Still, she hadn’t left his mind.
Now here she was, in plain sight, and Will wanted to unmask her right then just to find out who she was. He didn’t think she was there to do anything detrimental to his laird, and by the looks of her cloak now, it was apparent she was trying to hide herself even more.
She knew that he had found her out.
A grin crossed his face at the thought. He had spent far too long on preparations for this day, but now he was due for some time to unmask his imposter that was lurking in the shadows, hiding under her cloak.
It would have to wait just a little bit longer, though.
“All of ye are here tae represent Scotland,” Katherine was saying, clasping her hands before her. “While we have invited clans tae join us, I dinnae see anything but proud Scots that want tae show off their skills tae their fellow men. ’Tis how we should be, not seeing the borders of our lands or the tartans that we wear. We should see the fellow Scot that is standing next tae us, the person who has the same ideals, the same goals tae have Scotland be far superior to the rest!”
There were cheers, but Will was only paying attention to the bent, cloaked figure. Who was she, and what was she trying to hide? Was her husband in the crowd? Or her father?
Had she come alone to participate, or did she have a clan?
What skills did she have that made her think she could participate in these games? They were not going to be easy challenges. Will had helped decide the challenges. There would be eight rounds, with a certain number of participants eliminated after each until there were two left. Those two would participate in a race across the moors to claim flags along the way and ride to victory.
While Will wanted to make the sword fighting last, Cameron had argued that they didn’t need clans attempting to kill each other with their swords in a pretense that they were trying to win the games.
So, sword fighting had been taken off the table.
There still was, however, archery, dagger throwing, maide-leisg, weight over the bar, stone put, caber toss, and sheep wrangling, which Katherine had added, stating that every Scot should know how to properly wrangle a sheep.
Will wasn’t so certain he agreed with the latter, but it was likely to be entertaining to watch.
The best part was that the participants had no idea what the games entailed.
“Tomorrow,” Katherine said, “we will begin with archery. Only thirty of ye will make it tae the next round.”
By his calculation, there were over fifty Scots before them right now, though some would likely not make it after a night of ale and women. Some wouldn’t make it out of their bedrolls, especially if the wenches had anything to do about it. That was not his plan, but Will knew that most clans wouldn’t care. There were other things outside of the games that would take place. The lairds would gather to discuss the fate of all of Scotland while the second-in-commands would glare at each other, protecting their lairds at all costs.
Will would be doing the same thing, and he would protect his laird with his last dying breath.
“We wish ye good fortune in the games,” Katherine finished, giving them a wide smile.
The crowd cheered as Katherine and Cameron stepped down, moving to greet some of the lairds and their wives that had stepped forward. Will followed them, but Cameron looked at him with an easy grin on his face.
“I can protect her,” he said softly. “Go on, drink a few pints. Ye deserve it.”
Will had no plans to do so, but he did have another plan that was calling for his attention. So, he nodded and moved through the crowd, looking for anyone that was wearing an ugly brown cloak like a shroud. He knew he shouldn’t be focused on just one person like this, but a lass attempting to hide her identity was not something he saw every day, and he wanted her story before the night was through.
It wasn’t because he cared about who she was, but because if she truly were there alone, she would be in danger once the others around her learned of her true identity. While Bertha’s wenches had started to move around the campsite, there was good reason that most had not brought their wives or daughters.
Not everyone would be keeping their hands to themselves. Many a hasty marriage had come out of gatherings like this, most with a sword pressed against their spines.
Others called out as he passed, but Will ignored them for now, knowing that he had to solve this before the sun rose. It was his duty to make sure everyone was cared for, and he wasn’t so certain she was.
Will moved to the perimeter of the camps, knowing that if she was indeed alone, then she would not be in the bigger tents that were dotting the field.
The cool night air started to tease his exposed skin the further he moved away from the fires, but Will barely noticed it. When he was a stable lad, he sometimes only used the hay to keep himself warm at night, so the cold weather did not bother him as much. When he was nothing but a small bairn, his father was barely around; the fireplace in their hut was barren more times than it was lit.
One grew used to the cold in those instances.
Will was not one that needed many comforts in his life, but he imagined that the lass did.
He found her on the edge of the boundary that he had set up with his warriors, her own small fire paling in comparison to the others. She still donned her cloak, but her hands were bare as she held them up to the fire, and it wasn’t hard to see that she was not a lad by the way the flames danced over her features.
“Do ye want me tae force her back?” one of his warriors stated as Will approached him. “I tried but she threatened tae gut me.”
Will chuckled. He was not at all surprised that she had threatened his warrior. If she was brave enough to come here alone, then she was going to do everything she could to protect herself.
Perhaps he misjudged her already.
“Nay, I will deal with her,” Will replied. “Take a walk through the crowd and find ye some ale tae warm yer bones.”
The young warrior grinned and left without another word, leaving Will to watch the lass. He did so for a little while longer, taking in her mannerisms. A Scot would have to be blind not to notice that she was a lass, even bundled under her cloak.
Finally, Will approached the fire, his boots silent as they moved through the grass. “Is there a reason ye are out here, lass?”
