Chapter 5
The bell for Vespers tolled as Àdham went through the red port and past the ruined tower that was all that remained of the ancient castle. The tower formed part of the town wall, jutting northward from it and blocking his view until he crossed the bridge. So, he did not immediately see the man he had come to meet.
People strolled on the North Inch and along the riverbank. Others went to or from the monastery or walked alongside a thick wall of hedges that extended from the monastery’s stone wall to a gated archway.
That archway revealed more of the grounds, including a garden. Doubtless, her grace’s ladies walked there unless the garden was part of the brothers’ cloister, reserved for meditation and prayer.
Realizing that he’d let his gaze linger, watching for a particular figure, he turned to see his uncle striding toward him with a frown on his long face.
Sir Robert Graham looked much as he had a decade or more before, when Àdham had last seen him. For, despite their kinship, they had met only two or three times in his youth. He had heard much about Sir Robert from his Highland kinsmen, though, and knew that the powerful Grahams held large estates in the Lowlands.
Sir Robert’s long red gown was that of a wealthy nobleman. Visibly silk-lined and trimmed with dark fur, its skirt had slits at the sides, front, and doubtless the back to facilitate riding. However, he also wore purple-and-gold, pointy-toed silk shoes, so he was unlikely to ride anywhere without first changing into boots.
The long red-velvet cap that covered his hair, and thus kept Àdham from seeing if he curled it, boasted a flowing, soft, pointed tail.
Despite Lady Fiona’s assertion that men of fashion shaved off their beards, Sir Robert still sported the dark, pointed, two-inch-long one that Àdham recalled. It was neatly styled, and the hair on his uncle’s upper lip looked freshly trimmed.
Such sartorial splendor failed to impress Àdham, who believed that a knight worthy of the title went well armed. To be sure, he wore only his dirk in its leather sheath, himself, but as far as he could tell, Sir Robert was weaponless.
“Let us stroll by the river,” Sir Robert said in credible Gaelic without preamble. “Few will heed us there or understand what we say.”
“Have we reason to be privy, then?”
“Aye, perhaps, because I do recall how ye came by your knighthood two years ago,” Graham said bluntly. “Ye did yourself nae good thereby, my lad.”
Tempted to point out that he was not his lad since they scarcely knew each other, but put off by Graham’s latter statement, Àdham said, “Why is that?”
“Don’t act the dolt with me,” his uncle retorted. “Ye ken fine that the Camerons and Clan Chattan were duty bound to support Alexander in Inverness and at Lochaber. He believes now that both confederations betrayed his Lordship of the Isles. So, since James himself told me that ye’d persuaded your Cameron kinsmen to change sides when they did, ye must now persuade them to change back to their true liege.”
“The Mackintosh was Constable of Inverness Castle then, so of course he defended it, and I talked only with Ewan MacGillony. Since Ewan is your good-brother, you must know him well enough to know he makes his own decisions.”
“Aye, but ye persuaded the traitorous man, and why ye took the trouble lies beyond my ken. Ewan’s done naught for ye since your mother left ye bereft o’ her care and advice. Amabel was my own sister, I’d remind ye.”
“I am the youngest of her sons by six years,” Àdham reminded him. “When Mam died, Da had no women left to whom he could entrust my care. He remarried at the urging of his clan chief, but his new wife wanted her own bairns and naught of me. So, when Uncle Fin offered to take me, Da agreed. I am content at Castle Finlagh and think of it as my home. But I hold naught against my father.”
“I see. Nevertheless, ye’d be wise to voice support for Alexander’s release as soon as ye can—here, at Finlagh, and elsewhere. The North rightfully belongs to Alexander, so his Islesmen will not suffer his imprisonment much longer without taking vengeance. Then, all who failed him at Lochaber will suffer. That includes all Camerons, including ye, my lad, as well as your foster Mackintosh kinsmen.”
“Be plain with me, sir. Is such an attack imminent?”
Graham shrugged and said, “I have nae ken of such. Although one does hear whispers that Alexander’s young cousin, Donal Balloch, Chief of Clan Donald of Dunyvaig, has returned to the Isles and sends messages to him. Because of their kinship, Balloch takes affronts to the Lordship of the Isles personally. He declares Jamie’s imprisonment of the rightful Lord of the Isles unlawful and unwarranted.
“The fact is, lad,” he added grimly, “that siding with James and the foolish notion he adopted during his English captivity of leaving all lawmaking to the King and his Parliament, as the bloody English do, is most unwise.”
