Page 66 of Highlander’s Mercenary Lass

Andrew's heart beat with rage. "Where is he? What has he done tae ye? If he's hurt ye, then I swear..."

Andrew's emotion was boiling up. At that point, he had no thoughts. He was going to kill Paton, and that was all there was to it. But he just had to find him first.

Grace turned to Andrew, beseechingly. "Let's just go," she said breathlessly.

Andrew watched as she got to her feet. Shaking her brand new houppelande down, Grace somehow still managed to look impressive, even if her headdress and caul were long gone.

Absently, Grace stroked her unruly dark locks, combing them through with her fingers. Andrew liked the look of her long, straggling curls like that, far better than any headdress.

But it was not the time for thoughts like this. Glancing around, Andrew wanted to know what had been done, but Grace seemed anxious to get going.

"Please," she begged him, "let's go."

Fiona's light eyes also fixed his. "He's oot cold. We just got him, but he wilnae be down long. Let's get out of here."

Andrew raised his eyebrows. "I might have kent ye'd get the better o' him," he said, impressed. But his eyes still ran around the room, looking for Paton.

Grace tugged at his hand, urging him to go. And he was going when Andrew turned around to see the face of Paton smiling down at him.

And he was pointing a sword straight at him.

"Andrew, about time! Now ye can witness Grace's slaying o' her sister!"

With no warning, he grasped at Fiona, taking her by the neck and holding her tight. The girl was too petrified to even make a sound; instead, her breathing fell heavy and deep into the stale room air.

Grace let out a scream, one so loud that it reverberated around the stifling bedchamber, almost taking on a life of its own.

"Fiona!" wailed Aileen from beside him. A pang of conscience flared inside Andrew. He should never have let the younger Duncan lass come with him.

Andrew's head clouded with thoughts, but through them, one stood out clear. He had to stop Paton. He didn't have a second thought. Andrew didn't even give Paton time to reach with his knife. In a split second, he kicked the blade from him. In another second, he had booted Paton in the knees, the groin, and the head.

Paton went down like a felled tree, groaning, to his knees. Once he was on the ground, Andrew leaped on top of him, removing his long sword and holding him down with it.

"Give me one reason not tae slice yer sniveling face right off!" he snarled, but behind him, Grace pulled hard.

"Nay," she said simply. "Not this way. Once the clan kens the truth, they will deal wi' him. But we should give them the final say."

Grace's hazel gaze swayed him. Andrew knew she was right. Tempting though it was to end Paton's miserable existence there and then, he knew he should not.

"Alright," he conceded. "But ye get the wee lasses out o' here," he told her. He did not need to ask twice. Fiona and Aileen were in no mood to hang around, and, arm in arm, they reached for the door.

Then, it was just Grace and Andrew...with Paton.

"Ye too, Grace," said Andrew, but Grace did not budge. In the center of her hazel eyes, he saw a glimmer of energy.

"Nay," she replied softly. "I will go wi' ye."

Now she was in front of him, her cool hand on his.

Inside, Andrew felt himself tingle. "Alright," he said, giving a tense nod. He bound Paton's arms behind his back and shackled him to the four-poster bed—the only thing not to be upturned in the scuffles.

When he was done, he reached out to Grace. Stroking an errant hair that had fallen down her face, he lost himself in her skin. She was silken, sleek. The look of her there, battle-worn and flushed, sent a bolt through him.

With no warning at all, he kissed her slowly. And then faster. And faster, and faster still. As he buried his head into her scent, Andrew felt like he would never stop.