Page 74 of The Laird’s Sinful Claim

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

"Absolutely not."

Elinor crossed her arms, watching as the five men stripped off their doublets and tossed them aside with the enthusiasm of boys half their age. The celebration had moved to the outer courtyard, where someone had set up what appeared to be a competition area.

"Come on, me lady!" Lachlann called, his grin infectious. "It's just a wee bit of fun."

"A wee bit of fun that involves throwing logs that weigh more than I do." Elinor gestured at the massive timber lying in the center of the ring. "I think I'll observe from a safe distance, thank you."

"Wise woman," Tristan said, appearing at her elbow with two cups of ale. He offered her one. "Those idiots have been competin' at Highland games since they were lads. It always ends in someone gettin' hurt."

"Usually Lachlann," Calum called out cheerfully. "Remember the time ye tried to throw the caber and it came back down on yer foot?"

"That was one time!"

"Ye couldn't walk properly fer a month."

"I could walk fine!"

"Ye hobbled like an old man."

Elinor hid her smile behind her cup as the men continued their good-natured bickering. David caught her eye from across the ring and shook his head, but she could see the affection in his expression as he looked at his brothers.

"They're always like this?" she asked Tristan.

"Always. Wait until they really get goin'. That's when the bettin' starts." He took a long drink. "Last time they gathered, Euan wagered his favorite sword that he could out-throw Calum. Lost spectacularly. Moyra made him sleep in the stables fer a week."

"His wife made him sleep in the stables?"

"Aye. Moyra daesnae tolerate foolishness." Tristan's expression turned fond. "She's good fer him. Keeps him grounded."

Before Elinor could respond, Archibald's voice boomed across the courtyard. "Right then! Standard rules. Three attempts each. Longest throw wins. And since we're celebratin' David's marriage, the winner gets tae kiss the bride!"

"Ye absolutely will nae!" David's protest was immediate and sharp.

"What's the matter, David?" Calum's grin was wicked. "Afraid one of us might actually win?"

"Afraid ye'll all make fools of yerselves and embarrass me in front of me wife."

"Too late fer that," Euan said dryly. "We've already told her about the time ye fell in the loch tryin' tae impress that merchant's daughter."

"I was fourteen!"

"And spectacularly unsuccessful."

The crowd that had gathered laughed, and Elinor found herself joining in. There was something wonderful about seeing David like that—not the serious laird or the careful strategist, but just a man among his closest friends, comfortable enough to be teased.

"Me lady!" Lachlann bowed with exaggerated formality. "Would ye dae us the honor of startin' the competition?"

"How do I do that?"

"Just say 'begin' or drop yer scarf or somethin' dramatic." He winked. "Whatever feels appropriately ceremonial."

Elinor looked at David, who nodded his permission, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. She stepped forward, pulling the ribbon from her hair with deliberate slowness.

"Gentlemen," she said, pitching her voice to carry. "May the best man win."

She dropped the ribbon.