“I’ll reflect on all that you say,” Àdham said. “But you should know that by laying waste to Inverness merely to spite the King, Alexander enraged nearly all Highlanders. As for trying to destroy Inverness Castle, which, as we all know, the King had refurbished and strengthened after three Lords of the Isles had added to its ruin, many consider that act alone to have been lunacy.”
“Aye, perhaps, but Alexander is Lord of the Isles and equal to the King.”
“Other than his Islesmen, few agree with that,” Àdham said. “Alexander Stewart, Earl of Mar, who is also rightful Lord of the North, has declared that for Lords of the North and Lords of the Isles to claim equal status to the King ill-serves all Scots. Not only would three equal monarchs stir confusion throughout the land, but they are the King’s own cousins, after all, and should support the Stewart claim to the throne. My father made arguments like yours. But when he learned that the King might win, he decided that he should win. Other Camerons agreed with him.”
“Every man of them should hang,” Sir Robert said. “And soon, they will.”
Àdham said, gently, “Do you realize that you speak of the two largest clan confederations? Do you recall how many men Clan Chattan alone can raise? Would you really hang half of the Camerons and expect the other half to help you do it?”
Graham was silent, and movement near the monastery drew Àdham’s eye.
A line of ladies, two by two, emerged from the hedged garden through the open iron gate of the hedge-flanked archway and headed toward the monastery’s main gate. He wondered if they would all attend the night’s festivities.
“Did ye enjoy your visit to Blair Castle?” Sir Robert asked, abruptly reclaiming Àdham’s attention.
Although he managed to suppress his astonishment, he knew Sir Robert had meant to surprise him and likely knew he’d succeeded. Evenly, Àdham said, “Since you informed me over a decade ago that we are kinsmen by marriage to the Earl of Atholl, his younger son, Caithness, has become a friend and visits at Finlagh. But I did not know that you keep so keen an eye on Blair as to know all who stop there.”
Graham’s mouth quirked smugly. “Atholl’s people keep me apprised of such. So I ken fine that ye bided overnight and someone lent ye the horse ye rode here yestereve.”
“As Atholl’s countess, Elizabeth is as much my kinswoman as yours, so I did take the opportunity to pay my respects,” Àdham said, wondering how close his uncle was to Atholl and how he knew that messages had reached the Lord of the Isles at Tantallon.
Since Sir Robert supported Alexander and opposed James, Àdham suspected that Sir Ivor and Malcolm would recommend that he keep his distance from the man. As for Atholl, the King’s sole surviving Stewart uncle, everyone knew that he and James disagreed more often than not.
“We should turn back now,” Sir Robert said. “I expect ye mean to attend the entertainment tonight in Parliament Close.”
Àdham murmured acquiescence but made no further comment.
Fiona, strolling behind Joanna and Lady Sutherland in a fog of ambergris sweetness that even their stroll through the Gilten Herbar failed to dispel, looked longingly toward the river Tay. As her thoughts drifted to the previous night, she wondered if the moon would be as full when it rose again that night.
It ought to be, she decided, although it would likely rise long after they returned from the festivities and thus too late for her to enjoy.
She would definitely not venture outside again to watch for it.
Just then, she caught sight of two men standing near the ancient tower, one in what looked like a blue-green plaid and the other in a long red robe and cornet cap.
“Why do you sigh, Fiona?” plump, golden-haired Lady Malvina Geddes, walking beside her, asked. “Surely, you look forward to tonight’s festivities.”
“’Tis naught,” Fiona replied vaguely. She believed that the man in the plaid was Sir Àdham. Even at that distance, she recognized his long, unkempt hair and beard and the way he stood with his arms folded across his chest.
The other man resembled her father in height and breadth of shoulder but was definitely not Ormiston. She would recognize him or any of her three brothers with ease, just by the way each held himself and moved.
The man she believed was Sir Àdham glanced briefly toward her.
Immediately, she faced forward, glad that the two ladies ahead of her were setting a brisk pace. Had they not, with her thoughts dwelling on moons and men as they had, she might have walked right into her grace.
Aware that Malvina was likely feeling snubbed, Fiona apologized for her reverie and assured her that she was eager to enjoy the evening ahead.
Before adjourning to the assembly hall, the ladies attended Vespers in the monastery chapel and ate a light supper. Then, they returned to Parliament Close in the same manner as before but to a more festive chamber.
