Chapter 2 #2
Despite herself, Erica was inexplicably drawn to Laird MacKinnon. She watched the way his muscles strained against his shirt, how the sweat trickled down the side of his neck. It was unnerving how affected she was by him, a man she barely knew and did not want to marry.
“Ye seem distracted,” came a voice from beside her.
Erica turned sharply to find her sister, Olivia, grinning at her. “Shut it,” she muttered, narrowing her eyes at her but working to slow her heartbeat.
Olivia’s grin widened. “I’m just sayin’, for someone who claims she doesnae fancy the Buchanan brute, ye have been starin’ at him for longer than ye should.”
Erica scoffed in indignation. “I havenae—”
“I mean, his arms are so big. He’s incredibly strong…”
“That is enough!” Erica hissed, careful to keep her voice low.
Olivia shrugged, clearly enjoying her sister’s discomfort. “But he’s a fine competitor. Better than James, at least.”
“Oliv—” Erica started to argue, but her sister had already skipped away.
She glanced over at James. He was frowning at the scorekeepers, his expression sour as Laird MacKinnon walked past him without a glance. James had done well in the games so far but not nearly well enough to win her hand. His frustration was visible.
Imagine being on the receivin’ end of that ire. I wonder if his wife had—Och!
She clapped a hand over her mouth instinctively, immediately ashamed of her thoughts.
She studied James from afar a moment longer. The man was obviously still mourning, and yet he prioritized his clan and came here. It was admirable. He was of good stock and a good match. Though, even the thought of marrying him at the end of the week made her blood boil with anger.
He’s kind and admirable, but I willnae be forced to marry… even him.
As the day drew to a close, one of the McFair councilmen called out to the spectators, immediately silencing them.
“The results are in!” he announced proudly, the paper scroll falling over his chubby hands. “Hold yer cheers until the end!”
His demand was very strictly adhered to as he listed off the winners of each game.
“MacKinnon. Caber toss.”
One, Erica tallied anxiously.
“O’Farlane. Archery.”
One. She raised her fingers into a matching count, James on one hand and Laird MacKinnon on the other.
“MacKinnon. Stone put.”
“Two,” she whispered, raising another finger.
“O’Farlane. Sprint.”
Two and two.
“MacKinnon. Hammer throw.”
Erica held her breath with the rest of the crowd. It seemed like even the flora and fauna followed suit.
There’s only one more game…
She hoped that the next game’s winner was James.
At least then, with a tie—
“Quoits. O’Farlane.”
The crowd erupted in applause. Hunter and James had tied which meant the deciding contest—tug of war—would be held the next day.
“Everybody loves tug of war,” Laird McFair said, chuckling and clapping along.
Erica felt a tinge of hope bloom in her chest as she followed her parents back inside the keep.
Hopefully, James will win. I’d rather the less dangerous man prevail—perhaps then I’ll be able to get out of the marriage. I think James would understand and agree to postpone it.
Kara was in her chambers when she pushed open the heavy door. It was almost as if the maid hadn’t left.
“Me Lady,” Kara said melodically and got back to laying out her evening dress.
Erica leaned over her maid’s shoulder to see which dress her mother had chosen for her and scoffed. “That one doesnae fit me anymore,” she lied easily.
Kara only tsked in response. She then waddled over to the bath to pour some fragrance into the water. “’Tis ready, Me Lady. In ye go.”
Erica sighed heavily. “Hopefully, I’ll drown,” she murmured half-heartedly.
Kara tsked again as she hung the towels by the roaring fire. Then, she laid out the trinkets and jewelry Erica was to wear that evening for dinner.
“If I dinnae drown in this bath, this competition will surely do the trick,” Erica added.
“Ye shouldnae say such things, even in jest, Me Lady. Ye ken that well enough. Any lass should feel honored that so many suitors have sworn their loyalty to her faither. They love him as much as ye do. They all wish to see ye taken care of.”
Kara’s frankness startled her, and her skin prickled with the realization. Erica opened and closed her mouth several times, trying to come up with a retort, but for once, she was rendered speechless.
The minutes ticked by as silence fell over her chambers. Neither spoke as Erica toweled off her body, stepped into the dress, and let Kara fix her hair.
“Ye look like ye’ve seen a ghost,” her youngest sister, Eileen, teased, nudging her with an elbow as she entered the dining hall minutes later and took her seat.
