Highland Scoundrel (Highland Brides) (23 page)

"It seems rather strange that you felt the need to bend down just as I loosed my arrow," he said.

She took a deep breath as if trying to steady her own thoughts. "Is Dugald the Dread so easily distracted, then?" she asked, her tone husky.

Every nerve in him thrummed with desire. There was something about her blatant sense of self and her lust for life that stirred him.

"Damsel Shona," he said, softly caressing her with the words. "You could distract a field stone, and you well know it."

She offered him the corner of a smile, and even with that meager expression the sun was dimmed by comparison. "Mayhap I could," she murmured, then glanced at the crowd that rushed forward to congratulate her. "But I would not have to try," she added, and was swallowed up by a mob of swains.

The hall was crowded and noisy at the evening meal. Someone called for a song. Hadwin yelled for Shona to sing, but Lachlan, one of her five brothers, laughed out loud. If they wanted stag for dinner they could call on his sister, he said. But if they wanted a musician, they would be wise to ask a maid who was not born with an arrow clamped between her teeth.

The hall burst into laughter, and Shona did not bother to hide her smile. Far be it from her to be insulted by her own abilities.

Finally Sara was begged forward. Her voice, sweet and melodious as that of a song thrush's, lifted in a Scottish ballad as ancient as time. It filled the space, shushing the noises, soothing the nerves, binding the assemblage in blissful harmony, if only for a short span of time.

So powerful was her song that it took several moments for the crowd to realize the music was ended. But finally the company shook itself from its trance, cheered, and called for more.

"Still she sings like an angel," Shona murmured.

"Aye.
She
is sweet," Roderic said.

Shona turned to her father who sat to her right. Twas no great difficulty to tell when he was truly angry and when he only thought he should be. When he was angry, she wanted nothing more than to hide behind the tapestries. When he merely felt it was his fatherly duty to be upset she was wont to tease him until he laughed.

Bethia had once said there was a special pit in the hereafter set aside for lasses who tormented their fathers so. Shona sincerely hoped she was wrong, since she doubted it was anywhere she'd care to visit, much less spend eternity.

"Father," she said softly, "I hope the archery tournament didna worry ye."

He raised a brow at her. "Worry me? Why should it?"

She smiled with all the brilliance she could muster, which, she knew, was just short of the sun's.

"Just because I bested the best of the men, does not necessarily mean I could best ye also."

He was silent for a moment, his gaze steady on hers. "So ye think ye have surpassed your sire's skill?"

“Nay. I just said I have not... Not on your good days."

"My good days?" He reared back.

"Well, there was that contest at Sara's wedding. But ye were not at your best. What was your excuse? Ye were distracted, I think."

"I've a question for ye, Daughter," he said, leaning slightly closer.

"Aye?"

“Might ye think ye be too old for me to take ye over my knee."

She managed to hold back her laughter, though if the truth be told, he had never yet, in more than two score years of mishaps, taken her over his knee. "Why, Father, I was just trying to make ye feel better. I probably could not best ye if ye were at your prime."

He snorted, but his eyes were gleaming with laughter. "Tell me, Daughter mine, is there a reason for your baiting? Or have ye merely run out of swains to torment?"

She dabbed daintily at her mouth with a napkin. "I am running a bit low just now."

"No flies whose wings ye could pull off?"

Despite her act, she laughed, then glanced at her trencher and fiddled with her knife. "I wanted to beg your forgiveness, Father."

He stared at her. "In truth, ye've always had a strange way of going about things, lass."

"I did not mean to enter the contest. Twas just—"

"What?"

"That Dugald!"

"The Dragon?"

"The Difficult."

"Your mother seems to think him quite a bonny lad."

"So does he."

"But not ye?"

She remained silent for a moment, then, "I just couldna bear to let him win so easily. Are ye angry with me?"

He sighed. "Aye. I may never forgive ye."

She smiled at his long-suffering tone. "Truly, I am sorry if I embarrassed ye."

He watched her in silence, and for just a moment his eyes seemed unusually bright. "Ye are what we have made ye, lass," he said softly. "Part of your mother and part of myself. Hardly am I embarrassed by that."

