He sat across the hall near her cousin, Mavis, who giggled and pouted at regular intervals.
They deserved each other, she thought heatedly. For Mavis was nearly as conceited as Dugald.
And what did he have to be so vain about? True, his features were as regal as a marble statue’s, his eyes unearthly entrancing, and his kiss…
She felt her face redden at the memory of his kiss. In truth, he was probably no great talent at kissing; she was just inexperienced. If she were wise, she would test other ponds—just for comparison’s sake.
Kelvin scampered up, interrupting her shameful thoughts. “Lady Shona.” His smile was gap-toothed, his hair messed, and when he bowed to her he looked like nothing more than a tiny mischievous lord. “Twould be my pleasure to see ye to the game field. They’re about to begin the dancing.”
She smiled, grateful for the interruption. “And are ye competing, Kelvin?”
“Nay. I’m saving my talents for the swordsmanship.”
“Are ye, now?”
“Aye.” His eyes lit up even more. “If I win, will ye marry me?”
She laughed, then leaned toward him and murmured. “I believe we’ve already discussed that.”
“Aye,” he said, “but—”
“Lady Shona,” Stanford interrupted. “Might I escort ye to the green?”
She offered him a smile, but she could not help but notice that his feet did turn out rather like a water fowl’s.
God’s wrath, she reprimanded herself. She wasn’t planning on choosing her husband because of the shape of his feet. Still…
“I am sorry,” she said, “but I promised Kelvin.”
“Beaten out by a lad?” Hadwin asked, stepping up and grinning around his swollen lip.
“If ye care to keep your teeth, I would suggest ye shut your maw,” Stanford warned.
“Better to lose my teeth than my hair,” Hadwin said, nodding to Stanford’s receding hairline.
“Better my hair than—”
“Gentlemen,” Shona said, “have I mentioned how I love to watch the Highland Fling?”
“Nay.”
“Nay.” They turned simultaneously toward her.
“Tis true. They are giving a dagger to the best dancer. Tis a lovely blade.”
“I will win it for ye, Lady,” Stanford vowed solemnly.
“Consider it a gift from me,” Hadwin countered.
She smiled at each of them in turn. “Ye’d best go practice,” she said, and laid her hand on Kelvin’s bent arm.
The pair bowed and rushed off.
Kelvin laughed. “Promise me ye will not marry either of those two.”
“Marry them?” She sighed. “I feel rather like spanking them.”
He laughed, then sobered. “And what of himl” he asked softly.
She followed his gaze. “William of Atberry?” she asked, nodding to the older lord as they passed.
“Aye.”
“I dunna know.”
The lad was silent. They had crossed the bailey and were heading toward the bridge.
“And what of me when ye wed?” he asked finally.
The bridge echoed a deep resonance beneath their feet.
Shona looked down into the lad’s solemn, dirt-streaked face. The crowd tromped on. Laughter wafted back to them, but she had no desire to join in the merriment. Instead, she turned the lad aside, taking a faded trail that led off to the left. Lifting her skirts, she skidded down the bank of the Gael Burn and drew Kelvin to a halt beside the babbling water.
A log lay half immersed. Shona took a seat there then patted a spot to her right. Kelvin joined her.
“What do ye think will happen when I wed?” she asked.
“I think ye will leave me,” he said simply.
Her heart ached for him. He had seen far too much loss in his short life. “Have I not proved my loyalty to ye yet?” she asked.
He glanced away. “There have been others who proclaimed their love for me.”
“I tell ye this now,” she said. “For as long as I live there will be a place for ye at my side.”
“Truly?” He lifted his small face to gaze at her.
“Truly.”
His expression was tense, but finally it relaxed a mite and he shrugged. “It does not matter, really,” he said, standing up on the log. “I can care for myself.”
He wobbled a little, but his bare feet finally took root on the crumbling bark. Spreading his arms wide, he paced along the length of the log.
“It could well be that some day I will have to take care of ye,” he said.
“Ye think so?” she asked, slipping out of her shoes.
