Page 5 of The Lady of Her Highland Clan

His gray eyes smiled. "An' we have decided tae give it a month...like a...trial...tae think about it an'...an' if the elders are satisfied, then they'll agree tae ye being the lady!"

Fiona felt her heart leap.

"R-Really?" she said. This, she hadn't expected. She had resigned herself to the worst. "Well, that's braw. Thank ye, all o' ye. I wilnae give ye occasion tae let ye down!"

But beneath her smile, Fiona's young mind was reeling. Yes, it was good news, but also a massive responsibility.

Coming out of the chamber, she was met by Grace, her elder half-sister. Seeing her troubled face, she peered inquisitively. Even now, Fiona had to pinch herself when thinking about Grace. Until last year, she hadn't even known she existed. Now looking back at her was like looking at herself. Grace's neat features mirrored her own, from the slant of her eyes to the tilt of her nose. The only difference was their eye color. However, Grace did not possess any of Fiona's shyness.

"Why the face, lassie? Didnae it go well?" Grace asked, her hazel eyes alive with concern. At twenty-one, she still had fire, but these days it was a little more tempered.

Fiona shrugged, then grinned.

"Och, dinnae fash. I've just got one month tae age twenty years in, or perhaps turn intae a man!" she said.

But Grace just looked thoughtful.

"Well,perhaps ye dinnae have tae do either."

"Sir, the borders were raided again last night," Patterson announced.

Clyde looked up from his thoughts. From the gloom of the Greenock Castle tower, the old retainer shuffled forward. It was getting harder for him in his old age. With a rush of pity, Clyde wondered about having him retired. But even mentioning the subject was tough. Patterson had been his father's servant since before he was born.

Clyde watched as the stooped man hobbled across the empty chamber. It was dark and bare. Ever since his father had passed, things had been getting harder. Now the Greenock Castle Tower was little more than a shell, with precious few servants remaining.

"What is this, Patterson?" Clyde asked, once the man was within earshot.

With shaking hands, Patterson refilled the wooden quaich, spilling the last drop of whiskey from the decanter.

Taking a sip, Clyde prepared himself for the worst.

"Aye, sir," said the man, then simply stared at him.

Calmly, Clyde waited for Patterson to continue, the hot splash of whiskey numbing his throat and cooling his head.

He didn't. Keenly, Clyde looked to him to carry on. The confused servant stared at him blankly. Finally, Clyde felt obliged to repeat the question.

"The raid, what's happened?" he asked gently, but this time more loudly.

Patterson jumped up, surprised, as if he had forgotten what he was talking about. Which he probably had.

Then, his confusion turned to concern.

"Two score dead," he said gravely.

"Two score!" Clyde gasped. This was far worse than he feared. "But, what are the men doing?"

Patterson approached closer, steadying himself against the table in front of him.

"Please, be seated," Clyde said.

Thankfully, the servant pulled up a stool and sat down.

"Sir, the guards are doing all they can do, but there just arenae enough," said Patterson, his already furrowed brow pulled together in a steep frown. "They are rounding up all the local men tae help, but they need more horses, weapons, an' for all o' them, a good feed. There just isnae the rations for 'em all."

Clyde's fingers drummed uncomfortably on the wooden cup in front of him. Desperately, he looked around him. The place had been stripped bare, sold off to pay his father's debts, and in no small part, for the wedding that never was.

Clyde's heart felt a little blacker.