Page 67 of Sinful Scottish Laird
They locked their arms around each other’s back, and the warden of wrestling called for the start.
Cailean expected to lose, and he hardly cared if he did. He only hoped it was a painful loss, that his battered and bruised body would be slow to get up, but that this swelling of infatuation, or whatever the bloody hell it was that had taken up residence on his chest, would be gone. He wanted the Mountain to squeeze the air from his body, to knock the infatuation from his veins.
But something miraculous happened.
The Mountain began to struggle againsthim. Cailean’s strength, stoked by old and new frustrations, poured out of him. With a guttural cry, he managed to knock the Mountain off his feet and pin him to the ground.
The crowd roared with delight.
The game warden called the match in favor of Cailean. He stood up, offered his hand to the Mountain.
“Aye, you’ve won, lad,” the Mountain said congenially, and he slapped Cailean so hard on his back that he very nearly went down to his knees.
The gathered crowd was frenzied now, shouting his name. He turned his back to them and marched up to where Aileen Ramsey stood on a box. He couldn’t say why he did what he did, but he lifted the woman off the box, threw his arm around her back, dipped her backward and bloody well kissed her.
The crowd cheered wildly.
Cailean felt nothing for it, but when he lifted the lass upright, she looked at him with a stunned expression. And then a glorious smile.
Aye, then, all was not lost. He was still a man after all.
* * *
INTHELATEAFTERNOON, fires were lit around the meadow ahead of clouds thickening in the east. The musicians picked up their pipes and began to play, and the country dancing commenced for those who had traveled to thefeill. Arran Mackenzie’s clan and Highland nobility retreated to the castle—they would dance in the great hall.
Cailean dressed formally for the evening in a coat and waistcoat, a plaid sash across his chest pinned with the clan’s emblem, and a sporran around his waist. The hall gleamed with the light from two hearths and dozens of candles. A long line of Mackenzies and guests had already formed at the sideboard, which was laden with roasted beef and traditional Scottish pots, such as haggis, turnips and potatoes. Servants wandered through the crowd, carrying ewers of whisky and ale, refilling cups.
Cailean made his way to the dais and sat next to Rabbie, who’d had a wee bit to drink, judging by the way he sat, slung over a seat like woolen blanket. He looked sourly at the crowd.
“What has you cross?” Cailean asked, sitting next to him.
Rabbie lifted his chin as if to indicate something; Cailean followed his gaze and saw Daisy, her uncle and Captain Spivey. They were seated at a table with Somerled.
Diah,she looked brilliant tonight. The edges of her bodice had been embellished with silk rosebuds that matched those on the ribbon around her neck. Her gown was the color of her eyes. Somerled was leaning toward her, as if sharing a secret with her and her uncle. Spivey looked as sour as Rabbie.
“What then, do you no’ see?” Rabbie snapped. “His musket shot is in your flank yet.”
Four years ago, Cailean had been grazed by a musket ball fired from the gun of an English sailor. He’d been moving a ship through a particularly dangerous part of the French coast, trying to slip past the naval ship in heavy fog while Aulay sailed north. It was a dangerous thing to do, as Cailean and his men couldn’t see more than a few feet in that soupy fog. But they had sailed that coastline for years, and had crept along, knowing that if they didn’t, when the fog lifted, they’d be a sitting target for the English naval ship.
As they could not see the Scottish ship, the English captain had decided not to fire a canon, probably thinking he’d waste good ammunition. Later, Cailean and Aulay had reasoned that one ambitious sailor had fired blindly, hoping to hit something to inform the English ship where they were. It was a miracle that Cailean and their crew had remained silent when he’d been grazed, and had managed to slide past undetected.
Cailean shrugged. “It was no more than a burn, aye? And it wasna him.”
Rabbie snorted. “Does it matter?”
“Aye, it matters,” Cailean said calmly. “He’s harmless. He seeks his own fortune now.”
Rabbie looked at him with surprise. “Do you really believe it? Will you believe it until a ship arrives in our cove, if no’ at Arrandale as we sit, waiting like fat geese?”
“We’ve men there,” Cailean pointed out.
Rabbie rolled his eyes at his older brother. “They may no’ come today, Cailean. But they will come. One of theirs is dead, aye? They’ll no’ allow you to rest now that they know where you are.” He signaled one of the servants by lifting his empty tankard. “He is a spy. Mark me.”
Cailean wasn’t as pessimistic as his brother. Of course they had to be careful. They always had to be careful. But this was a long way for the English to come for one man. They’d not take ships from the seas between England and France for a free trader. But neither was Cailean naive. He looked toward the table again, and he inwardly started when he caught Spivey staring at him.
He suddenly stood, kicking his chair out of his way and startling his little brother.
“Where are you going?” Rabbie asked.
