Page 5 of The Highlander's Dare
In that case, maybe sheshouldsuggest they knew each other already. If Baston thought her already involved with another, maybe he would let her go?
Hah! That was a funny jest she was telling herself. Baston wasn’t wedding with her, forher. He wanted her dowry, the riches beyond riches of a Norman count, and the alliance he’d gain with Prince John from wedding with her.
What to do, what todo? Suddenly Sir Graham smiled, the dimple winking in his cheek. Baston stiffened behind her, his grip a little tighter at the unexpected gesture from his enemy. But she found herself staring harder at the Sutherland knight. If possible, he was even more handsome than before.
“I see no’ much has changed, Baston.” The way Graham said her betrothed’s name was just the way she thought of him in her own head as if every syllable were a bloody curse.
“Likewise,” Baston sneered.
“I say ’tis rather a good thing we are here then on similar terms. And I look forward to meeting ye out on the list fields where we might settle it like men who is the best of the two of us.” Graham said all of this with a charming smile that had the power to make a woman melt and forget that he was actually threatening a man.
He was incredible.
Clara let out the breath she’d been holding, not realizing how nervous she’d been that Sir Graham would slap Baston with his glove and demand a fight to the death. They’d have to get it approved by Lord Yves, but she doubted he’d deny them. Every man in this great hall was fairly foaming at the mouth for a chance to fight. To prove themselves more worthy than the next. Pathetic.
Admiration for Sir Graham’s tactic was soured by Baston’s demeanor. He kept his hand on her and snorted.
“That is no’ a contest, Sutherland. It is evident already.”
Sir Graham shrugged as if he didn’t have a care in the world, and then his gaze fell on her. He bowed slightly, and she wished to offer him her hand but worried Baston would growl and bite her if she did. Instead, she offered him the one thing she could, a smile of encouragement.
“’Twas a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady.”
“My regards, sir.” Though her speech was formal, she kept her face pleasant in hopes he would see some bit of comradery dancing in the depth of her gaze.
He gave a curt nod and turned away from her, Baston and the entire table, and threaded his way through the crowd toward the exit.
A few moments later, when Baston was once more enthralling himself and his company with another brutish tale, his groin again near her face, Clara quietly excused herself and headed in the same direction as Graham.
What was she doing? Following him?
He had likely already gone back to his tent or the tavern, perhaps. This was foolish. She didn’t even know him, and she shouldn’t be trailing him, and yet her feet wouldn’t stop moving forward.
He hadn’t gone far. There was a slight hiss from the shadows when she ducked into the corridor, and his hand flicked out into the light. Without thinking, Clara took his offered grasp and was pulled into the shadows. His hand was large, rough, engulfing hers in a protective rather than possessive hold.
“Ye shouldna have allowed me to do that,” he pointed out.
She shrugged, their hands falling apart naturally, and she found she missed the subtle touch, which made her question her morals once more. “I should still be at the table with my betrothed.”
Graham gave a short laugh. “Why did ye leave?”
“I’m not entirely certain.” She chewed her lip, for this was true, and she really ought to go.
“So ye’re to marry that man?” Sir Graham said it casually as if he were asking if she was going to finish her plate.
“It has been decreed.” Clara couldn’t help the dejection in her tone. She feared it would never vacate as long as this was to be her fate. A fate she was desperately trying to change.
“I wish ye luck then.” The words themselves were meant to be dismissive, but the tone was quite different, intense and curious, perhaps.
She didn’t want him to push her away so fast. There were a lot of her own questions she wanted to ask, mainly, “Why did you allow him to speak to you that way?”
Graham grunted. “Baston Ross will speak however he wants. His words canna hurt me.”
The former was true; she’d had to endure it all evening. However, the latter, she’d seen that Baston’s words hurt, or at the very least, angered Graham.
“Besides,” Sir Graham continued, “I was speaking the truth. No offense, my lady. But I prefer to kick his arse on the battlefield.”
Now it was her turn to laugh.
