Page 28 of The Highlander's Dare
Sigh, so he was going to go that way. Being confined would put a damper on all of her plans.
So, she did the next best thing—she pretended to burst into tears, wailing loudly. And Baston, bless his oafish heart, patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.
“There, there, lass. I know ’tis scary to watch your betrothed fight, but trust me, I will win. I won yesterday, though it didna seem so on the surface. I’ll no’ let a little thing like combat get in the way of our marriage.”
Blast and blast.
She nodded, swiping at her fake tears and feigning an overly exaggerated hiccup.
“Go back to the stands where ye can cheer me on,” he instructed, gaze still wearily upon her.
She glanced over his shoulder, where his friends were snickering at her antics. Why was this so hard? Why would he not just toss her aside? Was the coin so very important to him? Or was it something more? What other deal had her mother and aunt struck with him that would cause the man not to shake in the least?
“You only want me for my coin,” she whined.
“Is that no’ why any Scot marries aSassenach?” He sneered as he turned away, pleased with himself for having the last insulting word.
So, the placating was only that: a show.
Well, fine then. She’d give him an even better show. Her eyes scanned the crowd of knights, and she thought she spotted Graham, only to take note that his dimple seemed to be on the opposite side of his face. His twin. Their identical looks were uncanny and unnerving. And this brother was watching her with a slight smile that quickly turned to a frown when he spotted her staring.
With a defeated sigh, she headed back for the lord’s platform to sit with the other ladies and watch the men bash each other about.
GRAHAM SHOVEDhis way through the throngs of people trying to get to the list field. Alan had managed to locate him having his breakfast at the tavern in time to tell him that Cormac was fighting Edmund the Braw, the Ross clan’s champion, on the practice field in the name of Isolde’s honor. Tossing a few coins toward the vicinity of the table, Graham had taken off at a run, wishing he’d fully suited up this morning.
The only thing he had on him now was the dagger he kept in his boot. How could his brother be so foolish as to take on a man like Edmund the Braw without Graham at his side, and why had their men, Lachlan and Duncan, not come to find him to be his second? Likely because Cormac knew Graham would talk him out of fighting. Edmund the Braw might be the Ross lads’ champion, but the Sutherland fight was not with Edmund—it was with Brodie and Baston Ross. Those cowardly bastards would use a champion instead of fighting their battles themselves, but plenty willing to get someone else killed in their stead.
And Edmund the Braw was a deadly bastard. A massive beast of a man, one who happened to be undefeated. If Edmund killed his brother…
Graham’s head was a jumble of violent thoughts heaped with a heavy helping of fear. Not Cormac! Not his beloved twin.
By the time he made it to the practice field, however, Cormac was sprawled on the ground. Graham prepared to launch into attack when Cormac made a sudden move and dealt Edmund the Braw a final blow, a deadly strike to the throat with a blade.
Graham swayed in relief, the rush of battle hot in his veins. Edmund collapsed, and Cormac shoved him off, climbing to his feet.
Graham turned to Alan. “Next time, find me sooner. If ye want to serve my brother, then ye’d best remember we fight together.” Graham marched away to their tent, prepared to speak with his brother about his choices and his seeming lack of common sense.
It was not often that Graham was the voice of reason, especially where Cormac was concerned. But in this, there appeared to be no other way.
Graham paused outside his tent to find Baston standing there, a few of his cronies behind him.
“I challenge ye to a fight in the melee tomorrow,” Baston said. “Ye and your brother Cormac against my brothers and me.”
Five against two—the odds were not in the Sutherlands’s favor. Of course. He expected nothing less of Baston. The only difference was, he knew they could take them all out with those numbers, but why not make it fair? Graham frowned. “Ye and Brodie against Cormac and me.”
Baston smirked. “As long as I’m the one running my blade through your ballocks, that’s fine with me,” Baston said.
“The melee is blunted weapons,” Graham reminded Baston. What was the bastard up to? Was this how he planned to get around the rule made by Lord Yves that all fights to the death had to be requested through him?
The man snorted. “Blunt as a witch’s tongue.”
A chill swept up Graham’s spine. “’Tis illegal to do battle to the death without the lord’s permission.”
“Who said anything about a battle to the death? I simply said I want to cut off your ballocks and shove them down your throat.” Baston was practically foaming at the mouth with rage. This was about more than Cormac having just killed the Ross champion.
Graham smiled. “This is about a woman.”
Red crept up Baston’s neck. “What the bloody hell are ye talking about?”
