Page 6 of The Laird’s Wicked Game (Highland Scandal #2)

MAKENNA KICKED the legs out from under her opponent, sending him crashing to the ground.

Around her, the guards cheered.

Breathing hard, she straightened up, her gaze flicking to where Captain Maclean stood a few yards away. “Where did ye learn that trick, Lady Makenna?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

Makenna flashed him a grin. “Alec Rankin taught me.”

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “The pirate?”

“None other.” Still grinning, she glanced around her then, raising her bound blade in a challenge. She knew Kylie disapproved of her choices—of the fact she’d learned to fight like a man and now served in their father’s Guard—but she didn’t care. Her sister had never tasted the exhilaration that came from winning a fight, and from seeing respect ignite in a man’s eyes. “Who’s next?”

A heartbeat passed, and then a tall, lean warrior with long flaxen hair pushed himself off the wall where he’d been lounging. And as she looked on, he approached her with an arrogant, loose-limbed stride. “My turn.”

Makenna held onto her smile, even as tension rippled through her.

Not him.

She’d been enjoying sparring with the Guard. After a fortnight on the road, accompanying her sister to Mull, restlessness boiled within her. This morning was a chance to flex her muscles and keep her skills honed. And she got to show off a little—something she found hard to resist.

But MacDougall made her uneasy.

She’d watched the ugly scene the day before, had marked that he might well have killed the man he’d been choking if the laird hadn’t intervened. She’d also caught him staring at her earlier that morning when she’d taken a walk around the walls. His stare had been carnal, and she hadn’t liked it.

And the glint in his eye now made wariness flutter up once more.

Nonetheless, she wasn’t a lass who backed down from a fight. And so, she nodded brusquely to MacDougall before stepping back and lifting her sword, readying herself to spar once more.

“Go easy on her, Tormod,” the captain murmured, and Makenna clenched her jaw .

Go easy on her? Hadn’t she just proved she was a worthy opponent? It looked as if she was going to have to prove herself—again.

They circled each other briefly before MacDougall leaped forward, making the first strike. Makenna was ready for him though, their bound blades thudding as she parried his blow and danced back.

The blond warrior flashed her a smile that revealed strong white teeth. “Ye’re fast.”

Makenna cocked her head, even as she flexed her fingers on the grip of her blade. “Faster than ye,” she taunted.

Something moved in those ice-blue eyes, and once again, nervousness slithered through her belly. Don’t goad this one.

She’d trained and fought alongside many men since joining her father’s Guard and had developed an instinct for sizing up her opponents. There were those men who were all brag and bluster, while others said little yet let their blade do the talking. But MacDougall was different from any man she’d fought—and as their swords met once more, she caught the glint in those unnervingly cold eyes.

Makenna usually enjoyed adding a little flair to fights, giving the onlookers a spectacle, but she cast the temptation aside now. Instead, her gaze never left MacDougall. The man fought with fluid grace, and she sensed his leashed power.

He impressed her. The bastard was better than her. Better than anyone she’d ever fought—even Alec Rankin. The former pirate captain had taught her several ‘tricks’ earlier in the year, and she used them now. She tried to kick his feet out from under him, to confuse him, and to lure him into making a mistake. Unfortunately, MacDougall anticipated them all .

All the same, she got in a few hits, one across the ribs and another on his hip, before he lunged at her, slicing under Makenna’s guard.

The next thing she knew, she was on her back, staring up at his gloating face, the point of his sword at her throat.

“Well fought,” he said, with a smirk that made her blood heat. “For a woman .”

The training had ended for the morning, and the aroma of baking fowl pie that drifted out of the nearby bakehouse made it clear the noon meal wasn’t far off.

Makenna was sweaty from sparring with half a dozen of the Guard, her muscles pleasantly sore, as she unwrapped the cloth from her longsword. It was a warm morning, and she stood in the shadow of the granary. It had been a good session, although she’d been relieved that her other opponents had been more straightforward than MacDougall. She’d avoided looking his way ever since their fight.

