Page 20 of When a Scot Gives His Heart
Brice frowned. “Ye honestly think it will be that simple to rid yerself of the woman who has haunted ye for years now?”
Callum sighed. “I think it will be complicated,” he answered when Brice nudged him. “But I will make it simple. I must do so for the clan.”
Brice sniggered. “I think it will be rather entertaining to watch how this unfolds.”
“I’m glad ye’re amused,” Callum said irritably.
“Brice Grant, I’m ready to best you,” Cedric mocked from across the field.
“Dunnae lose,” Callum instructed. “Remember, the fewer complications the better. I dunnae want to have to haggle with Cedric over that silver-haired woman.”
“Dunnae fash yerself,” Brice told Callum, which caused wariness to rise inside him instead.
Brice was being too cocksure. He practically strutted to the center of the field to meet Cedric. Around the men, jeers and cheers resounded from the still-gathering crowd. Someone tapped Callum’s arm, and he glanced to his side to find Coira.
“What is this?” she demanded, her green eyes narrowed.
“Brice accepted yer brother’s challenge,” he replied, hoping Coira would not press the matter further.
“What is the purse?”
“A woman,” he said. “Why dunnae ye make yer way to the great hall for supper?” he suggested.
She plunked her hands on her hips. “Can you not keep your brother out of trouble?” she accused, referring, he supposed, to Brice’s penchant for embroiling himself in situations with lasses.
“Nae this time,” he answered honestly. “Yer brother led him there.”
“Mayhap you need to punish your brother for being so gullible,” she snapped.
Callum gritted his teeth. “AsIam laird, that is for me to decide.”
Coira snorted. “The woman looks like a whore, as does the woman over there with the dark hair. Perfect play toys for Cedric.”
Callum’s gaze immediately shot back to Marsaili, who was side-by-side with her companion. Her head was turned in conversation, and he took a moment to devour her beauty.
“Callum,” Coira said shrilly, yanking his attention back to her. “I don’t care for the way you stare at that dark-haired whore.”
“She is nae a whore,” he growled, fixing his gaze on Coira, though all he truly wanted to do was look at Marsaili.
“Are you familiar with her?”
“Nae exactly,” he said, which was technically the truth since he honestly did not know Marsaili anymore. She could have changed drastically in three years.
“I wager she’s Cedric’s whore,” Coira said triumphantly.
He restrained the urge to slap his palm over Coira’s venomous mouth. “She’s nae,” he said evenly. “Cedric won the woman in a wager.”
“Well,” Coira said with a barbed laugh, “if she was not a whore already, she will be made one soon.”
His temper snapped. “The lass will nae be made a whore because I will gain her freedom by fighting Cedric and winning her, and—”
“You will not!” Coira cut in before he could say that he would set Marsaili free, no matter how much the idea of doing so twisted him into knots. Coira pointed at him. “I forbid you to fight for her freedom.”
“Ye dunnae have the right to forbid me to do anything, Coira,” he snarled, glancing once more to Marsaili, who now stood with a defiant tilt to her chin and her arms crossed over her chest. His chest tightened. He refused to feel any guilt, even as his long-dormant desire stirred. He would not act on his desire, and he would have fought to free any lass that had been wagered unwillingly.
“I have a right as your future wife,” she proclaimed. “You may not take a leman and produce a bastard! I refuse to allow it!”
“I am nae doing any such thing. I am simply fighting to free a lass who has been wagered against her will. I’d think as a woman that would please ye.”
