Hearts of Highland Fire

Chapter 12

12

“Ye have tae go, Iris. All the participants of the gathering games are required tae be there taenight.”

Iris crossed her arms over her chest as she glared at Stephan, wanting to knock his mug out of his hand and onto the ground.

“I dinnae like those sorts of things. Ye know that. Da knows that.”

Her brother chuckled, his cheeks already ruddy from imbibing in the whiskey casks that had been given to each clan in anticipation of the evening’s entertainment.

“But ye’re a lass. Surely ye like it every once in a while?”

Iris’s gaze narrowed. “Ye are talking with the lass who can kick yer arse. I’m not like the others.”

“Nay,” Stephan replied, “ye’re not.” He set his mug on the log next to him and grasped her upper arms, giving them a quick squeeze. “Come now, Iris. It will be no worse than a busy evening at our keep. Ye can make yer appearances to the host laird and then come back if ye would like, but if ye dinnae show up, Da will drag ye out, clothed or not.”

Iris blew out a frustrated breath, knowing that her brother was likely right. Her father would see it as a snub to their clan and wouldn’t allow her to get away with it.

She had no choice in the matter. “Fine,” she grumbled, shaking off his touch. “I will come, but I won’t dance.”

Stephan laughed as he grabbed his mug, taking a hearty swallow.

“Trust me, Iris. No one there wants tae see ye dance.”

Iris let out a shriek and threw her own mug at his head; Stephan ducked, and it fell harmlessly to the ground.

“Take care, dear sister!” he called out as he walked away. “Ye cannae damage this pretty face for the lasses taenight!”

Iris placed her hands on her hips and fumed as she watched him disappear amongst the tents. She had heard about the gathering celebration from the other clansmen and ignored it just as quickly, knowing that she would rather spend her night alone in her tent than go to something like that. It was something her sisters would have liked to get all dressed up for and attend, but Iris had no thought of doing so.

Clearly Stephan had known what she was thinking, and after his talk with her, she didn’t think she could just follow through with her plans that evening.

She would be going to the celebration.

Iris’s stomach quivered in anticipation as she made her way back to her tent, throwing the canvas aside to enter. She still had a clean tunic and a pair of breeks in her satchel.

That should be well enough.

As she opened her satchel, Iris spied the dress that her sister had given her, pulling it out in a wrinkled heap. In the dim lighting of the afternoon that filtered through the canvas, Iris could see the stitching detail and how the fabric felt under her fingertips. At first she had thought it funny to bring the dress along, a means to appease her sister and the hard work that she had gone through in creating the dress for Iris.

Now, well, Iris wasn’t so sure it hadn’t been the fate of the gods for her to have the dress.

Sighing, she fell onto her small cot and held the dress in her callused hands, brushing her thumb over the embroidered roses. The reasons she had wanted to impress another Scot had been with her skills, showing them that she could fight just as well no matter the fact that she wasn’t a lad.

This dress would show a side of Iris that she wasn’t so certain she was ready for, and it was all James’s fault.

Pressing the dress up to her nose, Iris detected the sweet smell of lavender that her sister Gretna washed her skin with. A wave of homesickness overcame her suddenly, and Iris found herself having to blink back the tears that crowded her eyes. While she wouldn’t wish to be anywhere else right then, she did miss her sisters greatly. Gretna would know how to handle this…this attraction to James. She would have the witty words of wisdom for her sister, far more than Stephan had told Iris earlier.

Either that or Gretna would be forcing Iris into the gown, fussing over her so that she could make the proper appearance.

A small laugh escaped Iris before she pushed to her feet, holding the gown to her form. The skirts were long enough to hide her scuffed boots, and thankfully, her sister had thought enough about what Iris would need. There were deep pockets hidden in the folds of the skirt, more than capable of holding her dagger.

Was she truly considering wearing the gown? There was only one way to find out.

Iris placed it on the cot, and after tying the canvas flaps together, she quickly undressed, shivering in her undergarments as she slid the dress over her head. After a few minutes of struggling, Iris finally got it to fall where it was supposed to, her deft fingers lacing the bodice up until it fell flat against her chest.

She swallowed as she saw the swell of her bosom along the neckline, frowning as she tried to tug it higher. Well. Gretna was making it impossible for Iris to keep any small piece of herself hidden.

Giving up lest she rip the delicate fabric, Iris set to righting her hair, deciding on a set of braids that encircled her head like a crown, with the remainder of her hair down about her shoulders.

She felt ridiculous. Would James even notice her this evening? Would he even care that she went to all these lengths to put on a dress and, well, make herself noticeable?