She started at the sound of his voice but didn’t look up, tucking her hands back into her cloak. “I’m not a lass.”
Will nearly laughed aloud at her altered voice. Did she really think that she could fool anyone?
“Och, lass, ye aren’t fooling me.”
She snorted, which only made him grin even more. “Then ye’re blind, Scot. I’m a lad. Mayhap ye prefer a lad.”
“Nay,” Will stated as he settled by her fire, noting how she stiffened as he did so. “Ye have nothing tae fear from me, lass.”
10
Breta sighed, wishing that she could just walk away and the warrior would leave her be.
But he wouldn’t. She had avoided him all day, weaving through the tents so that she could stay hidden from not only the warrior before her, but also her father.
“Tell me who ye are, lass,” he said softly, giving Breta no indication that he already knew the answer to his own question.
’Tis a good sign, Breta thought. As long as she could keep her identity hidden, then there would be no concern that her father would find out.
“’Tis none of yer concern,” she finally said, dropping her voice.
“It is mah concern,” he stated, the firelight flickering over his face.
“Why is that?” she asked, wanting to know who he was.
He chuckled. “Because, lass, I am in charge of the safety of this clan and mah laird.”
Breta’s breath stuttered in her chest.
McDougal’s second-in-command.
“Ye’re William McDougal.”
He inclined his head. “Aye, I am.”
That was the last person at the
se games she needed to draw attention from. Breta had met Will once before, when he had come to her father’s keep with the current Laird McDougal. Back then she was quite young, and all the warriors that day had seemed far bigger than a normal Scot looked.
His sword fighting was legendary, whispered amongst the battlefields.
Now he was sitting at her fire, wanting to know who she was.
She couldn’t tell him. He knew who her father was, and the moment she told him, he would seek him out. Not only that, but her sister lived in this clan.
“I cannae,” she finally said to him. “I cannae tell ye.”
He didn’t seem at all surprised by her admission. “Lass, I cannae help ye if ye dinnae tell me who ye are.”
“Help me?” she asked, puzzled.
He gestured to her small fire and bedroll. “This is not the sort of place that a lass like ye should be sleeping. This isnae safe for ye, and I cannae sit at yer fire all night and watch over ye.”
Breta was beginning to understand. He thought she couldn’t defend herself.
He thought she was weak, just like her father. “I assure ye,” Breta stated in a near growl, “I can defend mahself just well.”
His eyes flickered over her. “I dinnae see it.”
Rage grew inside Breta’s chest and she jumped up, unsheathing the small dagger. “Come on, ye big oaf!” she yelled, waving her dagger. “Let me show ye how I can defend mahself!”
He rose to his feet slowly, and Breta threw her hood back, seeing how his eyes roamed over her face.
“I dinnae wish tae hurt ye.”
“If I am tae best ye,” she said instead, not caring about his honor, “ye will leave me alone.”
William arched a brow. “And if I win?”
“Then I will tell ye mah name,” she huffed, thinking of the only thing that he would want from her.
He pulled out a small dagger, far more impressive than hers was. “Show me wot ye have then.”
Breta knew that he would expect her to lunge, so she didn’t, rolling to the balls of her feet instead. Her father’s warriors had taught her to keep her enemy surprised, and while they thought they are appeasing her with their attention, Breta had been learning all along.
Finally, she moved away from the fire so that she didn’t fall into it and moved to his right, where he was watching her every move. When Breta finally did lunge, he parried her move with ease, chuckling as he did so.
“The right side is mah strongest, lass.”
“But wot aboot yer left then?” she challenged right before she struck, her dagger slicing through his tunic but not deep enough to cut him. While she wanted to prove that she could defend herself, Breta wasn’t looking to injure him.
He seemed surprised by her attack, but Breta didn’t let up, coming at him again and again until he finally was able to block her thrust, her dagger spinning off into the grass. As she went for it, he grabbed her arm and the motion caused them both to fall, William turning around at the last minute to cushion their fall.
Breta landed on top of him with an oof, falling against his hard chest.
“Och, if ye wanted tae touch me, all ye had tae do was ask,” he said, laughing.
She made a sound and pushed off him, backing up as far as she could.
He stood up, wiping his hands on his breeks. “Ye fight well. Someone has trained ye.”
“Aye,” she replied, finding her dagger in the grass and tucking it back in its holder. “Will ye keep mah secret now?”
He took a step toward her, sheathing his dagger. “Ye owe me yer name.”
Breta hated that she had, in fact, lost this test. But she was a person who kept her word. “Breta,” she said, drawing in a breath. “Breta McLeish.”
His eyes widened. “Ye are Garia’s sister?”
Breta nodded. “Aye, and mah da doesnae know that I am here. Can I count on ye tae keep mah secret?”
He didn’t respond right away, and Breta grew worried. If he told her father, then she would never get to participate.
He had to keep her secret.
“Aye, I will,” he finally said. “But ye cannae stay here. I will escort ye tae yer sister and ye will stay there.”