The room was filled with music and the smell of roast meat. The celebration for the games was in full swing, but Erica’s mood was far from festive.
“Ye should go to bed, Eileen,” she snapped before walking past her sister without another word.
Her youngest sister rarely got involved in things such as these, and being almost ten years apart, they never spoke that way with each other.
What happened upstairs between her and Kara was odd enough, let alone this conversation. The feeling of dread settled deep in her chest. Tomorrow would decide her future, and the weight of it was suffocating.
Erica wanted to stay with her father, but the pressure from both of her parents had become undeniable—even Thomas was looking at her expectantly.
They were all convinced that marrying her off was the best way to secure her future.
And now, with Laird MacKinnon leading the games, she was starting to believe them.
She scanned the room and found James first. He was leaning over the table and speaking with a few other men, his eyes occasionally darting toward her. He was confident, strong, and determined. It was obvious he was speaking to them about tomorrow’s game.
Careful not to give herself away, Erica refocused on the banner behind him before letting her eyes wander around the rest of the hall.
Her eyes landed on Hunter. He was seated at the far corner of the room, alone, watching the revelry with a detached expression. A glass of whiskey rested in his large hand, but there was no sign of victory or arrogance on his face, just quiet contemplation.
Something in her shifted when her mother motioned for them all to go to the Great Hall, and before she could stop herself, she made her way toward him.
“Laird MacKinnon,” she greeted quietly when she reached his side.
He looked up at her, his gray eyes unreadable, and stood up. “Lady Erica.”
They stood in silence for a moment, the noise of the hall fading into the background. Erica had never been one for small talk, and Hunter seemed even less inclined toward it.
“Ye did well today,” she said finally, feeling awkward under his intense gaze.
“I did as I needed to,” he replied simply, his voice low and steady. “It wasnae a game to me.”
His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and her stomach twisted. There was something else hanging between them—something unsettlingly familiar. The way he spoke, it was as if he, too, was grudgingly participating in the competition.
Does he nae wish to be here?
But before she could muster up the courage to ask him herself, the noise in the hall came rushing back. Laird MacKinnon’s eyes darted behind her before landing on her again. She turned to follow his gaze.
James was approaching quickly from the other side of the room, and Erica let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. A not-so-lovely chill ran down her spine, for he suddenly looked different. His smile was somehow too wide now and his eyes too cold.
Erica turned back and looked up to see that Laird MacKinnon was still staring at her. The shadows accentuated his sharp jaw and high cheekbones. She tore her gaze away from him and smiled politely at James when he stopped before them.
“Laird MacKinnon, Lady Erica,” he greeted smoothly, slipping into the space between them. “Enjoying the festivities, I see.”
The large, imposing Laird MacKinnon did not even move a single muscle at the intrusion. Erica hadn’t realized how close they were standing next to each other.
Did he move closer?
It was almost improper, and she blushed though she thought twice about moving away and drawing James’ attention.
Laird MacKinnon’s eyes refused to leave hers. After an excruciatingly long silence passed, he simply raised his glass to his plump lips and took a sip. The oaky scent of the liquor caressed her senses, as if he knew it would ease the tension in her shoulders.
The palpable tension between them kept her rooted to the spot, feeling caught between two giants poised for war.
Why are they here? James is clearly still mournin’, and it doesnae seem like Laird MacKinnon wants to be here at all.
Looking between the two men, Erica finally returned the greeting. “James.” Her voice was somehow steady though her heart thudded in her chest.
James turned toward her, his face lighting up with what seemed to be genuine pleasure. “I was hopin’ to have a word with ye, Erica,” he said, as if it was obvious.
Perhaps it would have been had she not been distracted by Hunter’s piercing stare.
James stepped in front of Hunter and offered her his arm to lead her away. Somehow, a pit formed in her stomach, urging her not to take it.
Erica stepped back and smiled politely before responding, “I will come find ye, James. I was just congratulatin’ Laird MacKinnon on his victory, among other things.”
A flash of annoyance crossed James’s face quick as a whip, and Erica pretended not to notice.
What was that?
“Och! Go on then. But let me just say, since ye must ken…” he started, leaning in a little too close for comfort, “I fully intend to win tomorrow. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure ye are mine, Erica Kilmartin.”