Yet these men, she wanted. And not one or the other, but both. Her former sword master kissed two women. Why could she not kiss two men?
“Lady Isla?”
She forced her gaze away from the strangers, to look at the king. “Your Grace?”
“We shall begin. I’ll introduce you, then draw the tourney events from the sack held by Queen Margaret. If you would read aloud each card to confirm the event and order, I would be most obliged.”
“Of course,” she said, as her palms grew damp. No turning back now.
James clapped his hands together twice, and a hush descended on the Great Hall. “My queen. Lords, lairds, and knights. Honored guests. I am delighted to introduce Lady Isla, youngest daughter of the Earl and Countess of Sutherland. As you can see, she is a true Highland lass of beauty and spirit who will make the tourney winner a splendid wife. Now it is time to announce the events. As this is Scotland, they shall be activities popular in this realm and no other. There will not be a joust.”
Murmurs echoed in the Hall; some men looked disappointed while others were relieved. In truth Isla shared that relief; many years ago an older cousin had died after an opponent’s lance found a gap in his armor and pierced his flesh. The wound had putrefied, poisoning his blood, and she would not wish that slow and agonizing passing on anyone.
“And so,” the king continued, “let us discover the first event to be held on the morrow. My queen?”
Margaret, elegantly clad in pale blue velvet, gold girdle, and jeweled gable hood, smiled and held up a small black satin sack. He rummaged inside and pulled out a card, then gave it to Isla to read.
She took a deep breath. “The first event is…a foot race! There shall be six races, each with five men competing over a half-mile distance. The first three men in each race shall progress. All others must retire from the tourney.”
The murmurs rose to a low roar, and Isla stifled a smile at the shocked dismay on certain faces. She was pleased to note that her fair-haired favorite and his squire had brightened at the news.
In quick succession, the king handed her three more cards to read, each event progressing men or sending them home. The second day would be archery, the third a heaving of the stone put, the fourth an occasion of revels; music and dancing. Even from her place on the dais she could see frowns and glares and gritted teeth at the choices the king had made, but if the entrants were surprised, they did not know their sovereign at all. James was a modern king and expected others to follow his enlightened lead.
As each event was called her favorite relaxed further, even grinning at his squire, and her heart leaped. One more. All they needed was one more event he might excel at, and there was a chance she could wed a man she very much liked the look of.
The king paused until the Hall became silent again, allowing the tension to build before handing her the fifth parchment card.
Isla beamed. “The final event shall be…sword fighting! It is anticipated four men shall remain on the last day, so there will be preliminary fights in the morning and a final fight for the two victors in the afternoon. The grand winner of the tourney shall gain my hand in marriage, my dowry, the friendship of the Sutherlands, and a gift of cloth from the royal household.”
Cheers echoed loudly, the din almost deafening, and Isla curtsied. While her head remained modestly bowed, she allowed her gaze to flick up to the two men in the audience, eager to see their reaction to the final event that would win her hand.
They weren’t smiling now. In fact, both looked grim.
Her heart plummeted. What on earth was the matter? Every knight, lord, and laird could fight with a sword; they were taught as lads, and with Scotland being Scotland, had ample opportunity to hone such a skill throughout their life.
James called for silence once more. “A final warning. This tourney will be judged by me, and my champion, Sir Lachlan Ross, who will cast a very stern eye over proceedings. Apart from a squire, or healer in the event of injury, entrants are permitted no other assistance. Deception, evil deeds, or other mischief will not be tolerated. Anyone committing such acts shall be banished in disgrace or even imprisoned. I will have an honorable husband for this lady, not a scoundrel. Now. My lawyer shall read out all the names, and each entrant may make himself known to Lady Isla.”
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.