Page 87 of Tales of Highland Loyalty

Grace raised an acerbic eyebrow to Lissie as the pair sat at the head of the Duncan grand hall, waiting.

"Dinnae let oor Billie hear ye say that," whispered Fiona, sticking her dark head in between them. Nervously, she skimmed the corners of the room for any trace of William.

There were none. At least, not yet. Fiona shared a glance with her sisters. They were all there—Lissie, Grace, and Aileen—plus husbands and, of course, bairns.

"It's William, noo," Aileen said, pushing into the conversation. "He doesnae want to be kent as Billie anymore."

In front of her, Lissie scowled. "Well, that will make things complicated." She pulled her perfect brow into a knot and harrumphed. "We already have one William in the family, an' I'm married to him. Why couldnae he just have stayed oor Billie?"

Lissie stared plaintively at Fiona as if she were somehow to blame, but Fiona just shrugged.

"I dinnae ken," she said, with a shake of the head. "He said it's what he wants."

Aileen leaned in mischievously. She might be the mother of two children—the most recent arrival bouncing about on her knee—but she still could not resist a smart remark. Especially about Billie—William.

"Och, Fiona, it makes perfect sense." Aileen's perfectly sculpted eyes scoped the other William, Lissie's noble-born English husband. "As Billie, he has invaded half the Highlands, nearly started a war wi' the English, och an' eaten the Highland jewels."

The Highland jewels were the clan treasures won in battle years ago.

Aileen flashed pointedly at Fiona, who could not stop herself from a grin.

"Ach, come on, they came back clean in the end." She smirked, casting a quick eye about the packed dignitaries. It was true, she dropped her voice at this point so as not to be overheard.

"I think under the circumstances, I wouldnae want to be kent as Laird Billie the Bampot!"

"Wheesht! They're coming." Fiona stopped them dead as William swept into the room.

"Ladies an' gentlemen," the croaky voice of McTavish, the ancient clan elder, crackled through the hall.

Fiona's eyes flickered as she glanced at her brood. Her grip tightened on her youngest, Fionnula, who was beginning to giggle. Fionnula turned her light-brown head to her mother, pressing a quizzical face upward. Acknowledging her, Fiona smiled slightly at the same time as drawing a frown. The shake of her head meant business, and Fionnula fell silent.

They all did.

The low hum in the great hall muted as McTavish shuffled before them. Stooped with age, he clung desperately to the wooden lectern.

Suddenly, Aileen had a pang of conscience. She felt bad for the old man. No one seemed to know how old he was exactly, but he had been the clan elder since before forever.

"We are pleased to welcome ye here today for the o-official..." McTavish stumbled over his words as a sudden frog took his throat. For a moment or two, he spluttered, and a young servant raced in with a cup of water. Taking a sip, McTavish recovered himself, but not before his face had turned dark red and sweat poured from his unruly head. McTavish's hair was even wilder than usual today, wiry sprigs bouncing everywhere. As he struggled, the sisters looked at each other, unsure.

"Welcome as oor new clan leader an' laird, William!"

There was a murmur, as from the side of the hall, William emerged. Clad in the distinctive brown and blue of the Duncan clan, his entrance drew excitement from the room.

Fiona watched open-mouthed. The Billie they knew was gone, and now there was a man in his place. The sisters gazed, dumbfounded, as the new William swept across the packed hall without even slipping on his plaid.

"Och," murmured Grace, more to herself than anything else. "Can that be oor Billie? When did he get so tall?"

Her hazel eyes rounded, confused, as she pulled Fiona toward her. It was like he had aged ten years overnight. But in a good way. The pair gazed as William made his way up to the lectern, smiling widely at the approving crowd.

Despite the thick snow, half the clan had turned out, packing the rafters of the Duncan Great Hall. The other half were outside, pressing in through the narrow windows and blocking the corridors. Every conceivable person was present, young and old, pressed together in a maelstrom of flesh, eager not to miss this most important of days.

The heat in the room skyrocketed as the sea of cheering faces blurred into one. A pang of nerves shot through new Laird William Duncan as he approached the lectern, smiling. But beneath his serene exterior, he was unexpectedly emotional. Eyeing the faces, William's stomach tightened. They were all there, peasants who tilled the land, old women smiling, bairns on their mothers' knees. Not to mention the visitors, nobles and lairds, who had traveled from afar.

All of them, distilled into that one moment, to be there today. It was with some trepidation that William addressed the crowd.

"Hoo there," he called impetuously, making the entire crowd laugh.

From the front bench, Fiona glanced meaningfully at Grace.