Chapter 22
The Scottish sun had a way of being bright without giving off heat. Violet dropped her fingers from her face and jogged up to the receding figures of Sienna and Keira.
The day was almost over, and she could not attest to having found any game she excelled in more than horse riding. She unbuckled the leather quiver from her waist and strapped it to her shoulder, where she had slung her bow.
The added weight was like a tempering massage against her aching bones.
Sienna’s maid took Sienna’s bow and quiver, then disappeared to the McMahon tent, where she had seen Ruaridh disappear the moment her match was over. Momentarily, she wondered how he felt about the turn of the match.
“I thought you didn’t plan on participating,” she told Sienna with a pout.
Sienna stretched her limbs and glanced sideways, the corners of her lips tilted upwards, and Violet felt even more indignant. “And what made ye think such?”
Ladies in McLeod tartan rushed and retrieved Keira’s gear and then Violet’s, leaving her shoulder feeling stiff.
“It was what was implied.”
When Sienna had put on her gear and come to stand by her side, Violet had been positively surprised. Up until that moment, they were by each other’s side, and Violet had told Sienna about her excitement over the archery match.
It was a mixed event where men and women competed with one another for the highest points.
Because it required no strength or skill, albeit good aim—which Violet possessed—she had anticipated a favorable outcome.
And she had shamelessly said that to Sienna, who had been a good sport allowing her to brag.
“Are ye implying ye would have been better prepared if you kent ye were going against me?” Sienna cocked an eyebrow. “Ye lost because ye underestimated me.”
No, Violet lost because Sienna was a better shot. She had scored sixty-four points—which was impressive, considering half were center shots—while Sienna had scored ninety-six points.
“She was bound to lose.” Then there was Keira with eighty-one points. “She couldnae even beat me.” She jerked forward just in time to dodge a whipping by Violet’s kerchief.
Later, Violet would have to give her a lesson on loyalty and humility.
“To think you two can become such proud peacocks,” Violet scoffed, feigning vexation.
“Humility is for losers…” Sienna started.
“… and we are winners,” Keira finished, then they clasped hands and—like them gently bred ladies—and ran away from her, their medals swinging.
Violet would have chased them if her feet didn’t feel glued to the ground. It seemed the winners had an extra burst of energy that she did not experience.
The games progressed around her, with the clans toasting their champions. Ruaridh had won multiple games already, but had refused to come back to them to celebrate. It was as if he was avoiding her, but that couldn’t be it.
She touched her lips, recalling their kiss a few hours ago. He surely was not avoiding her.
Callum had come up to them to congratulate Sienna on her win before Logan promptly appeared and pulled him into the McMahon tent. Still, there was no sight of Ruaridh.
It might be silly of her, but Violet missed him. She had been so engrossed the entire day that she had forgotten about him, then she remembered his intense gaze as he watched her, and she did not want to exist without being by his side.
How delusional, she had believed a kiss was enough to soothe the ache of his absence.
In her defence, she had expected him by her side as he had been during the hammer toss. Maybe she would have performed better if he had been present for every other thing she attempted. A dutiful instructor guiding her delicately and teaching her intimately.
She was tempted to turn around and find him wherever he was, but then decided against it. If he wanted to come to her, he would.
By the time she reached the McLeod tent and took her place beside Grannie Ava, they had filled her in on their conversation.
“If it makes ye feel any better, I was rooting for ye the entire time,” Grannie Ava tried to cheer her up, and the sincerity in her voice almost worked.
“You must have been sorely disappointed.”
“Of course nae, me great-granddaughter came third.” She cupped Keira’s cheeks, who was on her left, and squeezed them proudly. Keira did not fight the assault.
Violet felt even more indignant.
“Daenae be sour, ye beat me in the race,” Sienna reminded her.
Indeed, there was the race.
Keira hadn’t been allowed to participate as per Grannie Ava’s strict orders, which she did not complain about, but she had cheered for Violet’s competitors during the race.
Violet believed the little girl assumed that she was, by association, responsible for her banishment, which necessitated some sort of revenge. She had felt great when she had come first despite Keira’s lack of support, but she did not fully enjoy the win.
“That was all my horse.”
