His chest was a landscape of muscle and scars, each mark telling a story of survival. His shoulders were impossibly broad, his arms corded with strength. The morning sun caught on his skin, highlighting every defined line, every powerful curve.
He was magnificent. Raw masculinity and controlled power wrapped in scarred flesh.
And he was supposed to be hers.
The thought made heat bloom in her cheeks, made her shift restlessly on the bench.
“Beautiful, is he nae?” Sheena appeared beside her, settling onto the bench with a knowing smile. “The Laird. All the lasses fawn over him, though he’s never paid them any mind. Until ye.”
Leona tore her eyes away from Murdock. “I… He’s…”
“Nay need to be shy, dear. Ye’re betrothed. Ye’re allowed to admire yer man.” Sheena patted her hand. “And from the way he looks at ye, I’d say the admiration goes both ways.”
Did it?
Leona’s eyes found him again, helpless.
The caber, a massive tree trunk stripped of branches and tapered at one end, lay on the ground. It had to be nearly twenty feet long, thick as a man’s torso.
The first competitor stepped up, gripping the narrow end. He strained, muscles bulging as he lifted it vertically, then tried to toss it. The caber wobbled, tilted, but didn’t complete the flip. Still, the crowd cheered his effort.
Two more men tried and failed. One managed a decent flip but poor direction.
Then it was Murdock’s turn.
He approached the caber with confident strides, crouching down to grip it. Leona found herself leaning forward, her hands clasped tight.
His muscles bunched as he lifted it. The caber rose slowly, steadily, his arms straining under the weight. Higher and higher it went, and Leona could see every muscle in his back flexing, could see the veins standing out in his forearms.
Power. Pure, controlled power.
He balanced it vertically, the massive weight held steady for a heartbeat. Then his hips drove forward, his arms pushed, and the caber flew.
It rotated perfectly in the air, completing a full flip before landing with a thunderous crash directly in line with its starting point. A perfect toss.
The crowd erupted in cheers.
Murdock turned, his chest heaving with exertion, sweat gleaming on his skin, and looked directly at her.
Leona couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything but stare at him while heat flooded through her body in a wave that left her trembling.
This was the only time she’d seen him like this. Not fighting. Not killing. Not hard and cold and distant. But engaged in something physical, something that required strength and skill without violence.
He looked… free. Almost content. His expression was fierce, triumphant, but there was something lighter in it, too. Pride, perhaps, in showing off for her.
And God help her, she was mesmerized.
She rose from the bench without conscious thought, her hands coming together to applaud. She watched his pupils dilate, watched the triumph in his expression turn into something darker, hungrier.
He wanted her. Right here, right now, with hundreds of people watching, he wanted her with an intensity that made her knees weak.
And she wanted him just as desperately.
The air between them crackled with awareness, invisible but palpable. The crowd, the noise, the celebration, all of it faded until there was only him. Only the way he looked at her like she was something precious and dangerous and utterly essential.
Leona shivered, and it had nothing to do with the autumn breeze.
She was in so much trouble.
