Page 23 of The Highlander's Dare
Graham flashed her one of his intoxicating smiles. “And ye too, my lady. It took a lot of bravery not to tie your favor to your betrothed’s lance.”
The scene flashed before her eyes. “Aye, you have no idea. I fear I have yet to see his retaliation for that course of action.” The latter she mumbled, more to herself than to him, picturing Baston ripping the fabric tent apart in an effort to locate her.
Graham frowned, crossed his arms over his chest. “Ye fear Baston will retaliate?”
“I’m not certain, but it is something I’ve thought about.” She shook her head. “Besides, it is not a burden you need to bear. This is my problem, and I should never have drawn you into it. For that, I do apologize, and I hope that you will find it in your heart to forgive me.”
“We’re friends, Clara, and friends help each other.”
There he was, reminding her again they were only friends. Though her brow wrinkled in a frown, she managed to force herself to smile so he couldn’t see how much his words bothered her.
“I’ll tell you what then, Shield, if I feel in danger, I shall let you know.” This was a complete lie. Already she’d put him in danger by pulling him into her scheme. And hate for a man didn’t seem enough gratification for it to be worth it to Graham.
“As ever, Phoenix, I am at your service.” He bowed low before her, and she tried hard to smile, but the emotions, the desire and something like despair welled inside her.
Without a word of reply, she fled his tent into the rain and made her way back to the castle.
7
“Cormac!” Graham called to his brother for the third time without his blasted twin’s response. He swiped rain droplets from his forehead. He’d only come to the market hoping to find Clara after she’d fled his tent.
The way she’d exited the tent had left a heaviness on his shoulders he couldn’t quite decipher. He’d wanted to comfort her. Before that, he’d wanted to kiss her so bad every inch of his body rebelled when he’d laughed it off. One more second and he’d have pulled her into his arms, laid her down on his pallet and showed her just how much he wanted her. Given her pleasure until they were both left panting and gasping. Proven over and over again that Baston was not the man for her, but that he was—
Graham frowned. Partly from frustration at his own situation and partly from his brother ignoring him, he grabbed an apple from a passing woman in a wide-brimmed hat and chucked it at the back of his brother’s head—perhaps a bit too hard, since it left a few chunks of fruit embedded in Cormac’s dark hair. But it seemed to do the trick just nicely.
Cormac swung around, a snarl on his face.
Graham shrugged as if to say,What? “I tried calling out to ye.”
Cormac admonished him for wasting food when their own people back in Scotland were starving. Graham gave a low groan, realizing the truth of it. His brother did have a point.
Graham picked up the apple, washed it in the rain and handed it back. “Ach, ’tis fine.” He told him to save the part on the back of his head and offered his brother a goofy grin that usually got him out of whatever trouble he was in.
Instead, Cormac remained gruff and complained about not having seen him in the last day or so, and then asked hopefully if he was having success with Clara. Success? They were friends, which Graham kept telling her over and over because he didn’t want to push her away by her thinking that he was like Baston, after her father’s coin.
But he didn’t want to be friends.
He wanted to… What? Obviously, win her and take her to wife, but now the idea was more than just his duty. He wanted her in his arms. He wanted to… care for her. But just now, she’d pulled away on her own, and he didn’t know what that was about. He mentioned this much to Cormac, who grew concerned.
Instead of worrying his brother more, Graham tried for an indulgent smirk and said, “I’m rather having fun with it all.”
That only earned him another rebuke about taking this seriously. If only his brother knew justhowseriously he was taking it. Too seriously, for Graham feared he might be falling for the feisty chit.
Graham turned the tables on his brother, asking after Lady Isolde, not surprised at all when Cormac told him it wasn’t going as well as he’d thought.
They talked some more about Isolde, and Graham offered his brother advice, but then Cormac nodded toward the tavern. “Let’s get out of this rain and get an ale. I’ve something to tell ye that I overheard.”
The rain falling, soaking them wouldn’t have normally bothered Graham, but today it did, only making his mood sourer. He nodded, following his brother into the crowded, dimly lit tavern. They found the last isolated table in the corner. Once their ale was procured, Cormac leaned close over the worn tabletop.
“I had Alan spy on the Rosses for me. They are involved in some sort of coup with Prince John.”
“To overthrow King Richard?”
King Richard of England was currently being held captive by the Holy Roman Emperor, though Henry VI claimed he was a guest. But a guest who couldn’t leave was no guest at all. And in fact, the emperor was demanding a ransom—150,000 marks. A staggering amount that seemed unachievable.
Prince John, the king’s brother, had decided that he wanted the power for himself and claimed Richard had died—that it was simply a rumor that he’d been captured on his way home from the crusade, but fortunately, no one believed him. The poor bastard prince had aligned himself to France and attempted earlier in the year to take control, but there had been quite a lot of upheaval over it, and so he’d agreed to a truce.
But that didn’t stop his scheming. The man was still attempting to undermine his brother’s rule even now, with the French still, and many of the Scots.
