“Lurin’ ye to yer death, Blair!” one man called out in a laughing warning.
“Doona trust her comely face!”
“Aye,” said another, and to Finley’s chagrin, she saw it was Eachann Todde. “I’d stay far from the water’s edge, were I you.”
“Take a knife!”
“Take agun.”
The winning young lad from the foot race stepped up between them, his cheeks telltale roses from the mead he’d gulped. He hitched up his breeches and puffed out his chest.
“I’ll take her on, Blair,” he boasted, and the cat calls of the men only encouraged him, even if Lachlan rolled his eyes. “I like a feisty lass. Perhaps she’ll give me a wee kiss if I—”
The lad was abruptly silenced as Lachlan placed his entire palm over the boy’s face and shoved him backward, where he fell on his arse in the sand amidst his own self-indulgent giggles.
“All right,” Lachlan said with a smile. He reached for his belt and unbuckled it.
Finley’s heart stuttered in her chest.
“I accept your challenge, lass. And I’ll engage in yer contest—”he dropped the belt with his dagger and hatchet still attached onto the tabletop—“unarmed.”
The men ooh’ed in a humorous combination of admiration and dismay.
Finley slipped off her shoes, held them up dangling in her fingertips for a moment, and then dropped them atop Lachlan’s belt.
“Goin’ off into the dark with ’er!”
“Yer a dead man, Blair!”
“Good i’ ’twas to know him!”
“So good!”
They collectively took up singing a mournful dirge to the tune supplied considerately by the pipe player.
Eachann Todde rose from his seat with a groan and walked around before the pair of them, holding up his hands. “I’ll officiate such a serious contest, then.” He took out a kerchief from the folds of his shawl and held it up while Lachlan and Finley crouched down. And then Eachann looked over his shoulder, speaking to the eager onlookers. “And as such it’ll be me to be first to comfort the black widow after the Blair’s funeral. I’ll require a length of rope and a large sack.”
Finley left her readied stance to place her hands on her hips and glare at Eachann Todde. “Are you—”
“Go!” Eachann shouted, waving the kerchief, and Lachlan was off with a spray of sand.
Finley shrieked her rage, but then dashed after him, leaving behind the howls of good-natured laughter. Even with having to hold up her skirts to her knees, Finley closed the gap between her and Lachlan in moments, and the sunset provided the perfect light to see the look of surprise on his face when he turned his head to find her gaining on him.
“Going to let me win, too, Blair?” she taunted with easy breath.
He pulled away from her, then, and at first Finley fought to keep pace with him, but his lead lengthened until he had disappeared into the gloom of the beach’s end, where the grassy dunes rolled over to meet the tide pools. She lost sight of him for a moment, but kept running. She knew he would be there, waiting for her.
She saw him, then, standing facing her in the sand, and still she ran on. As she grew nearer, he held open his arms.
Finley leaped into them, and their kiss was immediate. Lachlan sank to the sand, turning Finley in his arms until she lay on the beach half-beneath him. She cradled his head in her hands, surrendering to his mouth, his hands roving her body.
“Finley,” he groaned against her lips. “You torture me.”
“Nae torture,” she said, returning his kisses and drawing him closer with her leg. “Reward. You want me, Lachlan.”
“I do,” he said, trailing his mouth down her neck. “So much.”
“You’ve already said I was your friend,” she whispered. “Let us be married in truth.”