He grinned. “I would bet all I have on it.”
She snorted and stepping up on the log, took two shaky steps toward him. “And why is that?”
He shrugged. “Ye are only a maid.”
Glancing up at him, Shona sighed. “Tis too true,” she agreed. But suddenly the bark beneath her feet began to give way. She slipped sideways with a shriek of dismay.
Kelvin reached for her. Eyes wide, she caught hold of his hand, but instead of trying to hold herself up, she yanked him off his feet.
He hit the water in a geyser of silvery spray. “Help! Help!”
“Help?” she said, laughing, with her toes curled against the log’s smooth truck. “But I am only a maid.”
“Shona!” His arms windmilled.
“Say ye need the help of a maid.”
He was being swept downstream.
“Aye. I need ye!”
She canted her head in thought, waiting a few seconds. The current took him farther along. “All right, then,” she said, “Put your feet down.”
“I canna reach the bottom!”
“Trust me,” she called.
“Shona!” he gasped, but suddenly his head went under. One hand snaked into the air. But in an instant he rose from the depths like Neptune on dry land.
He was sputtering like a fish, with his hair streaming across his face and his clothes hanging heavy against his shoulders. “Ye pulled me in!” he gasped, affronted. “Me!”
She forced a smile, though in truth she had been momentarily worried that the river bottom had somehow changed since the time she had waded there. “A maid tossed ye in, lad,” she said. “And it could well be that a maid will be your undoing, if ye dunna learn to show some respect. Ye’d be wise not to forget it.”
Kelvin scowled as he pushed the hair from his eyes. “Couldna ye have taught me a lesson without getting me soaked?” he asked.
“Nay, lad.”
Shona turned toward the sound of Dugald’s voice. He stood grinning from the bank. He wore rich brown hose, a white tunic, and a russet doublet that was elaborately slashed and puffed. He should have looked ridiculous. She quite resented it that he didn’t.
“Damsel Shona most enjoys teaching lessons and giving dousings at the same time.”
Shona scowled at him. “And if Damsel Shona is seen with Dugald the Debaucher, her father will have his head.”
Dugald laughed then bowed. “I will leave you, then… with my head intact,” he said. “It looks as if the two of you will have to return to the keep for dry garments.” He sighed. “And I was so hoping you would watch me dance. Now I will be forced to prove my grandness in another way.”
Lifting her skirts, Shona traipsed along the log to step onto the bank. “Dunna bother,” she said.
“Oh, but I insist,” he countered, and leaning closer, he whispered. “Let us say tonight, in your chambers.”
Chapter 13
By the time Kelvin had changed clothes and they had reached the green, the Highland fling had been danced, and the dagger was being presented to Hadwin.
Stanford was looking grumpy, and Dugald, when Shona glanced at him, was watching her. She turned quickly away. What was wrong with the man? Surely he had been joking when he mentioned meeting in her chambers.
She glanced toward him again, but he was gone. She s
cowled, though God knew the farther away he went, the happier she would be.
“Nay,” someone murmured.
Shona turned abruptly only to find Dugald standing only inches behind her, his chest all but pressed against her back.
“Nay what?” she asked, finding her breath with some difficulty.
“Nay, I do not think you should accept the dagger from him.”
“I didna know I asked your opinion.”
“In truth, you did not,” he said. “But I assumed you were too shy to trouble me.”
“How astute ye are.”
“Tis true. In fact, the Duchess of Windway was going to call me Dugald the Astute,” he murmured, his gaze still on Hadwin. “But she thought ‘the Darling’ better suited me.”
“Are ye certain it was not ‘the Dolt’?”
He smiled into her eyes. “Quite certain.”
“Ye would be,” she said, then, “be gone before my father sees ye.”
“Truly, Shona, I do not think you should accept Hadwin’s winnings. Twould not be seemly.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “And may I ask why?”
He chuckled softly. “Tis quite obvious. That is to say, surely twould not be right to encourage another man’s hopes, knowing I have stolen your heart.”
