Page 31 of The Highlander's Dare
If he so much as thought she was going to agree to wed him, he was a bloody fool. Or she was because even knowing he was betraying her, there was a tiny part of her that thrilled at the idea of being his wife. Of waking to see his profile every morning. Of falling asleep near his heat.
But she was only a pawn in the Sutherland twins’ game. They were after coin, nothing more, and she just so happened to be the treasure chest he was raiding. Undoubtedly, he’d toss her aside, and the dreams of falling asleep and waking beside him were just that—unrealistic fantasies. Was that any different than Baston? Not really. The only major distinguishing factor was that she was in love with Graham.
Hopelessly. Irrevocably. In love.
Hot, angry tears stung the backs of her eyes. She loved him, and she wanted him. And the idea of marrying him, even if he was using her, sounded more pleasant than the inevitable heartbreak of returning to Normandy without him at her side. Or worse, being imprisoned in a marriage with Baston.
Oh, how she hated him and loved him all at once.
And maybe that was why she shouldn’t allow him to be the one she had an assignation with. Any of these other knights would do. The point of the scheme was to be caught in a compromising position, and for Baston to toss her aside.
Oh, for heaven’s sake. Who was she kidding? She’d no more allow any other knight to kiss her than Baston himself.
Frustration grated through her veins. Perhaps it was best to simply arrange passage back to Normandy. But that was a lot easier to think about than put into action. There were ships involved, and she knew not the tiniest bit about procuring a ship, let alone an entourage to take her back home to the other side of the channel.
She was stuck here because her aunt and Prince John would not allow her to leave. Clara realized at that moment, she was a prisoner on three sides: one to her family, two with Baston, and now three to Graham who had her heart.
Despair filled her, for there really was no way out of her situation, and this entire plan of hers had been silly and childish, doomed from the start.
She set her foot on the first stair headed up into the castle when she heard her name being called from behind. The voice was distinct, guttural, Scots.
“Clara, my soon-to-be wife,” Baston boomed. “Good news, we shall wed tomorrow night for all the guests of the tourney to celebrate.”
She pretended not to hear, rushing up the stairs and inside before he could catch up to her. Wed tomorrow? That was too early!
“Lady Clara!” Baston called. “Come back! Did ye hear me?”
She slipped inside the castle; her heart pounding so hard it drowned out nearly every other sound. Why did he say tomorrow? Why the urgency? Why would they not wait until Sunday as planned for the end of the tournament and everyone dispersing, including her? She should run away.Now.Just take off. She could sew, perhaps take up a position as a seamstress in a remote village where Baston would never be able to find her.
Clara attempted to rush past the great hall, only to be called out by several ladies who wanted her opinion on the dresses they should all wear to the melee the following day. She tried to make herself smile and offer genuine responses, but she could barely think, and everything she said sounded garbled. By the time she made it to her chamber, she was in near hysterics. She stumbled through, slammed the door closed and leaned her head back against the wood, eyes closed. Except it felt as though she were not alone. She blinked her eyes open rapidly.
Standing before her window, leaning against the stone with his arms crossed over his chest, was Graham. He had a nonchalant stance about him, and a curious raise of his brow.
“What are you doing in my chamber?” She looked swiftly about for her maid, but the lass was not present. Of all the times to be missing… Her maid was normally there all the time, even when she wasn’t needed.
“She’ll no’ be back for a while,” Graham offered.
Clara narrowed her eyes, irritated. “That is not what I asked.”
“But it is what ye were thinking, lass.”
She hated that he could read her mind. Clara crossed her arms over her chest and considered leaving. “What do you want?”
He cocked his head to the side. “Are ye afraid of me?”
“Nay. Never.”Just really, really angry.
“Then why are ye backing away?” He pushed off the wall, his long legs marching toward her with stealthy purpose.
Every step closer, the hotter she felt, the more she trembled—but not with fear, with anger. Mostly at herself. A foot away, he stopped. Studied her, raking from head to toe with his gaze. A shiver of pleasure passed through her, her body betraying her mind, and she just wouldn’t have it.
And so, Clara determined she must speak out.
“I… I heard what you said. And I’ll not be your pawn. I’m through with being a pawn to Scottish brutes. I’m returning to Normandy tomorrow morning.” This was a lie, of course; she was simply just going to pack up her things and run away.
“My pawn?” Graham caught her gaze in his, having the audacity to look earnest. “What are ye talking about?”
“Do not lie to me, Graham. We were supposed to be friends, remember?”