"Even though I am a better archer?"

He lowered his brows. "Ye'd best behave, daughter mine, afore I tell your mother ye are baiting an old man."

She laughed aloud then leaned sideways to respond, but just then her thoughts were interrupted.

"Lady Shona."

She caught her breath and turned toward the speaker, but it was not Dugald who stood at her elbow. "William," she greeted him.

"I have come to ask if ye might walk with me for a short spell."

She glanced toward Roderic on her right. "Father?" she asked sweetly. "What say ye?"

"So now ye act all sweetness?" he said, his tone wry.

She gave him a glance to keep him quiet. It was one thing to embarrass each other in private; in public was quite another.

He laughed, having recouped a bit of his own dignity. "Go with him. Get wed, have a dozen bairns," he murmured. "And may each of them torment ye as ye do me."

She rose quickly to her feet, eager to lead William away, lest her father shed any more light on her true temperament.

Outside, the gloaming was soft and lingering as they walked to the mill. Swans glided on the water just beyond the paddle wheels, their graceful necks delicately arched and reflected in the dark water.

"Tis a bonny spot ye have here at Dun Ard," William said.

"Aye." Shona absently picked a sprig of lavender that grew beside the pond. “I miss it greatly when I am away."

There was silence for a spell. "Is that why ye have waited to marry, because ye would miss this place?"

She smiled as she watched two cygnets fight over an aquatic weed. “Father says I am still here because he is not so cruel as to wish me on another man."

William laughed. Despite the size of his nose, he had a nice smile. "I think, instead, your father cannot bear to let ye go."

She said nothing, but turned away to wander toward the stable. William followed.

"That is how I would feel."

She glanced at him. Silence followed.

"But if I were your husband, I would not keep you from your father's house if ever ye wished to return."

"Are ye saying ye wish to marry me?" she asked.

He laughed again. The sound was pleasant. “I believe I said that long ago. But ye were wild and undisciplined then, so I have been careful not to rush ye."

He probably wouldn't be happy to learn she had left her breeches at the burn only a few days before, Shona thought.

"But now...seeing you thus..." He shrugged. "Ye've grown into a bonny young woman. Mayhap I should speak to your sire again, but strangely it seems as if the decision is yours."

"Mayhap we are odd here at Dun Ard," Shona said, still wandering past the stable toward the front gate. "Mayhap too strange for someone of your standing."

"Of my standing." He looked surprised. "I am just a man like any other."

"Nay," she said. "Ye are the king's own cousin."

"A man just the same, with a humble title and modest holdings."

"I have not heard Atberry House called modest before."

"Mayhap ye have not compared it to Stirling Castle." He broke off a twig from the elm they passed under. The noise sounded abrupt in the evening air, but when she glanced up, he smiled at her.

She watched him. This marriage business was a tricky thing. William seemed a good man, but sometimes when she was with him she felt as if he were slightly disapproving of her but too polite to say so.

"Is that what ye want?" she asked. "To call Stirling Castle home?"

He chuckled. "Are ye asking if I wish to become king?"

"Ye are closer to the throne than most," she said. "I suspect a case could be made for your suit, if ye wished to press the issue."

"Me, as king?" he asked, sounding startled. "I think ye have an even wilder imagination than I suspected."

"Ye've never considered it?" she asked.

"I am but the thirdborn son of the brother of James IV. There is a great chasm of difference between myself and the kingship."

They walked on in silence toward the bailey.

"Is that what
you
wish for, Lady Shona?" He stopped beside the well. In the bailey, some distance away, she heard the sound of steel against steel as two men sparred. "Do ye wish for a man with great ambitions?" he asked.

The light slowly faded as she watched him. “Indeed, I dunna know what I want," she said finally, and sighed as she turned toward the keep.

"And what if I said ye could be queen?"

"What?" she asked, turning back in surprise.

He was silent, but in a moment he chuckled. "I was but dreaming," he said. "Ye would make a bonny queen. Yet even though I cannot give ye a crown, I would have ye for my wife."

His voice was so earnest, and twould make her parents happy, she thought.

