Chapter 16 Bring Me Luck
A WARM brEEZE feathered across Fiona’s face, bringing with it the smell of trampled grass, the briny scent of the sea, the smell of horse, and the aroma of meat searing on a griddle.
A smile stretched her lips. Summer games. What a treat.
She’d never attended any like these before. At harvest time in Craignure, after all the work had been done, the locals did put on contests of sorts—but not like this. An entire field east of the run rigs had been festooned with bunting and set up for a day of entertainment.
The local women had dressed in their finest linen and light wool skirts, ruffling in the breeze.
Fiona wore her favorite kirtle, blue grey, the color of her eyes, with a creamy lèine beneath.
It was clothing for summer, the weather hot enough that she hadn’t bothered to bring a shawl.
She’d tied her unruly hair back from her face with a ribbon.
“Mistress Fiona!” a lad’s voice hailed her.
She turned to see Stu racing toward her. He held what looked like a blood sausage in one hand and a half-eaten bannock in the other. Honey smeared one cheek. “Have ye tried the blood sausage yet?” he cried.
“Not yet,” she replied with a laugh. “I’ve just arrived.” She ruffled his hair. “But I can see ye’ve been busy.”
“There’s so much to see and do!” he said, eyes darting to the pony races. “I don’t know where to start!”
“There’s an archery contest in full swing,” Carrie said, approaching.
She looked fetching in a honey-colored kirtle, her hair half-braided.
And for the first time in weeks, her expression wasn’t cold.
“Shall we go and watch it together?” Their gazes met, and a little of the tension under Fiona’s ribs unclenched.
Had Carrie finally decided she wasn’t the enemy?
Stu darted off, leading the way, and she flashed Carrie a smile. “Aye … come on.”
They found the ring where the archers were shooting, and Fiona spotted Ailean.
Her heart kicked.
Of course, it did. She’d told herself she wouldn’t look for him—but she had, from the moment she arrived.
Torrid memories of two days earlier kept intruding—and not just of what he’d done to her on that table, but of the moments they’d shared beforehand.
He was right. Their time together was bright and beautiful and far too fleeting.
And now, in this busy crowd, she could do nothing but watch him from afar. It was better that way. Ailean stood near Rowan. The two warriors were clearly well-matched, both hitting the target with expert precision.
She forced herself to look away, to focus on Carrie. “How have ye been?”
“Well enough,” Carrie replied, though her smile was strained.
“I’ve missed ye,” Fiona admitted. It was the truth. She didn’t like them being at odds. It cast a shadow over her happiness here. “Our chats. The laughter. I never encouraged Rowan, ye know. I’ve no interest in him.”
Their gazes held for a heartbeat. “I know,” Carrie replied. “And I’m sorry I took my disappointment out on ye.” She grimaced then. “Some things are difficult to swallow.”
“I’d like us to be friends again,” Fiona said, placing a hand on her forearm and squeezing gently.
Carrie smiled, warmly this time. “Aye. We can.”
The archery contest moved swiftly through the rounds. When Fiona and her companions first arrived, there had been around fifteen competitors still left, but it wasn’t long before the number whittled down to ten, and then five, and then two.
Just Ailean and Rowan.
A hush fell around the edge of the archery ring, all spectators ignoring the excitement, laughter, and noise from the other contests, and the food vendors hawking their wares. Instead, everyone—Fiona included—held their breath to see who would win.
And it was close. Very close.
Rowan went first, his arrow striking a hair’s breadth away from the bull’s-eye.
And then it was Ailean’s turn.
Fiona watched him, taking this opportunity to drink him in.
No one would notice, for everyone else was observing the laird’s firstborn with interest. He stood tall and proud, side-on, spine straight, head turned, gaze slightly narrowed as he eyed the target.
His hair, wild as always, flicked gently in the breeze, but he ignored it.
And like many men in this spell of heat, he was dressed in braies and a loosely tucked lèine, open at the throat.
He was achingly handsome.
And there was a part of Fiona that thrilled in the knowledge that he was hers.
