by Alyssa Stark
“I ken that it was, sweetheart. I could see how hard you were trying to placate Rogan. I could see that it was difficult for you,” he said understandingly. “Twas verra brave, Bella.”
“I didn’t like it when he touched me, it felt wrong,” Isobel confided.
“I didna particularly care for that either,” Tristan chuckled. “Quiet now, Bella. I canna bear to see you cry.” He kissed her forehead, his lips were soft and reassuring against her skin. “I’m here now,” he whispered.
Tristan leaned forward and placed a sweet kiss upon Isobel’s lips.
His lips had merely brushed against hers, but that had been enough to make Isobel hungry for more. Unable to quell her overwhelming desire, she lifted up onto her tip toes and tiled her chin up towards Tristan.
Tristan looked down into her eyes intently. He ran his finger over her lips with aching tenderness. His fingers trailed down the soft curve of Isobel’s neck.
“Ye are meant for me,” Tristan said possessively.
“Aye,” Isobel agreed. “And you are meant for me,” she said as she bit her lower lip desirously.
“A run mo chroi,” Tristan said reverently as he looked into Isobel’s eyes. His finger grazed lovingly over her collarbone. “I want to scream from the rooftops and tell the world how I love ye, and that ye love me back. I want the clan and all of Scotland to know that your heart belongs to me already, but I cannot,” Tristan whispered regretfully.
Isobel’s heart went wild at Tristan’s honeyed words.
She reached up and traced her finger over the curve of Tristan’s angular jaw.
“You will win the tournament. It has to be. God does not put two people together such as he’s done with us only to tear them apart. You will win!”
“Aye,” Tristan agreed. “We will win. And then the whole clan will know the secret of my heart,” he said softly as he nuzzled Isobel’s neck. He nipped playfully at her earlobe, eliciting a surprised giggle from Isobel.
Tristan growled softly and captured her lips in a heated kiss. His tongue flicked at her lips and she opened for him. His tongue delved into her hot mouth and dueled with hers. He kissed her passionately, claiming her mouth possessively as his lips slanted over hers.
Isobel moaned against his lips, spurring his lust onward. She sagged against his chest when her knees became weak. The world and all of its problems fell away completely.
Tristan was all that mattered.
He consumed her.
Isobel ran her fingers through his hair. Her nails raked at his back, marking him with the fury of her need for him.
Tristan thought that he had never experienced a more divine sensation. Kissing Isobel’s sweet lips whilst her body was pressed against the length of his own was exquisite torture. He felt himself growing aroused and wondered if the lass had any notion of how greatly she affected him.
He ended the kiss and pulled away from her, lest he lose all control. Placing soft kisses first on her cheek, he tilted her head slightly to the side and nuzzled her hair before placing a kiss in the hollow at the base of Isobel’s ear.
“Ye smell sae lovely,” he whispered as he drew in a deep, raspy breath. “I think this is my favorite place to kiss ye,” he divulged as he kissed her lightly again in the hidden hollow behind her ear.
Isobel laughed softly and leaned her head further to the side to provide Tristan with greater access. She felt his arousal pressed against her belly. Instead of being frightened, her curiosity about Tristan’s body intensified. His body was such a contrast to her own, so muscular and sinewy while her body was soft and supple. She pressed herself experimentally against him.
Tristan growled in response and nipped at her earlobe. He took in a deep breath and gathered Isobel firmly against his chest before settling his chin atop her head. The lass drove him mad with desire. He needed to slow down or he feared that he might lose all control.
“I wish that I could whisk ye away from all of this, sweetheart. Would that we could leave this place and forget about your father’s tournament.”
“But you know that we cannot,” Isobel said softly as she buried her face in Tristan’s shirt and inhaled deeply. She loved his masculine scent.
“All I want is you,” he said as he leaned down and kissed her forehead.
His words made butterflies take flight in Isobel’s stomach. For an instant, she imagined what it would be like to forget everything and run away with Tristan.
