Page 69 of Highlander’s Mercenary Lass

Frustrated, Grace blinked away the daylight and longed for the darkness of her dream.

"Grace!" Andrew's voice was insistent.

In a snap, Grace was awake but very much out of sorts. Squinting, her eyes filled with vision. She was surprised to find she was still in the main hall and had been for several hours.

The elders had been in discussion all day. And now it was well into the night, and still, they were locked in debate. They had been talking so long that Grace had slipped into a dream.

Now she was waking; the traces of the dream were fading fast, but then she recalled it. Giving a start, Grace remembered everything.

It was her mother.

"Andrew?" Grace cried, her eyes wide and her voice alarmed.

"Aye, lass," Andrew's tone soothed, but there was a clipped edge to it. "They've come back wi' a decision an' are ready tae speak."

The excitement in the hall was palpable. Around her, she saw the rest of the family taking up their places at the front of the hall.

The room was laid out with tables, swelling with clansmen. A low murmur filled the air, which grew louder.

"Grace!" Aileen squeezed her arm, finally waking her up properly. "Look, they're coming."

Grace watched anxiously as a gray old man stumbled up to the top of the hall. Every step he took seemed certain to be his last. This man must be a hundred if he was a day, thought Grace, convinced he would slip and fall. An almost-as-frail servant tried to help him, but he shook him off, battling the steps to a low dais. Finally, he perched there, steadying himself against a stool.

"Clansmen, nobles, friends," began the elder. The low hum in the room settled down, and every pair of eyes was trained on the frail old man.

"We have thought long an' hard about all that we heard." The heavy sags in the man's face were testament to his serious nature. Grace blinked. No matter how she tried, she could not picture him not being old. The furrows in his brow were like ditches in his skin, producing folds so deep, she could barely see his eyes.

"An' after some deliberation, an' talks wi' the family, we decided tae spare the life o' Paton Steward, formally o' the Duncan estate."

There was a gasp, which reverberated around the room. From beside her, Fiona nudged her sleeve.

"They dinnae like it. I told ye," said Aileen from beside her.

"I dinnae care," muttered Fiona. "It was Grace's decision tae make; we owe her that."

Grace looked down. Sparing Paton had been her idea. She didn't know why, but enough blood had been spilled with all the clan warfare. It didn't seem right to start killing within the clan, too.

All the same, her eyes went warily around the room. She did not want to be the cause of ructions.

Reassuringly, Aileen patted her arm.

"I ken," she said with a smile. "An' I understand. We all want peace."

"He'll nae get oot, an' a life in the dungeon isnae life. He'll wish for death," reminded Andrew. He put his arm around Grace, making some of the clan stir.

Grace was grateful for his presence—more than grateful—but she was all too aware of the watchful eyes. Seeing her unease, Andrew grinned.

"Ye’re gonnae have tae get used tae this now, Lady Grace," he said with twinkling eyes.

Grace felt a surge of heat rush through her. Suddenly, she longed to be away from this stuffy hall full of aged men and outside, somewhere, alone with Andrew.

"I'm nay lady," she said, making everyone laugh. Perplexed, Grace looked around. "I mean, I am nae the lady o' the clan. That's for Fiona."

Grace tried to explain, but around her, the crowd was hushing. Finally, the clan's folk had accepted Paton's fate, and now the stooped old counselor was trying to move on.

"An' the woman! What about her?" one of the clansmen said. Grace looked as a stout, red-faced man stood up angrily. Grace and her sisters looked at one another.

"I'm getting tae Anabelle Davies," said the elderly counselor, with an irritated look. "If ye let me speak!"