All the same, she’d felt his gaze upon her.

Sheathing her sword, she glanced around, realizing that she was now alone in the barmkin. The others had already gone inside. She would quickly return to her bedchamber and splash some water on her heated face before joining everyone for the noon meal.

She was about to step away from the granary wall when a male voice, laced with amusement, intruded. “A feisty one, aren’t ye?”

Stiffening, Makenna glanced left at where MacDougall had just stepped out of the armory. He moved toward her now, with that same stalking gait that had unnerved her earlier. And, just like before, she held her ground .

The man drew close, nearer than was appropriate, although she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her step away. He was tall and she short—so she was forced to lift her chin to hold his eye. “Did ye want something?” she asked coolly.

“Only to congratulate ye on yer skill with a blade.”

Makenna’s gaze narrowed. “Ye bested me , remember?”

“Aye … but ye fight better than most men.” Despite herself, warmth ignited in her chest at this compliment, before he added, “Not better than me though.”

Makenna snorted. “Sure of yerself, aren’t ye?”

“Aye.” His gaze held hers. “I’d be happy to show ye some of my techniques … if ye wish?”

She stilled.

Was he offering to train her, as Rankin had earlier in the year?

He isn’t Rankin though , common sense whispered to her. Alec won yer sister’s heart and proved himself worthy of trust. This man hasn’t proved anything to ye … except his arrogance.

Her instinct screamed at her not to be drawn in. But there was a part of her that was tempted. She held her own amongst her father’s Guard, and the other warriors minded her. But she was aware that as a woman, she had to train harder—had to be better—than any of them. She was constantly looking for an edge that would make her invincible, especially against the hated Campbells, and as much as she loathed to admit it, this warrior had one.

She could learn from him. As long as she exercised caution, what could go wrong?

“Very well,” she said after a lengthy pause, shoving aside the warning that still whispered to her. “I’d appreciate that. ”

“Good.” He flashed Makenna a wide smile before winking at her. “Our first lesson is this evening. Meet me on the east terrace after supper.”

Pouring himself some more ale, Rae shifted his gaze down the chieftain’s table—past his kin—to where his two guests sat.

Of course, Lady Grant wasn’t his guest but his sons’ tutor. Nonetheless, since she’d only been here a day, he hadn’t yet gotten used to seeing the woman at every mealtime. She was wearing a demure golden-brown kirtle and had coiled her hair into two buns, pinned neatly above each ear. It was another prim style, yet he found himself wondering what it would be like to unpin them, to let her silky hair slide through his fingers. How long was her hair anyway? How would it feel, trailing across his naked chest and belly?

Rae blinked, jerking himself out of a reverie that had caused his rod to turn to wood inside his braies. Where did these lecherous thoughts come from? He was sitting in his hall, surrounded by his kin and retainers. He couldn’t let himself start fantasizing about the comely widow he’d just hired. It was unseemly—and embarrassing. Maybe Jack had been right, maybe he did need to visit a brothel. It might improve his mood, at least.

The two sisters sat at the opposite end of the table and were fortunately unaware of his turmoil. Instead, they both seemed to be enjoying the fowl pie that Cadha and her assistants had prepared, while the rumble of conversation in the hall rose and fell around them .

“How did yer first day of lessons go, Lyle?” A woman’s voice carried across the table. Rae tore his attention from Lady Grant to where his sister-by-marriage, Tara, was smiling at his youngest son across the table. Her youngest, Arabella, perched on her mother’s knee—the bairn’s chubby fingers clutching at the food upon the trencher before them. “What did ye learn?”

“Lady Grant taught me to write my name,” the lad replied, his cheeks bulging with pie.

Beside Lyle, Ailean sniggered.

“Did ye learn any numbers, Ailean?” Jack asked. The elder of his daughters, Grace, who was now entering her third summer, perched on his knee.