“I have responsibilities here,” she countered. “And I want you to be by my side as my husband, as the Laird of our people. Can you not see that this is the only way?” Isobel asked as she pushed away from Tristan’s chest and looked up into his hazel eyes.
“’Tis not the only way, Bella. But if it is the way that you wish it to be, then so it shall be,” Tristan said resolutely. “I will fight until my dying breath to make it so.”
..oo Chapter Fourteen oo..
“Ye get that wicked hog intae the fence and perhaps I’ll pay ye the rents,” Gowan MacMurtry said as he narrowed his eyes at Tristan. “Still sits wrong with me that I should pay that MacLaughlin bastard sae much as a shilling!” the farmer grumbled as he adjusted the heavily worn fabric of his plaid. “I’ve nae allegiance tae him anyhow, his war chief came and annexed my land and…”
“Sae ye mean tae tell me that I can get that hog intae this fence, that ye will pay the taxes?” Tristan said as he pointed at the feral sow grazing happily in the field. She was monstrous in size and could have trampled Tristan under her weight. And at present, she did not look as if she wished to be disturbed.
“Aye,” Gowan nodded. “That’s the hog. We call her ‘Satan’,” he said with a mischievous smile.
“Ye have a deal,” Tristan said enthusiastically as he extended his hand to Gowan.
Gowan MacMurtry shook his hand and laughed in disbelief.
This young lad must be as stupid as he is green.
Tristan put one hand up on the rail fence and leapt deftly over it. He walked slowly towards the giant beast, having only his determination and a small dagger with which to protect himself should she decide to charge.
This challenge was proving to be a bit more tricky that Tristan had anticipated. Each of the five remaining contenders had been given a new tenant to collect the harvest rents from. Each of the tenants worked land that had been newly acquired by Hector Cameron’s most recent raid.
The problem was that none of the new tenants were pleased about being annexed into Clan McLaughlin’s holdings. Tristan had been charged with collecting rent from Gowan MacMurtry, a man hardened by a life a difficult labor and war. On the long ride towards MacMurtry’s farm, Tristan had decided to employ a risky tactic.
Rather than collecting MacMurtry’s rents by force, as he was sure that Rogan would have tried, Tristan would try to educate MacMurtry on the benefits of being annexed into Clan McLaughlin.
And catching this hog was vital to his success at that plan.
MacMurtry had to see belonging to the clan as an advantage, or Tristan was sure that the crusty old man would never fork over his share of the rents.
Tristan now stood about ten meters from the enormous hog. He walked slowly.
She raised her head.
Tristan stopped in his tracks. His muscles were tense as his eyes anticipated the hog’s next movement.
Her beady eyes watched him closely.
She snorted loudly, giving Tristan a warning that he should not dare come closer.
Tristan knit his eyebrows together.
He had to get this hog inside the fence.
He took another step towards her.
His heart raced in his chest.
The hog’s foot pawed at the ground. She snorted again and stood her ground.
Tristan took another step.
The hog was finished with games.
She lowered her head and charged at Tristan, coming at him as if released from a canon. Her pendulous teats swung heavily from side-to-side
as she thundered towards him, grunting with each burdensome step that she took.
Tristan’s eyes widened and he dodged out of her path just in time, narrowly avoiding her sharp hooves. He landed in a large puddle of mud and scrambled to find traction for his boots as the hog changed course and circled back towards him.
Tristan ran as if the devil was at his heels. He swung deftly over the rail fence and stood, chest heaving and covered in mud from head to toe next to a laughing Gowan MacMurtry.
“Ye thought that she might just come right tae ye, did ye, lad?” MacMurtry laughed, his voice coming as a wheeze between fits of laughter. “I’d have brought her in myself if it were that simple!” he chortled.
Tristan reached up and wiped the mud from his face. He was not in the mood to be badgered by the gruff farmer. Swinging his leg back up and over the rail fence, he stalked towards the hog with renewed purpose.
“Looks like I’ll keep the rents and have some entertainment for the day!” Gowan called as Tristan neared the hog.
