CHAPTER 19
It was a good day for hunting. And an even better day to be away from the castle.
Finn’s back hurt like hell from sleeping on Una’s floor.
After Margaret made it clear she never wanted him to touch her again, he could not share a bed with her—not without losing his pride and begging.
Fortunately, Una was not really a gossip, but he had to put up with the old woman giving him an earful about resolving his problems with his wife. As if he could.
Finn slung his bow over his shoulder and motioned for Alex to follow him up the hillside. They had tied their horses half a mile back to stalk a stag.
“He came right through here.” Finn squatted on the ground and pushed the heather back to reveal the stag’s tracks more clearly.
“Ach, looks like he’s a big one,” Alex said, squatting beside him. “Maybe even big enough to have antlers worthy of hanging at Helmsdale.”
Finn knew how badly Alex wanted a prize set of antlers to display on the walls of the hunting lodge with those from the most impressive stags his father and grandfather had killed.
“Aye, but this fellow did not live this long without being cagey,” Finn cautioned him. “But perhaps we’ll have luck on our side today.”
They were downwind from the stag, and it was blowing hard, so they had a good chance of getting close enough before the stag smelled or heard them.
Finn heard a movement behind them and tapped Alex’s forearm to warn him. Though it was probably an animal moving through the gorse, the wind that worked in their favor as stalkers would also favor anyone stalking them from behind.
He strained to hear over the harsh wind whistling across the hillside. There it was again, a faint rustle.
In one motion, he stood, drew his sword, and whirled toward the sound. A figure emerged from behind a boulder. When he recognized the man was Seamus, the son of Duffus of Sutherland, Finn relaxed—until Seamus started toward them with his sword drawn and murder in his eyes.
“What is the matter with ye, Seamus?” he shouted. “’Tis me, Finn.”
“’Tis not you I’m after, but him,” Seamus said, pointing his sword at Alex. “Step aside, Finn.”
“I can’t do that,” Finn said. “Alex is my cousin.”
Seamus was a big bear of a man and a seasoned warrior, but he was a scholar by nature. Finn wondered what had gotten him so riled up.
“The Gordons owe me a blood debt,” Seamus said. “Ye ought to help me collect it instead of standing in my way.”
“Tell me what’s happened,” Finn said, making sure he was between Seamus and Alex. “Whatever it is, Alex is an innocent.”
“My father’s dead,” Seamus said. “Murdered!”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Your father was a good man,” Finn said, and he meant it. “But murdered? Are ye certain?”
“A blade in the back is no accident,” Seamus said.
“I would have to agree with ye there,” Finn said. “How did it happen?”
“He was killed up in Thurso. Murdered by the Gunns.”
Why would the Gunns commit such a crime? It made no sense. They were a small clan that would not benefit from Duffus’s death, at least not directly.
“How do ye know it was the Gunns that did it?” Finn asked.
“We caught one of them,” Seamus said. “He admitted they were bribed by the Bishop of Caithness, Andrew Stewart.”
That was unfortunate. The culprit was a Stewart and a bishop, which meant obtaining justice would be no easy matter. But a bribe would explain why the Gunns did the killing.
“If it was the bishop,” Finn asked, “why are ye here threatening my cousin Alex òg?”
“Ye know as well as I do that the bishop did it at the behest of his kinsman, that sly Gordon dog, the Earl of Sutherland,” Seamus said. “The Gordons are at the root of this conspiracy to murder my father.”
When Seamus stumbled forward a step, Finn suspected he’d been drinking.
“Ye don’t know the Gordons were involved,” Finn said. “And I can promise ye Alex had nothing to do with it. Did ye, Alex?”
“Nay!” Alex called out behind him.
“My father had a claim to the Earldom of Sutherland,” Seamus said, weaving on his feet as he waved his sword. “His father had mine murdered to make certain the Sutherland lands and title passed to him.”
Unfortunately, that did sound like a plausible explanation.
“Justice demands I deny that Gordon scum what he hoped to gain by this murder and kill his only son and heir,” Seamus said. “An eye for an eye!”
