Page 76 of The Outlaw's Bride
He lunged and brought his blade down across the hilt of Lachlann’s wooden sword, where his fingers grasped. Lachlann reeled back, but Taran was still moving. He ducked past him and slammed his sword into Lachlann’s belly.
Lachlann wheezed, as the breath gusted out of him, and sprawled backward onto the dirt.
Adaira gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, while around her the surrounding MacLeod and MacDonald warriors roared with approval.
Standing over Lachlann, breathing hard, Taran grinned. “Novice’s mistake that … letting a woman distract ye.”
Lachlann winced, propping himself up onto an elbow. He rubbed the fingers of his right hand. “Aye.” His gaze traveled back to Adaira again. Relief flooded through her when his mouth curved into a smile, swiftly followed by frustration. The man was irrepressible.
Lachlann tore his attention from his wife and shot Taran a challenging look. “That’s round one to ye, MacKinnon. Best of three?”
Chapter Thirty-two
My North Star
“RAIN’S ON ITS way … mark my words.”
Adaira huffed in frustration and glanced up at the sky. “Nonsense. There’s hardly a cloud in the sky.”
“Ye obviously haven’t looked north then,” Lachlann replied with a raised eyebrow, “at the enormous bank of rain clouds rolling toward us.” His brow furrowed then. “God’s bones, where are ye taking me, woman? We’ve been walking for hours.”
“Oh, do stop complaining,” Adaira shot back, striding up the grassy hill. “We’re almost there.”
The picnic had been her idea. Since their handfasting, they’d hardly had a quiet moment alone together. Her father’s presence at Duntulm dominated the whole keep. Their only refuge was their bed-chamber.
Reaching the brow of the hill, Adaira smiled. Ahead, the boughs of tall trees beckoned, but before the woodland ran a glittering burn. Caitrin had told her of this place and had suggested it was the ideal location for a husband and wife to spend a private afternoon together.
“This is the spot!” She glanced over her shoulder at Lachlann. He carried a rolled up blanket under one arm and a basket in the other hand.
“Thank Christ,” he muttered. “What did ye put in this basket—rocks?”
Adaira relieved him of it with a sweet smile. The walk from Duntulm had been longer than she’d realized, and she’d packed rather a lot for their noon meal.
“The effort will be worth it, my love,” she told him, stretching up on tip-toe to kiss him. “Ye shall see.”
Lachlann smiled, his gaze gleaming as he took in his surroundings. “It’s a pretty spot … I’ll give ye that.”
“Put down the blanket,” Adaira instructed. “I don’t know about ye, but I’m starving.”
With a grin, Lachlann did as bid. Adaira settled down next to him and produced a large clay bottle from the basket. “Newly pressed cider.”
His gaze widened. “No wonder that basket was so heavy … how did ye manage to get yer hands on that?”
Adaira favored him with a conspirator’s grin. “I made a plea to Caitrin.”
“Generous lass.” Lachlann took the bottle from her and poured out two cups of cider. “She comes across a bit stern at times, but it’s good to see there’s a heart in there.”
“Caitrin hasn’t had an easy time of it,” Adaira murmured, her buoyant mood ebbing as it sometimes did when she thought of what her sister had endured. “Baltair MacDonald was a cruel man,” she added with a shudder.
Lachlann’s gaze narrowed. “A shadow passed over yer face when ye said his name … did he do something to ye?”
Adaira paused, considering whether to tell him. Lachlann was her husband; there shouldn’t be any secrets between them. “He started taking a liking to me during his visits to Dunvegan,” she admitted. “I didn’t notice at first, but then I caught him staring at me at mealtimes. The day after Caitrin gave birth, he cornered me and tried to kiss me. Rhona interrupted him, thankfully.”
Lachlann’s expression turned thunderous, and Adaira was glad that Baltair MacDonald was dead. Even so, his protectiveness, his concern, warmed her. “Worry not,” she assured him softly. “Baltair never had the opportunity to corner me again.” She paused then and took a sip of cider. It was light and fruity. “Before ye met me, I could be a bit silly. Both Rhona and Caitrin warned me that I trusted too readily and always thought the best of folk … even when they’d done nothing to merit it.”
Lachlann watched her, his expression softening. “I cured ye of that, didn’t I?”
“Ye did.”
