Page 47 of Highlander’s Mercenary Lass

"Well, aye," conceded Andrew. "But I still dinnae understand."

Grace took a deep breath. "According tae Paton, the only way tae keep the peace in the clans is tae become the lady o' the Duncans an' marry him. As the acting laird—"

Andrew had turned pale. "But ye told him nay," he said bluntly.

Grace shook her head. "Nay. I told him yes."

"Yes? Ye told Paton Stewart ye'd wed him? Grace, why?"

Blood rushed through Andrew's head. He couldn't believe he was hearing this. In fact, he still wasn't sure that Grace had really said she was going to marry Paton.

Grace looked at him keenly. "Like I said, about the war in the clans..."

But Andrew merely tutted. "Och, there's always a war in the clans. That is nae a reason tae wed someone. An' Paton! He's three times yer age!"

It felt like the earth was hotting up around Andrew's ears. He could hear the whoosh of his heart beating louder in his head. Maybe he was being stupid, but he had really thought he and Grace had a connection. He certainly did not expect her to marry the first man who asked her—and Paton!

Although Andrew did not really know the silver-haired counselor of his laird, the little he did had put him ill at ease. He had seen the way he was with Grace, and that was enough to set his teeth on edge.

"It's nothing," replied Grace, but Andrew could tell in her face that it was not nothing. He stared at her, the sight of her there, her thick black curls billowing in the wind.

Even in the grips of an emotional trauma, she seemed to look amazing. And her brand-new kirtle and gown were not lost on Andrew, who sent her an admiring glance even as he simmered in anger.

"It's nae nothing!" snapped Andrew, grasping her wrist. "Look at ye! Ye’re miserable, an' so will I be if ye go through wi' this, Grace!"

Grace turned her head, refusing to look at him. Andrew felt his heart rate speed up. How could she do this to him?

"There are other ways," he pleaded. "It's a really bad idea. Ye cannae trust Paton. I have kent it from the first time I met him." Andrew turned beseechingly to her. "Whatever happened to nae getting married then?"

From the look on her face, Andrew knew he had gotten to her. Her expression virtually slid off.

She looked over sheepishly. "There's nothing wrong wi' getting married as long as it gives ye what ye need."

Now her almond-brown gaze was upon him, shining like the stars. Andrew could not believe what he was hearing. From the distance, the scattered remains of his troops could be seen, broken into small groups, sitting, watching him.

Andrew wished they were not watching, but right then, his emotions were in control. He needed to hear this from Grace.

"So what do ye need, Grace?" he asked, a little bitterly. Andrew tried to control his voice, but it had failed. Inside, he was shaking.

"Marrying Paton will give me some status. An' at last, I can get away from the mark of disgrace I've had all my life," said Grace, turning her head sadly to Andrew.

But instead of reaching out to her, Andrew blinked uncomprehendingly.

"Mark of disgrace? What disgrace?" Andrew genuinely had no idea what she was talking about.

Grace looked at him, tears stinging the rims of her big eyes.

"Och, Andrew, surely ye must ken the life I lead, o' an itinerant fighter. As ye said many times, it's nae life for a lass. I mean, I like it, but no one else does, an' one day, aye, I would like the things every other lass has..."

Her voice trailed off, filling Andrew with horror.

"Ye'd trade it all in for him?" he practically spat. "An' ye think that would make ye respectable?"

Andrew's face was clouded with rage. He found it hard to speak, much less think straight.

But Grace looked at him in anger. "Aye, yes, it would do!" she shouted. "But what would ye ken about that, Andrew? Ye ken who yer mother and father are. I dinnae!"

Grace's eyes hissed rage, and she wasn't done yet. In anger, she stood up.