“Yellow race!” called James.
As the victor, Red was recognized first with his gold coin, and when he murmured something to the queen, she blushed and giggled. Then he moved to Lady Isla, deliberately taking her hand and kissing it as they conversed.
Alastair and Callum both tensed. However, with all eyes on them, revealing their true feelings would do them no favor. To everyone else, Red behaved in the manner of a gallant. The queen certainly viewed his actions as appropriate. But when he turned and smirked at Alastair and Callum, it was clear he’d done it to annoy them rather than gain favor with the ladies.
Devil-spawned gutter rat.
“Green race!”
The border lord who had won the race went first, and seemed to converse with the queen and Lady Isla for a thousand years. But at last, Alastair and Callum strode forward.
“Glennoe!” said the king with a friendly smile. “What a strong finish. I look forward to seeing your archery. You prepared your laird well, Master Graham.”
His cheeks heated at the praise. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
They each received their gold coin from the queen and bowed over her hand, but he was impatient to speak with Lady Isla, and knew Callum wished to also.
“Glennoe,” said Lady Isla, her smile bright, even as her gaze remained uncertain. “Master Graham. I am most impressed, even if a foot race is not my favorite Highland pastime. I fear I would not have even finished it. Tell me, what would you advise a body who had the heart and the desire, but not quite the skill to win?”
Alastair went still, silently urging his laird to accept the offer previously made.
Callum’s brow furrowed. “An interesting question, Lady Isla. My counsel would be to find someone who is greatly skilled and humbly request assistance without delay. To be the best, you must learn from the best.”
Her face lit up. “Sound advice. Should I begin this day?”
“Indeed. Forgive us, but Master Graham and I must retire to our cottage to rest. There is much to prepare.”
Lady Isla nodded solemnly and held out her hand. “I wish you good fortune. And you, Master Graham.”
Callum kissed her hand and moved to one side, then Alastair took her hand in his.
Plague take it, her palm was slightly rough with healed calluses. The flesh of a true swordfighter. He would give anything to be able to kiss her as Callum had, but a squire had no such leave.
Her palms might be rough, but those adorable small breasts would be soft as satin. Her inner thighs even softer. As for the slick folds of her cunt, rose petals would weep in envy.
A soft growl escaped at the thought of discovering such treasures, and Lady Isla shivered, her hand briefly rubbing against his. Almost groaning at the sweet friction, Alastair stepped back, bowed, and joined Callum to walk back to the cottage.
After their exertions in the sun and noise of a large crowd, the cool stillness was most welcome. The larder had been restocked, and Alastair eagerly downed two still-warm meat pasties, and a thick slice of fruit cake. In the other room he could hear Callum stoking the fire and pouring water, no doubt preparing a salted bath for his abused feet. “Are you hungry?”
“At this moment I could eat an entire banquet,” came the rueful reply.
Smiling, Alastair prepared a tray of food and a goblet of wine, then carried them into the main room. Callum stood watching the water heating over the fire, both hands braced on the stone shelf, his weariness evident.
“You should sit,” he chided.
“I fear if I sit, I’ll never get up again,” said Callum, as he took three slices of buttered bread and honey and devoured them as though he’d not eaten for a week. Two meat pasties, a handful of dried fruit, some almond comfits, and the entire goblet of wine soon followed.
Alastair put his hand on Callum’s shoulder, intending to guide him onto the chaise near the fire. “Rest,” he growled.
His laird went rigid. “Don’t…I’m clinging to my resolve by the thinnest of threads.”
“Are you?”
Callum shuddered, and those silver-gray eyes widened in need, his expression pure yearning. “I am weary after the race. But I also find myself feeling…restless. A need to touch and be touched. I know I ask far too much after I pushed you away, but…would you kiss me, Alastair?”
Lust surged through him, more powerful than the rush of a waterfall. Between his frustrated desire for Lady Isla and the hot, rough, wickedly good acts he wanted to do once again to this man...
Instead, he nodded. “Aye.”
Slowly, so slowly, for although his laird had expressed the need he still had an air of skittishness about him, Alastair cupped Callum’s face and brushed his lips against the younger man’s. Then he gently flicked his tongue until Callum permitted him entry to his mouth. His laird tasted sweet and heady like wine, and desire jolted through him, hardening his cock to stone.
At the stealthy slide of Callum’s hands under his shirt to rest on his chest, those slender, nimble fingers stroking the wiry hair and teasing his nipples, Alastair groaned. In retribution, he dropped his hands to Callum’s tight arse, then began grinding his hose-covered cock against the rapidly hardening bulge of his laird’s.
Callum gasped, the sound echoing in the room. “More.”
“Of what, laird?” he murmured, leaning down to nip the other man’s shoulder. “Tell me…exactly.”
“Pleasure,” said Callum hoarsely. “Your hands and mouth on me until I gain release. It’s been so long. Please…”
“I’m going to taste every inch of you. Then I’m going to fuck you so hard and deep you’ll feel me for days.”
“Now?”
Alastair nodded, ushering him across to the chaise. “Yes. Now.”
“Are ye sure about this, lassie? There’ll be grave trouble should anyone find out where ye truly are.”
Isla smiled reassuringly at Morag and her husband Leith, the two middle-aged treasures who had quietly assisted more rebellions than anyone knew. As longtime Sutherland servants, the childless couple had taken her under their wing; Morag soothing upsets and scolding foolishness, Leith presenting her with the most cherished gift of her childhood: a little wooden sword. He’d also taught her how to hold it correctly and move her feet. Really, she loved them far more than her own mother and father. While they had come to Stirling because of Morag’s unmatched sewing ability and Leith’s position as chief messenger, she needed them for a different purpose entirely.
“As far as anyone knows, I am perusing the market in Stirling with trusted servants. Now you can visit your sister, Morag, and when the time comes to return to the castle for supper, I’ll be waiting here for you.”
Morag didn’t look fully convinced, nor did Leith. But they nodded and continued down the path to the village.
Glancing both ways to ensure no one watched, Isla straightened her shoulders and approached the front door of Glennoe’s cottage. Leith knew where all the tourney entrants were lodged—he’d had to deliver messages at various times—and this information was proving invaluable, for she hadn’t needed to ask anyone and create suspicion.
She raised her hand to knock, but the door wasn’t properly latched and swung open. Not wanting to be seen loitering, Isla stepped inside the cool stone building and latched the door behind her.