Tristan growled under his breath.
Hearing the sound, the hog raised her head.
Giving no warning this time, she charged at Tristan.
Tristan glared at the enormous beast and dropped into an athletic stance.
He would be ready for her this time.
His heart pounded in his chest as he watched the beast charge him.
Waiting until the last possible second, he dodged to the side and leapt onto her back. His fingers dug into her rolls of flesh, holding on for dear life and she ran towards the rail fence. Her skin was thick and covered with a blanket of course hair.
“Run ye demon!” Tristan yelled as he clung to the hog’s back.
She squealed wildly in response to his voice, her hooves sliding in the mud as her body thrashed about in an effort to unseat her rider.
Tristan’s eyes glanced up towards the fence.
Just a wee bit farther.
The hog bucked and jerked beneath him.
As they neared the opening in the fence, she veered hard towards the right.
Tristan threw his body weight against hers, knocking the beast off center. She squealed loudly and slipped in the mud, sending the both of them plowing through the slurry of mud and animal dung that decorated the entrance to the corral.
They slid in unison through the gate.
“Close the gate!” Tristan screamed at MacMurtry, who stood against the rail fence, eyes wide with disbelief.
The farmer sprung into motion and swung the heavy gate closed, effectively securing Tristan’s prize within the enclosed fence.
Tristan slipped in the mud and landed on his back side.
The hog eye him with complete abhorrence. She scrambled to get her footing in the thick mud, grunting and squealing as she attempted to right her massive body.
Tristan struggled to his feet and threw himself over the fence.
MacMurtry lie on his back, laughing so hard that his sides hurt.
Tristan landed flat on his back next to McMurtry, coated with stinking mud from head to foot. He wiped the mud away from his face and relaxed against the ground.
He said a quick prayer of gratitude that the hog had not killed him.
His chest heaved from the exertion of his adventure.
But he had succeeded.
The damn hog was inside the fence.
“I’ve met yer challenge, MacMurtry,” Tristan said with exhaustion. “Now hand over your share of the rents.”
Gowan held his sides as he rolled back and forth on the ground. His face was red from his fit of laughter and tears rolled down his aged face.
“Ye’ve earned the rents, lad,” Gowan said as he gulped for air in between fits of laughter. “I’ve…I’ve not laughed like this since I was a lad myself,” he giggled.
Tristan stood and wiped his muddy hand on his kilt. He extended his hand down towards MacMurtry and helped him to his feet.
The farmer clapped Tristan on the back, smiling as his hand was coated with a thick covering of mud.
“Ye’ll make a fine Laird someday, lad. I hope that ye win.”
..ooOoo..
Tristan arrived back at MacLaughlin keep with a thick crust of mud covering most of his body, but also with a smile on his face. For he carried a purse heavy with Gowan MacMurtry’s rents and a balanced ledger.
When Isobel had watched him approach the podium with the purse in hand, she had lifted her hand to her mouth and arched her eyebrows as his disheveled appearance. One look from Tristan had told her that it was best not to ask what had happened, at least not right now.
He had then smiled at her through the layer of dried mud that caked his face.
Tristan had looked silly, but despite everything, his smile warmed Isobel’s heart.
Whatever had happened to him, he had endured it for her sake alone.
And she loved him even more for that.
Tristan deposited MacMurtry’s purse on the podium without saying a word.
He had winked at Isobel playfully when Hodges was not watching and then silently excused himself to go bathe.
Isobel’s heart sang with joy as she watched Tristan walk away.
For he had been the first man to return with rents, which would mean that he would be her companion tonight at the evening meal.
And perhaps then she would ask him what in the world had transpired at Gowan MacMurtry’s farm.
..ooOoo..
Tristan trailed his finger lightly up Isobel’s thigh. His hand was secreted beneath the table cloth.
Isobel’s pulse quickened. She struggled to uphold her ruse of normalcy as Tristan’s fingers brushed lightly over her leg. She felt his eyes upon her. He was watching her try to stifle her reaction to him.
