Chapter 13
The village came alive with sound and color as they rode through the outskirts.
Leona could hear music drifting in the air, fiddles and drums, accompanied by laughter and voices raised in song. Smoke from cooking fires mixed with the scent of roasting meat and fresh bread, making her stomach growl despite the tension still thrumming through her body.
She was acutely aware of Murdock behind her, his arms bracketing her as he held the reins, his chest solid against her back. Every breath he took, she felt. Every shift of his powerful thighs as he guided Thunder through the narrow streets made heat pool low in her belly.
The ride from the ambush site had been both eternal and far too short.
She’d never felt safer than wrapped in his arms, never felt more desired than when she’d felt the evidence of his arousal pressed against her lower back.
He’d tried to shift away, to put distance between them despite their positions, but the horse’s gait kept bringing them back together.
Neither had spoken much. What was there to say? Three men lay dead on the road because they’d threatened her. Because Murdock had kept his promise to protect her, swift and brutal and absolute.
For the next year, ye’re mine to protect.
The words echoed in her mind, sending shivers down her spine that had nothing to do with cold.
“We’re here,” Murdock said quietly, his breath warm against her ear.
People had begun to notice their arrival. Heads turned, conversations paused, and then, suddenly, they were surrounded by smiling faces and enthusiastic greetings.
“Me Laird!”
“Is that her? Is that Lady Leona?”
“Look, they’re riding together! How romantic!”
Murdock dismounted first, his movements fluid despite having ridden for hours. Then his hands were on her waist, lifting her down as if she weighed nothing.
For a moment, they stood close enough that she could see the flecks of amber in his dark eyes, could feel the heat radiating from his body.
“Ready?” he asked quietly.
She wasn’t, not remotely, but she nodded anyway, smoothing her burgundy dress with trembling hands.
The crowd pressed closer, and Leona’s breath caught in her throat. So many people. So many eyes watching, judging, wondering about the Gilmore lass who’d captured their Beast’s attention.
An older woman pushed through the throng, her weathered face creased with a warm smile. Leona recognized her from dinner—Sheena.
“Lady Leona! Welcome, welcome!” Sheena pulled her into an embrace before she could think to step back. The woman smelled of bread and herbs, comforting and maternal. “We’re so glad ye could join us!”
“I… thank ye,” Leona managed, overwhelmed by the genuine warmth.
“And arriving together on one horse!” Another woman—Fiona, she remembered—appeared at Sheena’s side, her eyes dancing with mischief. “What happened to yer mount, me Lady?”
Heat flooded Leona’s cheeks. How did she explain without mentioning the bodies they’d left behind?
“It bolted,” Murdock said smoothly, his hand finding the small of Leona’s back. The touch was possessive, claiming, and she felt it in her core. “Startled by a deer. Ran off before we could catch it.”
“Oh, how frightening!” Sheena clucked sympathetically. “But at least ye had the Laird to keep ye safe.”
“Aye,” Leona said softly, meeting Murdock’s eyes. “He did keep me safe.”
Something passed between them, weighted with meaning that had nothing to do with horses or deer. His hand pressed more firmly against her back, drawing her closer to his side.
More villagers crowded around, introducing themselves in a blur of names and faces.
Peter, the blacksmith, his hands scarred from years at the forge.
Ailsa the healer, her sharp eyes assessing.
Young mothers with bairns on their hips.
Old men who’d served under Murdock’s father and lived to see a better laird take his place.
At first, Leona was uncertain how to respond to such overwhelming acceptance. These people didn’t know her. Didn’t know what she’d done, what her clan represented. They should have been suspicious, wary.
But they weren’t. They smiled at her like she was already one of them. Like becoming their Laird’s betrothed made her family.
“Are ye enjoying the festival?” a young girl asked shyly, peeking out from behind her mother’s skirts.
Leona crouched down to the child’s level, her natural warmth beginning to thaw her nervousness. “I’ve only just arrived, so I havenae seen much yet. What’s yer favorite part?”
The girl’s face lit up. “The games! Me da is competing in the caber toss!”
“Is he now? Then I’ll have to watch and cheer him on.” Leona smiled, genuine and bright, and the girl giggled.
When she stood, she found Murdock watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. Intense, focused, as if he was seeing something in her he hadn’t expected.
“Come!” An elderly man with a magnificent white beard pushed through the crowd. He wore the ceremonial plaid of a village elder, the tartan pinned at his shoulder with an ornate brooch. “Come, me Laird, me Lady! The games are about to begin, and we’ve saved ye seats of honor!”
The crowd parted, and Murdock’s hand slipped from her back to her hand, his fingers lacing through hers. The gesture was natural, easy, as if they’d been doing it for years rather than days.
Leona’s heart stuttered at the contact.
Murdock led her through the village square, where benches had been set up around a wide field. Colorful ribbons decorated the posts, and children ran about with wooden swords and hobby horses, their laughter bright as bells.
The elder—Angus, she learned—seated them on a raised platform that gave them a clear view of the field. Leona felt exposed, but Murdock’s presence beside her was steadying.
“The caber toss is first!” Angus announced, his voice carrying across the crowd. “Who among ye will challenge the Laird?”
Several men stepped forward, all broad-shouldered and strong. But even among them, Murdock stood out. Taller, more powerfully built, moving with a predator’s grace that made something coil low in Leona’s belly.
He turned to her before joining the competitors, and the look in his eyes made her breath catch. Dark, heated, promising.
“Wish me luck, lass?” His voice was low enough so only she could hear.
