tell me that you know Ivor?”

“I will explain everything as soon as I can, but prithee, do not make a song about this. Your brother will not thank you for it any more than I will. You may even put one or both of us in danger.”

“Give me your word

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