Page 44 of Highlander’s Mercenary Lass

Paton bared his remaining teeth to her and smiled.

"Aye, it is, lass. Perfectly braw," he said pleasantly. He nodded to the servant who had appeared silently, bearing drinks. "Ye have a wee dram, lassie. I'm nae going tae eat ye!"

Grace did not think his teeth would be up to eating anyone and was tempted to say so. Of course, she did no such thing, instead lifting up the wooden drinking cup and downing the dram in one. The fiery peat-tasting liquor flushed through her gullet, warming her cheeks.

"The thing is, since ye've been here, ye must ken a wee bit about the history surrounding the clan?" Paton framed his words as a question but did not wait for an answer. Jumping straight in, he continued. "An' ye must ken about the history o' the Kennedys an' the Duncans?" His eyes fastened briefly on hers.

"Well, I ken a wee bit," she ventured, but accompanied the words with a look that told Paton actually, no, she didn't know anything. Grace fiddled with the base of the wooden quaich and looked uncertain. "Andrew said something about fighting them, an', of course, I ken a wee bit too, although I've nae fought them myself."

At the mention of the words fought them, Paton looked up. Surprised, he cleared his throat.

"Ach, of course, the warrior lass," he said in a voice that suggested amusement.

Grace felt her cheeks burn, and this time, it wasn't the whiskey. Normally, she would have had something most pointed to say to any man who looked at her like that, but this time, she smoothed herself over and smiled.

"Aye," she said coolly. Her eyes went to the walls of the room, festooned with paintings and portraits of various clan leaders from the past. It felt strange to think these were all her relatives, and Grace tried as hard as she could do to trace any family resemblances.

"Well, ye must ken that there's a delicate situation between the Duncans an' the Kennedys...an' between the Kennedys an' just about half o' the Highlands?" Paton raised his eyebrow quizzically.

Grace nodded. She wondered where this conversation was going. "Aye," she said, thoughtfully. "But what's it tae do wi' me?"

Paton stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Well, my dear, ye are a Kennedy. So ye being here in oor midst is a wee bit like a cuckoo coming home tae roost!"

Grace's heart almost stopped beating. "What?" she said, her face frozen with shock.

Paton regarded her uncertainly. "Ye’re a Kennedy," he repeated softly. "We ken it's nae yer fault, but through yer mother's line, ye've got Kennedy blood in ye."

Grace blanched. "Ye kent my mother?" she asked desperately.

Paton shook his head sadly. "Nay," he said gently. "I mean, nae really. She was just some wee serving wench. I didnae ken her, just what she was."

Grace narrowed her eyes. "No one told me!" she snapped, then, trying to get her feelings under control, she took a breath. "I mean, I didnae ken."

Her eyes flashed accusingly, although she tried her hardest to reel it in. Inside, her heart was thumping. Grace's head was boiling with questions. Who else knows? Does Andrew know this? Why have they waited so long tae tell me?

"I see," said Paton, as if this was just something unfortunate rather than a matter of utmost importance. "Well, ye ken now."

Grace sensed an impatience in him as if he was not really interested in her feelings.

"Well, lass, although it's nae yer fault, we have a situation whereby it may embolden the Kennedy clan tae ken one o' theirs is in line tae the laird o' Duncan," said Paton, his murky eyes flickering in the half-light. The autumn sun had done one of its periodic disappearing acts, and now it was dull and gloomy in Paton's chambers. Suddenly, Grace longed to be away, outside riding Sparkle and discovering the Duncan terrain.

"Might it?" asked Grace, her head in a spin. None of this had been explained to her before. But from the little she knew about the Kennedy clan, perhaps it was not completely unlikely.

"Yes, it might," said Paton, beckoning her near. He scraped closer in his chair, leaning his head conspiratorially towards her. Now he was so near, she could hear his breathing as he panted down her neck.

Nausea crept up Grace's throat, and it was all she could do to swallow it down with another dram of whiskey. The fiery liquor slid down her throat, soothing everything. Now suitably numbed, Grace turned to Paton for an explanation.

"So ye can see, we've got a situation here," said Paton, waving his hands about to illustrate his point.

Grace nodded, although she didn't really understand.

"So, wi' the clans always in a state o' flux, we have tae think o' the best way o' ruling. As ye ken, for now, I am the acting laird," said Paton.

Grace nodded again.

Then Paton sighed. "An', well, ye've met the young master Billie," said Paton.

Grace smiled. "Aye," she said.