“Stolen my—”
“After all,” he interrupted, leaning closer. “I assume you do not share a bed with every man you meet.”
She stared at him in silent shock.
“Do you?” he asked.
“Tis hardly your affair who—”
“Oh. Tsk,” he said, bowing slightly. “I wish I could stay and chat, but I am told the archery contest is next and I must go win it.”
She felt her back stiffen. ‘ ‘Tis that simple, is it?”
“Of course.”
“Are ye not afraid ye will muss your hair?”
He grinned at her like an evil satyr. “I’ve been told I look quite adorable with my hair mussed.”
“The queen of France, I suppose.”
“Nay, twas the Baroness de Lindon.”
“Of course.”
“The point is, lass, you should not accept a gift from any but your heart’s true desire.”
“Which would be…”
“Me.” He smiled again.
“And mayhap tis ye whom I will not take a gift from,” she said.
He grinned. “Truly? Then mayhap I should give it to your cousin.”
She opened her mouth to berate him, but with a grin and a bow, he turned away.
Shona stared after him.
“Oh,” he said, turning back. “I need a scrap of cloth to bind about my arrow. Would you like to give me a piece from your sleeve?”
“I’d like to give ye a punch in the—” she began, but he turned away with a chuckle.
“Do not trouble yourself,” he said. “I will ask Mavis for one of her ribbons.”
Shona watched him go. She would love to enter the contest herself and show Dugald Kinnaird some humility. Or better yet, perhaps Dugald Kinnaird could be the target. They could tie him to a tree and— “Lady Shona,” Hadwin said, bounding up to her. “Twould be an honor if ye would accept this gift from me.”
A disconcerting chuckle drifted toward her. She glanced irritably in Dugald’s direction, but he failed to turn around. Still, she knew it was he, and every hair on the back of her neck stood on end.
“Lady,” Hadwin said.
“Oh.” She brought herself back to the present. “Ye are too kind. Surely ye should keep such a wondrous—-”
“Nay,” he interrupted. “I would that ye have it.”
That chuckle again, as if it were right in her ear. She mentally ground her teeth.
“Tis ever so kind of ye, Hadwin,” she said, accepting the knife. “Thank ye.”
“And may I escort ye to the archery grounds?”
“Twould be an honor,” she said, and hoped Dugald would turn around at that second and die of jealousy. Unfortunately, he did not turn around at all.
Not far away, a pair of narrow carts sat upon a small green knoll. A round target stuffed with hay and covered in cloth hung on each cart, and upon the center of the shields, circles were marked with black paint.
The prospective archers were stringing their bows. Someone played a lute not far away. The whimsical melody filled the space between the grove of rowans and the next verdant hill. Soon a woman’s voice was added to the music.
Hadwin bowed and left to join the other competitors. Shona scanned the crowd. There were perhaps two dozen prospective archers, snapping their strings and testing their supple weapons.
Her own fingers itched as she watched them. There was something exhilarating about the smooth feel of a fine oaken bow in her hands, something that she desired now.
“Ye said ye had no wish to shame them, lass.”
She turned at the sound of her father’s voice. “Whatever do ye mean?”
“Ye know exactly what I mean, so dunna bother to look the innocent.”
She tried to look offended instead. “I am innocent,” she grumbled. “And I am sweet.”
He laughed. “Then rid yourself of the gleam in your eye afore ye frighten someone.”
She scowled. “It seems to me, if they are afraid of competition they shouldn’t be stringing their bows.”
“Shona,” he said, his tone warning. “Do ye wish to die unwed?”
She thought about it, but apparently she took too much time, for in a moment he urged her again.
“Shona?”
“Nay I dunna,” she said grumpily.
“Then behave yourself. Just because I taught ye the skills of a man does not mean ye dunna need a man.”
“Then I would have a man who wouldna be afraid of a woman who can shoot an arrow.”
