Page 33 of The Lady of Her Highland Clan

"Och, awfu' shame," he said, the hint of a wicked grin on his face. People were so easy to wind up. Anderson found this often to be the case. And from time to time, he just could not resist playing with them. "...because good staff are hard tae find." But then Anderson's expression had changed from frivolous to serious. "But anyway, ye’re right, a man o' yer talents can expect so much more."

McDowning arched a blond eyebrow and looked intrigued.

Choosing his words carefully, Laird Anderson rose from his seat. "I need ye tae do a wee job for me," he began, looking around closely for signs of servants listening. Only once he was totally satisfied did he continue. "I need ye tae be a spy for me, Bruce. Do ye think ye are up for that?"

For a few moments, Bruce stared at him, stunned. Then, recovering his composure, he nodded.

"Aye," he said assuredly. Now his pale eyes were dancing with intrigue. "I think I can do that for ye, sir. Just tell me who, an' where."

The laird's gray eyes danced. "Well. I need ye tae follow a bonny wee pair for me: Lady Fiona Duncan, an' her wee pal, Clyde Greenock. Ye might ken him," he said with a knowing smirk to Bruce. From his position on the chair, Bruce merely nodded.

"Well then," said Anderson, beaming. He struggled to his feet. It really was far too dark in here, despite the candelabra. He faced McDowning civilly. "See what ye can find out, especially about the wee lad," he said, slapping Bruce on the shoulder. "I sent him tae do a job—tae find something very precious buried bear the Duncan clan, an' I just need reassuring that he isnae making a dog's dinner o' it!"

"Ye have my discretion," said Bruce smoothly. "An' I will get everything I can oot o' the wee scunner."

Before he could get much further, the lithe servant came back into the chamber.

"M’Laird," said the lad.

Anderson looked around in exasperation. In front of him was the slender youth. Coming closer, Anderson could see he had a pimple almost as big as his nose on his left nostril.

"What, lad?" he hissed, turning on his heel at speed and nearly falling over. Carefully, he steadied himself. Now he had both the lad and McDowling looking at him.

Great, just what he needed.

"Are ye alright, sir?" asked the lad, his pimply complexion showing some more in the firelight.

"Nay, I'm nae alright!" growled Anderson, desperately clinging onto the chair to steady himself.

Damn! He had only had a couple of wee nips. He wasn't drunk, he wasn't!

In disarray, Anderson faced the lad. "I told ye nae tae disturb me!" he gruffed. "This is sensitive clan business, so whoever it is, ye just tell them that I've nae got the time."

The door opened. Behind the serving lad, a shadow fell. The lad gaped. Eventually, he plucked up the courage to speak.

"But, sir, Fraser Greenock has arri—"

The shape behind the door pushed himself into the room. The stockily-built man smirked pertinently.

"Fraser Greenock has arrived," he said.

Laird Anderson turned to look, as did McDowling. A little surprised, the laird ushered in his guest. Then, scowling, turned to look at the serving lad.

"Ye can show our friend oot," he said with a tilt of the head to McDowling.

Then he turned to look at Fraser.

Fraser Greenock was already making himself comfortable, pouring a fresh dram and settling himself into Anderson's chair.

When Anderson saw him there, he raised his eyebrows quizzically.

"So then, Fraser Greenock at yer service," smirked Fraser, his dull-brown eyes glimmering in the firelight. "How can I help ye?"

"We dinnae need all that stuff." Clyde turned abruptly to the stablehand as he packed the gray stallion solid with knapsacks for the journey.

It was the next morning. Rain was falling hard across the lush, wet glen. On top of the rain that had collected overnight, the terrain ahead looked grim.

The stablehand looked up a little unsurely at Clyde's expression. The Greenock laird paced about, uncertainty grained into his brow.