The Lion (Clan Ross of the Hebrides Book 1) Hildie McQueen (most read books TXT) 📖

ribbon that matched the gown, a circular pendant fell between her breasts, just above the crest.

When she lifted her gaze to him, his stomach fluttered. How could she be so many different things at once?

He hesitated before her and held out his hand. Isobel seemed confused but lifted her right hand to his. Then he kissed the back of it. “Ye will make a perfect wife.” Behind her, his brothers cleared their throats, letting him know he should sit so the games could begin. With a wave of his hand, the games began.

Isobel’s eyes widened when he settled between her and his mother.

The competition began and he concentrated on Duncan’s movements.

“We agreed not to marry,” Isobel whispered into his ear.

Darach turned to her. Their faces a breath apart, she was obviously caught off guard as her nostrils flared and lips parted. “Did we?”

He turned back to the competition as it was Duncan’s turn. He tossed the caber, the tree flipping and landing a fair margin past the other competitors.

Cheers went up, and his brother held up his arms in victory. His other brothers jumped to their feet and climbed down from the stands to go congratulate Duncan.

“Are ye not joining them?” Isobel asked in disbelief. “He won.”

“I cannot show partiality.”

Moments later, a victorious Duncan came to stand before where he sat. Darach stood, and his brother bowed.

Darach motioned two young women forward. The lass placed a sash over his shoulder, and a second one pinned a jeweled crest upon it. The crowd cheered when the young women kissed his cheek. The entire time Duncan seemed uncomfortable with the attention.

“Will he not join us?” Isobel asked frowning in the direction Duncan had gone.

“It’s doubtful. He is competing again in the stone throw and tug of war, so he will remain with the guardsmen gathered over there.” He pointed to where groups of men stood around Duncan.

Duncan removed the crest and handed it to a young lad who raced to the stands. The lad climbed up and held out the item. “Sir said to give to his mother for safekeeping.”

Ella took it and handed the lad a coin. The boy grinned widely and hurried away.

Soon they became enthralled with the stone throw. There were three different weights and at the end, each winner came to him and he ensured they were rewarded. Crests and bags of coin were awarded to the men who competed.

“There is an extra crest and bag for the winner in my competition,” his mother said.

Darach looked to her. “What competition?”

“Stoolball.”

He groaned. “Ye cannot be serious. Who will be playing?”

“All of us,” Isobel said.

“In those gowns?” Darach huffed. “This I have to see.”

The men’s competition took a break as people began to eat while being entertained by dancers who’d been practicing tirelessly and now flashed happy smiles. The dancer’s quick footwork was accompanied by clapping along to the appropriate music.

“We must speak,” Isobel said.

He took her hand, and her wide eyes flew to his face. “Why are ye so against us marrying? I know yer secret and choose to ignore it. What is the true reason?”

“I have already told ye. Did ye not hear a word I said?”

In that moment, he did not hear very well, his view down the front of her gown took his attention making his heartbeat echo in his ears. The creamy skin enticing him to press a kiss in the most inappropriate places.

“Ye are beautiful when angry, Isobel,” he said and then turned away when someone called his name.

Looking up at him, Gideon and Miles MacTavish stood side-by-side, each holding two swords.

“Ye are going to dance, how delightful,” his mother exclaimed.

“I-I did not… agree to this.” He glared at his brother, who performed an exaggerated bow.

People began clapping the entire crowd looking in his directions.

“I am going to kill my brother,” Darach said between clenched teeth.

Isobel watched him with interest. “Ye dance?”

Blowing out a long, annoyed breath, Darach stood, and people began chanting his name. He’d not danced the sword dance since a lad. Even then, he’d only learned it to impress a lass he’d fancied at the time.

He grabbed the swords from Gideon and laid them out on the ground, in a cross pattern. The entire time, his brother hovered over his shoulder. “I have to ensure they are placed properly.”

“Their proper place is on both sides of yer neck,” Darach replied in a low growl.

When Gideon went to inspect Mile’s swords, Darach looked up to the stands. Isobel gave him a bemused look. His mother, on the other hand, smiled widely motioning to him, while saying something to the Macdonald women.

She looked so proud. It wouldn’t last. He had no idea what he was about to do.

At the first note, he watched as Miles took a stance. Hands to the sides of his face, fingers up and touching.

He imitated the stance, and when the bagpipes began in full force, it was as if he’d been transported back ten years. His feet seemed to recall each step, turn and jump. At first, the song was methodical but then the tempo picked up.

One of his feet touched a sword and it shifted, Darach did not take time to see if it had moved enough to disqualify him but completed the next few steps as the song ended.

He was winded, sweat forming rivulets down the center of his back. How was it that an actual sword fight did not take as much exertion as a damn dance?

The crowd was ecstatic, claps mixing with shouts and whistles. Despite being annoyed at what he’d been forced to do, Darach had enjoyed it.

He turned to study the swords. Both he and Miles had touched their swords during the dance, but it was obvious his were moved further than his competitor.

When he motioned the two lasses hurried over with a sash and coin purse. He then walked to Miles and held the man’s hand up.

The clan approved and began to chant both of their names.

“Thank ye, Laird,” Miles said,