Long trestle tables covered in white cloths stretched much of the length of the chamber from below the dais and its high table toward the entryway. A clear central space remained for the entertainment and, perhaps, for dancing. When the Queen and her ladies entered, musicians began to play.
The four maids of honor took places at the front end of the trestle nearest the ladies’ end of the dais, while the Queen and her chief ladies ascended to their places at the high table and stood facing the lower hall. The King and his most trusted advisers entered without fanfare shortly afterward and went straight to the dais.
Ormiston was with them, and catching Fiona’s eye, he nodded toward the rear of the hall. Turning, she saw Sir Walter Scott of Buccleuch with the lady Rosalie, who was stylishly attired in a vermilion silk gown embroidered with white flowers.
Easily comprehending that paternal nod, Fiona excused herself to the others at her table and crossed the hall toward Buccleuch and Lady Rosalie, only to stop when a stranger, foppishly garbed in particolored hose and a plumed cap, stepped into her path, swept her a bow, and said, “Lady Fiona Ormiston, aye?”
“Pray, sir, let me pass. I do not know you.”
“But I do ken who ye be, lassie, and I would ken ye better,” he said brashly. “A wee beauty like yerself shouldna walk about unattended if she doesna want appreciative gentlemen tae speak tae her.”
“One who speaks to me without proper introduction is no gentleman,” she retorted, raising her chin. “Moreover, my lord father is watching us from the dais. I assure you that if you do not step aside, I have only to glance at him . . .”
When she paused, letting him fill in the rest for himself, he said curtly, “Ye dinna ken who ye be snubbing, lass. Ye’d be wise tae take better heed.”
Making no effort to reply, she looked to the high table and saw Ormiston frowning as he watched them. The irritating fop evidently saw the frown, too, for he snapped, “Och, aye, then. But ye’ll likely meet wi’ yer sorrows anon.”
“Mercy, Fiona,” Lady Rosalie said when Fiona joined her and Buccleuch. “Who was that impertinent young man?”
“I do not know, madam. But he has churlish manners.”
Shaking her head so that the gauzy veil over her horned headdress fluttered, Lady Rosalie smiled as mischievously as if she were fifteen instead of fifty. “I thought you might walk right over him,” she said, her dark eyes dancing. “You looked as if you wanted to.”
Beside her, Buccleuch said quietly, “We must find seats at one of the tables, madam. His grace stands at his place, so the beef cart will soon enter through that doorway yonder. You are welcome to sit with us, Fiona.”
“Thank you, my lord, but I must return to our table. Her grace will not ask much of us this evening, for she told us to enjoy ourselves, but I must not tarry. I came only to welcome you and to make my greetings to Lady Rosalie.” Smiling, knowing that Ormiston would expect her to make her ladyship welcome, she added, “We do have room at our table, madam, if you would like to sit with us.”
“Is that allowed?” Rosalie asked her.
“Aye, sure, at such an informal event as this one is,” Fiona said. “Her grace encourages us to welcome guests. Sithee,” she added with a wry look, “some of the younger ladies’ families expect them to find husbands whilst they serve Joanna.”
“Is Ormiston amongst them?” Buccleuch asked with a teasing grin.
She had known him all her life, so she grinned back and said lightly, “No, sir. He just likes to keep me near him.”
Lady Rosalie said, “Would you mind dreadfully, Wat, if I accept Fiona’s invitation? I have never conversed with a queen’s ladies before.”
“You must do as you please, madam,” he replied. “In any event, his grace is looking my way, and I do want a word with Douglas of Dalkeith, who sits near him. Just don’t let any ill-deeded hugger-mugger carry you off without shouting for me.”
“I’ll watch where you sit so I shout in the right direction,” she assured him. “But, despite the fop who accosted Fiona, this seems an unlikely place for huggery-muggery.” When Wat shook his head at her, she smiled. “Shall we go, Fiona?”
Fiona had just seen Sir Àdham enter with the man in the long red robe and realized that she had seen that man before. Even so, it took a moment to recognize him as the nobleman with the mellifluous voice who had spoken against the King earlier at Parliament House. Brief thought returned Sir Robert Graham’s name to her memory, and she wondered how Sir Àdham could know such a tedious person.
“Fiona?”
Vaguely aware that it was the second time Lady Rosalie had spoken her name, she flushed and swiftly begged her pardon. “I fear that I let my thoughts run away with me, madam. But we had better make haste. His grace is gesturing now for the Bishop of St. Andrews to say the grace-before-meat.”
