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reach the whole crowd, ‘to pass on the chief’s feathers.’
    A roar for Aeneas went up from the M c Intoshes, startling some ducks from the loch behind so that they rose in a flapping flutter that seemed like applause.
    ‘But there is a third feather my husband wore,’ Lady M c Intosh continued. ‘Only the tribes of Clan Chattan can decide who will wear it now.’
    Far behind the crowd, over the edge of the lake, Elizabeth hissed at Anne.
    ‘This is stupid!’
    They were up in a tree, next to each other, standing on one branch, holding on to a higher one, and spattered with water from the rising ducks.
    ‘If you’d move out a bit, we’d see better,’ Anne whispered, edging her sister along the branch and further out over the loch, as she craned to see what was happening over on the steps of Moy.
    At the front of the crowd, Lady Farquharson caught Aeneas’s eye. He nodded to acknowledge her and she dropped her gaze, a pleased smile flitting over her mouth. First husbands were about common sense. Second husbands could be for the pleasure of it. She’d always appreciated the way Aeneas looked, his skill and astuteness. Now he also had status, and she had worked on James to improve even that. The only person who might gainsay her, Anne, wasn’t there.
    Beside Aeneas, Lady M c Intosh looked out across the throng.
    ‘Which chief will lead Clan Chattan?’ she asked.
    In the tree, the branch dipped alarmingly as Anne stretched to see and hear.
    ‘I’m going to fall!’ Elizabeth squeaked.
    ‘Isd!’ Anne snapped. ‘Be quiet!’ She saw the Macphersons raise their fists into the air. Under the ancient law of tanistry, every voice was equal but, in federation business, each clan was equal, with only one vote, regardless of size. Any members might dissent. A count then determined their tribe’s vote for chieftainship of Clan Chattan.
    ‘Macpherson!’ they called in unison.
    Ecstatic, Anne struck the branch in front with her own clenched fist.
    ‘Yes!’ she breathed. Now she had a clear view of Aeneas. It was the first time she’d seen him in daylight. His hair was raven-black,brows dark over darker eyes. It was silky, that hair, she remembered, at thirteen, astride those shoulders. In height he matched MacGillivray’s six feet but, while Alexander stood relaxed, Aeneas was taut, poised. Like a storm about to break, he seemed to be brooding, discomfited by the call. There was jostling, and angry mutters from his clan. Good, she thought.
    The MacBeans raised their fists and called their choice.
    ‘M c Intosh!’
    Anne watched Aeneas. There was a dangerous energy about him but, strangely, a mature authority, uneasy at the waiting, but easy in his own skin.
    ‘M c Intosh!’ The M c Thomases called.
    Was it his age? He didn’t seem such an old man now as she’d thought at thirteen. What would he be, thirty-six, seven? The same as her stepmother.
    ‘M c Intosh!’ The MacQueens, apart from Lady MacQueen who called for Macpherson and in doing so cancelled out her husband’s vote. But no one expected different from her. Cluny’s brother had been keeping her content for several years, whisky and age having cooled her own husband’s ardour long ago.
    Elizabeth frowned at Anne. Her sister seemed to have forgotten why they were there, perched in a tree over the loch. The shouts went on, turn by turn.
    ‘M c Intosh!’ From the Shaws.
    Anne was engrossed in appraising the man she’d resented for so long. He was eminently watchable, a deepening image like a still loch with a racing sky reflected in it. An unexpected thrill rippled across her abdomen. If he’d been any other man, it would have pleased and excited her. But with this man, it was surely alarm.
    ‘M c Intosh!’ The Davidsons.
    ‘Anne!’ Elizabeth nudged her. It was their family next.
    ‘Oh, no,’ Anne gasped. James would speak as she’d suggested. Where was Francis? ‘Do you see Francis?’ What had she heard, four or five votes for M c