Chapter 5
The rest of the day was full of war planning and attending to the duties of MacLean keep, as Marcus had expected. He’d delivered the dress to the seamstress, along with directions to return it to Erin MacDougall. She had said nothing, but he caught the look she gave him, and realized with an uncomfortable sinking feeling that Erin might be right. He thought she’d been joking about the perils of his amorous reputation, but the seamstress’s eyes said it all. She thought he was sleeping with her.
For the rest of the day, he kept himself busy. Every so often he spotted Erin, and watched her practice when she thought no one was watching. He thought she might be improving, but it was difficult to be sure. He was careful not to watch for too long, afraid she might catch him staring and get the wrong idea.
The following day, the dress was delivered to Erin. Marcus busied himself at Darren’s side, so he would be on hand to observe the results of his advice and her efforts.
He was sitting, going through documents regarding taxes, tithes and trade while Darren worked on more diplomatic aspects of being a clan leader, when a knock made them both look up. Darren paused, then set his papers aside. “Come in.”
The door opened to reveal Erin, in her altered dress. The dress itself suited her well, highlighting her curves and her slim frame. However, she looked so nervous in it that Marcus had to bite his lip. “I was hoping tae speak tae ye, me laird.” Her eyes darted to Marcus. “Mayhap in private?”
Darren waved her inside. “If there’s aught that needs saying, ye can speak in front o’ Marcus. He has me full trust, dinnae worry.”
Marcus ducked his gaze to the reports, feigning disinterest and concentration on the papers in front of him. He watched covertly from the corner of his eye as Erin closed the door to the study and made her way toward Darren’s desk.
It was clear she was trying to walk seductively, as he’d told her. But her shoulders were stiff and her hands were twitching with motions that indicated unease, and the result was more akin to a young lass playing at being adult.
“I was wondering, me laird, if ye’d given any more thought tae what sort of alliance ye might be desire with me clan...’tis a matter I’m very interested in.” She tipped her head and looked at Darren, and Marcus near choked on his laughter.
It was a good effort, far better than her attempts at the supper table two nights ago. However, she still looked more like a hopeful child, or perhaps a young puppy begging for attention or scraps.
Darren’s brow furrowed. “I’ve some thoughts on it and have spoken tae yer faither. As yet, we’ve made nae more decisions beyond aiding ye with Laird McCorcuoudale.”
“I’m glad.” She moved closer and leaned forward, hovering as if she might lay a hand coaxingly on Darren’s arm, but couldn’t quite bring herself to do so. “But I was wondering if ye might speak tae me on the... possibilities o’ a longer-lasting alliance, and what it might entail fer us.”
Her voice was lower, husky, but not quite the seductive purr he would have suggested. Instead, it sounded more as if she had gone hoarse. And her phrasing sounded more hesitant and awkward than it did coaxing.
He knew she was making an effort, and that Darren could be near-blind when it came to a woman trying to catch his attention. He could also admit that he still wasn’t too pleased about the idea of trying to play matchmaker for his brother. Even so, he couldn’t deny the truth, watching Erin attempt to seduce his far-too-serious elder brother was the most humorous thing he’d seen in months.
Erin leaned over Darren’s shoulder, still not touching him. “Ye look as if ye’ve been working fer candle-marks, me laird. Would ye nae like a break, tae clear yer head?”
Marcus snorted. Erin gave him a sideways look. Darren frowned and looked at both of them.
It occurred to Marcus, as he stifled his laughter, that Erin might well be uncomfortable because he was in the room, watching her performance. She might be trying too hard, to show him that she really had been paying attention to the lessons he’d tried so hard to instill in her.
He rose from the table, stretching. “She’s fair right, Darren. We’ve both been working fer some time, and a break wouldnae be amiss. I’m fer dropping off some o’ the supply reports with the steward, and then mayhap some time practicing out by the loch. I’ll leave ye tae entertain the lass.”
His brother gave him an absent nod, and Marcus wasted no time leaving the room, reports and tallies in hand. He managed to wait until he was in another hallway before he finally gave vent to the laughter that was making his chest ache with the effort of holding it in.
Gods above lass, ye may be a strong warrior and fair skilled on the field o’ conventional battle, but in this, ye’re well out o’ yer area o’ expertise!
Erin watched the door shut behind Marcus with relief. Trying to seduce Darren, especially when every move she made and word she spoke felt so unnatural, was difficult enough. Attempting it when her informal tutor and his younger brother, who had at one time courted her, was in the corner snickering under his breath was nigh impossible.
She turned back to Darren. “Is there some sort o’ diversion I might provide fer ye? Or perhaps I could pour ye a drink and have some food brought fer ye?”
