Page 34 of The Beast's Bride
Rhona swallowed. She felt as if she was going to be sick. Dughall couldn’t win this. Fate could not be so cruel.
“This is yer fault, lass.” Rhona glanced right to find her father studying her. Malcolm MacLeod’s face was unreadable, his gaze shuttered. “Ye had the choice of many men … but now ye really will end up with one ye don’t want.”
Rhona stared back at him. Part of her wanted to plead with him, wanted to break down in tears and beg him to stop these games. Yet she knew it would gain her nothing. All she had left was her pride; she wouldn’t destroy the only thing that was keeping her rooted to her seat.
Her father blinked and then turned his face away, focusing on the match below.
“Hold!”
Taran and Dughall grappled once more. This bout was fast, edged in violence. The two men spun round each other, clinging in a death-grip. Dughall’s leg struck out once more, but Taran danced out of his way. Taran was the bigger and heavier built man of the two, yet Rhona had seen that agility and flexibility almost counted more in a sport like this.
Her chest began to ache as Dughall brought Taran down once more, with a flip that sent his opponent crashing down onto his back.
Rhona muttered a curse under her breath, tore her gaze from the wrestling, and stared down at her hands. This really was happening.
“Do ye want Taran to win?” Adaira asked, her voice barely audible over the roar of the excited crowd. “Ye would prefer him over Dughall?”
Rhona’s gaze snapped to where her sister watched her. Adaira’s pretty face was pale, her eyes seeming unnaturally big this afternoon.
“I don’t want either of them to win,” she choked out the words.
“But ye just cursed.”
“That’s because soon the games will be over … the next bout will decide my fate.”
Rhona swung her attention back to the wrestling as the third bout commenced. She hadn’t told her sister the truth. She had no desire to be Taran’s wife, but she’d choose him over Dughall. Taran was no comely young warrior, but she’d spent enough time in his company to know he wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t a bully like Dughall.
Sweat glistened off Taran’s bare back as the wrestling resumed. His scarred face screwed up in concentration as he fought for dominance. The expression made him look even more frightening than usual. In contrast, a grimace twisted Dughall’s handsome face, turning him ugly. He twisted and shoved against his opponent.
Dughall’s leg struck out, just as Taran’s foot kicked forward and hooked behind Dughall’s calf.
Letting out a roar, Dughall lost his balance and lunged sideways.
Cheering erupted as he slammed into the ground.
Wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his arm, Taran straightened up. A heartbeat later Chieftain Budge grabbed his hand and yanked it aloft. “The third bout goes to Taran MacKinnon!”
Rhona watched Dughall spit on the ground and snarl something at Taran. It was too far away for her to make out the words, yet the insult seemed to have little effect on Taran. He merely gave Dughall a cold look while he shrugged out the muscles in his shoulders and waited for Budge to call them forward once more.
The fourth bout seemed to go on for an age. The warriors grappled, their grunts rising into the charged air. Dughall tried to hook his leg around Taran’s numerous times, but at each attempt his opponent blocked him.
The bout ended when Taran spun them both round and kicked out at Dughall’s ankle. The latter jumped back, lost his balance, and went down on one knee.
Two to two—the contestants were now on equal footing.
“God’s bones,” Adaira muttered next to Rhona. “I can’t bear it.”
Rhona clenched her jaw, grinding her teeth. The tension had turned her into a wreck. Sweat coursed down her back and between her breasts, and her heart pounded as if it had been her down there wrestling.
“The final and deciding bout.” Aonghus Budge strode into the center of the ring, hands aloft. His ruddy face glowed as his gaze swept the crowd. “Who will win the hand of the lovely Lady Rhona? Contestants … step forward.”
Dughall and Taran did as bid. They stepped up either side of Budge, each taking the chieftain’s opposite hand as he raised their arms high. Aonghus grinned at them, his attention shifting from Taran to Dughall. “Make this one count, lads.” His voice rang out across the field. “Which one of ye will be lucky enough to tame that wild mare?”
This comment brought laughter and sniggers from the stands and the gathered crowd below. Rhona sucked in an angry breath, noting that although Dughall had grinned at the comment, Taran did not.
The warriors took their positions.
“Hold!”