Breta grumbled. He wasn’t going to tell her father that she was there, but he was going to make her tell Garia? Her sister wouldn’t betray her, Breta knew that, but she was likely not going to be pleased to hear of her plans.
“Fine, I will go tae mah sister’s.”
“Good choice,” William stated. “Get yer things.”
Breta did as he asked, and they banked the fire before he led her over to the horses. He climbed onto a horse and reached down with his hand.
“Come.”
She hesitated. “I can walk.”
“Nay,” he said, frowning. “’Tis a long way, and it’s bloody cold. The horse will be faster.”
Seeing no other choice, Breta accepted his hand, finding it hard to ignore the warmth that traveled up her arm from the touch.
He swung her up in front of him, and Breta forgot to breathe as he wrapped his large arm around her waist.
“Wot are ye d-doin?” she stammered.
“I’m holding ye in place,” he answered, his breath teasing the hairs that had escaped her tight braid. “I like to gallop, lass, not trot.”
When he nudged the horse into a gallop, Breta fell against his chest, her breath catching in her throat as they flew across the moors. It reminded her of how she enjoyed doing the same back home, the air rushing past her and cleansing her mind of anything that was worrying her.
Tears pulled at her eyes, and Breta forced them back. She didn’t think she would miss her home this badly, but the longer she was gone, the more she missed it.
Directing her thoughts to something else, Breta found herself thinking about the solid warmth of William’s body against hers, the way his arm was anchoring her in place. Never before had a man touch her like this before, and it was nice.
Soon they were in the village and William was slowing the horse, the huts starting to come into view. Breta drank in the surroundings, intrigued to see where her sister now called home.
When William halted the horse, he released her, and Breta felt the loss against her body as he slid from the horse. When she looked down, he was waiting to help her down, his expressionless eyes on hers.
“Come on, Breta,” he said, a hint of a smile on his face. “Dinnae be afraid.”
“I’m not,” she said, sliding off the horse and into his arms.
He caught her, and for a moment, they stared at each other.
“Tell me,” he said softly, his eyes searching hers, “wot are yer plans with the games? Are ye only trying tae prove a point with yer da?”
“Nay,” Breta replied. “I want tae win the games.”
By the look on his face, she had surprised him. “Ye want tae win the games?”
“Aye,” Breta stated, lifting her chin. “Are ye going tae hold me or let me go?”
He let her go. Breta straightened her cloak as the door opened to the hut.
“Will?” a man called out. “Wot are ye doing here?”
Breta recognized that voice. When Trevor stepped into the light that was coming out of the window, Breta stepped forward.
“Hello, Trevor.”
His eyes widened. “Breta? Wot are ye doing here?”
“She came with the caravan,” Will offered up, stepping beside her. “I happened upon her, and she wanted tae see Garia.”
“Breta!”
Breta turned to catch her sister as she flew out of the hut, hugging her tightly. “Wot are ye doing here?”
Garia pulled back and Breta took in her sister. It had been nearly a year since she had seen her last. Her heart warmed as she looked into her sister’s eyes.
“Garia, ’tis good tae see ye.”
“Aye,” Garia replied, still surprised to see her sister standing there in front of her. “But wot are ye doing here, Breta? Dinnae m
ake me ask ye again.”
Breta looked over at William, who was watching the exchange with a bemused look on his face. “Thank ye for bringing me. I will come back tae the camp in the morn.”
He chuckled, eyeing her. “Aye, lass, I have no doubt that ye will be there in the morn.”
Garia grabbed her arm and propelled her toward the door before she could say anything else. Once inside, she turned to her sister. “Why are ye at the camp? Does Da know ye are here?” She looked down at Breta’s clothing, wrinkling her nose. “Never mind. He doesnae know, does he?”
Breta shook her head, knowing there was no reason to lie to her sister. “Nay, he doesnae. I came with the warriors. I am going tae compete in the games.”
“Breta! Are ye daft? Da will lock ye in yer room for ages if ye do something like that! Those games are meant for warriors, not lairds’ daughters who have never seen battle!”
“I dinnae care,” Breta sniffed. “I want tae do it. Ye know I can fly an arrow and throw a dagger as good as anyone else. ’Tis not fair that I cannae participate just because I am not a warrior.” She thought her sister would be on her side about this.
“Of course ye can do all those things, and more. But ye are also mah sister, and I worry aboot ye being up there at the camp surrounded by the clans.”
“I...well, I can stay here,” Breta offered. “’Tis why I am here taenight. That infernal Scot wouldnae let mae stay.”
Garia arched a brow. “Are ye talking aboot Will? It was his idea tae bring ye here?”
Breta nodded slowly. “I even had tae dagger fight him.”
“He did wot?”
“’Tis no matter,” Breta sighed, waving a hand at her sister. “I know wot I am going tae do come morn, and no one can stop me.”
11
Breta was up the next morning early, changing into her breeks and flowing tunic that would complete her outfit for the first part of the games. She had a nervous stomach about what might happen and if her father or any of his warriors would recognize her, but there was also a small amount of excitement about what she was about to embark on.
Highlander’s Phantom Lass: A Steamy Scottish Medieval Historical Romance Page 6
