Page 8 of Highlander’s Mercenary Lass

Then again, so was he!

"Aye, son. Ye seem surprised. Do ye want me tae prove it? I can take ye tae the clan castle an'..." Paton indicated the gray shape in the distance. Hovering upon the horizon was the imposing structure of Duncan towers, the tallest building for miles around. In fact, the only building for miles around.

Seeing the man's robes more clearly now, and the crest of his sword, Andrew realized perhaps he was being hasty.

"Nay, nay, that'll nae be necessary. In fact, this conversation is probably best had away from prying ears," he said, self-consciously. In a way, he was glad he found Paton alone. His biggest worry was being overheard. Laird Marcus had left explicit instructions to only speak to Paton. He was not sure how to handle the rest of the castle courtiers, let alone the laird's own heirs.

"Most intriguing," said Paton, clearly interested. The pair of them were still in the middle of a boggy field, covered in mud. Andrew looked up. He couldn't help feeling someone somewhere had a strange sense of humor.

"Perhaps if we move somewhere a wee bit more conducive?" suggested Andrew, as obligingly, Paton lifted his long robes and trotted along the boggy leas until they reached a roadside. There, by the hedge side, was a stile. Paton indicated they sit there, and Andrew followed him.

Finally, when they were both seated, Paton cleared his throat.

"Well, Mr...?"

"Caldwell," said Andrew. He hesitated a moment before fixing the strange man with his bright green eyes. A sudden beam of sunlight caught the side of his face, illuminating his jade eyes and chestnut hair. Even in this bleakest light, Andrew was an extraordinarily handsome man.

And even sitting down, he still towered over the small gray counselor.

"I am afraid I come bearing bad tidings," Andrew said. Immediately, a gleam came into Paton's eyes. He looked tense.

"What? What is it? The battle... Dinnae say the Kennedys have triumphed?"

"Nay, nay, nothing like that. We did well, an' we held the fortification. In fact, we made gains for the clan. But they came at a price."

Paton's eyes widened considerably. Inside, Andrew saw a million red spider veins, beating a path to the edge of his eyes.

"The laird, is he hurt?" he asked, in a barely audible voice.

Andrew sighed. "Nae hurt. Dead," he said.

As soon as he had said it, he realized that he probably should have put it differently.

Paton's eyes broadened even further than they did before until it seemed that they were popping out of his head. The strange thing was that even this close up, Andrew still had trouble telling what color they were. In one light, they were gray; in another, a sort of murky beige color. Either way, they were huge and bulging, and the unnatural stare they fixed Andrew with was making him uncomfortable.

"Dead?" asked Paton in disbelief. A rush of guilt ran through Andrew. He hated being the bearer of such news, and as his delivery had proven, words were not his forte.

"Aye. I'm sorry. I mean, I am sorry tae have tae tell ye," added Andrew.

To his own surprise, he was finding himself feeling just as shocked as Paton was. Even though he had been with Marcus to the end, it still had not filtered through. In a strange sort of way, he had to tell someone else to make it real.

But now that he had done so, Andrew felt a rush of grief coasting through him every bit as much as he imagined Paton must be experiencing. The gray-haired counselor just stood there, staring at him.

"How?" he asked.

Andrew sighed and braced himself for recounting all the grim details. The laird had fallen, and by all accounts, taken a poison arrow. The flesh wound he had been assumed to be suffering from had proven far worse and ultimately fatal. Eventually, the laird succumbed to his wound.

Even describing it in these brutal terms left Andrew numbed. Just for a moment, his hand went to his own arm and rubbed it. The mark the arrow had left was still there, although the bleeding had stopped. As he rubbed the cut, his mind couldn't help turning to the poison dart that had killed his master.

Seeing his face, Paton smirked. At the time, Andrew did not realize why and looked up in alarm. Waving him down, Paton smiled.

"Dinnae fash, lad. It's alright," he said, gazing at his anxious face.

"Alright? The laird's death..." began Andrew, before his eyes began to follow Paton's. He saw he was looking at his arm, and the thing he was speaking about was the arrow.

Paton stood up and retrieved the fallen arrow from the side of the field. Holding it aloft, he pointed to its tip.

"There's nothing on there that'll harm ye. An' anyway, I only fired at yer arm. I wasnae trying tae kill ye, just stop ye," he said. Then he paused. "Please accept my apologies."