Buchanan deems all this story a fable, though asserted by John Major and Hector Boece, and thinks it more probable that the king was slain near Fettercairn in an ambush prepared by Finella.
So ended the legend.
As the girl read on, Vivian Hammersley had bent lower and lower over her, till the tip of his moustache nearly touched her rich dark hair, and his arm all but stole round her. Finella Melfort was quite conscious of this close proximity, and though she did not shrink from it, that consciousness made her colour deepen and her sweet voice become unsteady.
'That is the story of Finella of Fettercairn,' said she, closing the book.
'And to this awful legend of the dark ages, which only wants blue-fire, lime-light, and a musical accompaniment to set it off, you owe your name?' said he, laughingly.
'Yes—it was grandfather's whim.'
'It is odd that you—the belle of the last London season, should be named after such a grotesque old termagant!'
She looked up at him smilingly, and then, as their eyes met, the expression of that glance exchanged beside the well on the hills came into them again; heart spoke to heart; he bent his face nearer hers, and his arm went round her in earnest.
'Finella, my darling!' escaped him, and as he kissed her unresisting lips, her blushing face was hidden on his shoulder.
And this tableau was the result of the two days' shooting—a sudden result which neither Shafto nor Hammersley had quite foreseen.