“I dunnae doubt that,” he said on a chuckle and took the rope she handed to him. “I let ye have the shot because I judged it of greater importance for ye to prove to yerself and yer brother what I suspected was so than for me to win the contest.”
For the second time in a brief span, her lips parted in shock. “Ye mean to say that ye suspected I was equal to ye men?”
He offered a grin that made her dizzy. “I may be arrogant, but I’m nae a clot-heid. In truth,” he continued as he strode toward the boar, “I like to think I’m a wee bit smarter than most men.” He glanced back at her and winked. “At least when it comes to the lasses. And I learned long ago to have sufficient regard for lasses.”
She pursed her lips. “Which of the many lasses that ye have joined with taught ye that?”
“My mother taught me that,” he shot back in a chiding tone, “with a few smacks to the head and by beating me soundly in sword-to-sword combat when I was fifteen.”
“Yer mother was a warrior?” She could not keep the surprise from her tone.
He nodded as he tied the boar’s legs together. “She was a fierce one who defended her father’s castle and his life by picking up his sword and killing his enemies when he was too injured to do so. Ye made me think of my mother when ye told me ye wanted to be seen as an equal.” He stood and faced her. “Come then. Let’s find the others.”
She nodded, followed Lachlan to the horse he had tied some distance away, and swung up behind him.
“Hold tight,” he ordered.
She circled her hands around his waist, feeling the hardness of his body. Her insides turned like swirling water. She’d long heard the whispers that the high, sweet singing of the fairies floated on the wind the day Lachlan had been born. People—well,lasses—said he’d been blessed by the fairies. She’d scoffed at that, but now, as she stared at his broad back and thick burnished hair tied at the nape of his neck, she wondered if it was true. She wanted to reach up, let loose his hair, and slide her fingers into it. Oh, she was wicked! He had to have some sort of magic within him because he had captured her heart with a kiss. Now all she had to do was capture his.
Lachlan had watched Bridgette from a distance throughout the feast to celebrate her victory, considering if he should go talk to her. Had he imagined her response to his kiss? He didn’t think he had, yet she’d not looked at him once all night. In truth, it almost seemed she was avoiding his gaze. Just as the thought filled his mind, his younger brother Graham sat down next to him at the same instant Bridgette’s gaze turned Lachlan’s way.
The hum of voices around him disappeared as his eyes clung to hers, analyzing her reaction. Her lashes didn’t lower to conceal a thing. Yearning—he was almost certain—smoldered in her bright-green eyes. Intent on learning the truth, he stood, but Graham’s hand clamped on Lachlan’s arm.
“Did ye hear me?” Graham asked.
Distracted, Lachlan shook his head but glanced down at his brother. “Nay. Can this wait?”
“A lass has my heart,” Graham announced.
Lachlan frowned, torn between the wish to go to Bridgette and the desire to stay and speak with his brother, who rarely sought him out for advice or confidences. He glanced across the room to where Bridgette had stood, but she had moved away and was speaking with his older brother Iain. Lachlan looked down at his brother who stared up at him with a face full of expectancy.
Family first,he thought, sitting once more.
“What lass has yer heart?” he asked.
Graham offered a grin. “Bridgette MacLean. I’m going to marry her someday.”
Before Lachlan could control his astonishment enough to gather his wits and form a reply, Bridgette’s voice rose in anger over the dull roar in the great hall. Silence suddenly fell, and Lachlan glanced to where she stood facing her brother.
Forgetting Graham for the moment, Lachlan stood and made his way across the great hall to the men gathered around her and Alex.
Her head was tilted back to look up at Alex, and Lachlan could see the beat of her heart under the creamy skin of her neck. One look at her hard expression and fiery eyes told him she was angry, and a protective instinct, greater than any he’d known before, flared in him.
“It was nae luck that I killed the boar!” she snapped.
Alex stared down at her with unconcealed disbelief. “’Twas luck,” he replied with the obstinacy of a leader who was not used to being questioned. “I’ll nae chance ye being killed by allowing ye to hunt with us again. Yer request is denied.”
Frustration flashed across Bridgette’s face. “But Alex—”
“Nay!” her brother interrupted in a sharp, unyielding tone.
Bridgette’s gaze circled the men around her, and Lachlan suspected she was searching for help from her clansmen. No one stepped forward, though Lachlan was certain the men knew she was the superior archer. It was not his place as he was not part of her clan and she was not his woman, yet he found himself moving toward her as if pulled by some invisible thread.
He stepped to her side and faced her brother. “I was with her, ye ken.”
Alex nodded, his gaze wary yet not closed to hearing what Lachlan had to say.
“It was nae luck. Yer sister is a better shot than any man I’ve ever seen. Ye’d be a fool nae to allow her to hunt with ye and yer men.”
