One of Finlay’s men came to tell them there was to be a celebration feast held at the alehouse that night. Everyone would be there: the villagers who were happy to finally be paid for their services; the tradesmen who would not have to wait for their money to come up from Inverness; the shipbuilders who were putting the finishing touches on the longboats to make them faster and safer. It was a raucous, merry evening, with much shouting and toasting to everyone who had held fast to see the hunt through to the end.
But Isla was not there to join in on the festivities. She told her father to inform anyone who cared to ask that she was back at the forge lodgings because she felt ill.
“I need a wee bit more time to think about yer advice, Faither,” she told the blacksmith when he asked why she had not dressed her hair for the celebrations. “For the plain truth is that I don’ wish to see Finlay Dougal again until I have ordered me thoughts more.”
Master McDonnell cocked an eyebrow at his daughter. “I hear ye, Isla, but if ye think ye’re the first woman to have had her thoughts disordered by Finlay Dougal, ye’d be wrong! Come now! Do ye ken how blessed we are to have such a fine man to lead our clan? He has much on his mind at the moment. Ye must forgive him for nae declaring his intentions because who’s to say that he or we or any o’ us will survive trying to retake the castle?”
“Aye, Faither,” Isla replied.
Her face softened as she remembered how magnificent Finlay had fought the steward’s mercenaries before they were arrested and put into the dungeons. The way he had moved like quicksilver, bringing his sword down on his enemies’ necks as if they were wheat that needed to be harvested. And all done with his left hand! The man was more like one of those old legends of warriors in ancient times than someone flesh and blood.
“Even if he decides not to make me an offer, I must still admire him for his great and goodly qualities: he showed us how to escape, an’ goodness kens what trumped-up charges Steward McMichaels would have brought up so that he could keep Mither’s dowry gold!”
The blacksmith gave his daughter a hug. “That’s the spirit, lass. Ye take after yer auld faither, ye truly do. Push all doubt an’ disappointment aside an’ stay loyal to our true laird. He’s a man worthy o’ our admiration.”
Isla gave a little laugh. “Och Faither, it’s no’ admiration I hold for him in me heart.”
After her father left for the alehouse, Isla was able to question her heart more closely. The problem was that she had forgotten that Finlay was her laird, not just some man she happened to meet at the forge—Laird Finlay Dougal! This realization made her see things more clearly. And no matter how she felt about his resolve to end the blood feud with the McTavishes, she had to bear in mind that it was because he was the true Dougal laird, not some wandering warrior without a home.
Fin must have a lot restin’ on his shoulders right now, an’ I’ll be damned if I become another one of his burdens!
Isla went to bed. She had an awful lot to think about before she found the strength to help Finlay regain his title any way she could.
