Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
By the morning of the celebrations, MacLaren Castle scarcely looked like itself.
Clan banners snapped from the battlements, their colors bright against the gray Highland sky.
Fires blazed in great iron braziers throughout the bailey, sending ribbons of smoke into the crisp air.
Musicians sat beneath a timber awning, their pipes and fiddles filling the courtyard with lively tunes, while tables groaned under honey cakes, oat bannocks, roasted meats, bowls of berries, and cups of spiced ale.
Children darted between the tents, hounds barked, and horses stamped impatiently against the earth.
Everywhere Ailis looked, there were ribbons. Blue ones, green ones, and even red ones.
Gordon willnae like this.
Some poor unsuspecting maid had even tied one around Brochan’s basket.
Ailis stared at it. “Poor creature.”
Lileas giggled. “He looks handsome.”
“He looks like he would rather be out in the gardens.”
Brochan disappeared beneath the basket while she spoke, and Ailis laughed at it. Her gaze kept wandering, though.
There were couples everywhere. Many of the Highland clans had come to join the games and potentially, the binding celidh in a few days. As the time drew nearer, her mind kept wandering nervously with different thoughts.
Is Gordon still tryin’ to be rid of me?
Does he really want to go through with this?
What about the other night in his study when he touched me? What did that mean?
She needed answers, yet she feared the answers might scare her.
Exhaling, she headed for the courtyard to find Jane and Marion.
Young men and women were being pushed together by relatives who pretended the games were nothing more than tradition.
A maiden had just been challenged to throw a ring over a spear while three unmarried warriors watched her with ridiculous intensity.
Nearby, two young men were competing to lift a heavy stone while their clansmen shouted encouragement.
Ailis watched one of the men stagger beneath it.
“Surely that cannot be considered a strong throw,” Sorcha commented when she walked over to her and smiled.
Ailis groaned when the men began to argue. “I kent this was a terrible idea.”
Sorcha slipped her arm through hers. “This will be interestin’ if ye open yer mind to it, sister. Besides… would ye nae like to see the Laird compete for yer hand in the first dance?”
Ailis glanced toward the far side of the courtyard where she suspected Gordon was. He stood among several of his men, speaking with Malcolm. He wore his dark plaid, the wind catching the edge of it, his red hair stirred by the breeze.
He looked entirely too calm. As though he had not been forced into days of games designed to make two people fall in love.
Ailis looked away.
Daenae stare at him.
She lasted perhaps three heartbeats then she looked again. His gaze was already upon her, and her stomach fluttered with speedy delight.
He looked away first, and Ailis swallowed. She could not keep letting his mere glance rattle her like this. Especially when he still avoided her most of the time.
She tried to focus on watching the games again, but a hush seemed to move through the people closest to the entrance.
She turned and noticed a man had entered the courtyard.
Laird Kerr.
She recognized him immediately from Gordon’s description.
He was impeccably dressed, his dark clothing carefully fitted beneath a heavy cloak pinned at his shoulder. His manner was composed, almost elegant, but there was something watchful in his eyes.
He did not smile, but his eyes traveled over the faces of everyone present in the courtyard, including the guards. Then his gaze landed intently on her, and the corner of his lips quirked.
He approached without looking away.
Ailis straightened instinctively when Kerr stopped before her, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gordon move and march toward them in quick strides.
“Miss Sinclair,” Kerr said when she extended a hand to him. He bowed over her hand. “Or perhaps Lady soon enough.”
His fingers barely touched hers, yet Ailis felt a strange uneasiness settle beneath her skin.
She smiled politely. “Perhaps.”
His eyes lifted to hers, and an unreadable shadow crossed over them.
Before he could speak again, a familiar presence came to her side. She turned and saw Gordon. Her shoulders loosened with relief before she could stop them. Even though Kerr had barely said a thing to her, Gordon being by her side instantly flooded her with a sense of safety.
Ailis swallowed when a lump formed and pressed on her throat.
Kerr’s gaze moved toward him. “Laird.”
Gordon’s expression remained unreadable. “Laird Kerr,” he answered in the same stiff tone.
Both men shook hands, but Ailis still sensed the tension between them even as they tried to be civil.
Ailis glanced from one man to the other as the air tightened.
She remembered Gordon’s warning.
Men have gone to war over less.
Kerr looked at her once more, and a smile perked on his lips. It was a smug one… one she did not trust.
“I didnae think that ye would take up me invite,” Gordon observed as he released Kerr’s hand now.
“Didnae think?” Kerr questioned. “Or did ye hope that I wouldnae?”
Gordon’s jaw tightened, and his silence was enough reply.
Kerr’s smile only widened. “I intend to enjoy the games, Laird.”
Kerr looked at her now and added. “I hope ye enjoy the celebrations, Miss Ailis.” His smile was slight as he added, “I imagine ye shall find them… memorable.”
He walked away after that, and Ailis watched him disappear into the crowd.
Gordon remained beside her. “Daenae wander alone,” he said to her. “We daenae ken what his intentions are yet.”
She turned toward him. “I ken. Ye daenae have to worry about me.”
“Good.” His voice was low, and he angled his head to look at her for a bit.
She studied his face, realizing the hard lines around his mouth deepened, but his eyes softened with concern. “Ye are worried.”
“I am cautious.”
His eyes met hers. For a moment, neither spoke.
