“Write down the lass’s name,” the laird drawled, catching Iris’s attention. He was a portly Scot with a long red beard and eyes that seemed to hold some version of kindness toward her rather than pity. “If she wishes tae participate, then she should be able tae.”
“A-Aye, mah laird,” the man said hastily, the laughter fading from his expression as he scribbled her name. “Welcome tae the gathering games, Wallace.”
Iris ignored the man, looking up at the laird instead.
“Thank ye.”
He gave her a nod and she turned, running into a solid mass as she did so.
“Steady now,” a deep voice murmured, strong hands gripping her upper arms.
Iris looked up to find a pair of green eyes staring back at her, attached to a handsome face that sent her stomach in knots. He was tall, taller than even Ian was, with his red hair about his face and a scruffy beard that hid his strong jawline. His grip was strong; she could feel the heat of his skin burning through her simple tunic.
Realizing that they were being watched, Iris yanked herself out of his grip, hoping that her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt.
“Wot are ye doing?”
He crossed his arms over his chest, a hint of a smile on his face.
“I believe ye ran intaeme,lass.”
“I didnae,” she countered, mimicking his stance and glaring at him as she did so. “Ye were inmahpath.”
He looked over her shoulder. “I was trying tae get tae make mah mark, lass, but it seems I have tae go through ye first.”
He was going to compete? Iris let her eyes drift down his strong form, her heart beating rapidly in her chest.
“Well,” she drawled, deciding that he was just another Scot who thought she couldn’t win. She would show him as well. Iris would prove to the entire lot that she could beat them all. “I cannae wait tae show ye how hard I am tae go through.”
He arched a brow, clearly surprised by her tone and her words.
“Is that right, lass?”
Iris stepped closer to him, her eyes flashing. He didn’t believe she could either. It was the fight she had fought all her life and would continue to fight until her dying breath.
“I will enjoy watching ye fall on yer arse then,” she snapped back, letting the ire come out in her words. “And watch as ye taste the dirt around ye in defeat.”
Her father had always said she had a way with words, which was what had gained her respect amongst the other warriors.
She pushed at his shoulder, forcing him out of her way and ignoring the laughter around them.
“Och, lass, I cannae wait!” she heard him call out behind her.
Iris chose to keep walking, clenching her fists at her sides. Perhaps she would be paired up with him with the first round of games and force him out just as quickly.
Yes, that would be worth her time to see the surprised look on his face as her arm was held up in victory.
Still, as Iris made her way back to her clan’s tents, she couldn’t help but think about his laughing eyes or the well-formed body that had been on display. He was a handsome devil, that one, but it would take more than just his handsome face to impress her.
Iris’s steps slowed, and she shook her head. No, she didn’t care about being impressed! She came to win the games. It was her brothers who would go through the camp before the week’s end and make their presence known with the lasses.
She was not her brothers nor did she have any interest in doing so! It would be in her best interest to remember why she was there and not have her head turned by the first handsome Scot she saw. It was her sister’s fault for having their talk before she left, Iris decided as she stalked back to the tent.
Iris had no interest in that sort of life, no matter what her sister thought.
Iris snorted. Handsome indeed! He wasn’t that handsome.
But as she thought about her words, Iris felt deep down that she was lying to herself.
