“Oh, well Ceann doesn’t have to fight him then, because I won’t go with the McInnes. He can’t justwinme.”
Once again, Mairi found herself eyeing her new friend speculatively, wondering where exactly she had grown up, that she didn’t know such simple things. “Aye, he can win you, the laird hasn’t claimed you, you’re just a… well, acaptive. Now, by his honor, he has to fight. He can’t lose face, especially not in front of everyone here”, she swept her hand across the crowd. “Some of the most powerful clans in the highlands are here. If our laird won’t fight and show his strength, they’ll assume they can take anything they want from us.”
“Oh.”Ella’s face fell. She turned back to the field, and this time she kept her eyes open and could not tear them away.
Ceann was more than annoyed. No, he was furious. HowdareMcInnes call him out like this! It was an old grudge that made him do so, and the grudge was against his father at that; it had nothing to do with him. The man was shameless. And vile. Worse, he thought to take Ella away from him, all to spite a man who no longer even lived.He never should have brought her here, she was far too beautiful.And charming. Already he had been approached at least twenty times by men who wanted to take her off his hands. He should have locked her in the tower at Tulloch and left her there. Then he thought of Colin and groaned. He couldn’t have left her, either. His temper flaring, he took the field, glaring at his opponent.
They were fairly evenly matched, Ceann thought, both tall and well muscled. But there was no way in hell he was going to lose this fight. There was no way in hell McInnes would ever have Ella, that damned old viper.
No one will take her from me!
The signal came. Ceann growled and lunged forward with all his might. McInnes blocked the blow and thrust at Ceann from the side. The clash of metal could hardly be heard above the deafening roar of the crowd as the two men fought. Ceann heard nothing at all, he was focused only on the man he had to best. He whirled away from the next blow and thrust again, the point of his sword catching McInnes in the side. The wound was shallow, but McInnes roared in anger and redoubled his efforts. On his next lunge, he caught Ceann on the arm with the side of his blade, leaving a thin gash that oozed red.
“She’s mine, now, MacKenzie”, he said in a low voice. “I’ll have her in my bed this very night.”
Those taunting words were his downfall. Ceann reacted with a vicious strength, growling in rage as he flew forward, knocking the other man’s sword out of his hand, and kicking him to the ground in the same motion. He stood over him, his sword point resting against his chest.
“No, I don’t think so”, he said between harsh breaths.
His mind barely registered the wild cheering of the crowd as he walked from the field, adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He turned from McInnes and walked straight back to his own tent, ignoringeveryone in his path. He sat down on a stool and began methodically cleaning his sword, as he had a thousand times before. The simple action always helped to calm him after a fight.
He had won.Ella was still his. Only she wasn’t his at all. He had felt, for a fleeting second as he stood over McInnes in victory, that he had actually won her, thathewould be the one to have her in his bed that night. But nothing had changed, other than he had kept her safe. Perhaps he had erred in spreading word of holding a beautiful lass at Tulloch, when he had been trying to find her kin, when he had wanted to be rid of her and any threat she might have brought to his uncomplicated existence. He wasn’t so sure anymore that he wanted to be rid of her. Hell, he wasn’t sure of anything right now.
Ella sat enthralled while Ceann fought for her. Something primitive fired in her blood, something ancient and deeply feminine that thrilled at watching all of that masculine muscle and brawn. A powerful man, a warrior, a warlord, fighting forher. A part of her had imagined that after he won, he would come to her and carry her off to… She startled as Ethan came up behind her, putting his hand on her shoulder.
“A word, milady?”
He had a mischievous glint in his eye, but she rose and followed him anyway. “Now is when the fair maiden goes to tend her champion’s wounds”, he told her.
“What?”
“Have you never heard a chivalrous tale? The hero is always hurt in a great battle, and the fair maiden always tends his wounds for him. Then they fall in love and live happily ever after.”
“I’m quite sure Ceann doesn’t want me near his wounds, Ethan.”
Ethan only shrugged. “The man is so damned stubborn he would likely starve himself if he got the notion he didn’t deserve food.”
“You’re not making sense. Ceann wouldn’t starve himself, and he doesn’t want me near him. Tending wounds or otherwise.”
Ethan shook his head, his lips pressed together in a grim line. “He may not starve his body, but he starves his heart. Hell, but I hate to see him do it; he’s a good man, Ella.”
She sighed. “I know he is. I’ll see to his wound.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Show him that he doesn’t need to be alone.”
“Ethan, I…”
“Try. I’ve known Ceann all my life. He has a formidable will, true, but he can’t hold out forever, at least not where you’re concerned. He has tender feelings for you lass, I’m sure of it. And you for him…aye?”
“Aye”, she admitted. “Though I would confess it to no one but you, Ethan.”
“Go. Torment the Laird of Self-Control a bit more with your presence. Break him down.” Ethan grinned and gave her a gentle push at the small of her back. “Nay, bring him to his knees, lass, to his very knees.”
Ceann looked up suddenly when the tent flap opened. His heart stopped for an instant and then began thudding painfully against his chest. Ella came in carrying a small basket. She smiled at him, and he scowled. Her hair was pulled up into a knot at the back of her head, and he could see the fine bones of her jaw, and the delicate curve of her ear, the tender skin of her neck.
