Page 21 of The Lady of Her Highland Clan

The old man hovered over her unsteadily.

"Well, I hope so," he said ungraciously. Fiona felt herself prickle with heat. He was not making this easy for her.

"I am, sir," she said, straightening down the letters in her hand and placing them in her pocket. She could see the elder's eyes straying down to the writing on the parchment and lifted them up before he could read. Some things were private.

"Because as the acting lady o' the clan, it's yer duty tae do things that are in the clan’s an' nae always yer interests," said the elder enigmatically.

Fiona was not sure exactly what he meant but nodded anyway. Looking around the room, she tried to imagine it as it was when her father was alive—with a great fire roaring and all the candelabra lit. She couldn't help feeling a little sad inside.

"An' this means, sometimes, doing things ye dinnae always want tae do," added the elder sanctimoniously. "Maybe even serious things, like treaties an' so forth."

Fiona nodded again, although she was not sure she liked where this was going.

Blankly, she waited for the elder to elaborate and tell her more about exactly what it was that they wanted her to do. For a moment, Fiona held her breath.

They dinnae want me tae marry some auld crabbit, do they?

Her mind swept through all the ineligible bachelors of the Highlands. Fearfully, she pictured herself being wed to puggled Pete, a drunken old bodach with a hump and no teeth. He had been trying to find a wife for years now. Fearfully, Fiona wondered if she was going to be it.

The elder smiled, opening his mouth to speak, but before he could suggest such a thing, she leaped in.

"Sir, I—" Fiona began. Her eyes were cast firmly down, and she smiled demurely. Whatever she did, she had to make this right.

"Sir, really, I am sorry for yesterday. I didnae mean tae endanger the position o' the clan," she said sincerely. "I ken I am only just learning this role, sir, an' I hope ye can be patient wi' me whilst I learn."

Fiona looked up, her tawny eyes opening wide. Her concerned pose hit the right note. Finally, the doddery elder looked satisfied.

"Vera good, my dear," said the skeletal man, his deep frown softening. "As long as ye understand yer responsibilities."

He turned to leave, his long cape trailing on the floor behind him. Fiona watched it drag in the dirt and hid a smile as it pulled a long cobweb along with him.

"Aye, I understand well," said Fiona, casting her head down again. "I will nae let ye down again, an' I am sorry about the...misunderstanding."

By misunderstanding, she meant kiss. Except she could not bring herself to use such a word in front of the fusty, dusty elder. He was a hundred if he was a day. Try as she might, Fiona could not imagine him in any sort of romantic liaison. Or having fun at all. He might disintegrate.

But as the elder shuffled away, and Fiona was left alone in the dusty chamber, she realized something surprising: she was not sorry at all that she had kissed Clyde.

Not a bit.