“Breta?”
Oh no. This morning couldn’t possibly get any worse. Breta looked up to find her father looking down at her, shock on his face.
“Da! Um...”
He grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet, marching her toward his tent. Breta allowed him to do so, miserable that she had been caught. She hadn’t wanted him to know that she had, in fact, lost the games, accomplishing nothing by sneaking here.
Well, that wasn’t necessarily the truth. She had accomplished a broken heart.
It wasn’t until they were in his spacious tent that he looked at her, anger evident in his gaze.
“Wot are ye doing here, Daughter?”
“I participated in the games, Da,” Breta whispered.
He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at her. “I am well aware of that now. I thought ye were some daft lass that thought she could compete against seasoned warriors! Now I am surprised tae find that it was mah own daughter!”
Breta flinched at his raised tone, wishing she could tell him differently. It didn’t matter what she said. What he was saying was the truth.
“I had tae. I asked ye and ye wouldnae let me participate.”
“Because ye are a laird’s daughter!” he shouted. “This place isnae a place for ye! Why did ye think I didnae bring yer ma? This is nothing more than a camp full of bastards, some that still see us as enemies.”
“I’m vera sorry,” she told him, knowing that it was all she could offer.
He eyed her. “Where have ye been staying?”
There was no way she was going to tell him the truth about last night and whose tent she had been sleeping in.
“I went tae Garia’s,” she said, hoping that her sister could forgive her for adding her to this mess she had created.
He muttered under his breath. “At least ye were smart enough tae not stay in camp,” he said, dropping his stance. “Yer ma is going tae kill me and ye both.”
Breta was glad to hear some of his anger ebb, knowing that he couldn’t stay mad at her for long. “Did ye see me compete yesterday?”
He nodded. “Ye were quite good, Daughter. I knew ye were a lass, I just didnae know ye were mah own flesh and blood.”
Did everyone see through my rouse?
“I failed,” she replied, thinking of the last game. “I didnae move on.”
Her father held out his arms, and she rushed into them, crushing her face to his chest. “Oh, Breta,” he said, his hand on her back. “’Tis not a failure ye brave, misguided lass. Do ye think many would have traveled with mah warriors undetected? Competed in games that were meant for warriors? Nay, I dinnae think so.”
His words cracked up the emotion she had been holding back, not just about the games but also about the bumbling she had done with Will.
He shushed her cries and finally, Breta was able to step back, wiping the remainder of the tears from her eyes.
“Ye are a McLeish,” he told her, his hands resting on her shoulders. “Ye are mah daughter. This is no time for tears, Breta.”
“Aye, Da,” she said, clearing her throat.
He tapped on his chin. “Well, now since ye are here, perhaps we can find ye a husband.”
Breta groaned, but he shook his head. “’Tis yer penance, Daughter, for disobeying me.”
She hung her head, her cheeks heated. “Aye, Da.”
Now she must pay the price.
14
Will watched as Breta walked beside her father to the viewing area for the games. She was wearing a simple gown of deep blue, her auburn hair in a neat braid draped over one shoulder. Her skin was pale but rosy, the cool air putting a deep pink color on her cheeks.
Gone was the woman who had hidden behind a cloak and competed in the games. In her place was a woman he didn’t feel as if he knew.
She was every inch of a laird’s daughter.
Grinding his teeth together, Will turned away from her.
It was yet another morning full of games, the group whittled down even further from those that had started yesterday. Now they were facing the caber throws, most having stripped down to their breeks and kilts in preparation.
He was glad that Breta had gotten eliminated yesterday, for she would have struggled through this feat of strength this morning and likely would have exposed herself to her true identity while trying.
Either that or she would have killed herself attempting.
Clearing his throat, Will half listened to Katherine’s instructions, his eyes straying to where Breta stood by her father, her hands clasped behind her back. More than one Scot was noting the lass, and Will wondered if that was what the plan was now. Was this her punishment from her father? Will bet that she wouldn’t want to be put on display like this, but she was a laird’s daughter, and her future involved a husband befitting of her station.
The thought unsettled him.
“Well, now. It looks like our mystery lass has been unmasked.”
Will didn’t even bother looking at Cameron. He would be smirking, and Will was itching for a fight to release some pent-up energy he couldn’t seem to get rid of, and all because of her.
“I dinnae know wot ye are talking aboot.”
“Sure, ye dinnae,” Cameron laughed. “Mah wife cannae hold a secret, ye know.”
Will sighed. Of course, she couldn’t around her husband. “It doesnae matter now.”
But Cameron wasn’t ready to end the conversation. “Why is that? Do ye not like the lass any longer?”
Will cut his eyes sharply to Cameron. “Wot are ye talking aboot?”
Cameron grinned. “I knew that would get yer attention. I know ye like the lass. Why not continue tae pursue her?”
Will frowned at that. He had never pursued Breta. She just fell into his life, and for a while, he couldn’t get her out of his thoughts.
Well, he still couldn’t. She had haunted his dreams last night in that tent, alone. He had known, of course, that her father had found her out. He had eyes and ears all over the camp, and one of his warriors had informed him that Laird McLeish’s daughter had arrived at camp per his request.
