Page 8 of The Highlander's Dare
“For some reason, I doubt that it will be a problem.” The sarcasm in her tone was not missed by Graham but was wasted on Baston.
“I think ye underestimate your footing.” Baston swung her again, but this time she seemed ready for it and remained on her feet, not bumping anyone.
There was a strength and elegance about her body that mesmerized him. Though Baston had swung her hard, she’d been able to maintain control, and even turn what could have been a clumsy and wild move into something graceful.
Graham was impressed. And then he was irritated. He wasn’t supposed to be impressed by her. Being captivated by her beauty and grace went against his plans. He was to gain her interest and woo her away. Emotions—being awed, respect, attraction—none of that was to play into his plan. Emotions and sentiments would only ruin a carefully constructed battle.
Indeed, he needed to treat this as he would a battle, with concise and divisive action. With that said, he knew when to stand down, or should he say walk away victorious?
For though Baston had interrupted a dance that had barely got started, dancing had not been Graham’s objective—well,mostlynot his objective. Aye, he’d wanted to feel her body against his, clasp her fingers, stare into her pretty eyes. But, ideally, the objective had been to irritate the hell out of Baston, which he had. And neither had it been Clara’s purpose to dance with Graham. She’d wanted to cause a rift with her betrothed that would convince him to dissolve their betrothal eventually. And given the obvious show of jealousy displayed by the bonehead, they had both succeeded in their desires.
That meant victory, did it not? At least for this night.
The best way to go about dismantling her intended nuptials was to chip away at Baston slowly, and what they’d done had been enough to start for now. No point in getting the bull fully raging just yet. Besides, Graham liked the idea of having fun tormenting Baston and wooing Lady Clara for a little longer. He had an entire week at this blasted tourney; he wouldn’t want to have all his fun in one night and be bored the rest of the time.
Graham grinned and gave a slight bow to Clara, who was looking at him over Baston’s shoulder with something akin to misery before being flung once more.
Poor lass. Graham held in his laugh. This was going to be a lot more entertaining than he’d thought. A hell of a lot more.
He chuckled as he left the great hall, moving outside into the packed bailey, and nodding to several knights and warriors as he passed. Where the hell had Cormac gone? They were due for a conversation on wooing.
The sky overhead shined bright with a nearly full moon, and Graham was thankful the blasted rain that had pummeled them the whole of their trip had finally ceased.
Graham made his way toward the tents, passing on an offer from a willing wench to warm his pallet. She was buxom and bonny to be sure, and by the look in her eye, she promised to be an enthusiastic bed partner, but he needed to keep his focus on the prize. Slaking his lust with someone else was a bad idea. He needed to be as full of desire as possible; it was what made his flirtation skills so potent. Graham fairlyoozeddesire. A talent that had gotten him many things in life, and he hoped got him through this tourney to the end with Lady Clara saying, “I do.”
Even more tents had gone up since he and Cormac had left theirs to venture inside the great hall, and he found himself getting turned around. Finally, he found the right place and encountered his brother drinking a mug of ale with Alan the mercenary, sitting on stools they must have procured from somewhere. Pip the dog lay between the two of them, chewing on a bone.
“Ale?” Cormac asked, holding out a jug.
“Aye.” Graham unhooked his own mug from his belt and held it out for Cormac to fill. “Ye taking in strays?” He nodded at Alan and his dog.
“Funny, lad,” Alan mused with a smirk.
Cormac patted Pip awkwardly, then flicked a flea from his hand.
“That thing is going to give us all a case of the crawlies,” Graham muttered, frowning. “We willna have much success wooing lasses if we’re itching like mad.”
“I’ll give him a bath,” Alan muttered, tossing the rest of his ale down his throat and pushing to stand. The muttering continued as he went, causing both Graham and Cormac to laugh.
“I hired the man,” Cormac said.
“What? I thought ye were against it?”
“I’m no’ hiring him for what he wants, but I need the dog.”
“Why’s that?”
“I fumbled with the lass and told her Pip was mine.”
Both of Graham’s brows shot to his forehead. “Why the bloody hell would ye do that?”
“I was at a loss for words! I practically asked the poor lady to show me her breasts.” Cormac poured another mug of ale for himself.
“How in the hell did ye do that?”
Cormac shook his head. “I’d rather no’ get into it again. Needless to say, I’m floundering. I’m no’ any good at this.” He slid his glance to Graham, shame turning his mouth downward. “How did your evening go? Ye’re back earlier than expected.”
“First of all, brother, ye’re plenty good at it. Ye just need a wee bit of practice. First, let’s start with a smile. Lasses love a smile, and it rarely graces your face. Plus, we’re lucky.” Graham grinned widely and pointed to the dimple in his cheek. “We’ve got a secret weapon. This.”
