His father clenched his jaw tightly but in the end, inclined his head. He wasn’t going to go against his own laird, not even for the safety of his son.
“Then ye best see it through, Son,” he finally said before walking off.
James watched him go, the tension growing between his shoulder blades. He knew that his father would be upset, but had he just broken their relationship beyond repair?
“Dinnae worry, James,” Irvine said as he came to stand beside him. “Malcolm has a hard head, but he will come around in time.” He clasped a hand on James’s shoulder. “I, for one, am glad that ye have done this, James. Show them wot ye can do, wot ye have trained for.”
Surprised, James looked at his laird, who gave him a wink.
“Aye, I’ve seen yer training with Matteau. Ye think that I wouldnae know wot was going on in mah own clan?”
James’s cheeks reddened. “I was—I mean… I dinnae?—”
He laughed, moving away. “Good luck, James. Come back uninjured or yer da will flay me alive for this.”
James smirked as the laird strode away, his mind already thinking about the task at hand. He had done it. He had successfully gotten the go-ahead from his laird to do this, but the larger issue loomed ahead of him. He would have to win now so that his efforts and the rift between his father weren’t in vain.
8
“Dinnae forget yer blind side. Ye always forget yer blind side.”
Iris adjusted her sword at her back, glaring at Ian. “I dinnae have a blind side.”
He smirked, shooing her hands away as he cinched the leather strap tighter for her.
“Aye, trust me, Sister, ye do have a blind side.”
She shot him a look, a flurry of nerves running rampant inside her gut. After weeks of discussing that she was going to do this, the day and time had finally come.
Iris had never felt more ill. It wasn’t that she was concerned about not being victorious.
No, she had enough skill to handle whatever they came up with.
It was the fact that the Scot that had haunted her dreams all last night was a member of the McGregor clan.
Their enemy.
She detested the very thought. Even though his last name was different, he was going to represent the McGregor clan, and because of that, they were enemies. Iris hated to even admit that he had occupied her dreams and her thoughts since theirlast encounter, so much so that she had awoken in the predawn morning gasping for breath.
He had touched her in her dreams, those calloused fingers roaming over her skin and lighting a fire in her veins. She had gasped and arched into his touch, wanting more than he was giving her. When he had lowered his head, she had closed her eyes in anticipation of his kiss.
A kiss that had never come.
“Och, quit yer mothering,” Stephan replied, shoving Ian out of the way. “She’s far more capable of these games than we could ever be. Right, Iris?”
“Right,” Iris replied, shooting her brother a grateful look. “I can handle whatever they give me.”
“Of course she can,” their father announced as he joined their group, his eyes twinkling. “I’m proud of ye, lass.”
Her cheeks flushed under his abrupt praise. “I will be victorious, Da.”
“I have nary a doubt,” he said, placing his hand on her shoulder and squeezing it gently. “Go on. Do me proud, mah daughter.”
Iris gave him a nod and stepped away from her family, her throat suddenly tight. Sometimes they surprised her with their sentiments and the like.
She had just stepped back into the clearing when the laird was calling all the participants to the platform.
“’Tis time for the first challenge!” he called out. “Ready yer horses, mah fellow Scots, for we are going tae witness the age-old tradition of racing across the moors!”
