Page 8 of Wicked Passions

The long line of men soon became a blur, and she couldn’t even say if she nodded or smiled or even replied to those who bowed and kissed her hand. The only two she wanted to meet were her fair-haired favorite and his brawny friend; especially to inquire why they’d looked so unhappy at being asked to sword fight.

Naturally, they were the very last names on the list.

An hour later, with the Hall empty apart from the king and queen who were warming their hands in front of one of the five fireplaces, Isla finally stood alone with the two she wished to. This close they were even more handsome, and her mind waged a war against her body; the desire to know everything about them against the desire to stroke and caress.

Hurling good manners out the window, Isla looked impatiently at both. “Your names again, sirs? Why did you look so miserable at the thought of swords?”

The fair-haired man bowed over her hand. Intriguingly, his eyes were almost silver. “I am Callum MacIntyre, clan chief and Lord of Glennoe. From the Western Highlands, on the shores of Loch Etive, my lady. This is my squire and close friend, Master Alastair Graham.”

The brawny, brown-haired man inclined his head, his watchful eyes as blue as a summer sky. “Lady.”

Her whole body tingled with excitement. What was it about these two that interested her so? They weren’t the most important men in the tourney, nor the wealthiest, or in possession of the most land. “You looked pleased at the events until the last. Why is that? You’re a Highland laird, Glennoe!”

Those beautiful gray eyes met hers for the longest moment, as though he might see into her soul, then he shrugged. “In truth, my lady, while my late father was a renowned swordsman, I am his gravest disappointment: a scholar. Aye, I can run, shoot an arrow, dance and play a tune, maybe even heave a stone a little distance. But I’ve never been skilled with a sword and Alastair fights best with fists or dagger. I fear that, even if by some miracle I made it to the last event, I would be soundly defeated.”

Isla wanted to howl in dismay. This laird had answered her honestly, but what comfort could she offer? He spoke the truth. There was no way a poor swordsman would win the tourney.

Unless…

What if she disobeyed the king’s rules and offered training in secret? Next to Sir Lachlan, no other could better assist Glennoe. Yes, honorable reluctance would be understandable, but if they were intrigued by her enough to risk it, if they would accept a woman’s guidance…

All she could do was wait for a pause in conversation, then casually make an offer. The next step would be up to them.

* * *

He’d not thought this situation could get any more complicated than being in love with Callum, and half-supporting, half-loathing his quest for a wealthy bride to secure the clan’s future.

He was wrong.

Alastair observed in silence as his laird and Lady Isla continued a frank discussion about swords. There was a spark of mutual interest and awareness between them that made his heart clench. But far worse…he wanted this rebellious lady swordfighter, this beauty with flashing green eyes, black curls to tangle his fingers in, and small breasts to close his mouth around. In his bed, bent over a desk, braced against a wall…begging him to fuck her harder, for she would be no shy lass in her needs.

But he couldn’t have her. Either he and Callum would return to Glennoe with nothing to show for the journey and expense, or his laird would have a new bride belonging to him alone. Then his existence would be the torture of watching the man he loved with a woman he desired; forever excluded by the little intimacies of marriage, the glances and smiles, casual touches and private conversations. Forever aware that at night Callum would use that willing tongue, eager hands, and unflagging cock to ensure a happy wife.

Once again, he would be alone.

“I know you have a special gift with swords, Lady Isla,” said Alastair abruptly, ashamed at his irritable, bitter tone yet unable to halt it. “But why do you care if my laird does not?”

She looked at him with those wide emerald eyes, but rather than flaring with affront or anger, her gaze was thoughtful. “For one reason,” she replied, her voice hushed so it didn’t carry to royal ears. “I should like to help.”

“Why?” he repeated, folding his arms and pinning her with a glare.

Lady Isla raised an eyebrow, utterly unbothered by the stance, and his admiration for her unwillingly grew. “I suspect, Master Graham, for the same reason you are so protective. I like him.”

Callum’s indrawn breath echoed in the cavernous expanse of the empty Hall, and Alastair coughed to ensure the king and queen did not grow suspicious and join them in conversation. They probably had only a few moments more to talk, then the lady would be escorted back to her family or maybe a private gathering for high-ranking courtiers.

“How do you mean…help?” whispered Callum, his brow furrowing a little. “The king specifically forbids it in the tourney rules.”

Lady Isla cast a furtive glance at James and Margaret before straightening her shoulders. “You told me a truth of yours, allow me to return the favor. I would have been content to continue my lessons with Sir Lachlan, to one day fight for my clan or Scotland, even act as an envoy for the king. I never sought a husband, and only suggested this tourney to delay a forced marriage to a rotten apple whom I would never love, and would never love me.”

Alastair nodded in reluctant sympathy. Wealth smoothed away many cares, but it was men who gained. Daughters of great houses were seen as tools to advance the family, not as people deserving of love or happiness. Women of humble birth might have few material comforts, but when it came to choosing a husband or lover, they had much greater freedom. “The lot of a noblewoman.”

“Indeed. But then I saw Glennoe. He laughed at my wink, blushed at my regard, answered my question honestly, and you are loyal unto him in a way that commends his character. That makes me think there is a chance for me to have a happy future.”

A glance across the Hall confirmed that the king watched them even as he laughed at something his young queen said. But curiously, he remained beside the fireplace. Did James approve of Callum as a suitor? Or did he have devious motives yet to be revealed?

Alastair gripped his arms so tightly he left imprints on his skin. “And so, lady?”

“Glennoe states he can run, shoot an arrow, dance, play a tune, and heave a stone a little. Thus, an even chance of progressing through the early events—”