“The drink wouldnae be amiss.” Darren stood and stretched. “As fer diversions... ’tis me place as yer host tae offer that, but I confess, I dinnae want tae leave just yet, and there are few items to serve as idle occupations here.” He waved his hand at the office.
Erin looked around. She supposed this was the point where she was meant to wrap herself around him and whisper enticements in his ear, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead, she pointed to a board in one corner. “Dae ye play chess, me laird? I would be happy tae play a game with ye.”
She was certain she could manage to lean over the board provocatively and use compliments to soothe his ego and gain his attention the way she’d seen Rowan do with to her husband at times, before she had passed away.
Darren glanced at the board. “I wouldnae object tae a match, though I’ll warn ye lass, I’m a fair hand at the game, and I dinnae hold back fer aught.”
“’Tis nae matter. If there’s enjoyment in the game, then the purpose is well achieved, is it nae?” She tried to watch him from demurely under her lashes as he collected the board and set it up, but it was hard to maintain the posture when she was so used to looking everyone in the face.
Darren finished with the arrangements, then gestured to a seat across from him. “Will ye take white, me lady?”
Her first inclination was to retort that she didn’t need the advantage, or the chivalry. She choked it back and gave him her best sweet smile. “I thank ye fer the courtesy, me laird.”
She poured drinks and they took their seats. Erin surveyed the board. Should she play a naive and unskilled maiden to appeal to his manners, or play as she usually did?
Well, there was no harm in playing a few moves to see how skilled he was, then tailoring her game play from that. She lifted a pawn and guided it two squares forward.
Darren’s head tipped, and she studied the tattoos that adorned his face. She’d heard many rumors about the tangle of symbols and knotwork that were inked into most of his upper body. Some said they were testament to victories in battle. Others said he’d acquired them to spy on the wild northmen who sometimes crossed the seas to harry their shores.
Another rumor, less often spoken and therefore more likely to be true in her opinion, was that the tattoos served to hide the scars he’d acquired in battle, to trade marks of pain for marks of his choosing. Though if that was the case, she wondered why he’d chosen such a path, and what the images inked into his flesh might represent to him.
Then Darren moved a pawn in answer to her first play, and she turned her attention back to the game.
Within three moves, she knew he was no untalented beginner. Within six, any plans she might have considered regarding throwing the game were long gone. Darren was too good an opponent for her to waste the opportunity to enjoy the game to the fullest. True challenges in chess were all too scarce in her father’s keep.
Back and forth across the board their pieces roved. Strategies were begun and discarded, or countered. Pieces were taken with ruthless efficiency. Erin lost herself in the enjoyment of the game, and the siren call that urged her to defeat her challenger.
Finally, she pinned Darren in a checkmate, and he tipped his king in graceful acknowledgment of his loss. Erin laughed and slapped her hand against the table, grinning wildly at her opponent. “Ye werenae lying when ye said ye were a dab hand at the game, me laird, but I’m the best player o’ Clan MacDougall.”
She darted from the chair and poured them both a drink before spinning back to him with a smirk and offering him a cup. “A toast, me laird, tae an entertaining diversion, and a game well-played and well-fought.”
Darren took the cup and toasted her in turn, eyes sparkling with amusement, and what she thought might be a bit of honest respect and admiration as well. “Aye. Well-played. Indeed, ye’re better at the game than most o’ me best men.”
She felt like winter-chilled water from the firth had been dumped over her head, though she wasn’t quite sure why his words should have evoked such a reaction.
Because he was talking to her like a man, rather than the woman she’d wanted him to see her as? Or because of the unspoken, just barely audible hint of surprise in his voice, as though he’d thought that her being a woman would have made her a weaker player simply because of her sex.
It wasn’t the open scorn that she’d heard from some of her father’s warriors when she started learning, but she heard it nonetheless.
The lack of faith in her capabilities stung, but so did the realization that, once again, she’d been trying to prove her worth to a man on his own ground, rather than focusing on getting him to see her as a desirable female. She’d gotten so focused on winning the game that she’d utterly failed in her original intention of seducing Darren.
She swallowed hard, and forced herself to maintain a smile, though she didn’t even try to make it seductive. What was the point, when she’d already failed? “Thank ye fer the compliment, me laird. I would ask ye fer another match, but I ken ye’ve work tae be doing, and I should be checking in with me faither, tae see if there’s aught he needs, or if he has news o’ me sister Lyla’s arrival.”
Darren nodded, so she finished her drink, dropped him an awkward curtsy, and left the room, her cheeks burning once more with embarrassment. Her gut was churning with frustration, and she couldn’t stop herself from clenching her fists at her sides.
Her father could wait. She was going to go change into her proper clothing, and then she was going to find a place where she could practice. And if that didn’t work, she was going to find something she could hit until the restless anger was purged from her blood.