Lillith’s eyes narrowed as she stared at Rory. “Ye’re following me.”
“Aye,” he admitted without shame. “Just as yer clansmen are deliberately leading me astray. All’s fair in… competition, is it nae?”
A moment of silence stretched between them before Lillith’s lips twitched upward. “Clever,” she conceded, though the wordheld more challenge than compliment. “But ye’ll nae catch me so easily again.”
“I do nae intend to catch ye,” he replied, winking. “At this point, I’m just going to outrun ye after ye lead me in the right direction.”
Lillith gasped, swiveled away from him, and attempted to race off. A deep chuckle took hold of him, turning into laughter that brought tears to his eyes. He didn’t bother to run at full speed at first, as two of her strides were likely one of his. Ahead, she ran on the trail, hair flying behind her, and her hound barking by her side. Just when the cottage came into view, he picked up his pace and easily overcame her.
“Devil take ye, Rory Matheson!”
“Och!” he called over his shoulder. “Do nae be such a sore loser!” He reached the cottage and had down the entire cup of mead before she came huffing in the door, chest heaving enticingly, and her hair in wild disarray around her face and tumbling over her shoulders. He had a sudden desire to run his fingers through her strands and see if they slid like silk across his skin. Desire hit him even as she stalked toward him.
“Ye’re cheating!” she bellowed as he lit the torch with the cottage proprietors gawking between the two of them.
“I told ye exactly what—”
She swiveled on her heel once more and dashed to the door, but this time, she slammed it shut in his face. His merriment with her outrage and the fun of competing with her had him laughing again, as he dashed to the door and threw it open to catch up with her. He blinked in surprise at how far she’d already gotten. The little hellion had more speed in her than he had counted upon. Even pushing himself, he did not catch up to her until she was halfway through her goblet of mead at the next cottage. Luckily, his ability to gulp down the drink was far superior to hers. He finished it in three swallows, banged thecup down one breath before she did, and then lunged toward the torch to light it.
“Ye’re horrid!” she bellowed, hiccupped, and swayed where she stood.
Rory grinned. “Ye need to be careful,” he said. “The mead is going to yer head.”
“Do nae tell me what to do,” she replied, trying, he suspected, to sound indignant, but her slurred words proved his point in a rather comical way.
The pattern repeated at the next two cottages, and each time Lillith’s protests grew more colorful and less coherent. The mead was definitely taking its toll on her. Her cheeks were flushed, and her gait unsteady. As they exited the next cottage, he realized he was feeling the effects of the mead as well. There was a pleasant warmth spreading through his limbs, despite the cold.
“Ye’re cheating,” Lillith accused as they both set off toward the next cottage. Masie trotted between them, seemingly unconcerned by her mistress’s increasingly unsteady strides.
“Nay, lass,” Rory replied, unable to keep the amusement from his voice. “I’m using a fair strategy. There’s a difference.”
Lillith made a sound that might have been a laugh or a hiccup—possibly both. “Ye’re insufferable,” she said, though there was more warmth than venom in the words. “And ye’re nae going to win.”
“I already am besting ye,” Rory pointed out, steadying her with a hand at her elbow when she stumbled over an exposed root. The contact sent a jolt through him that had nothing to do with the mead. “I’ve claimed nearly all the cottages ye and I went to.”
“Ye tricked me,” she accused, jabbing a finger at his chest but missing entirely, which only made him chuckle.
They were halfway to the next cottage when a horn blast cut through the night—three long notes that echoed across the frost-covered hills.
“The time is up,” Rory said, recognizing the signal that he was instructed to listen for. “The race is over.”
Lillith blinked owlishly at him, her blue eyes reflecting the starlight. “Over? But I’ve nae yet beaten ye.”
“Mayhap yer team best mine,” he offered, though he doubted it. “Let’s return to the courtyard to see who’s won.”
Lillith tilted her head to one side in a gesture that reminded him, absurdly, of her hound. He had to stifle a laugh. “That sounds like a fine idea!” she announced, her voice merry with mead.
As they started toward the castle, Lillith weaved an unsteady path through the frost-covered grass, and she seemed to laugh at the slightest provocation. She tripped twice over nothing but air. Each time, she grabbed his arm to steady herself. He didn’t know if he was imagining it or not, but each time she clutched him, she held on longer than seemed necessary to regain her balance, and he didn’t mind it one bit. The mead had transformed her from fierce competitor to something softer. There was an unguarded quality to her now that he suspected few were privileged to see.
“Did ye see the look on old Duncan’s face?” she asked as she walked.
“Was that the man at the last cottage?”
“Aye,” she replied, rounding a corner and stumbling a bit one more, but this time, she managed to steady herself. “When ye drank yer mead faster than me, and we started arguing! Duncan looked appalled!” Lillith chortled so hard that she bumped into him. He instinctively grabbed her elbow, and Masie barked up at him, as if to say, ‘mind my mistress’.
“Ye’ve a loyal hound there,” Rory observed, watching as the beast adjusted her pace to match Lillith’s increasingly erratic steps. “She guards ye, and she has nae left yer side all night.”
Lillith looked down at Masie with a softness in her eyes that made something tighten in Rory’s chest. What would it feel like to have that soft gaze turned on him? He found he wanted to know, and the thought shocked him.
