Page 15 of The Highlander's Dare
Clara couldn’t help but giggle. “I am sorry about that.”
“Dinna be sorry.” Suddenly, he was frowning. “We’ve been gone long enough. No one will miss seeing me, but ye, my lady, are Prince John’s niece, a guest of Lord Yves. Ye’d best return to the stands.”
“I have no interest in the parade,” she pouted.
“I assume ye also have no interest in your nuptials being moved up if ye were to be caught with me.”
She’d not thought of that. Such would be a devastation. “That is very true.”
“Go on then. I’ll be right behind ye to make certain ye arrive safely back.”
“And our plan?”
“We are set to begin tomorrow, aye? Baston does no’ fight in the joust until the day after, which gives ye plenty of time to mess with his head. To put a damper on something he cares about, destroy something he holds dear. Ye’ll know it when he presents it; the man is very eager to tell everyone everything.”
“When is your first entry?”
“I’m working on joining Baston’s joust.” Clara grinned. “I will report the success of the mission to you on the morrow at some point then. Perhaps I can gain you an invitation to the feast tomorrow night.”
“My thanks, my lady.” He bowed. “Until then, I wish ye well in taunting our mutual nemesis.”
Clara ducked out of the tent before it was too late, and she was asking him for just one more kiss. There was something about Graham that drew her in. He was intoxicating—that was the best way to say it. But that made him dangerous.
She would need to avoid him the rest of the day, and keep her mind on the mission ahead, for tomorrow she was going to have to ruin Baston’s arrogant mood.
5
“Sir Baston, I’ve heard that so many men have a specific token they take into a battle as a good luck charm. Have you something like this?” Clara batted her lashes at the great brute preening in front of her.
They had been eating breakfast in the great hall. Though she’d risen early, it had not been early enough, for Baston was once again holding court at the table. Clara found herself on more than one occasion staring at the people surrounding him and wondering what in the world they saw that was so enchanting as to have them practically drooling over every word he uttered. No longer did he sit at the table, but stood with a foot propped up where his arse had been, his forearm on his knee as he leaned forward to regal those surrounding them with a story that seemed more fabrication than truth. This seemed to be his preferred position for reigning over his admirers, and she wondered if she just shoved him the tiniest bit off balance if he would tumble or catch himself.
Baston’s blue eyes slid to hers, an arrogant smile and a grunt from his throat. “Of course I do.”
The poor Scot was falling right into her trap.
Clara thrust her chest out, pressing her palm to her breasts, a little gasp coming from her throat, mouth forming an “O.” How she hated herself at that moment for her antics, but they seemed to enthrall Baston, who was currently ogling her breasts, his grin growing wider.
So, she kept going. “Oh, would you let us see what has aided you in becoming such a triumph among knights?” She smiled and nodded to those at the table who also joined her in the request.
Baston eyed her a moment, as though trying to decipher out her words and meaning. Was it a bit too much, this act she was putting on? Would he think her up to something and accuse her?
“Please?” She pouted and fluttered her eyelashes again, arching her back just a smidge more. “I would know what mybetrothedholds so dear.”
A chorus of agreement went up from those at the table and using that particular word with the unsung promise that soon her breasts would be his seemed to do the trick.
Unable to deny her, and seemingly excited given the way his grin widened at the prospect of being called her betrothed before everyone present, he raised to his full height and puffed out his chest.
He reached into the pouch at his hip and pulled out a small chunk of worn wood, about the size of the tip of his thumb. It was not carved into any particular shape. In fact, if she took her dagger and chipped off a piece of the table, it would be very similar to this particular piece of wood he was presenting her with. This was his token?
Clara eyed the piece and then Baston to see if he was serious, for this had to be a jest, but he was staring down at the piece of wood as if it had been handed to him by God himself.
He was serious.
Holy Mary Mother of God, the man was as dense as she thought.
Clara cocked her head to the side, feigning awe. “Oh, wow. That is a treasure. Where did it come from? What is its meaning?”
Please tell me this little chunk of rubbish actually has a meaning.
