A smile that made Liam’s heart thud all the harder as an intense wave of emotion struck him that she would gift another man with such a look—when he craved it so deeply for himself.
Aye, ever since she had entwined her arms with his opponents’ to brazenly walk with them back to the feasting-hall, something had altered inside him.
Mayhap it had happened even sooner when he first saw her at the lough looking every inch how one would imagine a legendary warrior queen of ancient Éire, proud and defiant astride her powerful steed.
Or when she had sat at the head table at breakfast and smiled so fetchingly at the hapless suitors who had eaten themselves sick to please her…Deirdre’s cleverness, her blushing at his bold teasing and the tilt of her chin—aye, everything about her amusing him, intriguing him.
Or the way she had run during their footrace with a litheness that had stirred his blood and made him yearn to sweep her into his arms long before their final lap…and how she had flailed against him with her eyes ablaze and her shirt taut against her breasts—God help him, it was true.
He had come to Glenmalure to secure himself a rich dowry and a higher position in life that an O’Byrne bride would bring him, but now he knew that he simply wanted…her.
“Your turn again, O’Toole!” came her taunting voice as Liam realized Darragh had shot his first arrow and Deirdre her second, both of them striking near the center of their targets while his lone arrow so close to the edge seemed to mock him.
She was clearly daring him to prove he could do better. Liam drew in a slow, deep breath as he took aim at Deirdre’s target and zinged a hawk-fletched arrow straight through the shaft of her first shot, splitting it in half.
The crowd of O’Byrne clansmen gasping and Deirdre sputtering in disbelief as Liam pulled another arrow from his quiver and accomplished the same feat with her second shot, Ronan roaring out, “The contest is done with Liam O’Toole the winner!”
“No, we’re not finished yet! I still have four more arrows,” she cried out even as Liam in quick succession shot his last three hawk-fletched arrows into the center of her target to surround the broken shafts while her clansmen clapped and cheered.
Any further protests from Deirdre drowned out by the thunderous uproar while Brendan nodded his acceptance atLiam and Darragh simply scowled—but Liam had always known him to be a sore loser at clan gatherings.
It seemed Deirdre might be a sore loser, too, as she threw her bow and quiver onto the ground and strode over to him with her beautiful eyes a dark turbulent gray that mesmerized him even in her fury.
“You…you did that on purpose to mock me!”
“No, to win you, Deirdre. Iwillhave you as my wife. You did say a worthy man was one who could outshoot you, aye?”
She didn’t answer but only gaped at him, a flush turning her cheeks bright pink as Ronan stepped forward, his voice stern.
“So you did, Deirdre, and twice now Liam O’Toole has proved himself worthy.”
“Twice, Father? I would have won that race if he hadn’t grabbed me and he knows it!”
“Aye, mayhap,” Liam interjected, stung by the outraged vehemence in her voice that forced him to reveal the truth of why he had swept her off her feet. “I saw stones ahead on the path and feared you might step upon them and stumble?—”
“A lie! You’re a scoundrel, O’Toole, and you might as well return to Imaal this very moment for I will never marry you.”
CHAPTER 5
Deirdre heard the shocked gasp that seemed to ripple through her clansmen for her to level such an accusation, but she didn’t care.
Instead she fisted her hands at her waist as Liam’s expression hardened, his steely gaze fixed upon her.
“I do not lie.”
“No? You laughed as if it was all a lark, teasing me, taunting me. You swept me up to humiliate me?—”
“Tosaveyou from the humiliation such a fall might have cost you—and why not make light of it? You are far too full of yourself, woman. Would it hurt you to laugh once in a while or to show some feminine grace instead of this shrewish display that almost makes me regret your father’s invitation?”
“Shrewish?” Deirdre echoed in disbelief, her face burning so hotly that she felt as if he might as well have slapped her to hurl such an insult.
She glanced around her at everyone staring at her, some mouths dropped open at their heated exchange, and even her father shaking his head at her as if he agreed with Liam—aye, Ronan’s reaction stung her worst of all. He strode forward to face her and kept his voice low.
“You will apologize to our guest at once, daughter, for now you have dishonored our clan to level such a charge upon Liam. There were stones kicked upon the path by everyone gathered near the outer gate waiting to see who would win the third lap.”
“I…I didn’t see them,” Deirdre murmured, feeling suddenly sick that she had called Liam a liar. As her father stepped away, she met Liam’s still angry gaze…strangely sick at heart as well that he thought her unfeminine and a shrew. Was that how everyone saw her this day?
“Forgive me, O’Toole…I mean Liam. I mistook why you swept me from my feet, I’m so sorry, truly.”
