Chapter 2

Alex Bain stood in the center of the unfamiliar gathering, the tension and dislike in the air so thick that he could almost taste them. He had never had a plainer reminder of where he did not belong. He felt Gavin, his man-at-arms, stiffen beside him. They were not welcome here.

His eyes moved to the woman who had challenged them. In fact, he had not been able to drag his gaze away from her since he had entered the place. So, this was Isobel Knox, a lass willing to choose a husband with an arrow. He wondered why she had decided on that method—she was the bonniest wee thing he'd ever seen.

Behind her stood Laird MacRoss, recognizable only by the terrible scars across the right side of his face. His stance was rigid, poised to attack, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, staring at Alex with venom in his eyes.

Alex felt anger boil in his gut at the assumptions that had been made about him and his men since they had arrived on land. No one knew them, and yet everyone believed they did. Their reputations as pirates preceded them wherever they went.

He looked back at the fierce female warrior who stood before him. Her blonde hair, shorter than the fashion for a woman of her station, fluttered behind her in the wind, her blue eyes pinned on him with quiet fury. They were the color of a fresh river stream, lively and bright. He found himself wondering how they might look in different lights. They were such a bonnie blue.

Alex remained where he was as his man-at-arms stepped forward, his gravelly voice booming across the quiet hillside as he introduced Clan Rothach to those assembled before them. All the while, those eyes never left Alex's face—bird egg blue, that's what they were—brimming with contempt. She was a feisty lass, make no mistake.

Gavin's ringing voice finally died away, to be met with a leaden silence. He stepped back, giving Alex an uneasy look. Gavin had been strongly against coming to Clan Clyde, but Alex needed a bride, and he couldn't see an easier way of winning one than loosing an arrow.

"A pretty speech," the woman declared loudly. "But it doesnae change the fact that ye're nae welcome here. The lairds who play receive me invitation, nae others."

Alex was mesmerized by her, even as she looked him up and down with disgust written all over her face. She did not see him as any laird she wished to know, that was clear. Well, she was about to discover that Alex could match her discourtesy with ease.

He hooked his hands into his belt. "I hear ye're lookin' for a husband."

A loud gasp went up from the crowd around them. Every eye he could see widened with shock. The adjudicator of the games turned pale, his eyes darting to Laird MacRoss and back.

"What of it?" the feisty vixen asked mockingly. "Do ye want to join?"

Alex stepped toward her, cocking his head, keeping his gaze steady, his feet planted firmly on the soil beneath them.

"Aye." There were more scandalized exclamations from behind him. "Would ye deny me?"

He saw her eyes flash. Alex knew, as well as she did, that to deny a neighboring laird this request was dangerous. He did not know everything that had occurred between Clan Clyde and Clan MacRoss, but Isobel Knox was in no position to start a war.

She shifted her weight, her knuckles white around the handle of the bow in her hand. It was a fine piece. He would bet everything he owned that she had modified it herself. She clearly knew her craft.

The adjudicator moved to step forward, but Isobel signaled to him with a flick of her wrist, and he remained where he was, shooting Alex a glare of pure hatred.

There was no way for them to deny him without causing offense—it had been what Alex had counted on. After all, what self-respecting lady would marry a pirate laird? He grimaced at the nickname, hating that he was only known for his exploits at sea, rather than who he was and what he stood for.

"Well?" he prompted.

His tone was impertinent, but then so was she. Those eyes returned to his immediately. If they could have turned red from fiery rage, they would have.

"Of course," she gritted out. "Let us see what skill ye have, M'Laird."

She turned, her comely figure swaying as she made her way to the targets. He followed behind, Gavin at his heels, holding out his bow and quiver of arrows. He hung them both over his shoulder, feeling the bow bend across his chest as the arrows rattled in their quiver.

"I hear ye're quite the archer," he said softly, for her ears only, as she stepped up to her mark.

She glanced back at him, her eyes roaming over his chest just for a moment, before returning to his face. She lifted her chin defiantly.

"I'm the best archer in all the Highlands," she replied, her lips curling into a knowing smile as she notched an arrow and looked back at the target.

Alex took the opportunity to run his eyes over her figure, watching her practiced stance as she raised her right arm, her eyes fixed on the target like a hawk tracking a vole.

The whole crowd was so silent that he could hear the bleat of sheep on a distant hillside. A long moment passed, and the lady took a deep breath, then loosed the arrow. It charged forward with superb aim and landed squarely in the bullseye. The crowd behind him cheered with great joy, and what sounded like a fair amount of relief.

Alex unfurled his arms from where he had crossed them over his chest and pulled the bow from his shoulders with practiced ease. She was good—perhaps, in time, she'd even be as good as him.

The lady turned, her expression neutral as she stepped back, allowing him to approach the mark. He had expected her to tease him or challenge him further, but now she seemed desperate for the game to be over.

He took up his position, the target low to the ground, seventy yards ahead. He could have hit it in his sleep. He stretched the bow back, feeling the trill of the feather fletchings against his forefinger as he drew it back to his ear. Calm washed through him as he saw the line, a perfect angle, felt the bow go taught, his elbow locked in place.

The arrow lurched forward with a sharp twang, and he watched it soar through the air in a graceful arc. Then, just as he had planned it, the tip slammed directly into the base of the lady's arrow, shredding it right through the middle, splitting it into several pieces.

As he watched her arrow fall to the floor, and his own replace it in the center of the target, he was suddenly reminded that the game had ended, and he would have a wife for his prize.