Iris didn’t know why it mattered so to her, but it did. She wasn’t going to be the only lass at the keep tonight. No, there would be many lasses far bonnier than she was and more than enough to turn a handsome Scot’s head…like James.

He probably wouldn’t even look for her.

Iris reached for her spare tunic before she let it fall to the cot, deciding that it didn’t matter. She was going to wear the gown and that was the end of the story. If they laughed at her, then so be it.

At least she would have a tale to tell Gretna when she returned home.

After securing her dagger in the pocket and one in her boot for good luck, Iris undid the flaps and stepped out just as the sun was sinking low on the horizon. The camp was noticeably quieter than usual, which meant many had already made the short trek to the keep for the festivities, likely to get their drinking started for the evening.

Iris only made it two steps before Ian stepped in her path, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Wot are ye wearing?”

She glared at him. “’Tis a gown. Surely ye are familiar with them?”

After all, he chased enough lasses around the village to have inspected every gown there!

“I know wot it is,” he said in a huff. “Why are ye wearing it, lass?”

Iris sputtered, “’Tis n-none of yer concern wot I wear!”

“It is when I have never seen ye in one since ye have grown intae womanhood,” he retorted, arching a brow. “Why are ye wearing one now?”

Iris clamped her lips shut, her mind racing at what she could tell her brother. He was right. She hadn’t worn a gown in a number of years.

“I can change mah mind for one evening,” she finally said, attempting to sidestep him.

Ian blocked her path once again. “It is because of Lennox, isnae it?”

Iris’s throat went dry. “Wot?”

“James Lennox,” Ian bit out, his mouth twisting at the name. “I had a run-in with him this morning at the negotiations.”

A run-in? What on earth was Ian talking about?

“I dinnae understand.”

“The negotiations failed, Iris. James was there on behalf of his laird, and needless tae say, he might have run intae mah fist.”

Iris swallowed her gasp, wanting to rail at her brother for even laying a hand on him. If she did, he would suspect more, and she didn’t need him suspecting anything that she hadn’t figured out herself.

“Why would I care?” She shrugged. “And ye’re making me late, Ian.”

“He’s our enemy, Iris,” her brother said softly. “Dinnae forget that.”

“Move before I make ye. And dinnae think that this gown will stop me, Ian,” she ground out, her heart in turmoil.

James was supposed to be their enemy—her enemy—but all she could think of was the way she had felt when he had kissed her in the forest.

He moved out of her path then, and Iris hurried away from Ian before he could see the stain of pink on her cheeks. Her brother suspected something. She was certain of it. Iris debated on making a wide berth of the keep and her brother for the evening but then decided that if she did, she would never know what effect the gown would have on James. If Ian saw them together or anyone else for that matter, she would never hear the end of it.

So as she drew near to the keep, Iris tried not to draw any attention to herself. She kept her head down, avoiding all eye contact until she reached the crowd attempting to make their way into the keep. Iris could hear the music from inside, the laughter that brought a smile to her face. There were so many enemies in there, yet everyone was willing to put aside their differences for dancing and ale. Why couldn’t one do so outside of the gathering?

Why be at war with each other at all?

She spied her father once she finally got inside but didn’t approach him, moving along the fringes of the stone wall nervously instead. It was a crush in the great hall, with the host laird residing from his throne chair on a raised dais. Ale and whiskey were handed out freely, and a long table had been set up in the back of the large hall, laden with all sorts of delicious-smelling foods.

Iris’s stomach rumbled at the smell, but before she could go investigate, the laird stood.

“Welcome!” he called out, quieting the crowd. “And I hope that ye have felt the success of the games and the gathering as I have! May we leave this place with renewed hope that all of Scotland can be brought taegether in a peaceful time and not wage war on our fellow man.”

No one spoke aloud, but Iris could hear murmurs from those around her, some for and some against what the laird was saying. In the end, peace would always be short-lived in Iris’s mind.

“Now,” he continued, a broad smile on his face, “mah remaining contestants please step forward and let us all congratulate ye before the final game!”

Iris swallowed as she stepped through the crowd, joining the other competitors before the dais and desperately not looking for anyone in particular or how those around her reacted to her choice of dress.

She couldn’t—she shouldn’t —have decided on the gown tonight!

But her traitorous eyes found James amongst the crowd, and all thoughts of the mistake she thought she had made left her mind as she gazed upon his wide-eyed reaction.

A dull flush crawled up her neck, heating her skin as his eyes roved over her form, traveling upward until he was meeting her gaze once more. Iris felt the weight of his eyes on her, but also, it felt like the rest of the room had faded into the background.

Like it was just the two of them.