Page 15 of The Laird's Wicked Game
“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 aridinglesson.”
Both lads perked up at this before following their uncle’s gaze, their faces expectant.
“I’m busy,” he growled, and their faces fell.