Chapter 13

It was Arran's favorite day of the feast, and tonight all of his favorite dishes would be served for dinner. The clans would all be partaking in athletic competitions that tested brawn, agility, and skill.

Clan McLaren was being led by Arran, with bets riding on their success. Clan Donaldson and Clan O'Neill were being led by their best warriors. Felix led Clan Shepherd. Also in attendance were Clan McRae, Clan Drummond, Clan Crawford, and Clan MacInnes, all led by their men-at-arms. These men bled for their clans and had all fought side-by-side in the five-year war.

The McLaren Highland Games would be the first chance for them to rekindle any previous amiable rivalries, and also to share in the joys of organized chaos and camaraderie. They consisted of all of Arran's favorite games—the caber toss, hammer throw, Highland dancing, stone putting, a tug-of-war, and ending with a long-distance footrace around the McLaren lands.

In addition to having a team built to dominate, Clan McLaren was in fact famous for the dancing event. This was a chance for the women in attendance to showcase their clan-specific dances through intricate footwork and precise movements. Winning this event was integral to the clan's success, and it was Niamh's event.

"Sister," Arran called as he knocked again on the door to her rooms. "Look, I ken well that ye're downright angry with me, but this is important. Open the door."

He banged on the door again.

But he was only met with silence, so he ran downstairs to the only other place his sister liked to hide. In the stables, with Seonaid.

"Sister!" he called out into the darkness.

He heard a sigh in the darkness, and knew she was there.

"Niamh, I need ye," he said slyly.

"I already ken what ye are about to say. It's about the Games, when it should be about what we were discussing earlier. So, leave me be. I'm ready."

"Ye're ready? Do ye know who ye are up against?"

"Nay. It wouldnae help anyway. We will be fine. Yer betrothed will be watching, we cannae lose. What a shame that would be," she said sarcastically, which Arran could not approve of.

The insult came to him easily and landed on his sister with the impact he had intended. "Ye need to stop hanging around Felix and me—ye are starting to sound like Lily."

He left her in the stables, her mouth agape, and sauntered off to the breakfast table in the dining hall. Thoughts of Scarlett's lips on his just a few hours earlier rushed back in, and he nearly collided with a carriage full of hay because he hadn't been paying attention.

Focus on the games, man. She's just a distraction. Ye have to win.

Caber tossing was the act of hoisting and tossing a large, wooden pole end-over-end, and the aim was to complete a perfect turn with the tossed caber and not distance gained, as in the hammer throw or stone putting. One of Arran's archers would be competing for Clan McLaren. He was standing next to Mrs. Cameron, who was taking some time to watch the Games get set up by the clansmen, so Arran approached them both.

"Alistair, ready for this?" Arran asked, pointing to the precisely lined-up poles at their feet.

"Aye, Laird McLaren. Ye ken well enough that I'm ready."

"Good… good," he said and clapped the man on the shoulder with his free hand, before facing his housekeeper.

Arran held a precariously large stack of bannocks in one of his hands, which he knew drove Mrs. Cameron mad, but he did it anyway. It only made it that much funnier that he had actually run into her outside while on his survey of the grounds.

"Och, Mrs. Cameron, how does it all look?"

"Me Laird," she returned quickly and then stared at the pile of bannocks in his hand before looking back up at him disapprovingly. "It's all ready. Shall we make the announcements?"

"Aye, let's get it started," he said, before shoving one whole bannock in his mouth.

Alistair won the caber toss easily, but Clan McLaren came in second in the hammer throw and stone putting. The tug-of-war was next, followed by the Highland dancing and then the footrace. Arran was the runner for the footrace, with the advantage of growing up on these lands.

McLaren and Drummond clansmen partnered in a round of tug-of-war against McRae and Crawford clansmen. With a hearty roar, the referee let go of the flag, and the rope cracked under the strain. The competitors dug their heels into the ground, their faces contorted with effort as they pulled against each other.

