Chapter 3
The crowd buzzed with excitement as villagers and clansmen alike gathered to watch the final round of the games. In the center of it all, the thick, knotted rope lay like a snake, waiting to strike.
This is absurd.
A game as simple as it was brutal, and one that was determining her fate—two men pulling with all their might and pride for her, as though she were a prize, not a person.
Erica stood to the side with her family, her fingers curled in the fabric of her skirt. She could feel her heartbeat in her ears as she watched the two men take their positions. The air felt different as James sauntered over to his side of the rope, followed by Laird MacKinnon.
Laird MacKinnon’s intent was unmistakable. He had something to claim, and he seemed utterly confident that he would walk away from this victorious. James was still a force to be reckoned with, not to be underestimated.
Erica bit her cheek impatiently, eager for this entire ordeal to be over with.
One of them will win, and I’ll have to marry him. But I willnae have to marry him tomorrow. I still have time…
James squared his shoulders, his stance deliberate as he gripped the end of the rope, spreading his legs to anchor himself as firmly as possible.
Though leaner than Laird MacKinnon, he was agile and cunning—qualities that had allowed him to come so far in the competition.
Erica watched him shift his weight back, using every ounce of his strength to brace himself.
Laird MacKinnon, however, looked almost relaxed as he grasped the rope with his large, calloused hands. The same hands that had set her skin on fire last night as he tilted her chin up to meet his depthless eyes.
Erica shook her head to rid herself of the infuriating memory.
Enough! He willnae win. He cannae win.
She watched as he shifted his weight with a measured calm, as though this game were merely a formality.
His gray eyes landed on the other end of the rope, where James stood, and the intensity of his stern look made Erica’s skin prickle.
It was as though he had already won and was simply waiting for the rest of the world to catch up.
“On yer marks!” Laird McFair boomed suddenly, and the crowd fell silent.
Everyone leaned forward in anticipation.
The rope went taut, and both men dug their heels in, every muscle flexed and ready for the impending clash.
“Pull!” Laird McFair shouted.
Immediately, James gave a powerful tug, his lean muscles rippling as he tried to yank his opponent forward. For a fleeting moment, it looked like he had a chance. He was quick, cleverly using his body weight to counterbalance Laird MacKinnon’s brute strength.
James was gritting his teeth. Erica could see the calculating gleam in his eyes—he was determined not to give up any ground. Laird MacKinnon, on the other hand, seemed bored. He had barely broken a sweat, his eyes fixed on the ground with cold intensity. He merely let James exhaust himself.
Erica let her eyes wander down his tall figure as the crowd fell silent.
Laird MacKinnon’s biceps bulged, veins standing out on his forearms as he took a calculated step backward, dragging James forward.
The look in his eyes was something she couldn’t ignore—a raw, unbreakable focus that made her stomach flip.
James dug his heels into the earth, his jaw clenched tight, his muscles bunching as he tried to resist. But Laird MacKinnon merely tightened his grip in response, his expression barely changing.
With a swift flick of his hand, he yanked the rope with such force that James stumbled forward, nearly losing his footing.
“No!” Erica gasped, her heart pounding as James struggled, his efforts becoming more and more frantic. “Come on! Come on!” she hissed under her breath again and again.
With one final, merciless tug, Laird MacKinnon hauled James across the line, the force of it sending the man flailing forward. And it was thus that he stole the victory with calm finality.
The rope dropped from his hands, and he straightened up, casting a victorious glance in Erica’s direction.
A sickening wave of cheers and applause rippled across the crowd as Laird MacKinnon stood tall and triumphant.
Erica watched as James, panting and red-faced, looked down at the ground, his disappointment evident.
For a split second, she saw him shoot Hunter a hate-filled glare, but the Laird didn’t even seem to notice for his gaze was fixed on Erica.
A slow, triumphant smile spread across his face as if this victory had been guaranteed from the start, and she felt sick thinking about it.
The cheers from the crowd grew louder, and Laird and Lady McFair exchanged pleased glances before stepping forward, pulling Erica and Laird MacKinnon to stand side-by-side before the crowd.
“And tomorrow,” Laird McFair announced with a proud smile, “we shall celebrate the union of me daughter and Laird MacKinnon!”
What?!
Erica’s stomach fell through the soles of her shoes.
So soon?
She had far less time than she had anticipated.
