Page 27 of The Highlander's Dare
She wasn’t ready, but she knew she’d never quite be ready to leave his side. One hint from him, and she’d leap back into his embrace. That was going to be the hardest part of all. In the end, when they were successful—for they had to be—Clara would have to bid Graham goodbye. Walk away forever and bring back to her homeland the memories of him, and nothing more.
8
Before the first round of combat was to begin, Clara steeled herself for what was to come.
Hysteria.
So foreign to her, and yet something she knew a man like Baston would not tolerate. At the feast the night before, she’d sat and watched him with his pals. He’d been boasting about how weakling Graham might have bested him on the list, but how he’d hurt him enough that Graham forfeited, propelling Baston forward into the next round.
He truly had no idea what he was talking about, and it was pathetic and mortifying all at once. She’d tried to point that out to him, but he cut her off at every turn. The glowers he tossed her should have silenced her, but what she’d learned was that though he might be a lot of bark, he didn’t appear actually to have a bite. Perhaps behind the bluster, Baston wasn’t a bad or violent man, and some other poor lass wouldn’t be as unhappy with him as Clara would.
He was self-indulgent, grandiose and an overgrown arrogant arse, but he wasn’t cruel unless it was where Graham was concerned. That didn’t mean she wanted to wed with him. Nay, she’d made the right choice and would continue down the path.
Her tiny veiled insults during the feast had gone completely over his head, or he was ignoring her jibes, even as those at the table picked up on them. He was oblivious, or he had a lot of bloody patience. Either way, that tactic had failed. So, hysteria, which he couldn’t ignore, was next on the menu.
With that, Clara found herself exiting Lord Yves’s platform and heading toward the crowd of knights awaiting their turn.
“Baston Ross!” she cried, an edge to her voice that bordered on piercing. When he didn’t immediately separate himself from those he was talking to, she shouted louder.
It was hard not to laugh when he peeled away from his friends with an obvious roll of his eyes. Oh, goodie, this was working.
Hands on her hips, foot tapping, she refused to walk forward, forcing him to come to her as she called out his name a little more frantically.
“What is it, woman?” he rumbled as he got closer. “I’m about to go into combat, and ye’re disturbing the peace of every other knight here.”
The latter wasn’t her intention, but she did like that she finally saw some irritation from him.
“I want you to refrain from combat.” She jutted her chin upward, appearing as obstinate as ever.
“What?” He looked genuinely puzzled, frowning down at her as though she’d said her hands were made of bread.
Clara shook her head vehemently. “No fighting. Stay out of the combat round. For me. I want you to come watch with me on the platform instead.”
“Ye’re mad, woman,” he bristled, looking back at his friends who were watching intently, listening to every single word.
They looked equally as confused, shaking their heads and muttering to each other. When Baston swung his glance back toward her, she could tell he was embarrassed and felt almost sorry for him having to deal with her like this.
“No fighting!” she said a bit more shrilly, hating herself the entire time. Clara did not ever raise her voice in public, especially being so ridiculous like this. This was perhaps more humiliating than being found with her skirts tossed up, which was on the plan next if he didn’t falter here. “I will not have a husband who is violent.”
“This is no’ about violence, but training and a test of skills, my lady. All knights must prove their worth, and in case ye’ve forgotten, I am a knight.”
“But you lost yesterday,” she said, overly loud. “You do not want to humiliate yourself again and risk injury.”
“Ye overstep,” he growled, blue eyes narrowing. He stepped closer to her, leaning down, his lips twisted in an angry scowl. “Keep your words to yourself. And how about ye try to give me your favor this time, instead of giving it to my enemy, since ye lost my token of luck.”
Clara scoffed, pretending not to notice his anger. “Lucky tokens are stupid, and so is this tournament. I demand you cease your part in it.”
Baston’s eyes widened in shock. She suspected no one had ever spoken to him this way before. “Yedemandof me?”
“Aye. My mother, when she made a demand, my father followed, and I will expect the same in my household.”
He snorted and shook his head at her as if she had truly gone mad. “Ye’ll be disappointed.”
Heaven help her, but the man wasn’t budging. Did she have to throw herself on the ground and start screaming? That was likely to get her tossed in her chamber with the door barred, and everyone believing she was either in her cups or destined to live a life sealed in a tower.
Oh well, she had to keep going now. There was a chance that he’d not take that route and might just give in, seeing her distress. Clara stomped her foot, squeezed her eyes shut, fisted her hands at her side, and shouted, “I will not have it! I will not! I demand you cease this at once.”
Baston took a step back from her. “What in the bloody hell is wrong with ye?” he hissed. “Quit this madness or else I’ll have ye locked in your chamber.”
