The women cheered, pulling Leona toward the field where burlap sacks had been laid out. She went willingly, laughing as they explained the rules, her initial shyness melting away.
Murdock found himself drawn back toward the platform, but he didn’t sit. Instead, he stood at the edge, arms crossed, watching as Leona stepped into one of the sacks.
“She’s a bonnie one,” Angus commented, appearing at his elbow. “And she’s got spirit. I can see it.”
“Aye.” Murdock didn’t take his eyes off her. “She does.”
“Ye’re a lucky man, me Laird.”
Was he? Luck seemed too simple a word for what he felt. Too inadequate to describe the chaos she’d brought into his carefully ordered life.
The race began with a shout, and the competitors started hopping forward in their sacks, some with more grace than others. Children screamed encouragement, men laughed and placed bets, and the whole village seemed to pulse with joy.
But Murdock only saw her.
Leona hopped with surprising skill, her face alight with laughter, her competitive spirit evident in the determined set of her jaw. She pulled ahead of the pack, her dark hair coming loose from its braid, whipping around her face.
She was magnificent.
Not the frightened woman who’d freed him from the dungeons. Not the desperate woman who’d begged for protection. This was someone else entirely. Someone playful and bright and achingly alive.
Someone he’d never seen before.
“Come on, Lady Leona!” a child shrieked.
“Ye can do it!” another voice called.
She was nearly at the finish line, mere feet ahead of her closest competitor, when disaster struck. Her foot caught in the sack’s folds, her balance tipped, and she went down in a tangle of limbs and burlap.
Murdock was moving before conscious thought, pushing through the crowd. But by the time he reached the field, Leona was laughing.
Not crying, not embarrassed, but laughing.
She sat in the dirt, her dress covered in dust, her hair a wild tangle, and she was laughing so hard that tears streamed down her face. Around her, the other competitors hopped past, crossing the finish line while she applauded from the ground.
“Well done!” she called to the winner, a young woman who looked half-mortified, half-delighted to have beaten the Lady. “That was brilliant!”
The crowd erupted in cheers, and Murdock stood frozen at the edge of the field, transfixed.
When was the last time he’d seen someone lose so gracefully? When was the last time he’d heard laughter like that, pure and unguarded and free?
Leona tried to stand, still giggling, struggling with the sack twisted around her legs. Murdock finally moved, closing the distance between them in long strides.
“Here.” He offered his hand.
She looked up at him, her face flushed with exertion and joy, her green eyes sparkling. “I almost won.”
“Aye. Ye did.” He pulled her up, his hands steadying her waist when she wobbled. “Until ye decided to become intimate with the ground instead.”
“It was the sack’s fault.” She tried for dignity but couldn’t maintain it, dissolving into giggles again. “Did ye nae see? I was winning!”
“I saw.”
And God help him, he couldn’t look away from her. Couldn’t stop drinking in the sight of her like this, disheveled and happy and so breathtakingly beautiful it hurt.
Around them, the crowd began to disperse, moving on to the next event. But Murdock and Leona stood in the middle of the field, hands still touching, eyes locked.
“I didnae ken ye were so…” he trailed off, searching for the right word. “Carefree.”