Will was the only one who knew differently, but he hadn’t realized how much it would affect him until this very moment. Overnight, Breta had gone from his mystery participant to a laird’s daughter.
Therefore, untouchable to him. He shouldn’t have touched her to begin with and had been glad that he had been able to stop before it had gotten out of hand.
It didn’t matter that he wanted to continue. Had his senses not come to him at that moment, she would have been stripped of her clothing and on his bedroll before they both could have taken a breath. The way she had touched him...he had never allowed anyone to touch him like that before.
When Breta had done it, he had felt something stir in his stone soul, something that was akin to caring for the lass.
That was another reason he had stopped it between them. He didn’t wish to have a lass to call his own.
He didn’t want children
He only wished for his warriors and to continue to protect his laird.
But as Will watched Breta stand next to her father, looking every inch a laird’s daughter, he wasn’t so certain his resolve was as strong as it had been before.
That night, Will walked into the great hall, tugging on his tunic as he did so. After the last game of the day, Katherine had informed him that she would be inviting some of the clan leaders to a dinner at the keep. He had protested, stating it wasn’t safe to do so, but she had told him he had no say so in the manner and that he was to report to the dinner as well.
So here he was, in the only ceremonial-looking tunic he had, his tartan kilt, and his scuffed boots polished to a dull sheen.
Will had also taken to dunking himself in the bath that had been prepared for him in his room at the keep, feeling out of place without the comfort of the barracks around him. No one knew how hard it was for him to live in this keep, but they did not question his
need to be elsewhere.
When he reached the crowd that was gathered, Will felt as if he hadn’t done a good enough job with his own warriors that were dispatched for protection of the laird tonight. The crowd was larger than he anticipated, and a bolt of fear threaded through his spine. How was he going to protect Katherine in this?
“Will!”
Will turned to find Cameron waving him over, and was surprised. But it wasn’t the fact that Cameron was asking him to join; it was the company he was keeping in Breta and her father. Breta was dressed in another gown this evening, one that had her auburn hair glowing under the candlelight, and Will swallowed hard, another emotion drawing his attention.
This is just great.
But he couldn’t just ignore them, so he made his way over to a smirking Cameron. Leader or not, he wanted to wipe that grin off his face.
“Here he is,” Cameron announced, clapping Will on his shoulder. “This is mah second-in-command, the most trusted Scot in the McDougal clan.”
“Yer battles are legendary,” Laird McLeish stated, a glass of whiskey in his hand. “Ye are lucky to have such a strong second-in-command, McDougal.”
Cameron turned toward Breta, who was looking everywhere but at Will. “Breta, have ye met Will yet?”
She finally turned her gaze on him, and Will felt the iciness of her glare. “I dinnae think so. Will, is it?”
“Mah lady,” he said, bowing to her as he would any other laird’s wife or daughter.
She sniffed, and he tamped down his anger at Cameron for putting him in this position. The man only knew part of the story between them, and he was just adding miserable fuel to the fire by doing this.
But he wasn’t done. “Why dinnae ye walk Breta aboot the great hall?” Cameron suggested. “It will give us some time tae discuss this new strategy of yers.”
“Of course,” Laird McLeish stated, looking down at his daughter. “If ye will excuse me for a moment, Breta.”
“Of course,” Breta said faintly. “I will be fine.”
Neither of them was going to be fine again, but Will proffered his arm and she took it, putting up the pretense at least. He didn’t want to be this close to her, to breathe in her scent and know that his hands nearly touched her bare skin.
His lips had caressed hers intimately.
Her hands had soothed an ache inside of him that Will didn’t know had existed until she had touched him, and he knew that he would never feel the same again.
They paused in front of a large tapestry that depicted some battle from long ago, and Breta removed her hand from his arm. “I dinnae think we have tae pretend, Will.”
There was so much he wanted to say to her, but he kept the words in. “I dinnae pretend with ye, lass.”
She let out a sigh. “It doesnae matter any longer, does it?”
“Nay, it doesnae,” he said softly, his chest tightening at the thought of not seeing her after these games were finished.
Breta turned toward him, and Will saw the regret in her eyes. “Tell me,” she said softly, for his ears only. “If ye could do it all over again, would ye have stopped still?”
He wanted to tell her the truth—how his hands ached because he hadn’t touched her soft skin, hear her sighs as he showed her the ways of passion that existed between two people. He wanted her to cry out his name as he brought her to her peak and watch her fall apart under his hands.
But none of that mattered. She was a laird’s daughter, and he was nothing more than a bastard Scot that just happened to have crawled his way to his position. He could offer her nothing.
“Aye,” he said, watching as her expression fell, “I would have stopped.”
He could see Breta struggling to maintain her composure, but she managed to do so, clearing her throat. “Well, then, I guess I was mistaken.”
“Aboot wot?” he asked, curious.
She tilted her head. “That ye cared for me even a little.” Breta let out a small laugh. “I thought that it wasnae meant tae hurt this badly, but now I understand it hurts far worse.”
