“No, but Dorcas and Marie got it straight from their mistress, as well as saw with their own eyes.”
“What?” Despite her resolve, Jeannie’s interest stirred.
“The Dowager’s grandsons have come home, the sons of her dead son. And they have vowed to settle that Finnan MacAllister.”
****
For a man who had achieved all his dreams, Finnan MacAllister did not feel as satisfied as he should. He sat brooding in the library at Dun Mhor, which had once been the favorite room of his father, Kieran MacAllister. Indeed, it was from this very room Avrie and his accursed men had dragged Kieran out to his doom.
All while Finnan lay upstairs in his bed unaware his father’s life was ending, spattered in blood on the stones of the courtyard. Aye, and he had sworn vengeance on that blood, every drop of it. He had worked and saved and suffered, he had bought up debts on the sly until he owned Gregor Avrie, and then he had returned to demand payment.
Too late, it had been, to save his mother, who had died in exile, or his sister who had fallen into the hands of one of Avrie’s demon sons. It had been eight years since he’d had word of Deirdre, ten since he had seen her. She had been only fifteen when the tragedy befell them. What sort of woman might she have become?
Agony stirred in his heart, which he had believed far too calloused to hurt so much. He had killed men, many men. He had lied, cheated, and traded his honor for money, all to get back to this place. And now that he sat here, he discovered it was not what he had anticipated.
Hollow. That described it. The house, with the Avrie clan chased from it back to the dowager’s dwelling or out of the glen, proved just a house and far too empty. The Avries had not suffered enough. He, Finnan, wanted more revenge.
But what? A vision of Jeannie MacWherter swam before his eyes. Aye, and he would have her sooner rather than later. That would be too easy, though avenging Geordie might soothe his pain.
Or would it? Avenging his father’s death had not, despite all his longing.
The trout in the pool had bidden him choose peace.
The library door creaked open, and young Danny poked his head into the room. Finnan and Geordie had picked the lad up following the battle at Culloden—a mere boy, in truth—and Danny had served him willingly ever since, a passable valet and an even better groom, despite the loss of his right arm.
“The horses stand ready, Master, if you wish to ride out.”
“I do.” He could barely stand being cooped up with paperwork on this fine afternoon. Maybe viewing his lands would settle his mind.
Danny grinned. “Rohre is full of himself today.”
Finnan grunted. He had bought the horse in Callander from a man he’d caught abusing the beast. The horse had a wild streak and a temper that proved he had not forgotten his past.
No more had Finnan.
Never mind, he had a taste for a wild ride. Perhaps that would chase Jeannie MacWherter from his head.
The great house of Dun Mhor lay at the northern end of the glen. An ancient place of stone built over the foundations of a roundhouse, it had housed members of Clan MacAllister since time immemorial—until the Avries took it into their minds to change that history. The Avries were supposed to be sworn allies of Clan MacAllister, held undergeis, and had lived under the protection of the greater clan before the MacAllisters’ fortunes declined and the treacherous Gregor Avrie saw his chance. A deceitful plan, a dirk in the night, and Gregor supposed his future changed.
Finnan still remembered his mother rousing him from his bed, weeping. “You must go at once, Finn! Your father is dead, and you are his heir. They will kill you next. I could not bear it—anything but that. Take your sister and go.”
But they had been unable to find his sister. And once he had crept to the courtyard, viewed his father’s dead body and taken Kieran MacAllister’s sword into his own hands, his mother, clearly terrified, had bundled him off through a hidden exit, giving him all the portable wealth on which she could lay her hands, including her own gold brooch and a pouch of small coins.
He thought on it now as he thundered up the glen, letting his eyes rest on every sweep of turf and high peak, how he had sworn vengeance and begged his mother to let him stay.
“Let me answer these vile wolves as they deserve!”
But his mother had wept harder. “They will murder you, Finn my love, and we will have nothing, nothing! At least I can live if I know you are somewhere in the world and can come back to reclaim your father’s lands.”
And so he had traveled everywhere in the world, but she had not lived. Word reached him but slowly through that family friend in Fort William. An illness, some said. Others whispered of murder, or suicide.
Where was Deirdre now, he wondered, as he fought Rohre for control of the reins. Reports there also varied. Some said dead. Some said mad. Upon his return, Finnan had served her husband’s father—Gregor Avrie—as he deserved, but had caught not a glimpse of his sister.
Would he even know her now, after so long? Aye, but he would know her eyes, so like his mother’s.
He tried to picture them and saw in his mind’s eye, instead, Jeannie MacWherter’s eyes, blue and innocent. Aye, she feigned innocence, but Finnan knew it very well for deception. And he vowed again, as Rohre pounded down the glen, Gregor Avrie would not be the only one he paid in kind.
Chapter Eight
