Page 73 of Highlander’s Mercenary Lass

Grace just shook her head. "Nothing," she said, wiping her tears. She felt so stupid. "Nothing. This is all so perfect."

Behind them, a ripple of clapping erupted, at first quiet, but gradually becoming louder. Grace looked around, noticing how many people had gathered to attend her wedding.

Andrew looked at Grace, his eyes twinkling quizzically. Then, he picked up the double-handled loving cup and proffered it to Grace.

Tentatively, she took a sip, the wine infusing her cheeks with a rosy glow. Andrew put the flat of his hand to touch her and kissed her deeply.

The crowd went wild, chanting and cheering, but the world had gone silent to Grace's ears. She was too deeply into his kiss. Andrew's soft lips folded and unfolded in hers, sending ripples of pleasure all through her.

Andrew's touch was like fire burning her with a passion that needed sating. Together they hugged, Andrew holding her softly, and closely.

Grace all but forgot where she was, and it was only when they emerged, still bound together, from the hall that she realized the ceremony was over.

Except it wasn't. It was only getting started. Because then the feasting really began. Within moments, there was dancing, and raucous music erupted from the fiddlers behind them.

The noise drowned out anything that Grace wanted to say, and in the end, she simply held his hand as he led her into the dance. Andrew's hand clasped against hers as he started the jig. Until that moment, Grace had never seen him dance before and was slightly astonished when he did so.

"What?" laughed Andrew, with fake hurt in his eyes. "Did ye think I had two left legs?"

Grace laughed, amazed, as Andrew demonstrated he had anything but that, and a firm set of calf muscles to go with it. As he pointed his feet, he smiled, a slow, mischievous grin that she saw ending in the bedchamber...

But there was no time for that yet! As the music started, Grace gave herself to the dance.

Losing herself in his arms, Grace dreamed that this day would never end.

Theirs was the biggest wedding the castle had seen in years, with feasting set to continue for hours—if not days. And no one was prouder than her father.

"Finally," he had said, putting his arms around her and embracing her, "ye did it! Although I hoped ye'd get around tae it afore I was quite decrepit!"

The old blacksmith's eyes twinkled teasingly. Here in the grand hall, he seemed to look even smaller, thought Grace, with a pang of affection.

"Och, ye were decrepit when I was born!" quipped Grace, helping her father to sit down. But he was right and watching him stoop to the chair, Grace felt a rush of worry. She hoped her father would be alright on his own.

"Well, I offer thanks to ye, young lad," her father said to Andrew. He smiled at him warmly. "Nae only have ye tamed this one, but ye proved me wrong." The old man glanced protectively at Grace. "I wasnae sure when ye took her back tae the castle... I was worried that..."

Her father's eyes clouded with tears, and Grace felt herself choke on the emotion of the day. Andrew pretended not to see, patting the old man on the back.

"Dinnae fash," he said, in his easy way. He smiled tenderly at Grace. "Ye ken, there's always a place here in the castle for ye, sir, if ye want it."

Her father looked up, instantly. "O' course I do, son," he said, bowled over. Inside, Grace hid a smile. His elation was clear to see.

Andrew slipped his hand into Grace's, warmly.

A few hours later, and the feasting was going strong. Grace had met Andrew's entire extended family, as well as all the Duncan clan, and was beginning to feel a little careworn.

Nudging Andrew, Grace was about to suggest they slip away when a tall, young man went by, holding hands with Fiona.

Grace's eyes almost popped out of her head. She tugged at Andrew, who smiled.

"Well, it's always the quiet ones." He grinned as Fiona and the tall lad danced closely, in open view of the chamber.

Fiona positively glowed next to him, and Grace noticed, for the first time, how bonny she looked with her flowing dark hair loosened for the dancing.

Grace grinned. "They make a fine couple," she observed. The lad was a bit older than her, his pure, pale complexion contrasting boldly with his jet-black hair. He had a noble face, she noticed, with fine lips and thick, bushy eyebrows. When he smiled, his cheeks retained the soft edges of youth, but it wouldn't be for much longer, Grace felt.

"Who is he?" she asked, Andrew was just about to answer, when suddenly, Fiona turned to look at them, her light eyes glowering.

It was clear she did not like being looked at, and Grace had to work hard at hiding a smile.