“Mister Murray, I don’t feel at ease discussing these
subjects with you.”

“Then call me Fagan. Mister Murray was my father’s name
anyway.”

Grace looked around and then softened her voice. “Now is
that truly appropriate?”

“I told ye before. Ye’re a long way from England, lass.
Lest ye forget, ye’re in the Highlands now. We do things
differently here.”

She lifted a brow. “How could I forget?”

“Ruairi said ye’ll be staying with us for a few weeks.
More to the point, I already call Ruairi’s wife Ravenna.”
He turned up his smile a notch. “Ye and I are practically
like family. Ye will call me Fagan, and I will call ye
Grace, or I could always call ye bhana-phrionnsa. I’ll be
kind enough to give ye a choice.”

“Ravenna may permit you to call her by her Christian
name, but I certainly do not, Mister Murray. Although you
do make me laugh, I’m afraid you and I are far from
family.”

When Grace’s eyes smoldered, Fagan knew he shouldn’t get
too close to the flame for fear of getting burned. There
was still enough time to take his leave. Otherwise, he’d
be verbally sparring with a lass in the middle of the
great hall. Ruairi would no doubt have his head for
causing mischief with his kin so soon after the wedding.

Fagan slapped both hands on the table and casually stood.
Instinctively, he took another step back in case the lass
suddenly had a strong urge to reach across the table and
throttle him—or worse. Nevertheless, once she heard what
he was about to say, the table wouldn’t provide enough
space between them.

“Verra well then. I think bhana-phrionnsa suits ye quite
nicely.” When Grace’s cheeks turned scarlet, Fagan
smiled. “Donna say I didnae warn ye. Remember I did give
ye a choice.” He winked at her and then turned on his
heel.

“Wait!”

He had a hard time trying to mask his smile. He turned
around slowly and lifted a brow. “Aye?”

Grace flew to her feet, walked around the table, and
closed the distance between them. She lifted her head,
and by the way she was unsteady on her feet, he swore the
daft lass was standing on the tips of her toes in a
futile attempt to look him level in the eye.

“England and Scotland have been warring for centuries,
Mister Murray, yet somehow Scotland has never won.”
Lifting her skirts, she brushed his arm with her shoulder
and took a few steps away from him.

That was until he called after her and stopped her dead
in her tracks. “Cuine a chì mi a-ris thu, Grace?” When
will I see you again? He made certain he said the words
as though he spoke to his lover, which obviously had the
desired effect because her whole body stiffened, and then
she left him without a backward glance. Fagan’s mood was
suddenly buoyant. He wasn’t exactly sure why he loved to
unnerve Princess Grace, but he had one hell of a time
doing it.