by Kat Bastion
Without our distinctive plaid, foreigners were easy to spot. Even I had one draped across my breast and secured around my hips. I’d become a plaid-fastening aficionado due to Brigid’s vital wardrobe assistance.
Brigid waited for me in front of the grandest tent, its large white flaps fastened open. It had an unobstructed view of the great hall’s entrance. I followed her inside. Food and drink were displayed on a long table in the back. Carved wood armchairs and pillows scattered upon blankets served as seating. Iain, Fingall, and most of their guard stood off to one side.
“Isobel.” Iain grinned, his face lighting up.
His formal use of my name surprised me.
Iain abandoned the group and strode forward to embrace me. He lowered his mouth to my ear, rumbling low. “Hello, my bonnie lass. You look radiant. How’re you feelin’?”
His warm lips over the shell of my ear shot goose bumps down that entire side of my body. Heat flushed into my cheeks. “I’m fine.”
“Only fine?” Iain pushed me back toward a corner of the tent. I lost my footing, but his possessive grip on my hips prevented my fall. “Surely, I can help you do better than fine.”
As I stumbled backward, he brushed soft lips across my jawline and dotted hot kisses down the column of my neck to my collarbone. His arms threaded through mine, wrapped around my back, and pulled me close. I laughed, even though I found nothing remotely funny at that moment. Iain had pushed us to an area where a large screen stood, and the barrier blocked us from view.
In seconds, his nimble fingers tugged down on my neckline, popping a breast free. I gasped as the rush of cool air hardened my nipple. Iain’s hot mouth sucked it in, and he bit it with his teeth.
Stunned immobile, I felt my knees buckle, and I grasped his shoulders for support. Iain growled low, vibrating into the flesh as he suckled without mercy. My mind reeled. Sharp pulses of pleasure inundated me, a fiery ache building between my thighs. He dropped to a knee, pulling away, looking up at me with lowered lids as he flicked the hardened tip with his tongue.
He smirked and asked again, “Only fine?”
I exhaled a hard puff of held breath, shocked at his boldness. “I’m far beyond only fine, and you know it, Iain Brodie.”
He shot me a smug look of satisfaction and stood.
I rapidly repaired my appearance, replacing that which had been removed. “You are terrible,” I chided on a whisper, smoothing out the front of my dress. I took a deep breath, but it did nothing to calm the fierce arousal. No wonder men wore kilts; damning evidence could be hidden beneath those folds.
His lips assaulted my ear again. “You love my mouth on you, and you know it.”
Yeah, I did. It had become hard to decipher what I did and didn’t love—or want—anymore. With my eleventh hour looming on the horizon, the hourglass sand looked alarmingly low. Three days was no time at all to get to know someone, but circumstances afforded me no more. Last night had been the first time I’d spent any heartfelt time with Iain, but what had I learned? We wanted each other. Well, duh. Oh, and we talked about his horse.
Iain kissed the top of my nose and left me standing there, flushed and confused, as he rejoined the others. The clear decision my heart and body had leapt toward last night clouded in the light of day. Unwelcome doubt crept in when I tried to ascertain what I wanted.
I sighed, shaking my head. Isobel MacInnes, you think too much.
On the final day of my supposed sentence to select a mate, I resolved to learn more about Iain and his clan. The eve of becoming Brodie by one man or another gave me no other option but to choose, or the decision would be made for me. I hoped my mixed-up mind would hurry up and agree with the rest of me.
Iain returned, leading me toward Brigid as his guard exited the tent, and I realized I wouldn’t have my learning opportunity anytime soon when understanding dawned on me—Iain participated in the events. Of course he did. They were his people, after all.
He bent down and kissed me thoroughly, threading both of his hands into mine. He lifted my right one, colored ribbons dangling between us.
“For me?” he asked, raising his brows, looking hopeful.
I supposed it was for him. Pennants were given to the man you favored in the games as a good-luck token. My best wishes on the field definitely went to Iain.
I nodded. “Yes.”
