Page 43 of Highlander’s Mercenary Lass

Isnae it obvious?

Then she looked at him and grinned. "But I reckon ye could do wi' a few pointers yersel' afore ye teach yer class..."

Grace winked as Andrew looked as if he had just been bitten by a mouse. Grace burst out laughing.

"What do ye mean, pointers, ye upstart!" Andrew kept his face straight, but by the twinkle in his eye, Grace knew he didn't mean it.

"I mean, I can beat ye in a fight anytime," Grace challenged. To prove her point, she picked up her silver sgian-dubh and held it in the air.

Andrew broke his stare. "Ye’re on!" he said.

With the wind rattling around the training ground, Grace got into position. Already, she was regretting the kirtle she had put on. She should have left it for another day. The fine gown fell straight to the ground, rustling the autumn leaves with every step she took. All the same, it did not take long for Grace to get into position.

Soon, the pair were face-to-face on the training ground. Around them, the wind picked up speed, sending Grace's hair blowing in the air; she hadn't gotten as far as fixing it into a caul yet.

Earnestly, Grace squared up to Andrew, holding her sword aloft. In front of her, Andrew shadowed her, carefully ducking out every attempt she made on him.

With a steely smile, Grace paced herself slowly. He was good; she gave him that. But then, so was she. Behind them, the men from the platoon had gathered around, watching intently.

Grace raised her sword and clashed against Andrew's ornate sgian-dubh. She almost had him, but just as she was about to gain an advantage, he turned it about. Suddenly, he had her on the backfoot, battling to get back into position.

But one thing about Grace was that she was fast. In almost a split second, she had his attention, swirling and dancing with her sword. Then, with no warning, she gave a kick, instantly knocking his sword from his hands. Before he could retrieve it, she darted in, picking it up and holding it aloft.

There was a ripple of applause, but Andrew wasn't done yet. He scrambled to his feet, about to make a dive for it when, before anything could happen, a messenger rode into the yard.

"Miss Grace Duncan?" announced the servant.

Grace dropped the sword. Her face paled.

"Aye," she said, her heart quickening.

The dark-clad servant turned to her gravely. "Please, miss, ye’re wanted back in the castle."

Grace's heart stopped.

Who died?was all she could think. Quickly, she shared a glance with Andrew. He put his arm on hers briefly.

"Ye'd best go, lass," he whispered, then leaned into her ear closer. "We can always continue later..."

Grace nodded, and with a slight smile to Andrew, she followed the grave-faced lackey back into the Duncan castle.

"Take a seat, my dear. Nay need tae look so nervous..."

Paton showed Grace into his chambers, ushering her to sit down on the ornately carved box chair in its center. Grace did as she was told but couldn't curb her anxiety completely.

Paton waited as she settled herself before starting.

"I expect ye wonder why I sent for ye," he said, flicking his gray-colored eyes over toward hers.

In the cold morning light, Grace saw a shrewd operator blinking back at her. But close up, she blanched a little at his presence. The man was standing a little too close for her liking.

Seeing her unease, Paton seated himself beside her in the bedchamber, pulling his own wooden chair up nearer to her. He wasn't quite as close as he had been before, but still, the pungent stench of his body was upon her.

Grace wrinkled her nose. While not actually unclean, there was a tawdry smell somehow of kale mixed in with sweat.

"Well, aye, I suppose I do. Is everything alright?" Grace asked jumpily. Normally, she was not this vulnerable. If someone or something put her on edge, she had her sgian-dubh and slingshot to see them off.

But this situation was different. It required a little ingenuity.