Their muscles strained, sweat beaded on their brows and necks as they leaned back in unison, pulling with every ounce of their strength. Suddenly, the McLaren and Drummond clansmen started humming and tugging on the rope rhythmically and summoned the last of their strength to weaken their adversaries' grip.

The men shouted in one last heave and sent the McRae and Crawford clansmen tumbling to the ground in defeat. Cheering tore through the tension hanging in the air, and the clansmen helped their rivals up, offering words of gratitude and sportsmanship in the spirit of unity.

Niamh arrived on time for the Highland dancing with a bonny scowl on her face, and Arran watched her intently. He noticed very few mistakes as she jumped into the air and landed smoothly on her feet more than five feet away to end her dance. Her winning move.

Arran was pleased by his sister's hard-to-beat performance and gave her an approving round of applause, before the next dancer started.

He turned to leave the area and make his way over to the footrace starting line, thinking he didn't need to watch any of the other dancers, when he noticed a flash of blonde hair walk onto the dance floor. The music filled the air, and, to his surprise, Scarlett started dancing for Clan O'Neill.

He watched with newfound interest, and she was positively radiant, dancing with wildly fluid movements. Scarlett Paton stepped through the elegant undulations of the song, with her flowing, vibrant skirts swirling around her legs. Her posture was exquisite, and her blue eyes were sparkling with pure joy as she straightened her back and raised her hands high above her head. She stepped and kicked with calculated precision and grace, and with each leap and turn, Arran knew that she had won that event.

AAs soon as she bowed, signaling the end of her dance, Arran and everyone who had also watched her performance erupted into applause.

If it were in any other setting, Arran might have even smiled, but he was a competitor, and he would not be losing money on these games. He turned and made his way to the footrace start line.

* * *

"Good job, Scarlett, ye are a bonny dancer. I had nay idea!" Niamh squealed and pulled her into an embrace. She was breathless, as if she had held her breath the entire time.

"Thank ye, Niamh! I could watch ye dance for hours and hours," Scarlett said, unsure if the woman knew about the engagement. She maintained a cool and unattached attitude, just to be sure.

"Christ above, could ye imagine? I'd have died!" Niamh snorted.

The two women burst into laughter before they realized the crowd was moving toward the footrace.

"I'll see ye over there? Find me, I'll be by the finish line."

"Aye," Scarlett said, and she met up with her parents before walking toward the course.

The sun was high in the sky, beating down on the rugged landscape as the group of Highlanders gathered. Laird O'Neill wanted to stand at the start line, so she followed them and decided to make her way over to the finish line after the signal was given.

She was thankful for the detour because she had a front-row seat to watching Arran ready himself for the game. She watched in rapture as his large, leg muscles rippled beneath his kilt. His jaw ticked, and determination flickered in his eyes as he replayed the course in his mind.

The ground trembled beneath their thunderous footsteps as the men took off once the signal was given, and Scarlett's heart swelled. Arran had surged ahead, navigating the course with ease until she could no longer see them but only hear them.

The sounds of the men grunting with exhaustion and determination, mingled with their laughter, rolled through the hills and bounced off the castle walls. Everyone watching made their way to the finish line to see who won. Amidst the chaos of the friendly race, the adrenaline-fueled men jostled and jibed at each other, exchanging playful insults and good-natured taunts. But as they all approached the finish line, they grew tense, and their laughter faded.

In a final burst of speed, Arran lunged forward and crossed the finish line mere seconds ahead of the others. It was not lost on her that his amber eyes had found hers in the crowd just as he finished the race.

It was the second time Scarlett had seen him smile.

"Now, what happens?" she asked Niamh.

"Now, the scorekeepers will tally the results, and we will announce the winners tonight after dinner! I'm going to go get ready, we only have a few hours left until then anyway. See ye soon, Scarlett!"

"Thank ye. See ye soon!" Scarlett said, and then scanned the retreating crowd to find Arran.