He grinned, removed the ribbons from my hand, and kissed me soundly. As he broke contact, I sighed with my eyes closed, sucking in my bottom lip, savoring his salty taste.
By the time I’d opened my eyes again, Iain had left the tent. He’d also left me in a hot mess of aroused and confused. The man expertly employed battle tactics off the field as well as on.
Reality trickled into my recovering brain as my stomach growled. The table in the back was buried beneath a buffet of foods. I covered a silver plate with cheese and fruit. Brigid had already grabbed an apple and reclined on a pile of cushions. I swiped a piece of crusted bread through stewed cherries, thinking about all the questions I could ask and those that would arouse suspicion.
“Brigid, how is it that you’re so close to Iain?” With everything else going on, I hadn’t thought to ask earlier, but it seemed unusual for her to have such privileges—our decadent baths, feasting toward the head of his table, and inclusion in his personal tent—even if Iain had done so because she’d become my friend.
“He’s my brother.” Her innocent expression belied her mischief. She’d wanted me to wonder.
I snorted, joining the amusement she’d had at my expense. Well, hell. That changed the course of my line of questioning.
“Brigid, I wandered around the keep two days ago and found a map room.” I watched her face, gauging her reaction. She remained stoic but listened intently. “A wall in that room had points of light on it.”
Brigid didn’t respond. Outside the tent, a boy shouted hello to her as he walked by the entrance. She waved to him.
“Do you know what the wall does?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I was born in the castle. The wall has always been there. I played in the room as a young child, but plannin’ and war strategizin’ is not for me. Those things doona interest a lass who runs through the grass collectin’ flowers.”
I persisted. “What about a box of the same sparkling material? Have you seen the box?”
“Aye,” she replied. “’Tis held in an outer room next to the keep.”
“But . . . do you know what it does? How it works?” I pressed. Is it tied to the wall that came alive? I didn’t want to interrogate her, but in my first chance to ask anyone, I determinedly seized the moment.
“Nay. The box is important to our clan. The wall protects us. ’Tis all I know.”
I pondered her statement. The wall protects them. How? “The ceiling above the great hall has the same kind of stone,” I mumbled to myself, working through my thoughts.
She heard and responded. “Aye. The box, the map room, the great hall, and the wall all have the same stone.”
Brigid popped up and grabbed a piece of cheese from the table. She held the white wedge between her teeth as she awkwardly dragged a chair to the tent entrance.
Spectators filed back to their tents. With the rectangular arrangement around the field, everyone had a great view from the shade of their own canopy.
“Wait, you said the map room and the wall. Aren’t they one in the same?” I’d thought she’d repeated herself.
“Nay. The map room has a wall made of the stone. Our curtain wall has the same stone in large pillars at the corner points . . .” Brigid’s voice trailed off as she turned and sat in her front row seat.
The blare of a horn sounded the start of the events, marking the end of our conversation; however, my tireless quest for the unearthing the truth had only just begun.
CHAPTER Nine
For the third time in under an hour, the piercing ring of swordplay dragged my troubled mind from pondering new secrets. I focused once again on a
competition that I would’ve given a vital organ to attend a few short days ago. Our tent’s prime location afforded us an unparalleled view of the action, and I trained my gaze to Iain as I effortlessly jumped back into spectator mode.
Iain arced his enormous sword high in the air and dropped it onto his opponent’s blade, sending another clash echoing into the courtyard. The brave young warrior fighting him took a step back from the brutal force of the impact.
I’d imagined as laird Iain would’ve assumed a role as overseer, but he participated in every event. Past experience should have warned me that his well-deserved pride dictated his actions. In California, among a class of men striving to be his peers, he’d surpassed every competitor. In the Highlands, with warriors living and breathing battle readiness at their core, he stood out even among his equals.
The man’s shirtless body, coupled with his prowess on the training field, did not disappoint. Iain wielded the claymore against his opponent as if he waved off a fly. I focused on every double-handed stroke he made as the bronzed muscles of his back flexed, glistening in the sun.
