“My lady, might I have this dance?” It was one of his own men, Fergus.
“I would be delighted,” Lillith replied, her voice suddenly bright with enthusiasm.
Rory froze mid-step, then turned slowly to see Lillith placing her hand in Fergus’s and allowing him to lead her back onto the dance floor. Her gaze met Rory’s over her shoulder, andthe brief, triumphant smirk that crossed her face told him everything he needed to know.
The realization struck him with the force of a physical blow. She was deliberately trying to offend him. First, the hunting leathers at supper, then the challenge about the torchlight procession, and now this blatant insult—accepting another partner immediately after claiming exhaustion to refuse him.
A curious mixture of amusement and admiration rose in him, surprising him. The lass was clever. He’d give her that. She wanted him to choose Lenora—or better yet, neither twin. She wanted him to find her so objectionable that he would abandon the king’s decree altogether.
As he watched her whirl around the floor with Fergus, her golden hair catching the light with each turn, Rory found himself smiling. Did she truly believe such transparent tactics would drive him away? If anything, her schemes only made her more intriguing. A woman with enough wit and determination to orchestrate her own rejection would indeed make a formidable partner. That thought shocked him. Was he now truly considering Lillith as well as Lenora?
He shoved a hand through his hair. He could not let desire make him forget why he had initially decided upon Lenora. He wanted peace, and there would be no peace to be had with a woman like Lillith. She would challenge him at every turn. It wasn’t that the idea of being challenged repelled him. In fact, he found himself eager for it and intrigued by her. It was that the challenges would lead to constant quarrels and no peace in his home for himself or the children they would have one day, if the gods were so inclined. How many times had he said to himself or his da had said to him to wed a biddable woman? How many times had he listened to his parents’ quarrel or watched them sit through supper in the great hall in stony silence?
Rory wanted a lass he could share a life with, who he was reluctant to leave and eager to return home to. His da was glad to leave Rory’s mama and would often make excuses to remain away from the stronghold longer than he had to. Rory did not want that sort of union for himself. And yet, when he thought of being wed to Lenora, who would surely bring peace, he did not feel any heat in his blood, any intrigue—only the dread that accompanied the knowledge that he’d be facing day after day and year after year of boring conversation and no attraction. Was that the price he had to pay for peace?
He blinked his musings away and found his gaze colliding with Lillith’s. She stood across the dance floor by Fergus, who was talking animatedly by her side. Rory could well imagine what sort of tale Fergus was conveying. He was a boaster of the incredible feats his mind made up about himself. To Rory’s amusement, and if he were being truthful with himself, satisfaction—Lillith appeared to be paying no heed at all to Fergus.
She slowly raised her goblet to Rory, and he understood instinctually it was a toast of sorts—to the battle of wills they had both decided to engage in with each other. He found himself smiling and wishing he had a goblet to meet her challenging toast. Instead, he inclined his head in acknowledgement, and his gesture, to his pleasure, made her smile widen. She finally looked toward Fergus, breaking her contact with Rory.
He should turn away from her, but he did not. Instead, he leaned against a pillar, content for now to study her. There was a spark of life that seemed to emanate from her like heat from a flame. She was nothing like the docile, biddable wife he wanted, and yet, he could not draw his gaze from her. She was fire—unpredictable, dangerous, and utterly captivating—where her sister was anything but those things.
Was he wrong about what he wanted and needed? He thought once more of his parents, and he knew he could not simply cast those memories away. But still, he found himself eagerly anticipating tomorrow’s torchlight procession, wondering what new facet of Lillith MacLeod he might discover in the competition to come.
Chapter Seven
Lillith stared at the flagstone with Masie beside her. Her stomach fluttered oddly. It had to be excitement for the contest that was about to start, and yet the feeling was the exact one that had struck her last night when her gaze had locked with Rory’s across the great hall.
“What think all of ye to having the men at the west cottages deliberately mislead the Mathesons?” Aunt Elena asked. “They could send them the long way through the woods.”
Grandmama Marion said, “A sound plan.”
“Perhaps the lads could run in front of the Matheson men just as they are running past,” Lenora suggested.
Lillith absently nodded. She could not quit thinking about the previous night at the high table, and the memory of Rory’s face when she’d asked if he’d welcome his wife’s counsel in matters of clan politics. There had been something in his expression—a flicker of surprise, perhaps even consideration—before Lenora had cut in with her wine-spilling diversion. For the briefest moment, Lillith had wondered if she’d misjudged him. If perhaps he wasn’t the sort of man who believed women should speak only of household matters and bairns.
What had he said? She cast her mind back to the moment, and it came to her. It was something about assuming things about him and what he believed, considering she barely knew him, and considering the few words they had primarily exchanged revolved around her wishing him dead. The memory made her frown. Was he right? Had she been too presumptuous? And why did it even matter! She wasn’t considering wedding him.
“Lillith?” Grandmama Marion’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Where’s your mind at? You’ve been staring at the same flagstone for a long spell.”
Lillith blinked, suddenly aware that all four women were watching her with varying degrees of concern and amusement. Masie nudged her hand with a cold nose, as if urging her to respond.
“I was merely thinking that we need to be coordinated if we’re to defeat the Mathesons.”
“And what exactly were ye thinking?” Aunt Elena asked, one eyebrow raised in skepticism.
Before Lillith could formulate a convincing lie, her traitorous tongue betrayed her. “Rory,” she blurted out, immediately wishing she could snatch the name back from the air where it hung between them.
Four pairs of eyes widened in unison, and heat rushed to Lillith’s face. “I meant—I was thinking of how best to defeat Rory Matheson,” she amended hastily. “He strikes me as a formidable opponent, and I was considering which route would be most advantageous to take given his likely choices.”
“Is that so?” Grandmama Marion asked, her voice deceptively light. “And your strategic thinking always causes you to flush?”
Aunt Sebille coughed delicately into her hand, though it did little to disguise her laughter. “Fascinating how our Lillith can make even the planning of a man’s defeat sound like she’s planning to pursue him.”
“I am nae pursuing him!” Lillith protested, mortified to hear the defensiveness in her own voice. “I merely wish to ensure our victory tonight.”
“There would be nothing wrong if ye did wish him to court ye, ye ken,” Lenora said gently. “He’s quite handsome, for aMatheson. And intelligent too, from what little I observed at supper between my prattling about clouds.”
Lillith stared at her sister in disbelief. “Have ye forgotten that he’s here to force one of us into marriage? That neither of us wishes to wed him?”