“Come, Seamus, ye don’t have the stomach to kill an innocent lad who’s not even full grown,” Finn said.
“I must avenge my father,” Seamus said, but Finn could tell he was weakening.
“I’d hate to have to kill ye over this, but we both know I’m the better swordsman,” Finn said, and pulled out his flask. “Let’s have a drink and discuss how ye can obtain justice against the men ye know are guilty—the Gunns and the bishop.”
When Seamus finally dropped his sword, Finn drew in a deep breath.
It took an hour and all of his whisky to persuade Seamus to go to the King’s Council in Edinburgh to make his allegations against the bishop and demand justice.
He’d be lucky if he persuaded the council to punish a couple of the priests who assisted the bishop, but Seamus was well suited for that kind of fight.
And it would keep Seamus out of the reach of Finn’s uncle.
###
Finn pushed aside the guards posted outside his uncle’s chamber and flung the door open.
“I need a private word with my nephew,” his uncle said, dismissing the guards who had followed Finn inside with their swords drawn.
“Did you and the bishop have Sutherland of Duffus murdered?” Finn demanded as soon as the guards closed the door.
His uncle raised one eyebrow and asked in a pleasant tone, “Is he dead?”
Finn shared what Seamus had told him of the murder.
“I doubt the bishop was involved,” his uncle said. “But if he did undertake this vile act to protect my family’s interests, he did so without my knowledge.”
Finn did not know whether to believe him. But one thing was certain—if his uncle was involved, no one could ever prove it.
“While I had no part in Duffus’s murder,” his uncle said, raising his cup, “I’m glad he’s dead.”
“Why?” Finn asked. “Duffus was an old man. In all these years, he never challenged your right to the title.”
“He could have, so there was always a risk he would,” he said. “As I told ye before, many of these Sutherlands would prefer to have one of their own serve as their laird, and they resent how the title passed to a Gordon—though it was entirely legitimate.”
“Entirely.” Finn did not bother to keep the sarcasm from his tone.
“I’ll forgive that remark as well as your baseless insinuation that I was involved in this murder, because ye protected my son today,” his uncle said. “I was right to trust in your loyalty to him.”
His uncle motioned Finn into the chair opposite and poured them both a cup of whisky.
Finn drank it down. Charging in here and accusing his uncle was a mistake.
Did he expect his wily uncle to confess?
All he had accomplished was risking his uncle’s goodwill and his newly regained place in the clan.
“I need to know,” his uncle said, examining him through narrowed eyes, “if this Seamus is still a threat to Alex.”
Seamus would not live long if the earl believed he was.
“Seamus gave me his oath that neither he nor the Sutherland men who follow him will attempt to harm Alex.”
His uncle raised a skeptical eyebrow. “How did ye manage that?”
“I persuaded Seamus to pursue the prosecution of the bishop instead,” Finn said. “He’s headed to Edinburgh now to petition the King’s Council.”
“You silver-tongued devil!” His uncle threw his head back and laughed. “Seamus hasn’t a bloody chance in hell of succeeding. The bishop is a Stewart, for God’s sake.”
“Seamus denied he made any attempt to harm Alex before today,” Finn said, after his uncle’s laughter subsided. “The broken shards in Alex’s cup at Huntly and the thorn in his horse’s hoof must have been accidents.”
“I suppose you’re right. But if not for that, I wouldn’t have had ye here to protect Alex today.” His uncle raised his cup to him. “You’ll always have a place in my household. I’ll not forget what you’ve done and the debt I owe ye.”
Finn should be happy. This was what he had hoped for, but his troubles with Margaret dragged his spirits down even now.
“Helen is worried that there’s some trouble between you and your bride,” his uncle said, stopping Finn as he started to leave. “Maggie’s a good woman. Don’t let yourself lose her.”
“I don’t deserve a good woman like her.”
“None of us do,” his uncle said. “But ye must tell yourself you’re better than the man who’s likely to take your place.”
With all his flaws, Finn was better than some Lowlander laird like her former husband. But Margaret had made her choice.
She did not want him.