Despite a quizzical look suggesting that she might have more questions, Rosalie said, “Then let us go quickly.”
“I willna ask ye to sit with me, Àdham,” Sir Robert said as they crossed the assembly hall. “Others expect me. So, since ye’re no of a mind with us . . .”
Realizing that Graham expected him to fill the pause, Àdham said firmly, “I am to sit with Sir Ivor Mackintosh tonight, sir. I must bid you farewell now.”
“We will see more of each other anon,” Graham said as firmly.
Not here, not tonight, and never if I can avoid it, Àdham thought.
As he did, he saw the lady Fiona walking with an older, elegantly garbed noblewoman across the wide central opening between the trestle tables.
Then, as the two turned toward the ladies’ end of the dais, he saw a tall popinjay in blue-and-purple particolored hose and a dagged jacket that barely covered his buttocks hurry after them. The fop must have spoken, for both ladies paused and turned toward him. Another, slightly shorter, popinjay caught the first one by an arm, whereupon the first grimaced but turned obediently and moved toward the far side of the hall with the second. Àdham had seen neither man’s face.
Lady Fiona and her companion continued toward one of the trestles.
Now what was that about? Àdham wondered. Assuring himself that it was naught, that the larger man was just a clunch-witted lout and the other a kinsman of the older woman or of Fiona herself, he glanced toward the high table, where he had seen Ormiston eyeing him when he’d arrived with Sir Robert.
Not only was his lordship still there, but he was also watching Lady Fiona and her companion. And he was frowning.
Locating the two fops again by their clothing, Àdham noted the shorter one’s orange-red, smartly curled hair, clean-shaven cheek, and jutting nose and chin but still could not see his whole face. Both men’s attire looked costly. The taller one’s manners wanted mending.
The smaller man turned at last to scan the chamber, and Àdham recognized him as Gillichallum Roy Mackintosh, Malcolm’s youngest son.
“What an annoying man that was, dearling,” Lady Rosalie said. “He is the same one who accosted you earlier, is he not? I could not be sure.”
“He is,” Fiona said.
“He is gey persistent for someone you do not know. Art sure you do not?”
“I had never seen him, or the man who stopped him, before,” Fiona assured her, striving to keep her voice free of her irritation at being cross-questioned.
“I ken fine that I have no right to press you in such a way,” Rosalie said. “But your lord father also took note of him. I glanced that way just as that younger man stepped in, and Ormiston was staring right at us, frowning.”
“If you fear that he will be annoyed with us, madam, you need not be.”
“Oh, no,” Rosalie said. “He knows we would never encourage such a menseless creature. But he is likely to keep a more protective eye on us now.”
Knowing she was right, Fiona led her to the table assigned to the maids of honor, where they both enjoyed their supper and lively conversation with the others.
Ormiston stayed with the King.
The Queen also kept her seat, and—perhaps due to her delicate condition and his grace’s desire for a healthy son—did not dance. Thus, Fiona felt obliged to stay with Lady Rosalie and politely declined several invitations to join the dancers.
Other entertainment included tumblers and fools in their motley garb and tinkling bells. The jugglers were deft and the royal minstrels exceptionally skilled.
When the musicians began to play for a second round of dancing, Joanna stood with her chief ladies, signaling her intent to retire.
“Must you go with her, dearling?” Rosalie asked Fiona.
“Aye, madam,” Fiona said, suppressing a sigh of disappointment. “But I see that my lord father has excused himself and is coming this way. We should wait here for him. Some of these men have taken more drink than they should.”
Rosalie bristled. “Sakes, Fiona, if you imagine that I am not as skilled as you are at deterring such nuisances, you need have no further concern. I have looked after myself quite capably these many years past.”
“I am sure you have, madam, and I meant no offense. Her grace has seen that you are with me and has paused to wait for me. Moreover, Father is nearly upon us now. So I shall bid you good night and will doubtless see you again tomorrow.”
By then, Ormiston was with them, so she bade him good night, too, and returned to the monastery with the Queen and the other ladies. As they walked, she noted with wistful delight that the still-full moon was rising.
The mild regret she felt then had naught to do with lost opportunity for a stroll or a swim but with the fact that she had not seen Sir Àdham since he had entered the hall. He had not even bidden her a courteous good evening.
Àdham, having pleased Sir Ivor by presenting him to Ormiston at the assembly, spent much of the next day avoiding Sir Robert Graham.
