Page 3 of The Highlander's Dare
“Suppose ’tis time for you to head to dinner before your betrothed comes to find you.”
Clara resisted the retort prepared to roll off her tongue, and instead nodded. If Baston Ross came to claim her, she’d not have the chance to choose a seat at the feast well away from him. Even his name was stupid. Baston. So close to Bastard. Maybe that was what she’d call him by accident. Nay, nay. She was willing to work on getting rid of the boar, but not on insulting him so openly. Who knew what he might do, and she didn’t want to have to defend herself from him.
This entire tournament was just as stupid as Baston Ross. Men pounding at each other with weapons for a prize. Didn’t they have anything better to do? And at the end, she’d be tossed over a horse and dragged away to Scotland. Clara didn’t evenwantto get married. What she wouldn’t give to be back home in Normandy, practicing with her arrows, and laying in the field with her pets. She’d been forced to leave behind her four hounds, two sheep, three pet rabbits, a squirrel, two cats, and her entire coy pond.
The only pets her mother had allowed her to bring were her horse and her hawk. Those were considered regal and ladylike. Everything else was too much trouble, the countess had claimed.
And Clara had cried all the way to England. There wasn’t a way she’d be able to replace the irreplaceable. Her new husband wasn’t going to allow her to have them, of that much she was certain. Baston Ross would probably eat them!
Nay, not her new husband. She shook her head. She couldn’t think of him in such terms. Her soon-to-be-ex-betrothed.
“My lady?” Again, her maid interrupted her thoughts. “Are you ready? Every step outside has me jumping that it is he.”
That was enough to get Clara’s attention. She hurried to the door of her bedchamber, a special suite set up just for her, which would be the place she’d be mauled after the wedding if she wasn’t successful in getting rid of the Bastard Hog.
If only they would allow women to participate in the games. She might have had a chance at accidentally shooting him with her arrows. Now that would have been a real treat. She didn’t have to kill him, just maim him a little, and then he certainly wouldn’t want to marry her.
The idea had merit; however, she was fairly certain the outcome would only give her grief.
“How do I look?” she asked her maid.
“Beautiful, my lady.”
“Then perhaps we should mess up my hair or rip my skirts?” She lifted the hem of her green kirtle and gave her maid a teasing smile.
“I know what you’re about.”
“Do you?” Clara played innocent with a cock of her shoulder.
“I do not blame you.”
“You’d be the only one.” Clara stepped out into the hall, plastered on a bright smile and followed several other ladies to the scaffold—or rather to the great hall.
2
The great hall at the Rose Citadel was mass chaos. There was really no other way to describe it. Men and women took up more space than air, and what air there was had been filled with the sounds of music, cackling and the overly loud voices of those pressing to be heard. Pipes and strings fought against the din of humans, and Graham could swear even a few hounds were trying to get in on the action.
Alan, the mercenary, had loitered outside their tent while the twins dressed. Since he seemed desperate for work, Graham figured he could aid them at least for the night, as they were essentially working in the dark. They didn’t even know what the women looked like, and it wasn’t as though they’d be wearing labels. And so, Alan had agreed to lead them here, and the coin Graham gave him seemed to motivate the man as he searched the sea of faces for the two ladies in question. No need to search out the bloody Ross brothers. Baston was holding court at one table, his foot up on a bench as he waved his arms about madly, telling some great story that was no doubt a lie. He swung his dingy-looking blond hair out of his eyes in a move that was meant to woo ladies but only had Graham grimacing in disgust.
“There is Lady Clara Galveston. Daughter to the Norman Count de Evreux.” Alan’s voice was low as he pointed to a stunning lass at Baston’s table who was rolling her eyes with the woman who sat beside her, and though she laughed with everyone else, there was something about the way she did so that had Graham grinning. She wasn’t laughing with the vile Ross lad, butathim.
Graham couldn’t take his eyes off her. Her long chestnut hair had been pulled back at the temples but cascaded down her back in shining waves, and her green eyes flashed mirth. She sipped casually from a wine goblet with a tempting bow-shaped mouth that crooked into a smirk when she was finished. She had high cheekbones and an impertinent set to her shoulders. And her green kirtle, from this distance, hugged her curves.
The lady was not at all what Graham expected. His blood heated with interest.
Alan was pointing out Lady Isolde to Cormac, but Graham couldn’t even be bothered to look. He was mesmerized and terrified by Lady Clara all at once. The way she carried herself, so confident. And the way she plainly wasn’t falling for Baston’s charm was exciting.
Ballocks…
All those thoughts he’d had on their long journey to England, and not one of them had prepared him for the possibility that Lady Clara would be beautiful, enticing, and… cynical. Bloody hell, his heart beat faster. He wanted to walk over to her right now and ask her to dance, even though no dancing had started, and he didn’t evenlikedancing.
Cormac elbowed him. “Shall I take Lady Isolde?”
Damn right because his brother better not be trying to claim the cheeky Lady Clara. “And I’ll help myself to Lady Clara,” Graham hurried to say, with a wiggle of his brows at his brother, taking off in the lady’s direction before Cormac changed his mind.
Along the way, he grabbed a leg of fowl off a platter and tore into it, eating hurriedly before he approached the table. He discarded the bone to a dog sniffling about, then swiped a mug of cider and washed away the meat from his mouth. Swiped a serviette to wipe his face. All the while, observing the lady in her environment as she spoke with those in her vicinity, and the way she made side glances at the others. She laughed prettily but was, at the same time, quite observant. Smart. Calculated, even. Almost as if she were playing a part. Interesting. He ran his tongue over his teeth one more time to make certain they were clean, so he didn’t present himself to her with a big hunk of meat between them. Satisfied, he moved forward.
Just as he reached the table and her sly glance slid toward him, the room silenced, and a loud booming voice began speaking from the dais. Graham turned to see a man stand and welcome everyone to the castle. Had to be Lord Yves, the baron who was hosting the tournament.
