Highland Master - By Amanda Scott Page 0,65

see, aye, and I think that Rothesay was not the only one flirting. That is, I doubt that Ivor thinks so.”

“But you did know that he is irked with me, too.”

“I have not said that I am,” he pointed out. “What makes you think that your behavior might have annoyed me?”

“I just thought you looked angry before, sir, when Ivor did. And I do think that you looked angry again just now.”

“But I have no right to be angry with you, lass. If anyone angered me, it was Ivor by letting his temper show so openly to a royal guest in his house.”

“I expect that is all that it was then. Will you let me pass?”

“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “Should I? You might meet someone else. You might meet an enemy on these stairs, or some other danger.”

“There is no danger here,” she said, trying to read his expression.

“Is there not, Cat?” he asked, his voice as soft now as soft could be and sending sudden tremors through her body as if he had touched her.

She swallowed hard and sought to find her voice. But it had deserted her.

He stood there for a long moment without speaking, then stepped politely aside and gestured for her to pass him. With a surge of unexpected disappointment, she knew that she had been hoping he would kiss her again.

Gathering the front of her skirt, she stepped onto the stair beside him, still hoping. Then she stepped to the one above it, still without incident. Abruptly, she turned, laced her hands through his hair, and forced him to turn his head toward her.

When he did, she kissed him hard on the lips, leaned away, and said, “You are the only danger here, Sir Fin of the Battles. And well do you know it.”

As she fled, she heard his chuckle echoing up the stairs behind her. Grinning in response, she felt much better.

His spirits lifting, Fin continued downstairs, having gone up only to exchange his shirt for a lighter one. The fire in the inner chamber burned hot, and with so many in the room, it had grown stuffy during the morning.

The afternoon meeting was no more productive than the morning one had been, however, until Donald said gruffly, “As I see it, Davy lad, the risk of what ye’re asking be far greater than any gain for me. Should we fail and Albany take up the reins of government again, we’ll all likely pay with our lives.”

Alex said with a deceptively lazy smile, “What d’ye want, Donald?”

Being a fellow Stewart, Alex spoke as to an equal, but Fin saw Donald’s lips tighten and knew why. Alex, although likewise the King’s nephew, was not only twenty years younger but bastard born.

Fin soon let his thoughts drift again to Catriona and her kiss on the stairs.

It had been all he could do not to catch her and hold her tight. Sakes, but he would have liked to take her right there against the stone wall of the stairwell.

Everything about her tempted him, and the strength of that temptation lingered. When she left after supper to go upstairs with the women, his thoughts continued to tease him, and they teased him even more in his dreams.

The next morning, he did not see her when he broke his fast with the men. But before the meeting had droned on long, the Mackintosh came to his rescue.

“Sithee, lads,” the old man said, looking from one great lord to another. “Ye waste time with all this posturing! Whilst I did agree to host this meeting and can see that ye need me, I am no growing any younger by this. Forbye, Rothesay, I would ask that ye and these cousins of yours do choose a man each and sit the six of ye down with me. Sithee, I’ll stay and keep ye from murdering each other, but only an ye take me advice. So now, what d’ye say?”

Fin held his breath. Having feared that the old man had stepped beyond what Rothesay would stand, he nearly cheered when, with a curt nod, Davy said, “ ’Tis a good notion. I’ll keep Havers with me. You other men may go.”

Fin left at once to see if Ivor had yet departed for the peat bogs, where he was again to spend the day. Passing through the hall, he looked for Catriona but did not see her and then found Ivor at the landing, watching gillies launch a boat.

Fin thus spent

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