Isobel bit her lower lip.
She reached under the table linen and grabbed Tristan’s hand.
He chuckled under his breath and settled for holding her hand secretly beneath the table.
Isobel smiled over at him shyly, her cheeks were flushed an alluring pink.
“Will you tell me what happened today?” she asked eagerly.
“Tis a miracle that I’m alive,” Tristan laughed heartily as he squeezed her hand beneath the table. “MacMurtry told me that he would not pay the rents. Not unless I was able to get his feral hog intae the fence,” he explained as his hazel eyes twinkled with mischief.
“How did you catch her?” Isobel exclaimed, her face alight with intrigue. Tristan had looked like he had wrestled the hog into the fence with his bare hands! He had been covered from head to foot with mud and had worn a dour expression when he had surrendered MacMurtry’s purse to Hodges.
“I rode her into the corral,” Tristan laughed. He reached up and raked his hand through his freshly washed hair. The story was so unbelievable that he himself could hardly fathom it to be true.
“You rode her?” Isobel remarked in utter disbelief.
“Aye,” Tristan laughed. “She charged me for the second time and it was just a reaction…I jumped ontae her back and rode her in through the gate!”
Isobel joined him in laughter. Tears came to her eyes as she imagined Tristan riding a hog.
“And the mud?” she said through her fit of laughter.
“She dumped us both intae the mud just before the fence!” Tristan recalled, his chest shaking with his laughter. “Ye should have seen MacMurtry! ‘Twas the spectacle of it all that caused him tae pay his rents willingly,” Tristan smiled as he remembered how Gowan MacMurtry had laughed.
They laughed together for a moment in the firelight. Tristan squeezed Isobel’s hand beneath the table, delighting in the simple pleasure of holding her hand within his. He looked upon her now, his heart yearning for her more and more with each passing moment.
Laughter suited Isobel well.
She looked happy.
Winning the latest challenge kindled the fire of hope within Tristan.
Only four men remained in the tournament now.
Tristan ran his fingers gently over Isobel’s knuckles.
He was so close to winning the right to claim her as his own.
Tristan knew that he had already claimed Isobel’s heart just as surely as he knew that she had claimed his, but he knew not what the future held for them.
Lord willing, he would win but two more challenges.
He was so very close. He had come so very far.
Tristan admitted the dreadful truth that beat with every pulse of his heart.
Losing the tournament would mean losing his life.
For a life without Isobel could not be.
Tristan leaned close to Isobel so that only she could hear his shrouded words.
“Have hope, my love,” he whispered. “For we have nearly won.”
..oo Chapter Fifteen oo..
“The field has been narrowed to four capable men!” Hodges proclaimed from the podium. The crowd erupted with a wave of applause and shouts. “The final challenge shall be one of sword play. A man deserving to be called Laird of Clan McLaughlin must be an expert swordsman,” Hodges bellowed as he looked upon the remaining contenders. “Our Laird will lead Clan McLaughlin into war and victory on the field!”
The crowd of clansmen exploded with shouts of “Victory!”
Tristan stood in between Rogan Cameron and Fergus McLaughlin. To the Cameron’s left was Ramsay Innes, a quiet outlier that Tristan knew little of. Ramsay had traveled the farthest to participate in the tournament and had said little during his time with the McLaughlins. Tristan knew better than to underestimate a quiet man, but at present, his eyes shifted towards Rogan Cameron, the man that he knew to be a fearsome sword fighter.
A smirk was emblazoned on Rogan’s face.
The final challenge was to be a sword fight.
And to Rogan Cameron, a sword fight was not a challenge.
He rolled his shoulders arrogantly and smiled at the crowd.
“There will be nay armor allowed on the field,” Hodges said as he regarded the remaining competitors. “Ye shall fight with only a claymore, nay dirks shall be permitted. Ye may choose tae yield to an opponent whose skill with a sword is greater than yours. I bid you to have mercy if your opponent yields,” Hodges said as he glared right at Rogan.