Page 57 of Kilted Seduction
He would pray to banish the difficulties that had led to his clan being near destitute and for it to flourish and escape their impoverished state.
And yet, it was another prayer that filled his mind - a prayer for a future that included the enigmatic woman he was becoming increasingly fascinated and entranced by. The woman he suspected he might be falling in love with.
Thora MacTavish. She’d come into his life like a winter storm and forced him into a difficult position, but he found himself wishing the pretense could be made real. That, at the end of theirruse, when they’d either given up or discovered the truth about Lachlan Ross, he could ask her to be his wife in truth.
It didn’t matter where she really came from. She was intelligent, strong-willed, beautiful, and she cared for people with an empathy he admired. He wanted to keep her by his side.
He burned his sprig, then offered her his arm to escort her back to the table as the servants began to bring out the feast. Birds of every description, fish, a whole roast pig and huge slabs of beef - there was a little bit of everything. Jugs of mead and beer were interspersed with bottles of wine and more potent liquors.
In addition, there were baskets of bread, potatoes, and steamed vegetables, as well as tureens of several different types of soup. It was an impressive feast, and Aedan wished he could enjoy it in the same carefree manner as the rest of the guests.
He took a tankard of mead, and a full plate. Beside him, Thora had placed a piece of fish, some pheasant, a bowl of soup and a modest serving of vegetables on her plate, along with fresh bread and a cup of wine.
There was little conversation during the meal. Most of the guests were enjoying the food too much to talk. In addition, a pair of musicians were playing music, filling the hall with soft notes that wound through the din in gentle counterpoint to the clink of utensils and the low thump of cups, jugs and platters.
He couldn’t fully relax, but Aedan did enjoy the feast. Afterward, he and Thora made a leisurely circuit around the room, watchingthose that braved the dance floor for the traditional Yuletide dances. He and Thora had pled soreness from their injuries, and Aedan took the opportunity to make his way to Mac’s side. “Are we ready tae leave?”
“We could be within a candle-mark. The problem is the excuse.” Mac sighed. “Ye cannae just leave in the middle o’ the feast. Might be best tae wait until the morning. Taemorrow…”
The morning following Yule would be the start of several indoor and outdoor competitions, feasts, and games, including a tournament outside. The chaos would provide an excellent time to slip away.
With that established, Aedan and Thora rejoined those enjoying the feast at the high table until they gradually dispersed in the early morning. He and Thora retired to their rooms, but it was difficult to fall asleep.
A soft knock caught his ear, and he padded across to find Mac outside. “Took me time tae get away, me laird, but after last night, I dinnae think anyone will be surprised if ye choose tae have a guard over yer sleep taenight. If I dinnae disturb,” he added, noticing Thora in the bed.
Aedan nodded and Mac took a chair by the fire.
The following morning, however, he woke to white blanketing the window, and a thin whistle he recognized. Aedan cursed.
A bleedin’ snowstorm. ‘Twill be difficult, if nae impossible tae tak’ our leave in such conditions. We’ll have tae wait until the storm subsides, which could be within candle-marks, or days.
“Och, that’s nae good.” Thora and Mac joined him at the window. “There’s nay way any o’ us would last half a candle-mark in such weather.”
“Aye. We’ll have tae wait.” Aedan grimaced. “We might as well go down tae the morning meal.”
Mac left first, while Aedan and Thora dressed in more casual, comfortable clothing. By the time they made it down to the Great Hall, most of the other lairds and ladies were already present, in various states of wakefulness. Or, in Conall and Kendrick’s case, recovering from hangovers.
Lachlan Ross arrived as one of the last, just as Aedan and Thora were collecting their breakfasts. The laird of the Ross clan approached the High table, and one of his advisors clanged a tankard on a platter. “Good morning, and a blessed first day o’ Yule tae all o’ ye, me guests.”
Lachlan smiled with a touch of chagrin that Aedan found entirely false, and indicated the windows of the Hall. “As ye may have seen, ‘tis a bitter storm outside. As such, ‘twill nae be possible tae have the tournament outside as ‘twas originally planned.” There was a mutter of protest. Lachlan raised his hands for quiet, and the muttering subsided. “Now, I ken there are some things that cannae be done indoors, but there will be events inside. We’ll have hall races, archery in one of thehallway, games o’ different sorts, and a few demonstrations o’ swordsmanship in this very hall.”
This time, the roar of sound that echoed off the walls was far more approving. Lachlan waved for the meal to continue, and noise filled the hall as people discussed who would be participating in what events. focused his attention on Lachlan Ross.
The man was planning various events with his advisors. It seemed innocuous enough, but Aedan couldn’t help feeling a twisting sense of concern in his gut. He couldn’t explain why, but he was certain there was something more at work, some plan he wasn’t yet aware of.
The meal ended, and a board with the events of the day was moved to the front of the hall, marked with charcoal. Aedan studied the it, and his feelings condensed into a sense of dread.
There, two candle-marks after the noon meal, was a swordsmanship demonstration listed:
Laird Lachlan Ross versus Laird Aedan Cameron.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Thora’s heart plummeted toward the floor when she looked at the board. She didn’t need any form of premonition to understand that Aedan was in danger - perhaps mortal danger. She was certain the match was meant to be a trap of some kind. Even if it wasn’t intended to kill Aedan, it was certain that Lachlan had orchestrated the match for reasons of his own.
She had no doubt Aedan had the skills to compete. Her fear was that Lachlan would use some trick to put him at a serious disadvantage. Or worse, Aedan might win, but Laird Ross might use some trick to make it appear he had used underhanded means. It would damage Aedan’s reputation and his position as a laird. Even if Aedan only wounded his opponent, it might be twisted to damage his position. Wounding one’s host, even a small wound in a demonstration match, would be considered poor etiquette as a guest. Especially during the Yuletide festivities.
She sought Aedan out. “What will ye dae?”
