6 A GAME OF KNUCKLEBONES

ASTRID WATCHED THE first of their group take his turn with the knucklebones, observing the flick of his wrist as he scattered the yellowed bones, which were shiny with use, across the pitted wooden surface between them. There were eleven playing pieces—one of which was used as the jack.

Dougie then set about throwing one of the knucklebones into the air before scooping up a bone from the table at a time and catching the jack before it fell. He did this easily, working his way across the table methodically. He then threw the bone into the air once more, repeating the move, but scooping up two this time.

The other players, Astrid included, looked on in silence as Dougie continued. There was something hypnotic about watching a game of knucklebones unfold. Dougie's cheeks were flushed with ale and the warmth of the fire, and he was looking pleased with himself, as if, indeed, he had been practicing.

The young warrior got all the way up to five before he missed. This was tricky, as the player had to scoop up half the bones in the first go and the other half in the second. Dougie managed the first five, but when he attempted to scoop up the remaining bones, they slipped from his fingers, scattering across the tabletop.

He muttered a curse, his green eyes narrowing, while around him, some of the other players whooped.

"Four isn't bad, lad," Roy said, slapping him on the back. "My turn now though."

Astrid continued to observe with interest. The knucklebones were good-sized, and the most one could pick up was ten. Her hands were much smaller than those of the men she was playing with, so she was at a disadvantage.

Dougie had indeed done well, for four was the most any of them managed.

And then Finn took his turn.

As much as it galled Astrid to admit it, the bastard was uncommonly skilled. He was lightning fast as he collected ones, twos, threes, and fours with ease. And when he managed fives as well, her breathing slowed.

How far would he go?

Finn's gaze narrowed as he scooped up the first four knucklebones he'd scattered across the table. The remaining six lay spread out, too far for most folk to gather while the jack was in the air.

Astrid swallowed a smile. There was no way he'd manage it.

But he did, tossing the jack high while sweeping his hand gracefully across the table, gathering the knucklebones as he went. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he caught the jack.

Next to Astrid, Roy murmured an oath.

"Keep going then," Dougie muttered, grudging respect in his voice. "Let's see if ye can manage seven."

Finn's mouth lifted at the corners as he flipped the knucklebones, allowing them to rattle over the table while one remained balanced on the back of his hand—the jack. He gathered up the first three with ease.

He hesitated then, his gaze sliding over the remaining seven, which lay far and wide over the table surface.

Astrid couldn't help it, she gave a soft snort. "Think ye can do it, MacDonald?"

His gaze flicked up, fusing with hers. "Aye."

He tossed the jack high then and attempted to scoop up the seven—but unfortunately for him, his fingertips brushed one of the bones, sending it skittering onto the floor.

Finn had caught six rather than seven.

Astrid crossed her arms over her chest and allowed herself a smirk.

Her nemesis, on the other hand, looked vexed. Even when Colin and Norris, who were seated on either side of him, slapped him on the back and told him he'd played well, the sour look on his face didn't ease.

Finn clearly wasn't a man who liked to lose .

His attention shifted to Astrid once more, a challenge glinting in his eyes. "Yer turn, my lady ."

Astrid nodded, even as her pulse quickened.

She marked the amused looks some of the warriors shared then, their expressions of masculine indulgence.

"Go on, Lady Astrid." Dougie gave her an encouraging smile. "Show them how it's done."

Astrid smiled back at him, grateful for the support. She'd always liked Dougie.

However, one of the men watching their game muttered under his breath. "She won't get past twos."

Astrid's smile faded, and she cut the warrior a sharp look. "We'll see about that."

Indeed, unbeknown to her companions, she'd played this game before. Many times.

Picking up the knucklebones, she tested their weight in her hand, listening to the reassuring ‘click' as they rattled together.

Nervousness fluttered up then. It had been nearly a year since she'd played last, and she was likely a little rusty.

Just take it easy, she counseled herself. Don't rush .

Astrid began to play, taking her time.

Nonetheless, as she completed ones, twos, and threes without a hitch, the expressions around her sobered.

Satisfaction suffused Astrid when she saw their faces—there was nothing better than putting men in their place when they underestimated her.

Astrid didn't look Finn's way as she played though, for the man had a stare that could pierce iron. She didn't want to be distracted.

She completed fours and then went on to fives. It was getting trickier now. But although her palms weren't as big as her competitors', she had long nimble fingers that aided her.

Murmurs rumbled through the barn when she caught the second lot of fives.

"She'll never get through sixes," Colin murmured under his breath, voicing his thoughts aloud without thinking.

