Page 18 of The Highlander's Dare
Graham nodded, working hard not to grin like a cat who’d finally caught the mouse. The little minx had gotten him invited as she’d said she would. Wasn’t that impressive?
Throughout the day, he’d begun to doubt his earlier worries about whose side she was on. There was no way someone could fake that kiss and the way she’d smashed into him first—her eagerness, the passion, the mortification following—that had all been real. And so, had the way she’d kissed him after, the desire he’d seen lurking in her eyes. Those powerful primal reactions would be hard to imitate, even for a talented actress, which clearly, she was. If Alan believed that she was playing nice with her betrothed, that was plenty of proof there. Whatever plan she’d put into place to destroy Baston’s good luck charm had to be working, else his invitation would not have come for she’d have nothing to report.
What exactlyhadshe been doing on the floor of the great hall? He couldn’t wait to find out.
Graham made his way back to his tent to clean himself up before the feast. He’d have to wear a fine tunic and shave the stubble from his face. Cormac was nowhere to be seen, as usual, the evidence of his having been there before left behind.
Upon entering through the gate of the castle, Graham glanced up at the ramparts, spotting Lady Isolde’s piercing glower. But before he could decipher the meaning behind it, Clara brushed his side, and he smiled down at her, the tension in his body releasing. Just like that, with her beside him, he instantly felt better. What was that all about?
“For a moment, I did not recognize you, sir,” she teased.
“And why’s that?”
“You’ve shaved the stubble from your face. I thought you were your brother.”
Graham chuckled. “I too own a shaving blade. Have ye seen Cormac?” He glanced around at the knights in the bailey. If Lady Isolde was atop the tower, where was his brother? What progress was he making?
She shook her head. “Not just now.”
“Thank ye for the invitation to the feast.” His stomach growled as they entered the great hall, and the scents of hearty fare attacked his senses. Lord, but he was starving.
“I had to. Before Baston sees us together and directs one, or both of us, to different tables. Let us sit.” Clara led him to the same table she’d dined at the first night he’d seen her and pointed for him to sit across from her. “The plan worked.”
“Did it?”
“Aye. Well, sort of. There are a few kinks I need to work out.” She beamed, then looked about surreptitiously. “Hold out your hand under the table.”
Graham narrowed his eyes but did as she directed and stuck his hand under the table. Nothing happened.
“We are not close enough,” she murmured. “I’m trying to hand you something.” Her face brightened when she saw the serving wench pouring wine for a few people down the table. “Oh, I know.”
She passed him her wine goblet. “Will ye have her pour me some more wine?”
Graham frowned into the cup, seeing a tiny piece of worn wood.
“Take that out,” she whispered. “Put it in your pouch.”
Graham did as she asked and then handed the wench the cup of wine. Before he could ask what the meaning of the piece was, Baston smashed through the doors of the great hall and announced his presence to everyone.
“What are ye doing here?” he asked Graham, his irritation palatable when he reached the table.
Graham smirked up at the bastard. “I was invited.”
“By whom?” Baston immediately looked at Clara, which Graham found very interesting.
“Lord Yves.”
Baston looked back at Graham, a little surprised. “And why are ye sitting at this table?” The arsehole’s eyes slid toward Clara, his jealousy and lack of confidence evident in a flash that was briefly there and gone.
Now Graham was going to put Lady Clara to the test. “The lady invited me to sit.”
Baston snapped his head in Clara’s direction; this time, his confusion was wiped clean and replaced by jealousy full on. She smiled up at her betrothed with not a trace of worry in her features.
“Oh, I remembered that the two of you knew each other, and I thought it would be good for you to catch up.” She fluttered her eyelashes and flashed a vapid smile.
Graham wanted to applaud the show. She was truly that good.
“Catch up?” Baston nearly bellowed. “I loathe this man, and I dinna want him at my table.”
