Page 2 of The Lady of Her Highland Clan

"I did nae!" snapped the laird. He took the parchment and turned it upside down, then he pointed. "I told ye tae meet there."

Clyde could not see the paper but followed Anderson's gaze to a small cottage on the horizon, barely visible in the moonless night.

Incredulous, Clyde stared up at him. Beneath his feet, the freezing cold burn rushed by. Steadying himself, Clyde tried to pull himself out of it but only slipped in further.

"Och," grumbled Anderson, his thick arms pulling him out. "It's a funny time for a dip!"

But it was clear from his face that he was finding this very much amusing.

"Strange, though, the last laddie who followed this map found himself facedoon in this burn, too," he muttered, refolding up the map. Then, Anderson winked.

Finally upright and out of the water, Clyde bristled.

"Ye wanted tae see me," he said, with much effort keeping irritation from his voice. As if it wasn't bad enough that he needed Anderson's help, the laird was making a fool of him. Like he had not already been made a fool of by his family! Clyde smarted inside but kept it down.

"Ah, aye." Anderson's eyes twinkled. It was hard to read the color in them; everything in the coppice was a murky shade of gray. Clyde shivered and longed to be away from this glen and the wet August woodlands. But most of all, away from the Anderson lands, and all that meant.

"Aye, lad, I needed tae see ye, away from prying eyes..." The laird glanced about. "An' I reckon this is far enough, but... I need ye to see something..."

Far enough? thought Clyde, blinking. It's about a hundred miles from anywhere.

Inside, irritation bit him. Anderson knew how much he needed his help. He was just demonstrating his hand. He had him. And he knew it.

From his cloak, he fetched a sheaf of papers, the sudden wind rustling them around. There, in the middle of the dark, wet forest, he unfurled one of them.

"Here," said the laird solemnly, handing the scroll to Clyde. Bemused, Clyde took it.

"I cannae read it," he said, his suppressed irritation getting the better of him. Inside, he was burning. What on earth was Anderson thinking, dragging him all the way out here, in the dead of night?

"Allow me," said the laird, taking the parchment and reading. A breeze ran through the air, taking Anderson's long, gray beard and giving it a twist. The wind sent a cloud scudding from the sky, untrapping the hidden moon.

Finally, a chink of light landed on the page, just enough to read by.

"There is next tae no gold in the Greenock coffers...an' we fear the laird isnae able tae defend the folk...something needs tae be done..." Anderson's voice trailed off, but beneath the moonlight, Clyde noticed a twinkle in his eye. He held the parchment aloft, as if teasingly, out of reach.

"What is that?" said Clyde, trying to look at it. "Who sent that?"

"Doesnae matter," snapped Anderson, but the twinkle in his eye made it clear enough.

Fraser. Clyde felt sure it would be him, although, at this moment, he had no proof.

"Alright," said Clyde, unsurely. The laird was playing with him. It was something he was wont to do. Over the last twelve months, he was learning fast—and this was the way that Laird Anderson did business. The best thing was not to act as if it was bothering him.

But it was. And inside, the frustration burned hard.

"So ye've been having a few wee problems up at the Greenock clan?" Laird Anderson smiled.

Clyde stiffened. Anderson was just about the last person in the whole world he wanted to confide in.

"Nae..." he started, then added, "...really."

"Nae really?" Laird Anderson grinned, placing his arm around Clyde warmly. "Or nae at all?"

The laird winked genially. Clyde began to let his guard down.

"It's nothing," said Clyde, as Anderson led him away, back through the coppice. "Nothing I cannae handle by mysel'."

"Well, maybe ye dinnae have tae," said Anderson, his smile shining in the moonlight.