“Well done,” the Scot said, a hint of a grin on his weathered face. “Well done.”
James inclined his head, his chest nearly bursting with pride at what he had been able to do.
“Look at ye!” Matteau remarked as James walked out of the ring so that others could step in. “Ye did it!”
“Aye, I did.”
Matteau laughed, unstrapping his scabbard and removing his sword, taking a few swings to loosen his muscles.
“I can only hope that ye are left standing after this. It will be far too easy tae draw yer blood, ye bastard.”
James smirked and clapped him on the shoulder. “Good luck tae ye.”
Matteau winked. “I dinnae need luck.”
Shaking his head, James’s eyes strayed toward the other sparring ring, where he had last seen Iris. The match was complete, and he saw her being congratulated by her brothers, a smile on her face. She had done it. She had won as well.
Their eyes collided with each other’s, and her smile faded before she looked away, stalking off into the crowd and out of James’s line of sight.
What in bloody hell was he going to do if it was the two of them left? Last night he had been prepared to lay down his sword, but things had changed. His father and his clan were expecting him to do well and to lay down his sword would mean he would be bowing to his enemy all in the name of his feelings for Iris.
Was it enough? Would she accept him in the end if he did something that drastic?
Or would he be embarrassed by her when she drew his blood and sent him home a traitor to his own kind?
James drew in a breath and walked away, only to be intercepted by a fuming Ian.
“Wot?” he barked out, not in the mood to deal with her bullheaded brother right now. “Wot do ye want?”
“’Tis going tae be between ye and Iris,” Ian replied, his voice laced with bitterness. “In the end, ye are both the best swordsmen here, and ye are going tae be forced tae spar with her.”
James barked out a laugh. “Why do ye care, Scot? Havenae ye done enough tae ruin mah life and hers?”
Ian gripped James’s tunic in his hand, only mere inches between their faces.
“I dinnae know wot is going on between ye and mah sister, but she’s not going tae back down, Lennox. She is a Wallace. We dinnae lose tae anyone.”
“Are ye asking me tae do it instead?” James challenged, arching a brow. “Tae prove that I care aboot her?” He had already been considering it, but the discussion with his da and Irvine had him rethinking his decision.
Ian’s jaw clenched as he released James, understanding dawning in his eyes.
“Ye would do it. Ye care aboot her.”
James swallowed every retort he could throw at the Scot, straightening his tunic instead to keep from throttling the man.
“Aye.” He didn’t have to say anything else. Ian could read it on his face if he looked hard enough. “But I dinnae think she feels the same aboot me any longer.”
The man looked at him for a moment before shaking his head. “I wouldnae say the same, Lennox.”
Before James could ask what he meant by the words, Ian stalked off, disappearing into the crowd. Did something happen last night after Iris had fled him?
Did she say something to her brother?
“Bloody hell,” James muttered, slicing his hand through his hair.
When had his life become so difficult?
16
