Page 7 of The Highlander's Dare
Graham grinned. “Och lass, I’m a warrior, and I’ve got eyes in the back of my head. There’s no need to worry for me. The man willna get close.”
Lady Clara flashed him a tentative smile. “How about we pretend we’re going to dance and see what happens?”
Graham shrugged. He’d agree to pretend, but he was also very much interested in putting his hands in hers, her body pulled close. Aye, he was a right cad, and he knew it. But what man wouldn’t want a chance to dance with such a beautiful lass?
He offered his elbow, and she slid her fingers around the crook of his arm, singeing him right there on the spot. Graham looked down at his arm to see if she’d put a flame to him but found only her fingers resting there.
“Are ye ready to begin the game of losing your betrothed?” he said with wiggled brows.
A nervous laugh escaped her. “Aye.”
“Good. Because I’m already having fun.” And that was not a lie.
She eyed him warily. “What’s in it for you?”
He never thought she’d ask. “I hate the bastard and would love to see him squirm.” Graham flashed her a jovial smile, so his words didn’t alarm her.
“Good enough,” she said, surprising him a bit.
They headed back into the great hall with Lady Isolde passing them on the way out. There was a frown marring her pretty features, and Graham wondered what had happened. Evidently, Cormac had been unsuccessful in wooing the lass. He’d have to talk to his brother about that later. This plan was only going to work if they were both on board.
Inside the great hall, the tables had been pushed aside to allow more room for dancing. The closer Graham and Lady Clara drew to the crowded dance floor, the more eyes started to turn on them.
Someone whispered as they passed, “I knew she was betrothed to a Scot, but I do not think that is he.”
Graham grinned. Then, taking Lady Clara’s hand in his, he spun her in a delicate circle before settling his hand around her waist, their other hands clasped and held up in the air as was the custom.
Just as they began to move, a hulking shadow pushed between them, and a meaty hand pressed to Graham’s chest.
“What do ye think ye’re doing?” Baston was glowering down at Graham so fiercely that if he were a lesser man, he might have pissed himself.
“Dancing with the lady.” He kept his tone neutral as if dancing with Lady Clara were nothing unusual, nothing to garner Baston’s ire, even though that was exactly his plan.
“That ismylady. Get your own,” Baston snarled, reminding Graham of a dog snapping after his bone.
Graham resisted the urge to kick Baston in the ballocks. On the other side of Baston, Clara’s expression had turned stony. He knew she had not respected her betrothed by the way she laughed and rolled her eyes at the table, but to see her expression now, he understood all the more how much she wanted to be out of this marriage. Perhaps his objective of stealing her away would be a blessing for her. She might be more amenable than he’d previously surmised, which would make his being successful all the easier.
“Sir Baston, I am not cattle.” Lady Clara’s words were clipped with irritation, her lips pursed.
Baston whipped his head toward her. “Who has dared call my betrothed a cow? Tell me, and I’ll challenge him right here and now. To the death!”
Dear Lord, the oaf truly was as empty between the ears as Graham had guessed. Rather sad, really, in a pathetic sort of way.
“Might I remind you, sir,” Clara said in a clear and calm voice, “that all challenges to the death have to be approved by Lord Yves, and besides, I doubt very much he would agree for you to do battle with yourself.”
“With myself?” Baston scratched his head and looked between the two of them as if it were just on the edges of his bloated brain to pick up on her meaning.
Graham wanted to slap his forehead but refrained.
“Never mind,” Lady Clara said. “The point is a fight to the death is unnecessary. I was simply having a dance with a knight who asked.”
“Ye are betrothed to me, Lady Clara. Ye canna dance with anyone but me.” And with that, Baston took her by the hand and attempted to do the same delicate spin that Graham had perfected only a moment ago. This ended up sending Clara flying into Sir Giric de Beaumont, another of the Scots in attendance, and the lady he was dancing with.
Graham started to reach for her but stopped when she righted herself and offered an apology to the two people.
“Blast, ye’re a clumsy woman,” Baston was saying. “Ye’d better be more careful than that when we’re back in Scotland, or ye’re liable to take a tumble down the stairs.”
Lady Clara pasted a smile on her lips, and though they’d only just met, Graham could already tell it was forced and filled with impatience.