Ailean sobered. “Aye.”

“How old are ye then?”

“Six summers,” he replied proudly.

“And can ye tell me how many months there are in a year?” Jack pressed.

The lad didn’t hesitate before replying, “Twelve.”

His son’s bumptiousness made Rae frown. “And have ye learned any French words?” he asked pointedly.

“Not yet,” Lady Grant spoke up from the far end of the table. “That’s for tomorrow.”

Rae noted that both his lads now wore unenthusiastic expressions.

“It’s too sunny to be indoors,” Ailean whined, while Lyle adopted a sulky look.

“Aye.” Jack glanced Rae’s way then. “It’s perfect weather for a riding lesson.”

Both lads perked up at this before following their uncle’s gaze, their faces expectant.

“I’m busy,” he growled, and their faces fell .

“Surely, ye can spare an afternoon to give the lads a lesson, Rae?” Tara teased gently, her silvery eyes glinting. “They’ve been wanting one for months now.”

Rae took a gulp of ale, even as irritation quickened inside him. He hadn’t lied earlier; he had a mountain of work awaiting him in his solar. Tax collection was coming up, and he wanted to make sure he had the correct levies ready for when his clan-chief’s bailiff came calling. He wished to get administrative matters out of the way so he could focus on other projects. Currently, he’d hired masons to construct a wall around Dounarwyse village, shielding it from the coast—and from attack. He wished to venture out and view their progress. “It’ll have to wait.”

“It’s just one afternoon,” Jack added. “I’ll saddle the quietest garron for Ailean.”

“Let me get the taxes sorted,” Rae muttered, stabbing his eating knife into his pie.

“So, the end of the week?” Jack pushed, winking in the boys’ direction.

Rae swallowed a curse. Cods. His brother was like a dog with a bone. He could see he wasn’t going to get out of this. “Very well,” he ground out. “Friday afternoon.”

The lads squealed at this, all smiles now—and Rae’s gut tightened, a familiar sense of guilt settling in. He really was a surly bastard. He’d also spent little time with Ailean and Lyle since Donalda’s death. They wished for nothing more than to trail after him like puppies, learning at his knee. He remembered how he’d adored his own father, and how much time Baird Maclean had spent preparing his firstborn to take his place. In truth, he’d lavished attention on both his sons. Jack too had always been made to feel cherished. However, their father’s murder, at the hands of Kendric Mackinnon, shattered their lives. It had turned Jack bitter and thrust Rae into lairdship before he was ready.

Aye, he knew he should give his sons the attention they craved, yet he found himself resisting it.

“Did the lads behave themselves today?” he asked Lady Grant then, forcing himself to squarely meet her eye.

“Aye,” she replied, favoring him with a polite smile.

Rae frowned. Was she merely telling him what he wanted to hear? He knew Ailean and Lyle could be difficult—and Esme had suffered much under their tyranny before he learned about it. He didn’t want her to fall into the same trap. He’d keep a closer on his sons over the coming days.

“We saw Lady Makenna fight,” Ailean announced then, waving around his eating knife. “We watched from the solar window.”

Beside her sister, Makenna’s mouth curved. “Did ye now?”

“When ye should have been studying?” Rae grumbled.

“It was just for a short while,” their tutor assured him, a blush rising to her cheeks.

“Aye,” Lyle chimed in. “If a lass can fight, why can’t we?”

“Ye will learn soon enough,” Jack said, grinning.

“Don’t encourage them,” Rae snapped. Jack didn’t make things easy sometimes. He wouldn’t have been surprised if his sons preferred their exuberant uncle to their dour father. Jack always had an easy smile and a teasing comment at the ready, and the boys liked his irreverence. It was up to Rae to be the unpopular one.

“ When , Da?” Ailean asked, leaning toward him, green eyes bright. “When can I practice swordplay?”

“When ye prove to me ye know yer letters and numbers competently,” Rae replied with a scowl. “And not before.”