It astounded me that someone who employed brute force and aggression in a fight could caress skin with a butterfly’s touch and ignite blast-furnace heat with a whisper. Iain’s many intriguing facets attracted me on a level I hadn’t expected. The girl who’d spent a life searching for mysteries buried deep in the past had found a new challenge: unraveling what made up the essence of a man.
A horn blared, ending their match. Iain strode over to the area on the side where his guard sat, but his intense stare was pinned on me. I bit my lip, unable to contain how my heart raced with every penetrating look.
No longer hell-bent on schemes to make Iain compete for my attention, my nonstop brain had thought the tournament would be a perfect distraction for exploring the castle grounds to discover more about Iain and his people. However, the excellent idea had turned impossible with Iain’s possessive glances toward me at the beginning and end of each event. Brigid’s constant company was another snooping obstacle. With a mutual interest in watching our men compete, I gained no new knowledge from her, our conversation remaining superficial and brief.
Gloaming painted the sky in muted bluish grays as my eyelids grew heavy from the long day. I nestled into an inviting, pillow-filled corner next to an already-napping Brigid.
Dimly aware, I felt soft lips brush across mine. My lids fluttered open, and I saw Iain grinning at me through my drowsy haze. I smiled, closing my eyes on a sigh.
Iain’s soothing voice whispered into my ear, “Sleep, my beauty. We’re goin’ to bathe down at the stream. Seamus’ll stay with you both.” I snuggled deeper into the pillows, his soft-spoken words floating into my dreams.
* * *
A dark tent startled me to full attention. I patted around for my companion, wondering why Iain had left us alone so long. Brigid squealed at my frantic prodding.
“Isobel, och! What’re you doin’?”
I laughed. “Waking you up, apparently. Where is everyone?”
Lights flickered across the courtyard and soft orange glowed from along either side of our tent. My eyes adjusted to the darkness in ours as I pulled Brigid up from our impromptu bed.
She shrugged. “Let’s go find out.”
We stepped out into a torch-lit fantasy. Seamus stood guard at the entrance, nodding once as we passed. A crowd had gathered at the base of the keep, where tables covered in food had been arranged. Iain stood among a large group of his guard on the far side of the banquet.
Brigid yanked my arm, the rest of my body jerking to follow with no other choice. “Come, sister, we need to change.”
Less than thirty minutes later, we emerged from the front of the great hall and stepped into a scene bursting with life. Bagpipes played, people danced, and ale flowed freely. Small groups sat around long tables eating. Most of the men stood, talking animatedly, many with a drumstick in one hand and drink in the other. The delicious aroma of savory meats and baked desserts made my mouth water, but after grazing on the rich buffet in Iain’s tent all afternoon, I wasn’t hungry.
The familiar faces of Robert, Duncan, and Gawain approached us right as I spotted Iain and Fingall talking with two of the newest recruits for their coveted guard. They stood a dozen yards away from us in the center of a pressing crowd of admiring women.
Gawain deposited his goblet on the table and stepped close to me, grasping my hands, pulling them wide. “Isobel, you’re the bonniest lass here tonight.” He glanced at Brigid standing right next to me and valiantly corrected himself. “Second only to the fair Brigid, of course.”
I laughed at Brigid’s eye roll. “Thank you, Gawain.”
“One need not be bonnier than the other,” Robert interjected, then took a hearty swallow from his cup. “The two are the only lasses I want to lay eyes on, this fine night.”
Duncan threw an arm around Robert, snickering. “Only your eyes, Robert? Can you look without actually touchin’?”
A moment’s silence passed before we all burst out laughing.
My cheeks cramped as I enjoyed the drunken men harassing each other. Gawain leaned in. “You’re not wearin’ our plaid.”
I looked down at my beautiful scarlet gown, running my fingers over the plush velvet, then glanced at Brigid, who wore her clan plaid neatly draped over her gown. “No, I suppose not.” Brigid hadn’t said anything, and I hadn’t wanted to fuss with it upstairs.
“Och, no matter,” Gawain retorted. “You’ll be one of us soon enough.”
“Aye, but to which of us will she belong?” Duncan posed.