Mine?
She caught herself then. Listen to yerself. This man no more belongs to ye than the sun and the stars do. What exists between ye cannot last. Ye know that. And it’s best that ye don’t tempt fate by pushing things further.
The voice of reason often whispered in her ear these days—but tell that to her fluttering heart.
All her life, she had been looking for the excitement that she felt when she was with him.
And no amount of telling herself that she must be prudent, that she must be wise, seemed to make much difference.
Ailean had rolled up the sleeves of his lèine, revealing forearms tanned and dusted with freckles and auburn hair, flexing as he drew back the bowstring, holding it level while he sighted the target.
They all collectively held their breath for a heartbeat before he let go.
The twang of the released bowstring cut through the air.
Thud!
The arrow hit dead center of the bull’s-eye.
The crowd went wild, clapping and cheering. Stu squealed and slipped under the rope, racing across to Ailean to congratulate him. Seeing the lad coming, Ailean scooped him up with one arm, spinning him around. Stu’s laughter echoed through the air.
A moment later, some of the other contestants swarmed around the winner, congratulating him. With a half-smile, Rowan moved aside to let them.
Then, spying Carrie and Fiona waiting at the edge of the ring, he walked across to them.
“Enjoy that, lasses?” he asked.
“Aye,” Carrie replied, grinning. “Ye almost had him.”
Rowan pulled a face. “Almost isn’t good enough. There can only be one winner.”
He moved closer still, halting before them. Then his attention flicked to Fiona and stayed there. The look of naked appreciation that flickered to life in his eyes made her breathing grow shallow. Not in excitement, but in panic.
Not this again.
She’d just mended things with Carrie, and this man seemed intent on driving a wedge between them.
“Ye’re looking lovely today, Fiona,” he said, his voice low and intimate.
Beside her, Carrie stilled. She didn’t need to look at her face to know that all joy had likely leached from it. Sadly, it didn’t matter that Rowan wasn’t interested in her. Carrie had carried a candle for him for so long that she couldn’t seem to douse it.
Forcing a smile, Fiona nodded to Rowan. “Thank ye. We lasses like to do our best for special occasions.” She gestured to her friend. “Have ye seen how bonnie Carrie looks in this shade? I swear it glows gold in the sunlight.”
He gave the lady’s maid a cursory glance before his attention returned to Fiona.
Discomfort wreathed up her spine, and she took an involuntary step back.
“I’ll be racing one of the laird’s coursers in a wee while,” he said then, his attention never wavering. “It would bring me luck if ye offered me a favor.”
She tensed.
‘Favors’ were courtly traditions that hailed from across the border in England. A knight before a tournament might request a ribbon or token from a lady. It was a way of signaling interest. And Fiona’s heart started to pound. Can’t he leave this be?
But Rowan had gathered steam now, confidence growing. His gaze flicked to the blue ribbon in her hair, the one that matched her kirtle.
“That ribbon would do nicely,” he said, with a smile, “if I may?”
Rooted to the spot, not daring to glance Carrie’s way, Fiona let him approach and untie the ribbon. He wrapped it around his wrist and winked.
“This will bring me luck indeed.”
“What will?”
Ailean approached then in long strides, having disentangled himself from Stu and the others.
Heat washed over Fiona.
This scene was going from bad to worse.
“I just asked the lovely Fiona for a favor for the horse race,” Rowan replied, a touch of coolness in his voice as he met Ailean’s eye.
A challenge.
Ailean didn’t rise to it. Instead, he gave him a lazy smile. “And do ye think ye’ll need luck? Racing against me? I suppose ye will.”
Rowan snorted. “I’ve beaten ye before. I’ll beat ye again.”
“We’ll see,” Ailean replied, folding his arms. “I just trounced ye at archery. Even bonnie Fiona’s favor won’t help ye.”
Rowan gave him a playful shove. “We’ll see, indeed.”
Sensing movement to her left, Fiona tore her gaze away—and to her horror, saw Carrie fleeing through the crowd.
“Mother Mary—no,” she whispered.