Her horse was a gift from Ruaridh, a gift that was bred and raised by him. In other words, his hard work won the match.
All of a sudden, she wondered if he had watched her.
The track was far from the tents, and she had not seen him among the crowd.
Callum had come to show support after she was handed her medal and mocked his sister, who came in fourth, before being pulled away by Logan.
She could have asked Logan for Ruaridh’s whereabouts, but he was quickly swept away by the masses.
Her eyes instinctively searched the crowd once more. To her surprise, shirtless men lined the fields.
She leaned into Sienna. “What is going on?”
She felt too scandalized to ask Grannie Ava.
The idea of sharing space with underdressed men was unthinkable and improper.
Being in the presence of anyone other than a friend in the same age group as her only added to her embarrassment.
She would rather pretend Grannie Ava was not by her side and was not naughtily engaging in immoral behavior with a childhood friend.
Ironic, considering there was a certain man whose nudity was as commonplace as breathing.
Eagerness suddenly gripped her bones. Would Ruaridh join these men?
Suddenly, his nakedness wasn’t so ordinary.
Violet slowed her breathing when Sienna leaned in.
“Weight throw. It’s a traditional Scottish game.” Her eyes did not leave the field.
The tents were unpartitioned, and the ladies beside them were chattering loudly compared to them. A maid appeared with a tray of cool wine and some small mince pies which Violet gratefully received. cool wine and some small mince pies which Violet gratefully received.
“How is it played?”
“You see those weights over there.” Violet followed the tip of Sienna’s finger to where heavy stones lay in the grass.
“Those are the weights. Each one has a chain attached and weighs about thirty-five stones. The task is for a man to lift one onto his shoulder, then toss it away from him as far as it can go. The winner is whose goes the furthest.”
Sienna went on to explain the points system and what angles were good or bad, and how it was the most anticipated event. While she spoke, she tried to animate the mechanics of the sport.
After a relatively accurate visualization, Violet decided it was an unnecessary event she would rather not watch. Until a thought crossed her mind.
If it was such a cherished sport, Ruaridh then had to participate.
“Why is nudity a requisite?”
Sienna shrugged, and Violet thought for a moment that was her only rationalization when a senile smile stretched her lips. “Because it’s entertaining.”
Violet tried to hide her own smile with an exasperated sigh. “Notwithstanding, it seems boring.”
“Believe me, it’s nae.”
“How interesting could a show of strength be?”
Before Sienna could respond, their eardrums suffered a beating by the ladies beside them when they suddenly erupted in shrill cheers.
Violet clapped her hands over her ears and looked around, on high alert. There was no sign of danger. They were not hunched in a way that showed they had been visited by any unexpected creature. The horror-stricken appearance she had expected was actually wide grins and exuberant waving.
Sienna spotted the cause of the outburst and scoffed, “Please, he isnae so impressive.”
That was when Violet saw a shirtless Callum standing at the edge of the field, waving at his admirers. When his eyes landed on their tent, he winked at his sister. Sienna gagged in response.
When he turned away, the cries resounded again. This time, Violet understood instantly, and she followed their gazes to his left side, where Ruaridh had a caber wedged against his shoulder and was pulling it towards Callum with no assistance.
His body glistened under the light of the afternoon sun. He looked even better than she had last seen him. His hard muscles were unyielding against the weight of the pole, and she couldn’t help but reminisce about the feel of them against her.
To think she had hated him when he had tossed her onto his shoulder like nothing more than a sack of potatoes and pressed her against those inviting ridges.
She couldn’t imagine why she would have ever felt such an emotion.
Maybe if he had stripped out of his clothes, she would have fought him less.
Heat spread through her chest and wrapped around her lungs like a cord, ridding her of the ability to breathe. Her heart fluttered as she watched him transfer the weight from his shoulder to Callum’s. She studied the muscles of his back while they were engrossed in conversation.
How had she felt that back beneath her touch and ever let him go? The fact that she had not thought to leave her mark on him vexed her.
She felt possessive. His body—her body—was bare for everyone to see. A scowl marred her face as she watched the ladies’ eyes follow him. They were ogling at him, not knowing that he was hers.
“Violet, are ye all right? Ye look weird,” Keira said innocently.