“We men are a tender lot, daughter mine,” he said. “Best not to bruise our frail opinions of ourselves. We like to think we are quite superior, in raw strength if naught else. Ye dunna wish to scare them off.”
“But ye weren’t scared,” she said. “And ye were up against a woman who abducted ye at knifepoint and threatened to skewer ye to a tree.”
“Aye well.” He sighed as he put his arm about her and turned her toward a pleasant spot beneath a bent hazel tree. “If the truth be told, I am a better man than most, Shona.”
“Or as Mother would say—”
“Shush, Daughter,” Roderic said. “Watch the show and prepare to look impressed.”
She all but grunted.
The archers lined up, several per target. The arrows bore tiny scraps of cloth of varying colors.
The competitors lifted their weapons shoulder high. Despite everything, Shona found she was holding her breath.
“Be ready,” called Bullock, who officiated again.
The archers drew back on their strings. The crowd fell silent.
“Let fly,” yelled Bullock.
The arrows hissed like swarming locust toward the targets. There was a barrage of twangs as some struck home, some soared into the distance.
Bullock stepped forward to check the results of the target nearest himself. “The three arrows closest to the mark are the gray.” He paused. There was a moment of silence before a young lad, not past his sixteenth year, raised his arm in triumph. “Gilmour of Lairg,” Bullock called.
The crowd cheered.
Bullock held up the next arrow. “The red.” Bullock grinned. “Me own son, Michael.”
Shona smiled and cheered, feeling the joy of the moment, despite herself.
“And the green,” Bullock called, lifting the last arrow. Dugald raised his arm.
Shona fell silent, and in that moment Dugald glanced at her, his devilish eyes laughing.
From across the field, another official called the three top archers. But Shona failed to notice their names. The targets were moved back. Only the six best archers shot this time. Again Dugald’s arrow soared skyward only to arch like a magical rainbow and land with
sickening precision in the bull’s eye.
Shona watched as he stepped forward to accept his award. Her fingers curled into fists. She pursed her lips. She had told her father she would not compete, and she would not. She would not.
Dugald lifted the brooch he had won and turned toward Mavis.
And Shona stepped forward, pulled against her will. Her mind demanded she remain silent, but her lips were already moving. “It hardly seems right to let this brooch leave Dun Ard,” she called.
Dugald turned toward her, his brows raised. She had no time to notice the rest of the crowd that must be staring at her as if she’d lost her mind, which, in fact, might be the case.
“Are ye thinking of wrestling the lad for it?” Bullock asked, leaning toward her.
Shona didn’t bother glaring at him. He would only laugh anyway, for he knew her too well.
Instead, she gave him a smile that said she was just a girl, fragile, bonny and harmless. “Of course not. But mayhap there are others who would have liked to enter.” Beside her, she felt her father’s glower.
“Then they should have been here, lass,” Bullock said.
“Aye.” She tried the smile again. “But surely Dugald of Kinnaird is not scared of a bit of competition. After all, he canna be called ‘the Dragon’ for nothing.”
She dared not look at her father. But suddenly Dugald stepped forward. He held the brooch in one hand. There was the slightest smile on his face and a quicksilver spark of mischief in his eyes.
“If you are so fond of the brooch, Mistress Shona, I would give it to you. There is no need for you to fret.”
“I am not fretting.” She returned his smile, upping his brilliance. “But I am certain a man with your…vanity…would have no wish to win unless he knew he had beaten all comers.”
He glanced about him, looking innocent. “Is there, mayhap, some other man who would challenge me?”
She gritted a smile at him. “Not a man, but a woman.”
His brows rose again, but in that moment she realized he was not the least bit surprised. He bowed, still smiling and lifted his bow toward her. But suddenly Hadwin rushed forward, his own weapon strung and ready.
“Please, Lady, twould be my pleasure if ye would use mine.”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Stanford clench his fists, but she was beyond worrying if the two of them beat each other senseless over this new silliness. Instead, she took the bow and beamed at the bearer before turning back toward Dugald.
Highland Scoundrel (Highland Brides) Page 17