While Ivor and Malcolm attended the sessions, Àdham and other clansmen practiced combat skills on the North Inch or explored the surrounding territory.
As Àdham cultivated new acquaintances and kept his ears aprick for news, he noticed that Malcolm’s son, Gillichallum Roy, had grown unusually restive.
Reluctant to reveal his acquaintance with the lady Fiona, Àdham had said nothing yet to Gilli Roy about the stranger’s attempt to accost her at the festivities the previous night. However, since Gilli shared his bedchamber, Àdham knew the lad’s sleep had been restless and fraught with dreams, so that night, he asked Gilli what was wrong.
Avoiding his gaze, Gilli said plaintively, “I dinna like it here. This alehouse and the street outside be too noisy. In troth, I dinna sleep well unless I lie in mine own bed.”
“You seemed to enjoy the festivities last night in the assembly hall,” Àdham said. When Gilli shrugged, he added bluntly, “The chap you were with, the one who seemed to be a friend of yours, accosted a young lady in a most uncivil way.”
Gilli stiffened. “I ken fine what ye must have seen, Àdham. But he is nae more than an acquaintance who has been friendly to me. As tae the lass—”
“That lady,” Àdham said grimly, “is a maid of honor to the Queen.”
“I didna ken that. But if ye saw what he did, ye also saw me stop him.”
“Who is he?”
“His friends call him Hew,” Gilli Roy said. “All I can tell ye is that he speaks the Gaelic like a Highlander. Leave me be now. I want tae sleep.”
Whether he slept or not, Àdham insisted that Gilli Roy accompany him and the others both the next day and Friday for training. The lad’s sulky attitude irked him, but he felt obliged to keep an eye on him. For the Mackintosh’s son to fall into bad company or create a scandal in St. John’s Town would not be good.
The responsibility distracted him, but even so, he noticed that the Queen had stopped attending the festivities. Her ladies had also vanished from sight.
Not that Àdham shirked his duties to think about the ladies—one in particular—for duty did come first. Nevertheless, by Friday afternoon, he knew that during every respite the men took on the North Inch, he looked more often toward the monastery than in any other direction.
Only then did it occur to him that with more than a score of men practicing warrior’s skills on the Inch, any likelihood of the young ladies’ superiors letting them walk nearby was nonexistent.
Surely, even the intrepid lady Fiona, despite her moonlight adventure, would hesitate to expose herself so at such a time. However, she had not attended the evening festivities for the past two days, either.
Perhaps she was sick.
If not, perhaps she would be there tonight.
The Queen, tiring now more easily than expected, had decided to attend only such sessions of Parliament as the King asked her to attend. For that respite, Fiona felt only relief at not having to endure the tedious speeches.
However, Joanna had next declared the evening festivities too much for her, making her younger ladies and maids of honor fear that she would forbid them to attend. But when Lady Sutherland and Lady Huntly offered to accompany any of the young ladies that her grace might spare from evening duties, Joanna agreed.
As the youngest two, the ladies Fiona and Malvina were the last spared, so Fiona had not clapped eyes on Sir Àdham for days. She had tried to catch sight of him among the men honing their skills on the Inch, unsuccessfully, through the garden gate. At last, though, Friday night after Vespers, she and Lady Malvina accompanied Ladies Sutherland and Huntly to the assembly hall, to take supper.
The four of them found places at the trestle near the ladies’ end of the dais, where Fiona and the other maids of honor had sat before. Choosing a place from which she could see most of the lower hall, Fiona looked around while they awaited the grace-before-meat. Disappointed not to see Sir Àdham, she reminded herself that no matter how well spoken or intriguing the man was, his absence, not to mention its cause, was no business of hers.
Had he not ignored her suggestion that, before attending that first assembly, he furbish himself up a trifle by trimming his beard and arranging his unruly hair more stylishly? To be fair, he had explained that, as a warrior, he must keep his hair long enough to tie back, but he could at least have curled the ends a bit.
When she tried to imagine what he might look like so, she realized that without his untidy hair and beard, she had no idea how the man might look.
Her sense of humor stirred at the thought.
“Would you like to share what amuses you, Fiona?” Lady Huntly asked.
“I am merely pleased to be here, madam. I enjoy the music and look forward to seeing the dancing.” Her foot tapped in time to the music.
“We must hope to witness only such diversions tonight,” her ladyship said grimly. “Her grace sent two of us to attend today’s session, and a near-insurrection occurred there. Horrid men rushed in, shouting for release of the Lord of the Isles. When others tried to put them out, chaos ensued.”
