She wanted so badly to blurt out that she wanted none of them for a husband, aye, she wanted to remain in Glenmalure and live freely and on her own terms—but the sternness of her father’s face had not altered even as he appeared weary to her again.
She knew then as surely as she breathed how hard this day must be for him, for she knew he loved her.
Aye, loved her so much to demand that she wed to protect her…for no caring father lived forever.
“What test do you have for your suitors now, Deirdre?”
She didn’t readily answer but swallowed hard, her gaze sweeping from man to man again.
All of them disheveled and dirty from wrestling—aye, and reeking from their exertions, to be truthful…
“A race across the lough, Father, and I will join them this time. You know how well I swim. I’m curious as to if any of them can beat me—aye, such a feat would indeed impress me.”
“Ah, then, I’m out,” came Brendan’s dejected voice as he glanced from Deirdre to Ronan, his face even ruddier from chagrin. “I cannot swim.”
Deirdre almost felt sorry for Brendan at that moment, but she had already decided that he would never become her husband—no, not with his mother who would try to rule her.
To her relief, Ronan took the matter in hand as if guessing her resolve and came around the table.
“Aye, O’Neill, the day has not gone well for you, but we’re honored you joined us. Come.”
Brendan didn’t protest, but walked with Ronan from the feasting-hall, her father no doubt offering him gold as well that would help to assuage any hard feelings from his clan.
That left only two suitors, Deirdre glancing at Liam and Darragh to find them scowling at each other again—which sent her flying after her father, her heart racing with apprehension.
Dear God, did the two of them mean to swim or to try and drown each other?
CHAPTER 8
“I’m going to strip rather than wear wet trousers for the rest of the day,” Liam announced to the onlookers gathered at the lough, Deirdre the only woman among them.
She gasped softly from where she stood next to her stallion as he began, again, to divest himself of his sword belt and then his tunic, all the while feeling some hesitation about appearing naked before her—but he only had with him the clothes on his back.
Yet he quickly reconsidered when a sideways glance told him that Darragh had begun to undress as well. By God, he didn’t want Deirdre to see his strapping opponent stripped down to the skin, Liam kicking off his shoes and turning to seek out Conor.
“O’Byrne, surely you can loan us some dry trousers after this race, aye?”
“Oh, aye,” came Conor’s wry response, followed by his laughter. Deirdre looked more than relieved as she kicked off her own shoes and then walked to the water’s edge where she hiked up her trousers to her knees.
The sight of her shapely calves making Liam grateful, indeed, that he wasn’t stark naked for the unmistakable arousal he felt at the thought of soon seeing her dripping wet from head to toe.
Darragh had stopped undressing to stare at her, too, the lustful look on his face not gallant at all while appraising Deirdre with her back turned to him—the bastard!
Liam’s hands clenched into fists that Darragh must surely have used flattery to enhance her opinion of him, which Liam had heard him employ when dallying with giggling serving women at clan gatherings.
To think Deirdre had been influenced by such a tactic made Liam all the more determined to win this race across the lough and soon be done with these tests of skill.
He walked down the bank with the emerald green grass feeling cool beneath his bare feet, but stopped a short way from Deirdre so as not to crowd her.
Darragh gave her no such courtesy, though. He brushed past Liam to come up right behind her, Deirdre spinning around from staring at the lough that glistened in the sunlight.
Her cheeks flushed and her beautiful eyes wide as if she still might find them stripped down to the skin, and she laughed nervously, Liam sensing her relief to see them both still wearing their trousers.
He shot her a glance that he hoped she would find reassuring, but already Darragh had stepped between them to block Liam from her view.
His opponent’s shoulders broad and as well-muscled as his arms, which told Liam that Darragh would prove a strong swimmer—other than he still limped.
Yet that injury would have little bearing on Darragh’s ability to swim, and mayhap was even feigned to elicit more sympathy from Deirdre, which made Liam curse under his breath.
