Page 35 of The Lion

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, sounding as breathless as him. “Ye are a worthy opponent.”

“I would prefer to beat ye at something akin to the stone toss than fancy footwork,” Darach replied with a chuckle.

Miles met his gaze. “I will be competing in archery, next. Ye?”

“Hammer throw.”

The men went in separate directions, Miles accepting pats on the back as he walked away to change into something more suitable for archery.”

When he returned to the stand, the next competition began. The guardsmen, broken into two teams, competed in tug-a-war.

Soon it was time for his second event and Darach pulled off his sash and handed it to Isobel, who took it. It was a public announcement of their courtship, and it was obvious she knew it by the way her cheeks colored as people began murmuring. He went behind the stands and unwrapped his plaid and then folded it and wrapped again, so it fell just above his knees. Once that was completed, he went to the field to find his place.

The entire time, he wanted to think Isobel watched only him. Like the sun on his back, he sensed her taking him in and being proud. He knew what having a woman’s admiration brought. He’d been there on the field plenty of times attempting to impress this lass or that one. However, this time it was different.

He didn’t care if he won, although that would hopefully impress her. What he wished for was for her to feel pride while watching him.

Unable to keep from it, he turned toward the stand figuring he’d not be able to see her expression clearly.

Isobel stood out from those around her, the color of her dress bringing out her beauty. Then to his amazement, she held up a handkerchief and waved it. Her gaze directly on him.

In that moment, his chest expanded, and he felt like the strongest man on the field. When his turn came, he turned in a circle and released the hammer with all his might, a roar exploding. From the sounds around him, Darach knew he’d won.

He couldn’t keep the wide grin of pride as he held both arms up.

Duncan came up to him and wrapped him in a bear hug. Then his brother lifted him off the ground and turned in a circle. The others joined in the melee, all of them shouting with exuberance.

By the time he went to the stands, he was exhausted, but happy. Since he was the laird, it was his mother’s job to give him the prize. However, she prodded Isobel, who made her way to him.

The lasses hurried over and handed her the sash and crest, which she placed over his shoulder. When she lifted to her toes to kiss his jaw, he turned his head and kissed her full on the lips.