* * *

Isobel stared in horror at the shredded remains of her arrow. It was splintered into bits, lying on the short tufts of heather below the target. She tried to school her expression in order to mask her shock, her mind numb as to the implications of what she had allowed to happen.

Never in a thousand years did she believe a pirate could best her in archery.

Alex Bain turned around, his massive bulk even more imposing as he stood in the path of the sun, his enormous shadow falling over her and the crowd behind. Everything was utterly silent around her, fear and disbelief hanging heavy in the air.

Isobel glanced at Angus, who looked just as shaken as she felt.

What have I done?

"Do we have a deal?" the deep voice rang out into the stillness of the castle grounds, shattering her future with just five words.

Isobel felt panic rise in her chest as she looked up into Alex's glowering expression. His mouth was set in a hard line. She glanced at his man-at-arms, who stood behind him in a way that suggested there would be trouble if she refused.

This was not over, however. Isobel Knox would not be trampled on by an impostor who deserved nothing from her people. She plastered on a smile and handed her bow to Emma, who was standing mutely beside her, seemingly paralyzed with shock.

"Would ye walk with me, M'Laird?" she asked pleasantly.

She received a single nod in response, and then she turned on her heel and walked away from the crowd, moving around the bend of the hill, wanting to get the brute away from the many anxious ears of her people.

As she slowly rounded the side of the tent and stepped over the guide pegs, she saw Laird MacLaughlin and his men seated inside, doing just as she had suggested and enjoying the feast that was laid out for them.

Her gaze locked with Laird MacLaughlin's, which then landed on the towering menace behind her. She looked hurriedly away. Perhaps she had been unwise to turn down so many suitable prospects, given what she was now left with.

She walked up the rise of the hill behind the tournament tents, looking down at her favorite view of the valleys of Clyde lands. The sun was teasing her, streaming through the clouds and making the world look impossibly beautiful—just as everything she loved fell apart around her.

She waited, hearing the brute's heavy footfalls approaching as he came to stand beside her. She couldn't allow her clan to fall into the hands of this man. She wouldn't.

"Ye're a fine archer," she began begrudgingly, hoping flattery might end his desire for her to fulfill their deal.

"Oh, aye? Better than ye, I'd wager."

His voice had a rough edge to it, a hint of his time at sea. There was a looping twist to his accent that she imagined he tried to disguise whenever he could.

She had to admit he was a handsome man, standing with one leg cocked to balance himself at the brow of the hill. His kilt fluttered in the wind, his huge shoulders framing his long, dark hair. He had sharp features, and his skin was bronzed by his time at sea.

"Perhaps we can come to an agreement," she said. "Ye are newly arrived. There is much that Clan Clyde can offer ye."

His eyes twinkled as he looked down at her. "Like me new bride?"

She clenched her fists at her sides as the humiliation of her situation settled within her.

For the first time, she realized how dangerous this could be for her people. She decided to dispense with the pleasantries. He was a barbarian, after all. Perhaps he would respect a more direct approach.

"Ye ken I wouldnae marry ye if ye were the last man alive."

He turned fully toward her then, looking at her with a quizzical stare that she could not quite decipher.

"Yet I won yer game. I'm owed a prize," he countered smoothly.

"Ye're a rogue and a vagrant, only just returned to claim lands ye didnae want, after ye likely lost yer ill-gotten fortune at sea. I willnae have a pirate leadin' me people."

"Oh, aye, then who will ye have? Ye are the one who offered this wager, sellin' yer hand for a sharp shot?—"

"Ye werenae invited to attend!" she spat.

"Yet ye let me play, did ye nae?"

Her retort died on her lips, and she had to force herself not to stomp her foot in frustration. He was right. Why had she not made up some excuse?

"Ye left me nay choice?—"

"Ye left yerself nay choice. This is what comes of believin' ye're better than ye are."

She felt her cheeks flame at the insult. She had never been so tempted to strike a man in her life.

"Ye've seen me once loose an arrow, and now ye believe ye ken me talents best, dae ye?"

"Ye're a good shot," he conceded. "But yer stance is too wide, and yer shoulders should be lower when ye release."

She scoffed. "Me stance is just fine when I'm nae firin' a shot that might end me life."

He frowned at her, and she inwardly cursed her loose tongue. There was something about this man that brought out the worst of her temper. If Nora were here, she would have chastised her to no end for losing her composure.

"End yer life?" His voice was deeper now, and for a moment there was such understanding in his eyes that it stole her breath. "I wouldnae say marriage is that, lass. There can be great pleasure from takin' a wife, I can assure ye of that."

His hand came up to brush gently against her cheek, and she felt a shiver run through her. With a gasp, she knocked his hand away and took a step back.

As she did so, the softness evaporated from his face, and his expression turned hard as she saw a ruthless pirate standing before her once more, proud and resolute.

"I'll ask ye again, do we have a deal or nae?"

Isobel considered her options. She knew they were limited, but there must be a way to delay things if she were clever about it. Perhaps she could agree to it now and find a way to renege on the deal in the future.

There was little chance the council would agree to the humiliation of having Alex Bain for a laird. She could make her promises now and ensure that she did not break them by forcing him to leave of his own accord.

He would see that taking her as his wife would only cause them both pain and suffering. She was a woman of her word, but her word could be bent, if not broken.

She looked out at the lands she loved so much, the rippling hills, the boggy glens, and the wide, bright blue sky. She turned back to him, feeling the stubborn set of her jaw, the determination coursing through her blood as she met his eyes.

Alex Bain was going to rue the day he ever heard the name Isobel Knox.