“I never said that,” Emma responded.
“I can tell what ye’re thinking, Emma. That is a dangerous mix.”
“And yet here I am,” Emma pointed out, though the word sat oddly in her chest. “I am waiting patiently to see which side wins.”
They rounded a hedge, and the sound hit Emma harder than she had expected. It was a clash of steel, sharp and clean. Theirlaughter died down, and the training grounds appeared beyond a low bush of rosemary.
Jack and Duncan were facing each other, their swords drawn, and moved before the sisters stepped fully into view.
Duncan went in hard, his shoulders raised, blade chopping for advantage. Jack gave ground without giving way and parried his brother’s strikes as effortlessly as he could.
Ava nudged Emma with her elbow. “Ye’re staring.”
“I wasnae,” Emma huffed, heat rising in her cheeks.
Jack caught her looking, but he didn’t stop or falter. He only glanced over his shoulder, his mouth curving as if he had expected to find her there. Duncan lunged at that moment, and Jack jumped to the side, blade swinging. Steel rang, and Duncan’s sword tore free and spun through the air, skidding across the dirt to stop at Emma’s feet.
Duncan paused, his chest heaving, a flush high on his cheekbones. “That is enough, Braither,” he panted.
Jack didn’t answer him. He had already turned, his eyes still fixed on Emma. The noise in the courtyard seemed to fade. His shirt clung to his skin as he approached them, and Emma couldn’t take her eyes off the ridges of his abdomen.
Ava made a small, delighted sound that she tried to smother with a cough. “Well,” she murmured. “Since when do ye agree about the temptation thing?”
Emma didn’t look at her sister. She couldn’t look at anything but the man walking toward them.
He approached at an easy pace, his boots quiet on the hard ground, sword balanced loose against his forearm. He bowed his head to Ava first, polite as anything.
“Lady Ava, welcome to MacLeod Castle.”
“Thank ye, me Laird,” Ava said, bright as a blade herself. “Ye seem busy beatin’ yer braither into the ground.”
“He’ll survive,” Jack replied, without checking whether Duncan had retrieved his sword.
“Ye ken, ye never struck me as a man who could fight this hard when I saw ye at the cèilidh,” Ava added, tucking her hands behind her back.
“What can I say?” Jack drawled. “I am full of surprises.”
His eyes slid to Emma and stayed there. The light made a clean edge of his jaw as he moved closer and stopped close enough to shadow her shoes.
“There is something I would like to show ye tonight,” he murmured, voice low for her ears only. “I want ye to meet me here.”
Emma blinked. “At the training grounds?”
“Aye.” The hint of a smile again, gone as quickly as it came. “There’s more to explore in this betrothal than rules and defiance. Tonight. Daenae be late.”
She meant to laugh. She meant to tell him no, but for some reason, her throat had other plans. “And if I am?”
He leaned a bit closer, his voice lowering further. “Then I’ll come find ye.”
Ava’s fingers caught Emma’s sleeve, a light tug that felt like a rescue and mischief at once.
“Come on,” she said, her voice clear. “We’ve yet to see the west wall, and Ma willnae take it kindly if we miss lunch with her.”
Jack didn’t move. He rested the flat of his sword against his shoulder and let them retreat, his small grin still there, like a dare he had no intention of taking back. Behind him, Duncan swore under his breath and went to fetch his blade.
Emma let Ava pull her away while the garden swallowed the clang of metal.
Ava waited until they were behind the wall before turning to her sister, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Well?”
