Page 42 of Highlander’s Mercenary Lass

Noises were amplified, and even the daylight seemed more bright as she attempted to prize her eyes from being shut. It was hard.

The journey there had taken more out of her than she had realized. And maybe also had the last few days. Coming to, Grace sighed.

Out of nowhere, she had a new family, but in the process, her entire life had been jettisoned. Grace stared at the Duncan lands, overwhelmed by its size. Everything she could see belonged to her family—maybe even her. That thought was absurd.

And from her grand chamber, she could see for miles around, including the soldiers assembling at their training ground. Casting her eyes a little further, Grace made out the sight of Andrew, training with his men at the furthest edge of the castle.

Immediately, her heart leaped. He was back! Or possibly, he had not left yet. Either way, she wanted to intercept him before he went away. But pulling her eyes away from the lad proved tricky because now that she had seen him, Grace could not help but settle down and watch him further. There he was, astride his nut-brown stallion, bedecked in the clan tartan and galloping the lengths of the grounds.

She found her eyes drawn to his firm shoulders, which led to an equally shapely back and perfectly curved behind. Perhaps Grace's gaze lingered a little longer than it should have there, but no one was looking.

As fast as she could, she got dressed. In doing so, she had to fend off the attentions of a maid, who knocked most insistently to aid her.

The small, mouselike woman shrugged apologetically but left a beautifully wrapped garment at the entrance to the room.

Brushing the woman off, Grace picked it up, untying it and giving a gasp. It was a robe—a fine one, too—in clan colors and made of fine wools. Lifting it open, her eyes widened. With it was a note:

Please accept this as a welcome to Duncan Castle.

- Fiona

Grace unfurled the robe, a full-length woolen kirtle and plain white chemise. Delighted, Grace rushed to put it on, her fingers struggling with the undergarments. As she did, her heart beat fast in anticipation. She wanted to get down to the training ground before Andrew left for pastures anew. She did not know where it was that he was being sent, but was determined to see him off before he left.

Now finally dressed, Grace gave the new gown a little twirl, reveling in its fulsome skirts before speeding out of the room. As she went, she thought fondly of Fiona for sending her the frock. She would have to make sure to thank her later on.

But reaching the front of the castle took time. Every door she passed seemed to bring another serving wench from out of the shadows. The Duncan castle was alive with stickybeaks, just desperate to poke into her business.

Clenching her teeth, Grace pressed on ahead. Everyone seemed determined to know her business, something she was not used to in her life before. Drawing her forehead up into a frown, Grace wondered gloomily if this was how things were to be from now on.

Finally, she burst into the training yard. At the sight of her in her flowing blue frock, the guards being drilled lost their concentration. One by one, they stopped to stare at her. The only one who didn't was Andrew, commanding the troops from the top of his horse.

By the look of him, he was demonstrating the correct use of weaponry on horseback. Grace grinned; she watched as Andrew raised the sgian-dubh above his head, unaware that his troops had stopped watching.

Stealthily, she moved further into the grounds. Andrew still had not seen her. Picking up a bow and arrow from one of the men, she aimed, suddenly at his head, knocking his cap clean off.

Smirking, she stood and watched Andrew's pained face.

It even took a while for Andrew to acknowledge where the arrow had come from. To begin with, he was looking straight ahead at the squadron in front of him, as if he suspected one of them of firing the shot.

Then he saw Grace.

"Am I too late?" she asked, walking up to him. The stunned look on his face made her giggle. The look of him there, tall, commanding, and just the slightest bit peeved, did things to her.

"Grace!" he said, astonished. He looked at her for a moment or two, as if she was not real. Then, confused, he said. "Late for what?"

Grace stepped forward. Now she was close enough to taste his scent on her breath. He smelled great, and despite where she was, she could not resist drawing in deep to take another breath.

"Late for yer own funeral," she chided. But his uncertain face made her feel bad. "Late for leading the laddie—Billie—out o' the clan lands to..." Grace trailed off. It occurred to her that she didn't have the faintest idea where it was that Andrew was meant to be going.

Andrew dismounted from his horse and retrieved his cap. He put it back on his head in a pointed gesture. Grace could not help but smirk, as did some of the squadron behind him.

"Och, that," said Andrew, nonplussed. He signaled to his men to take a break, then turned his attention to Grace. Finally, it was just her and him, with the young men taking a breather somewhere behind them. Judging by his face, he was about as keen as her on leaving.

"It's nae far," said Andrew dismissively. He locked his luminous green eyes on hers, making Grace instantly heat up. "But what are ye doing here?"

Andrew eyed her keenly, and Grace could see he was aware of the men in the background watching him intently. Replacing his speared cap, he ushered Grace aside and tried to find some privacy. It was hard.

"Doesnae matter," said Grace, feeling herself blushing.