Page 9 of Highlander’s Dangerous Gambler

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The man gazed across the glenside, taking in the mysterious stranger on the hill. Perplexed, he smiled. The knight's sudden appearance had surprised him. He was small and light and dressed oddly for a race. Watching his armor glint in the sun, the man stared, intrigued.

It was nearly the start of the race. In the distance, other riders were beginning to assemble. One by one, they streamed to the start place, an unobtrusive glade of trees at the crown of the hillock.

The man pulled his brow into a frown. The stranger's appearance had thrown him. Now he would have to revise his notes. Struggling through a sheaf of papers, the man pulled out a scroll. Unfurling it, he screwed up his eyes. The odds had changed. There was a new contender in the race, and unwittingly, he had messed up everything.

Slowly, the lad on horseback trotted to the start line. And from afar, the man watched. There was something about this rider that jarred slightly. And it wasn't just his unexpected appearance.

He was good. There was a certain grace to how he held himself, a poise that the man had seldom seen in any rider.

He was light, he was speedy, it was easy to see this lad winning in a race, yet there was still something about him that made the man hesitate.

Aye, he had style, certainly. But he wasn't all there, not quite. Something in the lad's demeanor suggested nerves; a brittleness of pace, he could not put his finger on what—just that he lacked the confidence necessary for a truly successful racer.

The man's eye was drawn witheringly to the lad's armor. It hung there for a while, watching. Then, he shook his head. He certainly was a strange one, the man thought. What possessed the lad to race in body armor? If anything, this was going to slow him down, which made him wonder about his experience.

He was not sensing much of it in this rider. Again, the man gazed over the lad's slight shape. He was small and light but also somehow softer in form than he might be expecting. Of course, beneath chainmail and plates, it was hard to say, but there was something unusual about him for sure.

If he was going to make any money on his wager, he had to know all the odds, and since the lad's arrival, they had changed.

Shaking the mud from his ghillies, the man strode forward, wending his way to the start of the race.

He had questions.

He was coming over.

As the man with blue eyes hurried over, Aileen struggled to get a hold of herself. She was in a cold funk. The start of the race was nigh, and she was in the grip of a panic that she had not anticipated.

Her heart stuttered and fitted, jumping away like a demented hare. The fact was, she was overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by nerves and the prospect of the race. She needed to remain hidden, and it had just begun to dawn on her that this was easier said than done.

Suddenly, Aileen's master plan of wearing armor was not as smart as she had thought.

Literally, no one else was wearing any—why would they? And she stood out like a sore thumb. Worse still, she was hot.

Having never worn armor before, Aileen had not truly appreciated how hot it was nor how stilted it made certain movements. Still, there was little time to think about this. The man with the blue eyes was here now.

"Hullo again," said the man, coming toward her. Aileen forced herself to smile, then remembered that he could not see her. She nodded her head seriously.

"Ready for the off?" He grinned genially, but Aileen could tell it was information he was after. A hot sweat prickled all the way through her. She had not been prepared for such a grilling.

Her mind reeled, panicking.

"So then, laddie, ye've had that horse long? She fits ye like a glove!" The man beamed. He was close enough to touch her, and trepidation burst out all over Aileen. She sensed his breathing, his breaths blowing out onto her face. He was standing close. Way too close.

Instinctively, Aileen stepped back. Positioning herself on the horse, she shuffled uneasily. The man was complimentary but after something.

"Aye," murmured Aileen, desperate not to give herself away. The man smiled. There was something in those azure eyes that fizzed and burned. Despite not being seen, Aileen felt herself turn away. It was as if she did not want to be burned by his eyes.

"So, where are ye from?" the man asked directly, his blue eyes twinkling into hers. It was just as well he could not see her turn deep red.

Aileen tried her best to shrug. She did not want to tell him. There was an awkward impasse, where the dark man towered over her, looking.

He was tall. For the first time, Aileen was really struck by just how big this man was. Even on his horse, it was clear.

Aileen shook her head, then steadied herself on the horse’s back. Her damn helmet almost came off. Shaken, she admonished herself to take more care. A sudden wind took the hillock, rippling through the trees and the contestants alike.

It was beginning to thicken up in there, the throngs of riders hanging together like mites. Suddenly, it was hard to hear anything. Aileen used this to her advantage, waving away his questions.