relinquished his place at the chessboard, Fin took it with alacrity, certain that he could beat
the older man. But although they played several games, no matter what he did, no matter how clever his strategy seemed, luck
eluded him. When Mackinnon said kindly, as he offered him more of the heady
brogac
that the islanders drank, that Fin’s losses were probably due to the clout on his head, Fin wanted to believe him, but his
head did not even ache.
That seemed strange, too, because since he had hit the ground hard enough to render himself unconscious, his head ought to
hurt like the devil.
One benefit came from the busy night, however—or the
brogac
—for although he rarely slept well in strange surroundings, he slept soundly in the bedchamber allotted to him until a sharp
rapping at the door awakened him.
“Enter,” he growled, shifting his pillows and sitting up against them.
“You’re in a pleasant humor,” Patrick MacRae said with a teasing grin. “I came to see if you mean to sleep the day away. ’Tis
nigh onto eleven.”
“Faith, it cannot be so late!”
“Aye, but it is. I’d have come sooner, but Mackinnon told me you wanted to sleep late. He passed that information to Tam,
as well.”
“The devil he did! After this, my lad, unless you or Tam hear such an order from me, you will pay it no heed.”
“Aye, well, normally I would not have believed him,” Patrick said with a wise look, “but you stayed up till nearly dawn, after
all, letting the old man beat you at chess and drinking his
brogac,
so I thought he might be right to let you sleep.”
“Where is the lass? Is she still abed, as well?”
“Nay, the old man said she went hunting shortly after dawn.”
“Hunting!”
“Aye, I thought it strange, myself, but I did take the precaution of sending a pair of the lads to keep an eye on her so she’d
not winkle her way off the isle whilst you slept. They have not returned, so doubtless they managed to follow my orders.”
“Good man,” Fin said.
“Aye, unless Mackinnon is more devious than we think,” Patrick said thoughtfully. “He could have murdered our lads and hidden
the lass somewhere. This is his ground, after all.”
“Men say Mackinnon is a man of his word,” Fin said, “but I do not trust the lass. Unless I miss my guess, she’ll leap at the
first opportunity to escape me.”
“How odd that she did not take to you at once,” Patrick said, grinning again.
“You mind your manners, my lad,” Fin growled, “or even you will soon find it difficult to laugh. I may allow you frequent
liberties, but—”
“I’ll hold my peace,” Patrick said, sobering hastily. “There is still food set out in the hall,” he added. “Shall I send a
lad up with a platter of it?”
“I’ll go down,” Fin said. “Tell someone to saddle a horse for me. I mean to follow that hunt as soon as I’ve broken my fast.”
An hour later, Fin rode out of the castle with Sir Patrick at his side, and it did not take them long to find the hunters.
To his astonishment, the Maid rode ahead of the men, and she rode like a young goddess.
Her mount was of the highest quality, a fine bay gelding with four black stockings and a white blaze on its face. Its black
mane was strung with tiny silver bells that tinkled musically as it paced along with its long black tail arched high. Her
plushly padded saddle was inlaid with ivory and gilt. Her silver-tipped stirrups, her elegant gray velvet dress, and her plumed
black hat—all augmented her beauty and the magnificence of her appearance. The fair huntress held her reins gracefully in
her left hand and her bow in her right. A quiver of arrows hung from her belt. Her thick, reddish blond curls hung in a loose
cloud down her back.
The sight reminded him of his Viking ancestors, any one of whom would have been delighted to capture such a treasure and carry
her back to his home, to plunder at will until she
the older man. But although they played several games, no matter what he did, no matter how clever his strategy seemed, luck
eluded him. When Mackinnon said kindly, as he offered him more of the heady
brogac
that the islanders drank, that Fin’s losses were probably due to the clout on his head, Fin wanted to believe him, but his
head did not even ache.
That seemed strange, too, because since he had hit the ground hard enough to render himself unconscious, his head ought to
hurt like the devil.
One benefit came from the busy night, however—or the
brogac
—for although he rarely slept well in strange surroundings, he slept soundly in the bedchamber allotted to him until a sharp
rapping at the door awakened him.
“Enter,” he growled, shifting his pillows and sitting up against them.
“You’re in a pleasant humor,” Patrick MacRae said with a teasing grin. “I came to see if you mean to sleep the day away. ’Tis
nigh onto eleven.”
“Faith, it cannot be so late!”
“Aye, but it is. I’d have come sooner, but Mackinnon told me you wanted to sleep late. He passed that information to Tam,
as well.”
“The devil he did! After this, my lad, unless you or Tam hear such an order from me, you will pay it no heed.”
“Aye, well, normally I would not have believed him,” Patrick said with a wise look, “but you stayed up till nearly dawn, after
all, letting the old man beat you at chess and drinking his
brogac,
so I thought he might be right to let you sleep.”
“Where is the lass? Is she still abed, as well?”
“Nay, the old man said she went hunting shortly after dawn.”
“Hunting!”
“Aye, I thought it strange, myself, but I did take the precaution of sending a pair of the lads to keep an eye on her so she’d
not winkle her way off the isle whilst you slept. They have not returned, so doubtless they managed to follow my orders.”
“Good man,” Fin said.
“Aye, unless Mackinnon is more devious than we think,” Patrick said thoughtfully. “He could have murdered our lads and hidden
the lass somewhere. This is his ground, after all.”
“Men say Mackinnon is a man of his word,” Fin said, “but I do not trust the lass. Unless I miss my guess, she’ll leap at the
first opportunity to escape me.”
“How odd that she did not take to you at once,” Patrick said, grinning again.
“You mind your manners, my lad,” Fin growled, “or even you will soon find it difficult to laugh. I may allow you frequent
liberties, but—”
“I’ll hold my peace,” Patrick said, sobering hastily. “There is still food set out in the hall,” he added. “Shall I send a
lad up with a platter of it?”
“I’ll go down,” Fin said. “Tell someone to saddle a horse for me. I mean to follow that hunt as soon as I’ve broken my fast.”
An hour later, Fin rode out of the castle with Sir Patrick at his side, and it did not take them long to find the hunters.
To his astonishment, the Maid rode ahead of the men, and she rode like a young goddess.
Her mount was of the highest quality, a fine bay gelding with four black stockings and a white blaze on its face. Its black
mane was strung with tiny silver bells that tinkled musically as it paced along with its long black tail arched high. Her
plushly padded saddle was inlaid with ivory and gilt. Her silver-tipped stirrups, her elegant gray velvet dress, and her plumed
black hat—all augmented her beauty and the magnificence of her appearance. The fair huntress held her reins gracefully in
her left hand and her bow in her right. A quiver of arrows hung from her belt. Her thick, reddish blond curls hung in a loose
cloud down her back.
The sight reminded him of his Viking ancestors, any one of whom would have been delighted to capture such a treasure and carry
her back to his home, to plunder at will until she
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