“Wot happened?” he demanded, throwing his mug aside. “Wot did that bastard do tae ye!”
Iris used all her might to push at her brother’s shoulders, causing him to stumble backward and nearly fall over the log on the ground.
“I told ye tae mind yer own business!” she shouted. “Yet ye cannae help but meddle in mine!”
Ian straightened, his eyes flashing with anger. “I dinnae know wot ye are talking aboot, lass.”
Iris huffed, her hands on her hips. “Ye know wot ye did, Ian, and it wasnae yer business tae do so!”
“Wot is the meaning of this!”
Both turned to find their father a few feet away, with a lass on his arm and his eyes blazing with anger.
“Tell Ian tae stay out of mah business,” she told her father.
The laird’s eyes cut to his eldest son, narrowing. “Wot did ye do?”
“That Lennox bastard has his eyes for Iris,” Ian bit out, crossing his arms over his chest. “I wilnae let mah sister be anywhere near him.”
“’Tis not yer call!” Iris shot back, walking away before she could hear her father’s retort.
The entire lot of them could hang for all she cared. They were meddling in her business, but it wasn’t her brother that had made tonight happen.
It was just easier to blame him for it.
15
The next morning, right after dawn had graced the sky, the remaining participants gathered in the morning mist as their host laird stood upon his dais.
“Welcome tae the last day of the gathering games!” he replied, spreading his arms wide. “For this remaining game, ’tis only fitting that we draw blood!”
James rolled his shoulders as the rest of the Scots cheered, a sour feeling in his stomach. He had slept poorly when he finally fell onto his cot, his dreams full of the lass that didn’t wish to be with him.
Repeatedly in his mind, he played their last conversation, seeing the tears on her face as she told him she would not allow him to give up on the game. Well, she didn’t have any hand over what he was willing to do if it came down to them, especially now that he knew they would be drawing blood.
“A sparring ring is a warrior’s home,” the laird was saying, looking around the crowd that was gathered before him. “And it will be too for our participants. Two will go into the ring, one will come out victorious when he draws the blood of his opponent.”He narrowed his gaze. “Not final blood; only a cut will do. Any Scot that does more than that will be made an example of.”
James sagged under the laird’s words. At least they weren’t fighting to the death. That he would not be able to stomach.
“Come forward,” the laird finished as his advisor stepped before the dais, carrying a basket. “And draw yer color for yer opponent.”
James followed Matteau to the basket, drawing a green scrap. His heart in his throat, he looked around for Iris, seeing that she had drawn a red one. It hurt to look at her in the morning light, the rawness of his heart still bleeding for her. She was dressed in her customary clothing, her hair wound back off her face and a sword strapped to her back. She didn’t even look in his direction as she stepped back and James swallowed, torn between calling out to her and walking away. She had made it clear she didn’t want to go away with him.
Perhaps it was for the best.
“Go now!” the laird called out once everyone had a scrap of fabric. “Prepare yerself for battle! I wilnae allow any armor and only swords will be the weapon of choice. We will commence with the games in an hour.”
James moved away only to find his father waiting on him.
“Are ye going tae do this, Son?” he asked. “Are ye really going tae follow through with this farce of a game?”
“Aye,” James replied, straightening his shoulders. “’Tis wot I came here tae do, Da, and I intend on seeing it through.”
His father stared at him for a moment before sighing.
“Alright then. Keep yer shoulder up when ye fight. Ye are always dropping it.”
James stared at his father in surprise, to which his father laughed, clapping him on the shoulder.