She was killing him, hacking at the walls he had built around himself for years.
“Breta, lass—”
Breta held up her hand, silencing him. “I dinnae want tae hear it, Will.”
He shut his mouth and turned his attention back to the tapestry, his jaw clenched so tight that he was afraid it would shatter.
It isnae supposed tae be this way, he thought. But ’tis the only way it can be between us.
15
Breta had never been so miserable in all her life, not even the time that Ferra had tested some of her herbal potions on her and mixed up a few that had Breta sick in bed for two days.
This heartsick hurt worse.
She sat next to her father at the table, to Katherine’s right, but not even the pleasant conversation could keep her from thinking about Will’s words at the tapestry. She had tried to be strong and show him that he hadn’t hurt her. Though inside, she was devastated.
He had all but admitted that he wouldn’t have changed anything about that night, and she had wanted to change everything about it.
He didn’t care for her. She thought that when he had allowed her to touch him so, that a small piece of the hardened warrior might have let her in.
Instead, he hadn’t, biding his time so that he could brush her aside, as if she weren’t good enough for him as a laird’s daughter.
He preferred the secret warrior far better.
Breta laid her fork on the plate and gave a false smile to the conversation, wishing she could be anywhere but there that night. It was painful to know that Will sat two chairs down, on the other side of her father, and that they could not even carry on a polite conversation. Gone was the Scot who had urged her to participate in the games.
“Breta? Is there anything the matter?”
Breta looked at the laird and gave her a faint nod.
“Nay, I’m just taking it all in, having just arrived and all.” Her arrival was a rouse, of course, but her father didn’t want her reputation sullied so he had spread word far and wide that his eligible daughter had joined him for the last part of the games, and to visit with her sister. Ever since, she had caught more than one Scot staring at her, likely sizing her up as a potential bride.
She detested it all.
Katherine gave her a knowing smile. “Of course. We are glad that ye were able tae join us. I look forward tae knowing more aboot ye.”
Breta returned the laird’s smile with a real one, knowing that one of her best memories would forever be the ale they had shared in Will’s tent.
“I would like that, mah lady.”
Katherine reached over, grasping her hand lightly. “Katherine, please.”
“Katherine, then.”
The older woman nodded and turned back to her conversation, leaving Breta to glance down the table at Will only to find him watching her with that solemn look about his face. What would he do if she stood on the table and demanded he tell her the truth about their time in the tent? He would likely skewer her on the spot.
Breta gave him a haughty look and turned away, her insides trembling. She wanted to go home. She wanted to see her mother, to talk to Ferra and give her every detail of her travels. She wanted her bed, her things, and not these borrowed dresses her father had managed to find.
She wanted to ride across the moors and not think about how her life was crumbling around her.
More importantly, she wished to get as far away from Will as she could.
Of course, she couldn’t do any of it. She had gotten herself to the camp, but her father was not going to let her leave without him. He had barely let her leave his side, and when she did, there was a warrior assigned to her, watching her every move. It was so irritating that she had stuck to the tent more than anything today, only coming out to watch the games.
She was trapped.
Finally, the insufferable dinner ended and the group dispersed, includi
ng Breta and her father.
“Can we see Garia?” she asked him as they exited the keep. If anyone would know what to do about this sudden mess that Breta found herself in, it would be her sister.
“I would like to see the bairns,” her father mused. “Come, let’s not tarry.”
They walked to Garia’s hut and were greeted warmly.
“So, he knows,” Garia provided after she had greeted them.
“Aye, he does,” Breta sighed, letting her sister walk her away from Trevor and their father, now deep in conversation about the goings-on of the camp.
Garia drew her to a stop, clasping her forearms. “Wot aboot Will?”
“Wot aboot him?” Breta shot back, feeling the emotion rise in the back of her throat. “Now he acts like everything between us was nothing more than a ruse of some sort!”
Garia arched a brow. “Everything? Wot exactly does that mean?”
“Nothing,” Breta mumbled. “Not wot I wanted, at least. He’s insufferable!”
“That I can agree with,” Garia chuckled. “Did he do something tae ye, Breta?”
“Nay. He didnae, I swear it,” she answered. He hadn’t. That was the problem. At least if he had, she would know that he cared about her or was at least attracted to her. Right now, she felt as if she had some affliction that was keeping him away.
“But he’s done something tae yer heart,” her sister persisted, sympathy in her expression now.
“Nay, aye, I dinnae know!” Breta cried out, tears threatening. They had shared one kiss, a few snippets of conversation, and one bold move. Was that enough to have one’s heart involved?
Maybe so. Breta did feel like her heart had been trampled on by Will.
Garia clucked her tongue and took her sister into her arms. Breta let her head fall on her sister’s shoulder, wishing that her life weren’t so complicated suddenly.
“I dinnae know wot tae do,” she whispered, sniffing.
“Oh, Breta,” her sister sighed. “Couldnae have picked an easier Scot tae fall for?”
Highlander’s Phantom Lass: A Steamy Scottish Medieval Historical Romance Page 9