Chapter 14
TORIN
She bought a toy wolf that was looked like him.
For some reason, that made him ridiculously happy.
Of course, he pretended to growl and tried to take it away from her, but he moved slow enough she could keep hold of it.
He loved the way she lit up when she was teasing him.
She was so lovely. It was hard to keep his hands to himself when every instinct told him to throw her over his shoulder and carry her back to bed.
He held out a hand. “Come with me.”
She tucked the back legs of her stuffed wolf into her pants and slid her hand into his. “Where are we going?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Not the dungeon again, right?”
“I wouldn’t call the Blue Room a dungeon, love,” he said, giving the back of her hand a kiss. She shivered. “Technically, it’s the lady of the castle’s suite.”
“And you put me in it.” She sounded surprised.
“You’re my mate.” She still wasn’t getting it. Why wasn’t it sinking in?
Bryn gave him a side-eye that seemed to say, Maybe if you hadn’t been distant and dick-ish when Sophie first arrived, you wouldn’t be having trouble convincing her of your sincerity right now. His lovely daughter could be such a pain in the ass, especially when she was right.
“Can we stop talking about room assignments and go watch the caber toss, please?” Bryn said, wiping her fingers on her jeans and giving the two of them a toothy smile.
“Is that the one where strong men with big muscles throw around telephone poles?” Sophie asked. “I like that one.”
He growled. He enjoyed the caber toss, too.
What he didn’t like was that following the competition meant her staring at other men’s muscles.
But she wanted to watch the athletics, and he was trying his damndest to be a proper mate so he’d suck it up, control his impulse to tear apart every male shifter in the vicinity, and take her where she wanted to go.
They made their way over to where the athletics were being held, Sophie wide-eyed as she watched competitors of all sizes, shapes, and genders heave sheaves of grain into the air and throw massive hammers great distances.
A fierce tug ‘o war was going on between rival packs, teams of eight straining to drag each other over the center line, their heels making deep furrows in the grass as they pitted shifter strength against one another.
“Everything’s weighted heavier than in human heavy events,” Torin said, a hand on the small of her back as he guided her through the crowd to the rope surrounding the athletics field.
“Take the caber toss, for example. While we still use a straight log of Scots pine, our cabers are taller and 300 pounds, versus the smaller 175-pound version the humans use. Otherwise, the rules are the same.” He flashed a fang at a brick house of a wolf who brushed too close to Sophie.
The wolf took off like his tail was on fire.
“They’ve got to flip it, right?” She grabbed his hand and twined her fingers with his.
At her touch, his wolf settled, happy that she wanted to hold hands, that she claimed him as hers in public.
“Flipping it is the easy part. The goal is to get it to land at 12 o’clock before tipping over.
It takes a combination of skill and brute strength to heave something as long and heavy as a caber and get it to land just right.
” He nudged her, tipping his chin towards the next competitor.
The shifter was a tall, beefy man with short brown hair and a ruddy complexion.
A black t-shirt with the game’s logo stretched across massive shoulders, his kilt a plaid of yellow and black.
He bent and cupped the caber’s end in his hands.
It took a moment for him to get the log properly balanced on his shoulder before he took a few deliberate steps forward and, with a great roar, heaved the caber into the air, flipping it.
Sophie held her breath, her fingers tightening on his as it landed almost perfectly straight up before toppling over and crashing to the ground.
The crowd standing behind the roped-off area cheered.
“That was awesome,” she said, her blue eyes sparkling.
His chest puffed out as if he’d tossed that caber himself. Which was ridiculous, but seeing her so excited made him want to show her everything good that the shifter world had to offer.
They spent the day together checking out the dogs herding small animals, cheering on highland dancers, and listening to pipe bands compete for the top prize.
Torin took every opportunity to show her off, introducing her to pack members and the Alphas of the other clans and their mates.
When massed bands and the award ceremony rolled around, he put her in charge of handing out the prizes to all the winners. The day couldn’t have gone any better.
But it wasn’t over yet. As the sun set, the cèilidh started up.
The beer tent, which had been busy all day, was now packed to the gills.
Nina and her team of teenaged beer slingers kept cups full and kegs tapped.
The band, made up of musicians playing uilleann pipes, the bodhrán, fiddles, and tin whistle, performed lively folk music, encouraging people to take to the dance floor for traditional dances.
Sophie flopped into a chair with a groan. Torin had used his host status to claim a round table in prime position along the edge of the wooden dance floor. “How does everyone still have so much energy? I’m ready for a nap.” She accepted the cup of beer Torin handed her with a grin. “Or a drink.”
He cocked his head, studying her. “Do you need to go back to the castle? I’d be happy to escort you. We could always take a nap.” He waggled his eyebrows, emphasizing the word ‘nap’.
With a laugh, she waved him off. “I know exactly what we’d be doing if we went back to the castle, and it wouldn’t be napping. No, I just need to get my second wind. This will help.” She lifted the cup to her mouth and drained half in one go.
Bryn slid into the chair next to Sophie, a stack of parchment-paper-wrapped meat pies precariously balanced on top of her cup.
“Here. Sustenance.” She handed over a meat pie and a packet of brown sauce.
She doused her own pie in brown sauce and took a big bite. “Delicious,” she said, her mouth full.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” he said absently, keeping an eye on Sophie as she first nibbled at the pie before deciding it was tasty and gobbling it up. His wolf huffed, satisfied that she was fed.
“Okay, Dad.” Sarcasm oozed out of every word. She stuffed the last of the meat pie in her mouth and reached for another. “You know I’m not five anymore.”
“Then why do I have to keep reminding you that not everyone needs to see what you’re eating while you’re eating it?”
Bryn shrugged and with a dainty pinky, wiped away a smear of brown sauce from the corner of her lips. “Just lucky, I guess.”
Sophie snickered.
“And you.” He turned his attention to her. “Time to dance.”
“Oh, no,” she said, laughingly waving him away. “I don’t know this dance and, besides, I have two left feet.”
“Don’t worry, love.” He pulled a protesting Sophie onto the floor and into the whirling dance of the Gay Gordon. It didn’t matter how bad a dancer she claimed to be. He’d take any excuse to have her in his arms and, if she stumbled, he’d pull her closer. “I’ve got you.”