Page 17 of The Highlander's Dare
“Ye dropped it?” Voice a higher octave than usual, and audibly panicked, Baston dropped to all fours beside her, sifting through the rushes.
Clara turned in a circle, creating more of a mess, all the while feeling the wooden piece burn into her chest and being fairly certain she was going to hell. This was a cruel trick she was playing. The poor buffoon was likely going to get himself killed now that she’d stolen the talisman that he believed made him a success.
That was a lot of pressure to live with. Pressure she didn’t want or need.
It was on the very edge of her nerves to simply pull the wooden piece from her bodice and present it back to him, and come up with another plan all together, when Baston hissed, “Ye stupid wee fool, how could ye do this?”
The guilt magically disappeared with his words. How interesting.
Clara sat back on her heels, pressed her hands to her face, covered her eyes and pretended to cry. “I’m sorry,” she wailed. “I’m so clumsy. And now you will likely die in battle, and I shall be left a widow all the days of my life.”
Her words caused him to still, and instead of issuing more insults, he surprised her by taking her hands in his and kissing her knuckles one at a time—she worked hard not to cringe. This wasnothow this moment was supposed to go.
“Och, my dear, dinna fash yourself over it. ’Tis just a tiny piece of wood. Perhaps now Fate has led me to a new token of good luck—ye.”
What?
This was not the road she’d expected he’d take, and certainly not the one she wanted. Clara worked hard to keep the horror from showing on her face.
“Everything is ruined.” She shook her head vigorously. “You shall lose your joust tomorrow, and it will be all my fault.”
“Nay, I shall win because I will have ye by my side, lass. Ye will be watching me, your eyes on my every move, and I will feel the energy of that pull in my bones. Your gaze, your power will guide me in my movements, will direct my lance, my horse’s hooves.”
Clara shook her head, trying not to stare at him as though he’d grown a second head. “That is too much. Too much pressure. I cannot possibly do any of that.” And she was deadly serious. She did not want to be to blame if he should lose. Especially if he should lose to Graham, whom she’d kissed the day before and been unable to get out of her mind since.
Heat raced to her cheeks, and Baston took the blush as a compliment. Lord, what would he think if he knew she’d been thinking about kissing another man?
“Och, but ye’re bonnie when ye blush.”
“I’m so sorry. I’m so mortified.”
“Dinna be, lass. We shall fix this, and ye shall be my new token of good luck.” He leaned close, and she shot back, afraid he was going to try to kiss her.
When this was over, she was going to give him back the wooden tip, because she would feel entirely too much guilt if he placed his luck in battle on her when she was going to leave him stranded.
Aye, he was an utter cad, and she was growing to despise him more with each day that passed, her conviction in being rid of him fortified with nearly every utterance from his mouth. He had just now, however, been kind to her. Though he’d called her a stupid fool, he’d also done his own clumsy attempt to make her feel better, and for that, she would not put his life at risk by causing him to doubt himself for too long.
There were a lot of sighs and cooing coming from those witnessing them, hands clasped, kneeling on the floor, and Clara wanted to laugh. She wanted to laugh until she was doubled over, and tears were coming from her eyes. Where was Graham, anyhow? He was certain to enjoy a scene like this, to be sure.
Alas, he would only be in the great hall if invited, and so she couldn’t expect to see him this morning, not unless she sought him out, or he managed to climb up the castle walls to her chamber window.
“KNEELINGon the floor with Baston Ross?” Graham snarled. He’d paid Alan a pretty penny to chase his dog into the great hall of the castle to spy on Lady Clara.
“Aye. Looked to be a lovers’ quarrel and then a make up.”
A lover’s quarrel… A make up.
Was she playing with him this entire time? A ruse? Was it possible that she was on Baston’s side, and planned to go through with the wedding, but the two of them had come up with an elaborate plan of their own to humiliate Graham?
It had been Clara who’d kissed him the day before, and blast, but it had been a marvelous kiss. One which he would not forget.
Graham brooded on the matter all through the day as he trained with the men and tried to catch glimpses of Clara, but she was nowhere to be found. Not even a rousing game of knucklebone and three ales at the tavern with some of the other Scots warriors was enough to get his mind off of her and their current situation.
And then the next move he was to make came, in the form of a servant ducking between people and calling his name.
“I’m Graham Sutherland.”
The servant rushed forward, bobbing his head. “Sir, and invitation, from Lord Yves to join the feast in the great hall this evening.”