Then the musicians struck up a lively tune, and a cheer rose from the far end of the courtyard. Someone shouted that the first competition was beginning, and Ailis sighed.
“Save me a dance tonight, Miss Ailis,” Gordon said, shocking her with the request as she gasped and looked into his eyes again.
He strode away without another word, and when Ailis turned with the burn of her flush, she saw Sorcha in a corner with Jane and Marion. All three women beamed encouragingly as they waved at her, and she knew they were cheering for her and Gordon.
The sack was carried into the center of the field, and Ailis stared at it with growing suspicion.
It was little more than a stout woolen sack, reinforced at the seams, its mouth wide enough for a man to climb inside. The rules were simple enough. The warriors would place both legs within it, grip the upper edge, and hop across the marked ground to the far post and back again.
The first man to return without falling would win. It was a simple, ridiculous game, and judging by the number of men already laughing, it was apparently very entertaining.
“Ye cannae be serious,” Ailis murmured.
Sorcha laughed beside her. “It is a Highland game.”
“It looks like a sack,” she said again as she eyed the thing and wondered what the game organizer Malcolm had come up with for the winner’s prize.
“It is a sack.”
“That doesnae make it better.”
The first pair stepped forward. The men climbed into their sacks while the gathered clans cheered. Ailis watched as they bent their knees, gripping the rough wool around their waists. Then they were off. They hopped and hopped, each desperate to get to the finish line.
One man stumbled almost immediately, recovered, and was greeted by a roar of laughter. The other surged ahead.
Ailis found herself laughing despite herself. “Oh, look at him!”
“He’ll fall,” Sorcha predicted and held her breath, her hands framing her mouth as she waited for it to happen.
“He willnae,” Ailis argued.
“He will,” Marion chirped in, and just then, the man stumbled on the ground, rolling over while the other continued in their pursuit.
Ailis covered her mouth as laughter escaped her. Her shoulders quaked with the sound. She pressed her lips together, but the giggle still escaped her.
“It is yer fault he fell,” she told Sorcha, who was chuckling too and trying to hold back.
“It wasnae!”
The next pair entered for the games, and Callan was part of this time.
Men stumbled, rolled, cursed and laughed as the crowd shouted encouragement. Even some of the older warriors were grinning.
Ailis began to understand why the games mattered.
For a little while, no one was a laird or a servant. They were simply men trying to beat one another across a field.
Then Laird Kerr stepped forward to join in, and the laughter faded.
Kerr climbed into the sack, and his gaze danced across the yard until it landed on hers. He did not smile, but as if trying to send her a message, he nodded softly just before the signal sounded.
Kerr moved with surprising speed after that. He hopped and hopped till he crossed the line first.
The crowd erupted in applause. Kerr stepped from the sack and looked directly toward Ailis. Her stomach tightened from the chill that spread through her entire body.
He began walking toward her.
“Nay,” she whispered before she could stop the words. “What does he want?”
Sorcha’s hand found hers. “Ailis…”
Kerr stopped before them both and bowed. He took her hand before she could withdraw it. His fingers closed around hers, and his gaze never left her face.
“I shall win the next round, Ma’am, for ye. And I hope ye will be rootin’ for me.”
Her throat tightened with a lump as she looked at him. Her finger went rigid within his grasp, and she froze when he bent and pressed his lips to the back of her hand.
Revulsion crawled over her skin. She wanted to snatch her hand away, but shock held her still for one terrible heartbeat.
Across the field, Ailis noticed Gordon took in the scene. His jaw had locked so tightly that the muscle jumped beside his cheek. One hand stayed clenched at his side; his eyes were fixed upon Kerr’s hand around hers. The murderous look in them did not go unnoticed. At least not by her.
Her insides fluttered at it, and when Kerr released her hand, she quickly snatched it away.
“Prepare yerself, Ma’am,” he said quietly. “I intend to win the rest and take me prize.”
His eyes lingered over her with a confidence that made her skin prickle. Ailis’ stomach tightened from the dark possession she saw there.
Ailis forced a smile that felt nothing like one. “I wish ye luck, Laird Kerr.”
Kerr grinned then he turned away.
Ailis immediately rubbed her hand against her skirt.
Sorcha noticed. “Ye all right?”
“Aye.”
She was not. She could still feel the pressure of Kerr’s mouth against her skin, and she could still see Gordon’s expression.
The games continued anyway; the next event was announced by Malcolm in a loud voice that made everyone listen.
“The next contest requires another warrior. Are ye enterin’? The winner of this round shall compete with Laird Kerr in the hunt. The winner’s prize is Miss Ailis’ favor. She shall grant ye one wish before her bindin’ ceremony.”
The crowd cheered at this announcement, and the lairds in the competition began filing forward to take their place.
A murmur traveled through the crowd when Gordon moved suddenly, striding toward Malcolm.
Ailis’ heart began to pound as she watched him.
Surely, he wouldnae…
“I shall join the contest,” Gordon announced just as she took another breath that faltered inside her.
His expression remained composed, almost courteous, yet his eyes held a certainty that made Ailis’ stomach tighten with anticipation so delicious she felt her toes curl.
“I shall win me betrothed’s favor,” he said.
The words were meant for the men around him, but his gaze never left her.
Ailis forgot to breathe. Despite the cool Highland air, her body burned with a fever she had never felt before. Her pulse quickened. She could feel it beating beneath her jaw, each thud strangely loud in her ears.
What is he doin’?