Because it wasn’t what he wanted from her. That was the problem. He was angry at himself because he’d felt something, and she hadn’t.
He didn’t know why, but for the first time in his life he’d felt what could only be described as tenderness for a woman, and his tentative attempts to show it had been rebuffed. He’d told himself the little things he’d noticed when they were making love had been his imagination. The turning from his gaze. The request for him to take off his shirt. Wanting him to go faster.
But it hadn’t been his imagination, damn it.
He took another swig of ale and tried to calm the pounding in his blood. The sense of restless energy. The urge to slam his fist over and over again into a wall.
He needed to calm down, to get himself under control and forget about it. Hell, he should be thanking her. He had enough strife in his life; he didn’t need it from a woman.
He glanced over to the castle, but the yard was still deserted. Had he missed her, then?
Suddenly, a hush fell over the crowd.
“There he is, my lord,” Willy whispered.
Kenneth’s eyes narrowed on the man entering the arena. He wore a steel helm that covered his face, but even on first glance, Kenneth could see that Willy was right. He was nearly as big and strong-looking as—
Bloody hell.
The blood slid from his face for one frozen moment in time before surging hotter and harder than before. His mouth fell in a flat line and his fists clenched into balls of steel at his side.
Kenneth recognized the man even if the crowd didn’t. Magnus MacKay, the bloody bastard! Apparently, there was nothing he wouldn’t do to see that Kenneth didn’t win. Even take to the field against what Kenneth suspected were the direct orders of the king.
Kenneth watched in icy fury as MacKay played to the crowd, whipping them into a frenzy. MacKay could have defeated the last opponent between him and the final round in a matter of minutes, but drew out the battle with the skill of a born showman. Yet it was more than that, and Kenneth knew it. MacKay was good. One of the best he’d ever seen. But Kenneth was better. And he was going to do what he’d been doing since the day he was born: prove it.
He was a man to be taken seriously, even if his wee wanton in a nun’s habit didn’t think so. Part of him wished she were here to see it. But he wasn’t going to think about her anymore. He was in for the battle of his life, and he couldn’t afford to let anything distract him.
Sangfroid, damn it. He’d better remember it.
* * *
“Surprised to see me, Sutherland?” MacKay taunted as they squared off in the arena a short while later.
They circled one another, each one waiting for the other to make the first move.
“I’d wager I’m not the only one,” Kenneth replied. “Did you tell the king what you had planned, or did you come up with this little disguise all on your own?”
He could see the other man’s eyes harden through the steel slits in the helm. “I told you you’d have to get past me first.”
“Beating you will only make victory that much sweeter.”
“You sound confident for a man who’s already suffered a few blows today.”
MacKay feigned a step toward him as if he meant to attack, but Kenneth wasn’t fooled into taking the opening as MacKay quickly retreated.
“What are you talking about?” He’d won all his contests so far.
“Why, Lady Mary, of course. I assume that since she’s still leaving, you did not convince her to marry you. The king will not be pleased.”
Kenneth didn’t need to see his face to know that MacKay was grinning. He could hear it in his damned voice. He wanted to lunge at him, but forced himself to get a rein on his temper and stay back.Be patient, he told himself.Don’t let him get to you. But MacKay was a provoking bastard. “You let me worry about the king.”
“It won’t be necessary.” MacKay made the first move. It was a good one. He stabbed a hard punch with his right and then threw a low uppercut with his left. When Kenneth moved to block it, he attempted to get a lock on him by twisting his body and locking him in a stranglehold. But Kenneth read the move and rallied with one of his own, hearing the satisfying crunch of MacKay’s jaw as his fist connected with his chin under the helm to snap his head back.
MacKay swore, and that was the last recognizable sound they made for a while as the two men launched into a fierce battle. Nothing was off limits. They pounded with their fists, kicked with their feet, pummeled with their bodies. They took turns at wrapping one another in deadly holds and fighting to break free.
They were evenly matched. Too evenly matched in both strength and stubbornness. Neither of them would give up.
And they both knew how to fight dirty. MacKay lost no opportunity in targeting Kenneth’s bad side, landing whatever punches he could on his bruised ribs. “How are those ribs feeling, Sutherland?” he managed to taunt through deep breaths. “I hope nothing is broken.”
