Still, a man who underestimated the Gordons was a fool. The Sinclair clan would burn down a village over a small slight, but no one could match the Gordons for cunning self-interest. While the Sinclairs stood their ground and died with the king in the Battle of Flodden, the two Gordon earls—Huntly and Sutherland—foresaw the outcome, took flight, and saved themselves.
A serving woman he suspected he had slept with greeted him when he entered the hall.
“Thought you could use this, FinlayAluinn,”Handsome Finlay,she said, and handed him a large cup of whisky.
“Ach, lass, ye must havethe sight,” Finn said and gave her a wink.
“’Tis been dull as dirt without ye.” She leaned close to speak in his ear. “I could meet ye in the stables tonight.”
He gave her a noncommittal smile. He could be in the dungeon by nightfall. Besides that, he had no interest, which was a startling revelation as she was precisely his kind of woman: a buxom and willing lass with no expectations beyond a good roll in the hay.
The hall was even more crowded than usual and abuzz with conversation, which made him wonder what had happened. Perhaps Huntly had negotiated a betrothal for his granddaughter. Whatever it was, Finn hoped it was good news that would make the earl receptive to taking him back into his guard.
He groaned when he saw his mother stalking across the hall toward him with his father in her wake. Damn it, it was too late to escape. She’d seen him. People said his mother had been a great beauty, but her firm belief that she married beneath her had imprinted a permanent frown of resentment on her face.
“We didn’t expect to find you here,” his mother said, jutting her chin out. “Thought you’d be living on Orkney.”
“Lovely to see you too, Mother,” he said, then nodded to his father, who was probably too drunk to notice.
“What did ye do to make my uncle Sinclair decide not to give ye the lands he promised?” she asked.
“The Sinclairs lost the battle,” Finn said.
“Ach, I told ye it would all be for naught,” his mother said, shaking her head.
She appeared to have forgotten she’d encouraged him to go.
“I have bad news, I’m afraid. Your uncle was killed, along with most of the Sinclair warriors who sailed to Orkney.” He told her about delivering the head as well, since she was bound to hear of it.
“Then my cousin George is chieftain now,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “He’ll make a strong chieftain.”
Finn was not surprised she took the death of her kinsmen in stride. His mother was not a sentimental woman.
“How did you survive the battle when so many others were lost?” she asked in the same tone George Sinclair had put the question to him.
“Sorry to disappoint you, Mother,” he said.
“Ye know that isn’t what shhe meant.” His father spoke in a slurred voice. “Ansswer your mother.”
“They had to pick someone to deliver the head. Guess I was just lucky,” Finn said with a shrug. The Orkney men said they chose him because of how bravely he fought, but his family would never believe that.
“So now you’ve come crawling back here to beg the Earl of Huntly to take ye back,” his mother said. “Ach, why did I expect more of ye?”
Lord above, he needed a drink. Where did that lass with the whisky go? Finn looked over his shoulder, hoping to see her, and instead saw his brother Bearach and his wife Curstag were here as well—and fast approaching. Nay, not them too.
Clearly, God had decided not to wait until he was dead to punish him for his sins.
“Unlike you, Bearach is a credit to this family,” his mother said when the couple joined them. “He was a hero in the fight against the Douglases at the Battle of the Causeway.”
Finn just smiled, which he knew would irritate her, and kept silent. But when his gaze caught Bearach’s, he could not avoid the bitter memory of finding his older brother cowering in a doorway during the battle.
Pull your sword and fight, damn it!Finn had shouted at him as half a dozen warriors came running toward them down the narrow street. While Finn fought them off, his brother took the opportunity to run.
The incident hung between them, poisoning the air like a fish gone bad. Bearach resented that he owed his life to Finn and hated him for witnessing his cowardice. Though Finn would never stoop to tell the tale, it would change nothing if he did. He had long ago given up trying to persuade his family that he was anything other than a wastrel.
“What will ye do now?” Bearach’s wife, Curstag, asked.
Finn could no longer avoid looking at her. Curstag was a black-haired beauty, and despite his best efforts, he still remembered the feel of her voluptuous curves beneath his hands and the purr of her voice as she told him she loved him. He’d been sixteen and believed her.