The weddin’ was supposed to take place at the end of the week.
It felt like her heart was racing toward a cliff’s edge, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. The reality of her future, bound to this man who had won her hand, loomed over her like a weight she could hardly bear. The edges of her vision started to blur.
Her eyes drifted to the man standing next to her, who had been watching her movements intently. His infuriating smile and gleaming eyes painted a disgusting picture of satisfaction as she muttered, “So soon?”
Her eyes swept over the crowd as she swallowed hard, trying to focus on staying upright.
Laird MacKinnon took a miniscule step sideways and extended his arm behind her, steadying her.
Erica plastered a perfect, seemingly excited smile on her face as her mother’s voice rang out. “It’s a fine match, indeed. James Morris has proven himself an honorable opponent, but Laird MacKinnon has proven himself the worthy victor. We are honored by this union!”
The guests erupted in another round of applause before they started dispersing. Erica barely heard their murmurs, her mind reeling with the knowledge of what awaited her.
This isnae a game—This is me life… and it’s just been decided with one measly pull of a rope? He didnae even fight hard. I wasnae worth the effort for him.
Before she could make sense of it all, Laird MacKinnon turned away, leaving her standing in the middle of the crowd.
Her mother approached, resting a hand on her shoulder, a silent gesture for her to join the toast that Thomas and her father would make.
“I need some air, Ma,” Erica said through gritted teeth.
Lady McFair simply nodded and motioned for her to escape to the gardens.
Grateful for the lack of argument, Erica slipped away.
As she navigated the large bushes, the world melted away, and she reveled in the silence.
Large blooms swayed rhythmically in the warm breeze, and she let her hand graze them as she passed them slowly.
Her favorite bench was situated on the far side of the garden behind the hedges, and as she headed in that direction, she let herself relax.
“I see ye managed to escape the crowd,” a familiar voice suddenly drawled behind her.
She spun around to find none other than Laird MacKinnon sprawled behind the hedges she had just passed by, propped up on his elbows. His shirt was off and balled up next to him, his eyes closed and his face tilted up toward the sun.
“Och!” Her hand flew up to her traitorous, racing heart.
The sight of him shook her to her core. The mountains of muscle flexed and relaxed as his body rocked from side to side, his eyes still closed and his feet tapping on the ground.
“What are ye doin’ here?”
“I wanted to soak up the last few minutes I have to meself before we get married, but here ye are, already disturbin’ me peace,” he said lazily.
“Disturbin’ yer peace?” Her tone was more accusatory than she had intended.
“Aye. Quit yer barkin’, lass. It’s just us; there is nay need to shout. I can hear ye just fine.”
“I’m sorry, am I annoyin’ ye?” she asked facetiously.
He grinned before opening one eye and then the other. Erica watched as his gray orbs trailed up the hem of her dress that was touching his leg, her torso, her collarbone, her neck, pausing on her lips for a moment before they finally landed on her blazing eyes.
“Ye ken ye are. Now, keep quiet while ye still can,” he said before closing his eyes again.
“Is that a threat?”
As if he knew she was going to ask that, Laird MacKinnon took a long, deep breath before exhaling and answering her slowly, “Nay, ye would ken it if I threatened ye.”
“Och, ye must feel proud of yerself,” she huffed indignantly, putting her hands on her hips.
He chuckled softly and looked down at her. “Proud? Nay, but ye would be wise to remember that I’m a man who keeps his promises,” he said, his eyes glinting with mischief.
Erica balled her fists—she could feel the fire rising inside her. “Promises? What promise could ye possibly make that would matter to me?”
Laird MacKinnon looked at her intently. An emotion that she couldn’t place flickered in his eyes, and for a fleeting moment, she felt as though he was looking right past her defenses.
“Think what ye wish. It makes nay difference to me. Tomorrow, ye will be me wife.”
“I willnae make it easy for ye,” Erica warned, her voice shaking but defiant.
Laird MacKinnon tilted his head, his smirk widening as if she’d just issued him a delightful challenge. “I’d be disappointed if ye did, lass.”
Letting her anger get the better of her, she blurted out, “Why do ye even want to marry me?”
“Ah, finally,” he drawled, pushing himself to his feet. “The right question.”
“Ye dinnae ken me or me family, and yet ye are so eager to tie yerself to someone ye have barely spoken to or even ken or like.”