“Lady Leona! Welcome, welcome!” Sheena pulled her into an embrace before she could think to step back. The woman smelled of bread and herbs, comforting and maternal. “We’re so glad ye could join us!”
“I… thank ye,” Leona managed, overwhelmed by the genuine warmth.
“And arriving together on one horse!” Another woman—Fiona, she remembered—appeared at Sheena’s side, her eyes dancing with mischief. “What happened to yer mount, me Lady?”
Heat flooded Leona’s cheeks. How did she explain without mentioning the bodies they’d left behind?
“It bolted,” Murdock said smoothly, his hand finding the small of Leona’s back. The touch was possessive, claiming, and she felt it in her core. “Startled by a deer. Ran off before we could catch it.”
“Oh, how frightening!” Sheena clucked sympathetically. “But at least ye had the Laird to keep ye safe.”
“Aye,” Leona said softly, meeting Murdock’s eyes. “He did keep me safe.”
Something passed between them, weighted with meaning that had nothing to do with horses or deer. His hand pressed more firmly against her back, drawing her closer to his side.
More villagers crowded around, introducing themselves in a blur of names and faces. Peter, the blacksmith, his hands scarred from years at the forge. Ailsa the healer, her sharp eyes assessing. Young mothers with bairns on their hips. Old men who’d served under Murdock’s father and lived to see a better laird take his place.
At first, Leona was uncertain how to respond to such overwhelming acceptance. These people didn’t know her. Didn’t know what she’d done, what her clan represented. They should have been suspicious, wary.
But they weren’t. They smiled at her like she was already one of them. Like becoming their Laird’s betrothed made her family.
“Are ye enjoying the festival?” a young girl asked shyly, peeking out from behind her mother’s skirts.
Leona crouched down to the child’s level, her natural warmth beginning to thaw her nervousness. “I’ve only just arrived, so I havenae seen much yet. What’s yer favorite part?”
The girl’s face lit up. “The games! Me da is competing in the caber toss!”
“Is he now? Then I’ll have to watch and cheer him on.” Leona smiled, genuine and bright, and the girl giggled.
When she stood, she found Murdock watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. Intense, focused, as if he was seeing something in her he hadn’t expected.
“Come!” An elderly man with a magnificent white beard pushed through the crowd. He wore the ceremonial plaid of a village elder, the tartan pinned at his shoulder with an ornate brooch. “Come, me Laird, me Lady! The games are about to begin, and we’ve saved ye seats of honor!”
The crowd parted, and Murdock’s hand slipped from her back to her hand, his fingers lacing through hers. The gesture was natural, easy, as if they’d been doing it for years rather than days.
Leona’s heart stuttered at the contact.
Murdock led her through the village square, where benches had been set up around a wide field. Colorful ribbons decorated the posts, and children ran about with wooden swords and hobby horses, their laughter bright as bells.
The elder—Angus, she learned—seated them on a raised platform that gave them a clear view of the field. Leona felt exposed, but Murdock’s presence beside her was steadying.
“The caber toss is first!” Angus announced, his voice carrying across the crowd. “Who among ye will challenge the Laird?”
Several men stepped forward, all broad-shouldered and strong. But even among them, Murdock stood out. Taller, more powerfully built, moving with a predator’s grace that made something coil low in Leona’s belly.
He turned to her before joining the competitors, and the look in his eyes made her breath catch. Dark, heated, promising.
“Wish me luck, lass?” His voice was low enough so only she could hear.
“Ye daenae need luck,” she managed. “Ye’re the Beast of Ainsley.”
His lips curled into something that was almost a smile. “Aye, I am.”
Then he was moving away, removing his tunic with casual confidence that left him in only his trews and boots.
Leona’s mouth went dry.
She’d seen him shirtless before. Had tended his wounds in the dungeons, had felt the hard planes of his body pressed against hers. But seeing him now in broad daylight, surrounded by other men who paled in comparison, was something else entirely.