"I know I am not the most exciting man in Scotland, but I could help you in your struggle for maturity."

She almost scowled at him. "I..." She shrugged, feeling guilty and at a loss. "I am not ready for such a decision," she said.

Some emotion sparked in his eye, and she welcomed it, almost hoping he would rail at her rather than remain stoic.

But in a moment the light was gone. "Might I carry some hope that you will decide in my favor?" he asked. "Would you consider giving me some small token of your esteem?"

"I—I dunna know..."

"We would make a fine pair. My..." He shrugged modestly. "My steadiness united with your...

fire." His gaze dropped to the chain that held Dragonheart. “The dragon amulet reminds me of you.

All fierce passion and bright beauty." He paused.

"What?"

"I would cherish it always as a reminder of your beauty," he said.

"Ye wish to have Dragonheart?" she asked, pulling it into her hand.

"It has a name?"

She laughed as she glanced at the amulet. "I fear it does. Tis silly, I'm certain."

"It would not seem silly to me."

She glanced up at him. Surely it would do no harm to give it to him. After all, she would probably be his bride before long if her father had his way. But the dragon suddenly felt cold in her palm, as if it were drawing into itself. And somehow she could not bear to hand it to another.

“I am sorry, William. But this amulet has special significance to me."

He paused a moment. "Some other small token, then?" he asked, touching her hand.

She waited for a spark of something to flash through her, but nothing did. No lightning. No fire, just a faint pain at the back of her neck.

"Shona?"

"Oh. Certainly," she said, and pulling her hand away, lifted the end of her girdle. In a moment, she had undone a tassel and handed it to him.

He took it in his right hand and lifted it to his lips. "I shall cherish it always."

"Ye flatter me," she said, but just then the lad in the bailey laughed, snaring her thoughts.

"Not at all. Tis I who am flattered," William protested.

From across the yard, steel clashed again, drawing Shona's attention away. The combatants in the bailey parried. The man lunged. The boy turned and suddenly she saw the lad's face.

"Kelvin!" she shrieked and bolted toward the pair.

The man turned at the sound of her voice. She recognized him as Dugald at the same instant that Kelvin lunged.

Dugald hissed in pain as the boy's sword sliced his arm.

"Kelvin!" Shona gasped, jolting to a halt. "What have ye done?"

The boy stumbled back, his face pale. “I was... I was but..." He looked as if he might cry.

"Tis my fault," Dugald said. His tone was level, but when he drew his right hand away from his arm, his fingers were red with blood. "He heard my wish to sharpen my skills with a sword before the contest tomorrow and offered to parry with me."

"He is only a lad," Shona said.

"Aye, but I am an exceptionally poor swordsman," Dugald said and grinned.

Shona felt sick to her stomach. She should have told Kelvin to keep away from Dugald, for she knew nothing of the man's true character. What if the boy had been wounded instead of the man?

"Where did ye learn to fence, lad?" Dugald asked.

"My—"

"I will see ye to your bed," Shona interrupted.

Both man and boy turned toward her.

"Truly?" Dugald asked.

She scowled at him. Her stomach settled a little. All was well. Nothing irreparable had happened.

"I was talking to the child," she said.

"Oh."

"You are wounded," William said, just arriving.

Dugald glanced at his arm again. "My pride more than anything, I fear." He scowled, "And my favorite silk tunic."

"The lad is an excellent swordsman for one so young. Where did he learn?" William asked.

"I'm sure I have no idea," Shona said quickly. "Go up to your room, Kelvin."

He looked up at her, his eyes wide. "I am sorry, Lady," he murmured.

She resisted gathering him into her arms. "I think tis not me to whom ye should apologize."

Kelvin turned toward Dugald. "My apologies," he said softly. "I did not mean to wound ye."

Dugald nodded at the lad. "They say there is nothing like a little blood to teach a lesson."

"What happened here?"

"Rachel." Shona turned to her cousin, feeling more relief than seemed practical. "Dugald has been wounded."

Rachel's amethyst gaze flitted from boy to man and back.

"Did I not hear the lad was raised on the streets of Edinburgh? How could he learn swordsmanship?" William persisted.