Page 2 of Falling for His Cousin’s Betrothed

“That man is incredibly handsome,” said Morven, watching as he knelt down and drew in a deep breath. Laila nodded her head in agreement. The other competitors, though handsome and with bodies like Greek gods, were not quite as striking as the man who, at the moment, remained crouched behind the first stone.

“We are set to begin!” The announcer made one more round with his hands in the air, then stood back as the bagpipes ceased their melancholy tune. Morven and Laila both clutched their arms and held their breath, waiting with bated breath as the tallest man heaved the stone clear above his head from a crouching position, then lurched it into the air.

“Ahh!” The spectators stood, amazed at his strength, and watched as it hurtled, fully enmeshed with a velocity quite unlike anything they’d ever witnessed before, then dipped downward like a stealth bomb. Plunk! It landed with a thud perfectly atop the barrel. Laila jumped up and down.

“Quite a performer,” said Morven, waving her handkerchief a few minutes more.

Laila nodded in agreement. “He’s got so much strength,” said Laila. “Like that of a great bay shire.”

Morven chuckled, and the two watched as the next man, shorter and not quite as muscular, approached one of the stones. He, too, knelt down, but his body didn’t impress the spectators.

“Crabbit!” yelled one of the men from the stands as he tossed his sausage that he was eating to the ground. “He’s rubbish!”

Laila raised her brows, wondering if this next clansman would have even an iota of a chance of following the act they’d all just witnessed.

“Let’s see,” said Morven, biting her lower lip in anticipation.

The man eased back on his haunches, held on to the earth to steady himself, then grunted and pushed the next stone from before his hands. Yet in doing so, he lost his footing and slipped onto the boggy earth below him, much to the enjoyment of the crowd.

“See?” called the man holding the sausage. “I called Crabbit all around.” He frowned and looked to the east as the parade of bagpipes encircled the stands once more. “They need a stronger clansman like the first!” he called out, gaining nods from the crowd.

Laila watched with anticipation as the first man, sweaty yet determined, walked from where his first stone had landed atop the barrel. “He’s going to throw once more,” she said to herself, watching as he studied the second stone. “I bet he wins.” He leaned in and pressed a hand on the stone. It didn’t budge. The spectators cheered wildly as he shook out his arms, loosening the muscles for the grip that would determine his fate in the Game.

“Aarghh!” He thrust his arms around the entire circumference of the larger stone. Yet could he lift it? Laila covered her mouth, her heart beating wildly with excitement. The thick muscles in his arms bulged like massive rolls of twine. “Humppph!” He leaned in, a powerful force of strength to be reckoned with, as Morven craned her neck to see his every move. He lifted the stone above his head, heaved it as he had with the first, then launched it forward. The stone cleared the first one, then landed with a resounding thump! Everyone cheered.

“I can’t believe his strength,” commented Laila. She had plum forgotten all about her father’s goose chase and didn’t think once about her earlier game of hide-and-seek behind the wardrobe inside the castle. In fact, for the first time in weeks, she felt light as a downy feather and free as a marbled goshawk. What could get in my way now? she wondered. She was in the company of thousands, and even on his giant stallion, there was little chance her father would have luck finding her in a crowd as massive as the one gathered at the Highland Games.

“Whomp!” the tallest man, now in the lead of the Ardblair Stones Challenge, looked right at Laila before lifting the final stone. She felt a slight flutter in her chest as his eyes roamed her face, only for a moment, but long enough for her to feel…noticed. What power, she mused to herself as he lurched forward once more, his body one with the stone for a brief moment before catapulting it above the other two.

“Yes!” Laila was enamored by his agility, his strength, and his composure. He was from the MacFarlane clan, one of the more reputable men in the valley. His badge crest, a falcon rising, caught Laila’s attention, and she smiled to herself, wondering if he was married. But why was she even curious? Her questions are amusing, if nothing else, she figured as he wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. The announcer, running to and fro as the remaining stones were thrown in succession, finally breathed with relief into the trusty bullhorn.

“Alas! We have our reigning clan winner! And it’s none other than the one Robert MacFarlane from Glencoe Valley!” He took the man by the hand and thrust his arm above his head in a winner’s stance. The spectators jumped up and down, cheering wildly as the man nodded his head in humble recognition of his achievement. As he walked with the announcer, his kilt wrapped loosely around his thick legs, Laila caught a glimpse of his eyes once more. They reminded her of the clouds that had recently parted—soft yet foreboding.

She drew in a deep breath, closed her eyes, and took in all of the sounds of the Games. When she next opened them up, Robert had received his medal and was walking, solely, away from the Games arena.