As if on cue, Robert and Duncan pressed in, countering Gawain’s closeness by asserting their interest. Surprised, I stepped back, increasing my personal space from the sudden onslaught of men.
Duncan lifted a goblet of ale to his mouth, but I swiped it from his hand and swallowed down the entire cup before taking a breath. Stone-cold sober Isobel was about to become toast.
I handed the cup back, squinting at the threesome as they gawked at my boldness. “I belong to the man of my choosing.” I gave the solid statement before I lost my filter and my inhibitions.
Robert grinned. “She’ll need a man who knows how to handle a woman.” He stared intensely at me. “Isobel, I’d have you screamin’ my name into the night.”
I glanced toward Brigid. Unfortunately, I’d lost my backup to a group of nearby women. Uncertain how to respond, I grabbed Robert’s ale and drank his very full cup.
Duncan clapped Robert so hard on the back, he stumbled forward. I took another step back. “Robert, you’ve handled every woman willin’ and able to be handled . . . again . . . and again. How could you ever be satisfied handlin’ only one?”
Robert’s smile fell from his face at Duncan’s question. I bit my lip, restraining laughter, watching Robert seriously ponder the dilemma.
Duncan shoved Robert behind him. “I, fair lass, would show you what it means to be loved. While my beddin’ talents have always been prized, I’d be loyal to you.”
Gawain’s deep chuckle resonated out. He placed a hand between my shoulder blades, turned me, and guided me through the crowd. I glanced over my shoulder. The two abandoned men stared at us for mere seconds before a bevy of women eagerly occupied the vacuum we’d left. Available warriors were on the menu tonight. The way the meat-market crowd rotated partners, tonight seemed like an early predecessor of speed dating.
“Doona pay them any mind. Their blusterin’ is not without merit, but how can you choose a man on claims alone? You need to see for yourself whether a man is worthy of you.”
I stopped, searching Gawain’s dark eyes. He’d spoken as if he’d read my whirling mind. “Exactly,” I replied. I looped my hand in his elbow as we wandered toward a thinner crowd. “I’ve not had enough time to decide my perfect match.”
The one who spoke to my heart.
One romantic date with a man claiming to be my soul mate did not eternal love make. Was I a
ttracted to Iain? Absolutely. Did feelings tug at my heart? Definitely. But I wanted a fire burning so hot for a man that I couldn’t breathe without him. With so many shocking things happening at once, in the struggle to adjust, I hadn’t even had time to miss the man supposedly destined for me.
Or . . . had I?
The half-dozen times I’d searched for Iain in the crowd tonight certainly counted for something. The more I questioned do I . . . or don’t I . . . the more confusion reigned.
Gawain stopped and looked down at me. “Time is somethin’ you doona have, but I’m a patient and kind man. Like Robert, I’ll help you discover the passionate woman inside you. Like Duncan, I’d be loyal to our bed and our marriage. But unlike them both, I’d listen to you, share stories of my adventures, and seek to fill our house with laughter and love.”
I grasped his forearms, looking up into the eyes of a man promising the world from any woman’s perspective. Gawain’s vision of marriage bore as close a resemblance to a modern-day equality of partners as I’d ever hoped to get in a medieval world.
I realized that I had no idea what kind of husband Iain wanted to be with his wife. Our heated chemistry melted every thought in my head anytime we were together, making it impossible to formulate the question, let alone ask it.
Gawain suddenly dropped his lips to my mouth in a tender chaste kiss. I had no time to react. He lingered for a moment, then broke contact, lifting his face from mine. His weak smile said it all: there’d been no spark. He raised his eyebrows optimistically despite the lackluster connection. I shook my head, shrugging.
Memories of the passionate fire that had sizzled with Iain’s kisses flooded into my mind, followed by hope that Iain would be everything his men had promised to be as husbands . . . and more.
Brigid barged in between us, and Gawain stumbled back, gaping at her.
“Isobel, I’ve been lookin’ for you. So has Iain. Off with you, Gawain.” She shooed away the man larger than her by half. “Go find your men and get drunker.”
