Slinging it over her back, Grace bent to pack the rest of the belongings. However, as she touched the mattress, she thought of the nightmare. How Duncan had comforted her, how he’d been so patient. How she was a terrible daughter for letting her feelings overshadow the mission.
Swallowing her guilt, she concentrated on her assignment, so when the flap opened, Grace did not notice Duncan at first. Her back prickled causing her to swing around and there he was, larger than life. He just stared quietly at her.
“Ye’re awake,” he said.
“Mmm,” Grace mumbled.
“The English horse is very picky.”
Grace’s eyes flickered at the mention of Minnie and how absurd this conversation sounded. “Oh.”
“I calmed her, she needed water.”
“Great.”
His fingers worked at the waist of his kilt, and he was stepping from one foot to the other, avoiding her gaze. Grace frowned. Was he being shy?The thought warmed Grace’s heart, to watch the big man fumble in her presence. She moved toward him, he stepped back.
He waved his hand around the tent, “I was comin’ tae dae this.”
Grace paused, “tis naethin’.” She fingered the string connecting to the bag slung over her shoulder, “can I have this?”
“What?” his eyes finally lit on her face.
“The bag,” she clarified.
“Oh, aye.”
“Thank ye.”
He cleared his throat and said in a gruff voice, “I will dismantle the tent, wait outside.” There were hints of color on his cheeks, but it was hard to tell whether it was due to his tan. Grace nodded and made to do as he asked.
“Jo?”
She looked at him.
“Did ye sleep well?”
She gave him a soft smile, “ye were right about Highlander men. Aye.”
His lips lifted and before the smile could bloom fully, Grace did the unladylike thing and practically ran out. She placed a hand over her chest in a bid to calm her thundering heart. She inhaled and exhaled deeply, blowing out tufts of air.
She could not stop smiling.
She heard a rush of footsteps from her right and turned. The little boy from the previous day shot himself into her arms with a happy giggle. Grace almost toppled to the ground, but she wrapped her hands around his scrawny back and ruffled his hair.
Today, his clothes smelled of soap and his cheeks were ruddy with color. He beamed at her, eyes shinning.
“Hey!” one of the men shouted running toward them. “I dinnae ken how he slipped past me. Come here!”
“’Tis okay,” Grace said. “He’s Archie. The farm owners are his grandparents.”
The man nodded and retreated.
“Archie,” Grace held the boy away from her. “What are ye doin’ here? Is yer grandfaither okay?”
Curly head bobbed, “aye.”
He looked behind her and Grace followed his gaze. A part of the tent was collapsed. “Ye’re leavin’?” Archie queried, furrowing his little brows.
