Page 31 of The Beast's Bride
So many … at least fifty.
Most of the faces she didn’t recognize, however, some she did. A blond, grinning young warrior called Connel, and Dughall MacLean. Of course—she’d known he’d compete.
The latter stood at the front of the group, dark blue eyes riveted upon the stands—upon her. Rhona ignored him.Let him stare,she thought.If he wins the games, I’ll scratch his eyes out on our wedding night.
But Connel and Dughall weren’t the only faces she recognized in the crowd. Rhona’s breathing stilled when she saw a big, broad-shouldered figure with short dark-blond hair and a scarred face standing at the back of the group.
Taran MacKinnon.
Confusion swept over Rhona, muddling her thoughts for a few moments. Connel and Dughall she understood, for both of them had made their interest in her clear.
But Taran?
Betrayal followed swiftly on the heels of confusion. She’d been furious with Taran for dragging her back to Dunvegan, yet she’d believed he’d had some sympathy for her plight. What was he doing competing for her hand?
Rhona clenched her jaw till it ached. She glared at Taran, willing him to meet her gaze, yet he did not. Instead, his ice-blue stare seemed unfocused, as if he was deep in thought.
Beside her Malcolm MacLeod rose to his feet. The chatter in the stands quietened, and the crowd of warriors waiting below shifted their gazes to the clan-chief.
“Welcome.” Her father’s voice carried across the field. “For some of ye, Dunvegan is yer home, while for others ye have traveled far to reach us. I greet ye all and thank ye for doing us this honor.”
A few of the warriors below cheered at this, while others beamed up at MacLeod. Malcolm then turned to where Rhona sat silently next to him. “Daughter, stand up.”
Rhona complied, hands still clasped before her. Dozens of hungry male gazes raked over her. She felt as if they were stripping her clothing from her. Rhona raised her chin, barely suffering the indignity.
“Aye.” Her father’s voice held a smug note as he continued. “Lady Rhona MacLeod is a fiery beauty. She’ll make one of ye a fine bride and bear ye plenty of sons … but ye will have to fight for her. The motto of this family is ‘Hold Fast’. The MacLeods face-down our enemies without fear, and we charge toward our destinies. I encourage all of ye to do the same.”
A cheer went up, and when it died away, all gazes fixed upon Malcolm MacLeod, awaiting his next words. Tension rose around them, and Rhona saw the excitement in the contestants’ eyes, their eager smiles. The sight just made Rhona feel ill.
Her father’s command, when it came, fell like an executioner’s axe, splitting the silence. “Let the games begin.”
The morning was torture. Rhona sat there, silent and tense, watching as one-by-one, the warriors competed at tossing the caber. They heaved a long log off the ground and balanced it vertically, staggering forward before tossing it. The log spun, turning end over end before striking the earth with a dull thud.
Three men succeeded in tossing it farther than the others. Two of them were warriors from the mainland, both sons of clan-chiefs, while the third was Taran MacKinnon.
Rhona watched him toss the caber into the air. She’d seen Taran shirtless before, and remembered his sculpted torso.
She wasn’t the only one to notice. Two women seated beneath Rhona started to whisper and giggle.
“He may be an ugly brute, but he’s got the body of a god,” one of them tittered.
“Aye,” her companion replied with a smirk. “I’d wager the rest of him is just as big and strong.”
Rhona’s face flushed at their bawdy language. She glowered down at the women, hating their smugness. It wasn’t their fate that was to be decided here.
The Braemar Stone and hammer throw contests came next. Dughall did well in the former. Rhona watched him take his position. He took the large, heavy stone in his hand, and cradled it in the crook of his neck. Dughall’s body tensed, his gaze focused on the strip of grass before him. A moment later he tossed the stone from standing, hurling it away from him. A cheer went up in the stands. He’d bested all the warriors who’d gone before him.
Rhona didn’t join them.
Grinning, Dughall glanced up into the stands, his attention focusing on Rhona.
“Dughall MacLean looks confident today,” Una murmured to her husband.
“Aye,” Malcolm grunted, unimpressed. “He’s cocky, but let’s see if he lasts the distance.”
“I can’t believe Taran is competing,” Adaira whispered to Rhona, her gaze wide as she watched the warrior stride up to take his turn at hurling the Braemar Stone. “I didn’t think he was interested in taking a wife.”
Rhona frowned, although she had to admit her sister was right. In all the years Taran had served her father, he’d been a lone wolf. Unlike some of the other warriors, who flirted with the servants inside the keep and stole glances at MacLeod’s three daughters, he’d seemed oblivious to women.