A frisson of fear shot through Fiona. She had not seen Sir Àdham or Ormiston for days. Rational thought swiftly reassured her that Àdham was unlikely to attend Parliament. But she knew that her father had been there.
Lady Sutherland said ruefully, “Lady Huntly didna mean tae give ye a fright, Fiona-lass. She should ha’ told ye nae one were harmed. ’Twas but a nuisance, his grace did say, and worse that two men tried tae get a message tae Alexander. James ordered them all arrested and thrown into the Tolbooth.”
Having heard that many western Highlanders supported the Lord of the Isles and demanded an end to his year-long imprisonment, and recalling Sir Àdham’s allegiance to the King, Fiona’s alarm for him surged.
Moments later, with deep relief, she saw her father enter with Buccleuch, only to feel new alarm sweep in at the sight of Lady Rosalie walking proudly between them, her right hand resting on Ormiston’s left forearm. The two of them, she decided with a sigh, might as well have had a royal herald preceding them, announcing his lordship’s intention to marry her.
When Buccleuch turned as if to speak to one or both of them, his gaze met Fiona’s. He smiled, but only as if he were glad to see her, not as if he wondered how she might feel about the couple beside him. Politely, she returned his smile while she tried to decide how she did feel about them as a couple.
She had often thought that her widowed father ought to remarry. But . . .
Deciding to think about that later, she turned her attention to her supper.
She had barely finished eating when Lady Malvina said lightly, “I see my Geddes cousins yonder, Fiona. Mayhap you would like to walk over and greet them with me. Lay brothers are clearing the center area for the entertainment, so we should go now, or we shall have to walk all the way round it.”
“Aye, sure, I’ll go . . . if you will excuse us, my ladies.”
Lady Sutherland assured them that they were to enjoy themselves and that she and Lady Huntly would await them as long as necessary. “Although not past midnight, me dearlings. Ye must attend tae your morning duties, as usual.”
“We know, madam,” Malvina said. “Come, Fiona. My cousin Hamish is talking with a gey handsome young man, whom I do not yet know.”
Chuckling, Fiona said, “You see every handsome man as a future husband, Malvina. But the value of a husband depends on more than his looks, you know.”
Grimacing, Malvina said, “If ye think I want tae spend the rest of my life with a man who makes me think of an ogre or a toadstool rather than a charming gentleman, ye’re much mistaken. Only imagine having tae break fast every morning with such a man, let alone tae sleep with him.”
“Mercy, hush,” Fiona said on a gurgle of laughter. “You do not want to hear someone repeating that declaration tomorrow to all and sundry.”
Blushing, Malvina agreed that she would not like that, and they hurried on to her kinsmen. The handsome young man speaking to Hamish proved to be another cousin who showed more interest in Fiona than in Malvina. But Fiona, finding the discussion tiresome, let her gaze drift to other parts of the room.
The young man said, “I fear that you find my remarks tedious, my lady.”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” she replied, flushing hotly. “I was thinking that we should return to our table before Lady Sutherland sends someone to fetch us.”
“Go ahead, Fiona,” Malvina said. “Say that I’ll return afore midnight and that one o’ my kinsmen will escort me tae the residence if they have retired.”
Believing that Lady Sutherland was more likely to send her back to insist that Malvina return at once, Fiona nearly said so. But aware that that might make them persuade her to stay longer, she bade them good night and began to wend her way amid entertainers and spectators, trying to do so without irking anyone.
She had nearly reached the halfway point when someone grasped her elbow from behind and a cheerful masculine voice said, “One moment, my lady. Are you not Ormiston’s daughter, the lady Fiona?”
Turning abruptly and with annoyance, she saw blue-and-purple particolored hose; a short, dagged, matching cote-hardie hugging a narrow waist; a broad chest, and broader shoulders before the upper part of that body jerked back and spun away as a fist flashed hard to its chin. The unknown man collapsed at her feet.
Looking with amazement at Sir Àdham MacFinlagh’s equally astonished profile, she was about to demand what he thought he was doing, knocking people down, when she realized that his astonishment had focused wholly on his victim.
Leaning down, he grabbed the other man by both arms and hauled him to his feet. “Caithness!” he exclaimed, giving him an angry shake. “What the devil do you mean by dressing yourself up like a popinjay and accosting her ladyship in such a churlish way?”