“Ye daenae need luck,” she managed. “Ye’re the Beast of Ainsley.”
His lips curled into something that was almost a smile. “Aye, I am.”
Then he was moving away, removing his tunic with casual confidence that left him in only his trews and boots.
Leona’s mouth went dry.
She’d seen him shirtless before. Had tended his wounds in the dungeons, had felt the hard planes of his body pressed against hers. But seeing him now in broad daylight, surrounded by other men who paled in comparison, was something else entirely.
His chest was a landscape of muscle and scars, each mark telling a story of survival. His shoulders were impossibly broad, his arms corded with strength. The morning sun caught on his skin, highlighting every defined line, every powerful curve.
He was magnificent. Raw masculinity and controlled power wrapped in scarred flesh.
And he was supposed to be hers.
The thought made heat bloom in her cheeks, made her shift restlessly on the bench.
“Beautiful, is he nae?” Sheena appeared beside her, settling onto the bench with a knowing smile. “The Laird. All the lasses fawn over him, though he’s never paid them any mind. Until ye.”
Leona tore her eyes away from Murdock. “I… He’s…”
“Nay need to be shy, dear. Ye’re betrothed. Ye’re allowed to admire yer man.” Sheena patted her hand. “And from the way he looks at ye, I’d say the admiration goes both ways.”
Did it?
Leona’s eyes found him again, helpless.
The caber, a massive tree trunk stripped of branches and tapered at one end, lay on the ground. It had to be nearly twenty feet long, thick as a man’s torso.
The first competitor stepped up, gripping the narrow end. He strained, muscles bulging as he lifted it vertically, then tried to toss it. The caber wobbled, tilted, but didn’t complete the flip. Still, the crowd cheered his effort.
Two more men tried and failed. One managed a decent flip but poor direction.
Then it was Murdock’s turn.
He approached the caber with confident strides, crouching down to grip it. Leona found herself leaning forward, her hands clasped tight.
His muscles bunched as he lifted it. The caber rose slowly, steadily, his arms straining under the weight. Higher and higher it went, and Leona could see every muscle in his back flexing, could see the veins standing out in his forearms.
Power. Pure, controlled power.
He balanced it vertically, the massive weight held steady for a heartbeat. Then his hips drove forward, his arms pushed, and the caber flew.
It rotated perfectly in the air, completing a full flip before landing with a thunderous crash directly in line with its starting point. A perfect toss.
The crowd erupted in cheers.
Murdock turned, his chest heaving with exertion, sweat gleaming on his skin, and looked directly at her.
Leona couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything but stare at him while heat flooded through her body in a wave that left her trembling.
This was the only time she’d seen him like this. Not fighting. Not killing. Not hard and cold and distant. But engaged in something physical, something that required strength and skill without violence.
He looked… free. Almost content. His expression was fierce, triumphant, but there was something lighter in it, too. Pride, perhaps, in showing off for her.
And God help her, she was mesmerized.
She rose from the bench without conscious thought, her hands coming together to applaud. She watched his pupils dilate, watched the triumph in his expression turn into something darker, hungrier.
He wanted her. Right here, right now, with hundreds of people watching, he wanted her with an intensity that made her knees weak.
And she wanted him just as desperately.
The air between them crackled with awareness, invisible but palpable. The crowd, the noise, the celebration, all of it faded until there was only him. Only the way he looked at her like she was something precious and dangerous and utterly essential.
Leona shivered, and it had nothing to do with the autumn breeze.
She was in so much trouble.
“The Laird wins!” Angus’s voice broke the moment, and Murdock turned to accept congratulations from the other competitors.
But even as he moved through the crowd, even as men clapped his back and praised his strength, his eyes kept finding hers. Again and again, like he couldn’t help himself. Like she was a magnet and he was helpless to resist her pull.
Sheena chuckled beside her. “As I said, that man is well and truly caught. And from the look on yer face, so are ye.”
Leona sank back onto the bench, her legs too unsteady to hold her. “I daenae ken what ye mean.”
“Daenae ye?” The older woman’s smile was gentle, knowing. “Ye look at each other like the rest of the world doesnae exist. Like if ye could, ye’d disappear somewhere private and nae come out for days.”
Heat scorched Leona’s cheeks. “It’s nae like that. We’re… It’s new. We barely ken each other.”
“Time doesnae matter when it’s right.” Sheena’s expression turned wistful. “I kent I’d marry me Peter the first time I saw him. Took him three months to work up the courage to court me properly, but I kent. The heart kens what the heart kens.”
But this wasn’t real, Leona wanted to protest. Their betrothal was fake, temporary, a solution to problems rather than a love match.
Except it didn’t feel fake when Murdock touched her. Didn’t feel temporary when he looked at her like that. Didn’t feel like just a solution when her entire body responded to his proximity like flame to kindling.
What was happening to her?
Murdock approached the platform, still shirtless, sweat glistening on his skin. He moved with that predatory grace that made her heart race, his eyes never leaving hers.
“Lady Leona.” He extended his hand, and she took it without thinking. “Walk with me?”
It wasn’t really a question. More a command wrapped in courtesy.
She stood, her hand small in his much larger one, and let him lead her away from the platform. Away from Sheena’s knowing smile and the crowd’s curious eyes.
Away from safety and into something far more dangerous.
“Where are we going?” she asked, breathless.
“Somewhere we can talk.” His thumb stroked over her knuckles, sending sparks up her arm. “Without an audience.”
Talk. Right. Because talking was definitely what the look in his eyes promised.