Page 36 of Highlander’s Mercenary Lass

Paton watched, too, his aging eyes following anxiously across the room. Billie was standing confrontationally in front of a clansman; Grace wondered who he was.

The feasting had produced a great deal of merriment. Perhaps too much, as now there was a potentially tense standoff in the center of the hall. Grace could see that Paton was watching him carefully.

Then, without warning, Billie pushed his way through the now-hushed crowd, headed for the double doors.

"Aye, Paton, ye should go an' see where Billie is headed," said Fiona, also watching. The sisters and their aunt looked nervous. "Lest he's having some trouble or does something."

"Like invade England," cut in Aileen, who seemed to be quite enjoying herself. The tense atmosphere had faded. The sisters went back to chatting and jesting. Grace watched them with a sudden pang. They all shared something she had never known: the banter of a large family.

Although it was clear that the girls adored their brother, having watched him just now, she could see they had a point. Shaking his head, Paton excused himself.

"Best I go." He smiled smoothly. "But will ye allow me tae escort ye tae yer chambers, later, miss?"

Grace nodded but could not help feel a disquiet pass through her. She was more than a little relieved when Paton headed off to intercept the hotheaded young lad.

Watching them, Aileen whispered to Grace, "Well, ye've met us now. There's still time tae run away, big sister!"

Taking another gulp of the wine, Grace's cheeks flushed. "Och, nay," she said, with a smile. "I think I'll stick around a wee while."

Glancing at Andrew, at the opposite end of the table, she smiled softly.

There is more than one reason tae get tae know the Duncan clan,she thought.

The evening passed in a warm blur. All the music and the feasting swirled into Grace's head, leaving her quite giddy.

"We give thanks for our father's life," explained Fiona simply, in case Grace had been wondering what the feast was in aid of. "It was something he wanted, for folk tae make merry. He will be brought back tae the lands an' laid tae rest; however, his instructions were clear. We are tae give glad tidings."

Grace nodded. "I think ye've succeeded there," she said, trying her hardest to keep a straight head. The tiredness from the journey overwhelmed her. The day had been long, and there were just so many faces and things whirling around her head that she could barely keep her eyes open. Seeing her yawn, Fiona patted her on the shoulder.

"Ye should get some rest, Sister," she said, with a smile. A strange rush went through Grace's head. That word still made her do a double take.

Sister.

Grace smiled. Fiona was right; she was exhausted. But casting her eyes over to the center of the room, she tried to find Andrew. The feasting was still in full swing. She had been hoping to meet him before she retired for the night, but it seemed like he was held up deep in conversation with Billie and another of the clan guards. Evidently, he had smoothed things over with the soldiers from before.

Enviously, Grace watched as red-haired and red-cheeked Billie commanded all of Andrew's attention. Of course, as the laird's son, he would one day rule the clan, but at the moment, Grace had to agree with his sisters' verdict that this would be a very long time off. Even compared with other lads his age, he seemed young.

She was just about to make her excuses to leave the feast when an icy hand landed on her shoulder. Without any shadow of a doubt, Grace knew who it was. Heart sinking, she looked up.

"Allow me tae accompany ye tae yer chamber, miss."

It was Paton, peering down at her like a hawk.

"Um, thank ye, I would like that," lied Grace, who had been hoping desperately for Andrew to do that. Or at least one of the girls.

Smiling, Paton placed his cool hand on her back and ushered her away. His limp touch trickled through her spine, making her shiver horribly. She never liked being touched in such a way, and her shoulders instantly tensed. All the same, she tried not to show it.

He led her through the cold, stone walls that passed the great hall and up the large stairway to the chambers. Paton said little, but his hands did the talking, touching and squeezing the top of her shoulder blades, and every now and then, giving her a little rub.

Hot nausea welled up inside her. Maybe it was game pie or the haggis she had had at the feast, but she felt sick. And Paton's stale breath going down her neck did not help.

Eventually, they arrived at a bedchamber, having passed through many corridors. The castle was impressive, but right then, Grace was not paying attention. She was too busy wondering where his hands might go next.

"So, we're here," said Paton, with a snaky grin.

They were stood beneath a candelabra in the bedchamber. Here, for the first time, Grace observed just how old Paton was. In the dark of the corridor, it was hard to tell, but now, under a brighter light, she saw a man of at least sixty, with crooked teeth and a sagging jaw. His murky-colored eyes darted everywhere, seeming to pierce her skin with his stare.

"Do ye need some help settling in?" Paton's gray-flecked eyes burned into her. No matter where Grace turned to look, he was there, staring.