Elspeth cringes visibly at the idiotic comments of her compatriots. But another quickly responds, "For some of us Fiona I'm sure it wouldn't matter if it were a suit of armor." More stupid laughter.

The Highland men are on the verge of drawing their weapons at their inhospitable reception as other guards quickly move in. The elder of the two Gaels snarls, "Cuir do dhorn dhiom, athruaillidh!"

For a moment there is a babble of noise, as Gaelic mixes with thick Scots in an inarticulate mumble. Then, one voice of a palace guard breaks free, "None of that savage's talk! Or I'll cut the tongue out of your head!"

In the intensity of the moment, there is a sudden pike thrust aimed at the Highlanders, and just as the cutting blade is about to crush flesh and bone, a sword parries it deftly. "There'll be no talk of savages from the likes of you!" a rich voice rings out, holding the pikeman at bay.

At the sight of this warrior, Elspeth's eyes go wide. It is her man, Duncan Hamilton. But the confused and frightened guards swarm closer, pressing the men back. One sergeant calls out, "Keep out of our business if you have any sense!"

Duncan smiles as he calmly responds, "How ungrateful. And after having sense enough to save your life for you."

The tension breaks thinly. The guard is incredulous. "What? My life?"

"Now how would it look to have the King himself slip on the red carpet oozed out of your veins. Not the reception I think he has in mind," Duncan quips. And with a seemingly effortless but nonetheless mighty thrust, he shoves away the pike with his sword arm. The pike clangs into the clumsy guard's helmet, making a lovely ringing sound. The other guards are shocked, but stay their hands because of the subtle manner that Duncan has so easily displayed.

"Now, put up that pike before you manage to lob your own head off, " Duncan says. "I know, I've seen it done -- whole battalions wandering the country side with no place to put their bonnets."

"Aye," says Angus, the elder of Duncan's warrior companions. "It's what makes a good soldier."

"Shall we give him the shilling and sign him up then, Duncan? Seeing what a good soldier he is," chimes Ranald, the other Highlander in clear English.

Duncan smiles, "He's worth a good pound looks like to me -- English." More laughter, as earnest as it is confident. Overwhelmingly so. And the guards step back.

The clutch of young women are utterly fascinated at this heroic, handsome figure, and frankly the bold manner of three against a dozen. "Well now," one chirps. "There's a man worth talking about."

Elspeth's eyes flash with excitement at the realization that her man is but a few yards away. She can't contain her excitement as she cries out, in lovely heartfelt tones, "Duncan! Duncan!"

"And it seems we have been," one of the now aware women responds.

Just then an elegant, roughly powerful older man pushes through the crowd towards the commotion. The guards move aside as the well known Lord Sutherland approaches forcefully. "What's this? What do you think you're into here? Eh?" roars Lord Sutherland, in no mood for any commotion, let alone the usual misguided timing of typical, dim-witted palace guards.

"Why, I, uh... I was doing my duty," one guard meekly offers.

"Away with you, you wee man -- your duty is to do as you're told," Sutherland commands.

But the guard seems determined to explain as he tries to speak, "But, sir, I thought..."

"If it was thinking that was required," Sutherland quickly interrupts. "They would have employed a horse. They only have to be kicked once to know which way to go."

The guards quickly, though arrogantly withdraw as the Highlanders smirk contemptuously. Sutherland turns to confront the trio, but to the amazement of all watching, he warmly embraces Duncan. They are clearly old friends, and more. "Ah, my boy, my sweet boy -- home again, eh? And no happier to see you were you my own bairn," coos the old Lord. Affectionate. Fatherly.

Duncan smiles warmly in return. "Now that's a greeting worth coming home to."

"And you're fine, are you? No wounds to speak of?"

"None to speak of. But a dram might loosen my tongue -- if you insist."

"Ha! Well said, " Sutherland responds. "We'll soon see to that. With plenty of warm talk to go with it, eh? And there's some important business to discuss with you as well, but that can wait a short while I'm thinking. First, there's loving arms softer than mine to greet you."

PAGE TWO