Page 32 of A Highland Rogue to Ruin

Helplessness invaded the warmth in her heart. James would never approve of this. James would never even entertain the notion before blades were drawn.

Find me a judge who wants a MacLeod to win and I’ll find ye a river of gold.

Her barb on the racing trail bit so hard that she gasped. At the time, she’d merely been responding to an adversary. It was how everyone felt about him.

“Ye all right?” he asked.

Concern seemed to pull his thick brows together. Why would he try to tell the truth about anything when everyone already believed the lie? Why try to convince people who had already made up their minds and solidified their beliefs with the blood on their swords? He simply owned the lies rather than try to convince people of the truth.

She smiled, nodded, and unrolled the fabric. A series of squares and a central cross decorated the fabric with ornately flourished corners of Norse knots, of frolicking lapins hopping happily among ivy. Hand-painted.

Her brow pulled together, eyes brightening. “Tafl?”

A grin split his lips, revealing that tiny chip to his tooth. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, nodding toward the board upon her lap.

“Ye ken how to play, angel? ’Tis a Norseman’s game. I can teach ye—”

“Oh, I ken how to play. ’Tis one of my favorites!”

“Of course it is,” he drawled to himself.

“But”—she glanced around—“where shall we play?”

They were set adrift, far into the inlet. Sakes, she’d not noticed how far they’d rowed, so absorbed in her thoughts about Tormund and how she’d likely offended him and lived up to his expectations of a MacDonald.

“Here.” He withdrew the oars, lay them in the bottom of the vessel, then drew the fabric off her lap and lay it out between them. He then hooked the purse strings upon his finger and took it from her lap. “Lay out the food.”

She did so as he shook the game tokens into his palm and cast the purse aside.

“Here? On the bottom of the boat?”

“Aye, here. Away from the faire where I can taunt ye openly.” That stoic expression with that mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“Careful what ye wish for, man. I remain undefeated—in races and games—need I remind ye.”

That laugh barked up his throat. “And ye’re humble, too, I see. Typical MacDonald.”

“Insults. Imagine those from a MacLeod.” Her gaze flashed to him.

He reached behind his back and withdrew his eating knife, flipping it in the air to catch the blade between his thumb and finger as the boat gently rocked, holding the hilt out to her. She took it and climbed off the bench to sit in her pile of skirts, mashing them out of the way, and lay out the cheese, slicing hearty wedges as he leaned over his knees like an oversized lad, boots planted wide, and began setting up the pieces.

The king and his pawns went in the middle, in the central cross, and the enemy pawns were clustered at the edges of the board, his thick fingers dwarfing the intricately carved tokens she now realized were sculptures, chiseled out of stone.

She brought the cheese to her nose to smell the savory scent. “Mmm, where did ye get it? I nay recall this kind being sold at the faire. It’s creamy and soft, and…” She took a nibble. Paired it with a bite of sweet, tart berry. “Sakes, perfection. This treat might be almost as good as yer kisses,” she giggled.

He harumphed, smirked that cocksure smirk. “Mayhap I need to reassert myself to remind my woman what she begged me for last night. It wasna’ berries and cheese.”

She lifted a wedge of cheese and some berries to his lips, still laughing, even as her heart skipped a beat at what he’d just said. His woman? He meant it only playfully, but still, it skipped merrily around her mind. He popped the entirety into his mouth, but as she began to withdraw, his teeth captured her fingertip. Heat danced in his eyes, a scheme he wasn’t sharing. Holding her captive, the soft bite of his nip stinging her skin, he closed his lips and relinquished his bondage, pressing a kiss to her fingertip, then chewed his bite with that smirk on his lips that he’d worn all last night as he’d worked her up and flustered her while they’d been playing chess.

He moved an enemy pawn one square, the boat rocking gently beneath them.

“C’est ton tour, lass.” He gestured, telling her it was her turn.

She examined his move, the objective being for him to infiltrate her central castle and pin her king with his pawns. If she didn’t steal all his pawns first or ferry her king to freedom. “Hmm, what about stakes, though? Ye seem to like those.”

He eyed her. “Stakes last time included those kisses betwixt strangers that are apparently nay as good as berries and cheese.”

“Hmm, then I wonder what stakes there could be now that we’re friends.”