Astrid cut him an arch look. "I heard that, Colin."

The warrior flushed. "Sorry, Lady Astrid."

Her mouth curved. "Aye, well … let's see if I can prove ye wrong. "

And she did, just barely—scooping up the final six with a dexterous move she'd spent years practicing.

The men around her whooped, grins stretching their faces.

However, Finn wasn't smiling. Instead, he met her eye, his expression veiled, before asking, "Who taught ye to play?"

"My father," she replied.

Finn's hazel eyes widened at this, as if he didn't believe her. Yet it was the truth. After her mother died, father and daughter had sat together in the long summer's eves in his solar, with a cup of wine at their elbows, and played for hours. Iain Maclean had been excellent at knucklebones, with quick reflexes that never dulled, even as he aged. He'd taught Astrid all his tricks too.

She hadn't played since his death, and indeed, the sight of others playing the game often made sadness tighten her chest. However, Finn's arrogance had goaded her into speaking up.

To beat him and see the look on his face would be a prize indeed.

The bastard would choke on his own tongue.

And she was close to doing so now. If she completed sevens, she'd be the winner.

Her pulse sped up, anxiety eroding her confidence.

Sevens was tricky, as Finn had demonstrated. It would all depend on where the bones fell.

Much to her disappointment, they scattered far—not as far as Finn's had, yet wide enough to make this round a challenge.

Astrid scooped up the first three on the left. She was using her right hand so those closest to her would be easier to leave. After that, she studied the remaining seven for a few moments.

Then, drawing in a deep breath, she tossed the jack high—higher than usual—before sweeping her hand in an arc over the remaining pieces. And to her joy, she scooped them all up.

Only to drop the jack.

It pinged off the table just an inch away from her hand.

Groans and oaths followed, echoing up into the rafters. It seemed that after being skeptical of her skill at the beginning of her turn, the others had all been hoping she'd trounce Finn.

Astrid bit back a curse. Failure was a bitter gall.

She'd been so close.

Trying her best to mask her disappointment, she straightened up on her stool. And all the while, she could feel Finn's gaze boring into her, daring her to look his way. After a heartbeat, she succumbed. She wasn't about to let him intimidate her.

She'd expected to see a smirk on his face, yet his expression was inscrutable.

"It's a tie then," he said, ignoring the exuberance of the men seated around them. The warriors were now ribbing each other and readying themselves for another game.

Reluctantly, Astrid nodded. "Ye play well," she admitted, determined not to appear a poor loser. "Who taught ye?"

His gaze never left hers as he answered, "Yer father."

They all retired early, for the next day's journey would be a long one, and Finn wanted his men fresh.

Wrapping himself in his fur-lined cloak, Finn took his place upon a sheepskin by the fire. And as he did so, he spared a glance up at the platform, where Astrid had retired.

He and his men had indulged in another two games of knucklebones, but she'd left them to it, climbing the ladder and disappearing into the shadows upstairs.

Finn caught a glimmer of pale hair yet could see nothing else. He wagered the lady was fast asleep. Nothing tired a person out more than a day at sea. They'd all be exhausted by the time they reached Dunvegan, but they couldn't afford to break the trip up into three days as most travelers would.

All day, Finn had been keenly aware of the passing of time, and as he stretched out onto his back, his gaze going to the heavy rafters above, he wondered how Loch and Jack were faring.

Loch and his warriors would have engaged the Mackinnons today, likely outside the walls, while Jack was in charge of holding the broch against the enemy.

Frustration quickened within Finn then.

He wanted to be with his friends, fighting at their side. Aye, this mission was crucial, yet he chafed at being Lady Astrid's escort. His skills were better used back on Mull—although Loch clearly thought otherwise.

Grinding his teeth, Finn glanced once more up at the platform.

He couldn't help it, for Astrid had surprised him this evening. He hadn't realized that Iain Maclean had taught them both how to play knucklebones, and the discovery oddly felt like a betrayal of sorts. Worse still, Astrid was skilled and displayed single-minded determination as she played.

The lass had a will of iron and was just as stubborn as he was.

Finn scowled then, yanking his gaze away from where his archenemy slept. We're nothing alike , he corrected himself. She's a vindictive, ill-tempered shrew.

Aye, but she played knucklebones like a master.

Over the years, Finn had beaten many people at the game and drawn with only a few. Even fewer had beaten him, yet he knew that Astrid was capable of it.

And despite that the sight of the woman cramped his guts, there was another, treacherous, part of him that longed to play another game with her.