Page 39 of Highlander’s Mercenary Lass

Behind him, Fiona's cat eyes bored into Andrew's, but he thought he detected a slight twinkle in them.

"Andrew, I've been looking for ye everywhere," said Fiona, clearing her throat.

Immediately, Grace stepped back, and Andrew had automatically sprung forward and now was almost at the threshold to the room again.

Grace smiled. Fiona continued as if pretending she had not seen them kissing. But Andrew knew she had. Uncertain, he teetered in the entrance to the chamber.

As he stood there, he wondered how he was going to be able to see her again. As far as they were all concerned, he had done his piece. Grace was here, and that was all they had wanted him for.

"Paton is asking for ye. I think he wants ye tae help come up wi' a task for oor Billie, ye ken, keep him occupied an' oot o' bother." Fiona smiled.

Inside, Andrew sighed, but he just about stopped himself from showing his frustration on the outside. It might be one thing for the lad's sisters to tease him, but it would never do for someone like him to. The fact was, Billie was a liability, always getting into scraps and needing rescuing. In truth, he was nothing like his father, and Andrew sincerely hoped he was going to grow up soon.

Of course, his face reflected none of this, just as it hid his growing desires building inside him. Over the last few days, he had really gotten to know Grace, and now the thought of being sent to a distant part of the clan—which undoubtedly it would be—made his heart sink.

"So do ye think ye can help him?" asked Fiona a little hesitantly.

Smiling, Andrew nodded, and brushing his hand gently along Grace's shoulder, he left the room.

Grace watched Andrew go, and her heart panged. She wished he could stay, but everything was very awkward. After all, she had only just arrived here, and her mind was buzzing with many questions.

But she couldn't pretend she wasn't sorry to see him go as he disappeared down the castle corridor.

Then it was just her and Fiona. Fiona smiled shyly, looking at her oddly. In that moment, Grace knew for certain that she had seen them kissing.

"I just wanted tae see how ye were settling in," said Fiona, coyly, at the entrance to the room.

Grace showed her in, offering her a seat on one of the chairs in the bedchamber. Grace admired its carved wooden spindles; she was unused to such ornate furnishings. Her heart panged suddenly for her father's old chest, their only seating at home.

"Braw," said Grace, settling herself down on the four-poster bed in front of her. She got herself comfortable on the bed, bringing a cushion up to position herself. The sheets were pure linen, and the covers spun from a soft lambswool that was pleasing to the touch.

"I hope that we didnae scare ye off," continued Fiona.

Grace noticed she kept her head cast downward, but every now and then, her eyes darted off toward her.

"I ken that as a set we are quite a prospect." Fiona's eyes sparkled, but as she kept them glued to the floor, it was hard for Grace to see their color.

Grace smiled. "Nay, it was braw tae meet ye all. I dinnae ken what ye think o' me," said Grace. She felt herself steam up. Nerves were not something she usually suffered from, but right then, she could hear herself babbling. Generally, she did not care much for others' opinions, but suddenly, she did. All the same, she kept her composure.

Fiona smiled softly. "We are most grateful that ye came," she said quietly.

Grace looked surprised. "Really?" She couldn't help speaking directly. "I mean, I dinnae ken, but maybe if it was me, I might be a wee bit put out if a lassie ye'd nae heard o' just swanned in, claiming tae be yer sister." Grace's eyes met Fiona's. "Especially if my father were the laird, an' everything was already in confusion with his death..." Grace smiled sadly. "I'm sorry," she said, after a pause.

Fiona looked to her unsurely. Grace noticed how elegant she looked. Unlike her boisterous sisters, Fiona was every inch the lady, clad in a fine gown that looked as if it had come all the way from Edinburgh; her sleeves were long and wide, with slashed edgings revealing the fabric beneath.

Grace could only gawp in admiration. She had never seen anything of the like, at least not close up. The nobles who hired her usually did so at an arm's length, and it was always the underlings she dealt with. None of them were clad like this, and neither was she.

Now, in Fiona's presence, she began to wonder about her own clothing. Grace smoothed down the wrinkles in her arisaid. She had tried to keep it neat, but it was the same robe she had traveled in, and it was showing its wear.

Not for the first time, she felt a little pang of embarrassment. Her new family were refined people, and beside them, Grace felt shabby and gray. But more than that, her past as a swordswoman made her a little ashamed. She was little more than a mercenary and hardly of noble ilk.

"Sorry? Why?" asked Fiona, genuinely confused.

Grace smiled. She liked Fiona. She had been friendly and welcoming, but all the same, she felt a little as if she was treading on toes.

"Because o' the timing. Ye’re in grief, an' I turn up an' dinnae ken anything about yer father," said Grace.

"Oor father," corrected Fiona, but just thinking in those terms made Grace feel bad. She had no right.