Chapter 3

3

T he crowd buzzed with excitement as villagers and clansmen alike gathered to watch the final round of the games. In the center of it all, the thick, knotted rope lay like a snake, waiting to strike.

This is absurd.

A game as simple as it was brutal, and one that was determining her fate—two men pulling with all their might and pride for her, as though she were a prize, not a person.

Erica stood to the side with her family, her fingers curled in the fabric of her skirt. She could feel her heartbeat in her ears as she watched the two men take their positions. The air felt different as James sauntered over to his side of the rope, followed by Laird MacKinnon.

Laird MacKinnon’s intent was unmistakable. He had something to claim, and he seemed utterly confident that he would walk away from this victorious. James was still a force to be reckoned with, not to be underestimated.

Erica bit her cheek impatiently, eager for this entire ordeal to be over with.

One of them will win and I’ll have to marry him. But I willnae have to marry him tomorrow. I still have time…

James squared his shoulders, his stance deliberate as he gripped the end of the rope, spreading his legs to anchor himself as firmly as possible. Though leaner than Laird MacKinnon, he was agile and cunning—qualities that had allowed him to come so far in the competition. Erica watched him shift his weight back, using every ounce of his strength to brace himself.

Laird MacKinnon, however, looked almost relaxed as he grasped the rope with his large, calloused hands. The same hands that had set her skin on fire last night as he tilted her chin up to meet his depthless eyes.

Erica shook her head to rid herself of the infuriating memory.

Enough! He willnae win. He cannae win.

She watched as he shifted his weight with a measured calm, as though this game were merely a formality. His gray eyes landed on the other end of the rope, where James stood, and the intensity of his stern look made Erica’s skin prickle. It was as though he had already won and was simply waiting for the rest of the world to catch up.

“On yer marks!” Laird McFair boomed suddenly, and the crowd fell silent.

Everyone leaned forward in anticipation.

The rope went taut, and both men dug their heels in, every muscle flexed and ready for the impending clash.

“Pull!” Laird McFair shouted.

Immediately, James gave a powerful tug, his lean muscles rippling as he tried to yank his opponent forward. For a fleeting moment, it looked like he had a chance. He was quick, cleverly using his body weight to counterbalance Laird MacKinnon’s brute strength.

James was gritting his teeth. Erica could see the calculating gleam in his eyes—he was determined not to give up any ground. Laird MacKinnon, on the other hand, seemed bored. He had barely broken a sweat, his eyes fixed on the ground with cold intensity. He merely let James exhaust himself.

Erica let her eyes wander down his tall figure as the crowd fell silent. Laird MacKinnon’s biceps bulged, veins standing out on his forearms as he took a calculated step backward, dragging James forward. The look in his eyes was something she couldn’t ignore—a raw, unbreakable focus that made her stomach flip.

James dug his heels into the earth, his jaw clenched tight, his muscles bunching as he tried to resist. But Laird MacKinnon merely tightened his grip in response, his expression barely changing. With a swift flick of his hand, he yanked the rope with such force that James stumbled forward, nearly losing his footing.

“No!” Erica gasped, her heart pounding as James struggled, his efforts becoming more and more frantic. “Come on! Come on!” she hissed under her breath again and again.

With one final, merciless tug, Laird MacKinnon hauled James across the line, the force of it sending the man flailing forward. And it was thus that he stole the victory with calm finality.

The rope dropped from his hands, and he straightened up, casting a victorious glance in Erica’s direction.

A sickening wave of cheers and applause rippled across the crowd as Laird MacKinnon stood tall and triumphant. Erica watched as James, panting and red-faced, looked down at the ground, his disappointment evident. For a split second, she saw him shoot Hunter a hate-filled glare, but the Laird didn’t even seem to notice for his gaze was fixed on Erica.

A slow, triumphant smile spread across his face as if this victory had been guaranteed from the start, and she felt sick thinking about it. The cheers from the crowd grew louder, and Laird and Lady McFair exchanged pleased glances before stepping forward, pulling Erica and Laird MacKinnon to stand side-by-side before the crowd.

“And tomorrow,” Laird McFair announced with a proud smile, “we shall celebrate the union of me daughter and Laird MacKinnon!”

What?!

Erica’s stomach fell through the soles of her shoes.

So soon?

She had far less time than she had anticipated.

The weddin’ was supposed to take place at the end of the week.

It felt like her heart was racing toward a cliff’s edge, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. The reality of her future, bound to this man who had won her hand, loomed over her like a weight she could hardly bear. The edges of her vision started to blur.

Her eyes drifted to the man standing next to her, who had been watching her movements intently. His infuriating smile and gleaming eyes painted a disgusting picture of satisfaction as she muttered, “So soon?”

Her eyes swept over the crowd as she swallowed hard, trying to focus on staying upright.

Laird MacKinnon took a miniscule step sideways and extended his arm behind her, steadying her.

Erica plastered a perfect, seemingly excited smile on her face as her mother’s voice rang out. “It’s a fine match, indeed. James Morris has proven himself an honorable opponent, but Laird MacKinnon has proven himself the worthy victor. We are honored by this union!”

The guests erupted in another round of applause before they started dispersing. Erica barely heard their murmurs, her mind reeling with the knowledge of what awaited her.

This isnae a game—This is me life… and it’s just been decided with one measly pull of a rope? He didnae even fight hard. I wasnae worth the effort for him.

Before she could make sense of it all, Laird MacKinnon turned away, leaving her standing in the middle of the crowd.

Her mother approached, resting a hand on her shoulder, a silent gesture for her to join the toast that Thomas and her father would make.

“I need some air, Ma,” Erica said through gritted teeth.

Lady McFair simply nodded and motioned for her to escape to the gardens.

Grateful for the lack of argument, Erica slipped away.

As she navigated the large bushes, the world melted away, and she reveled in the silence. Large blooms swayed rhythmically in the warm breeze, and she let her hand graze them as she passed them slowly. Her favorite bench was situated on the far side of the garden behind the hedges, and as she headed in that direction, she let herself relax.

“I see ye managed to escape the crowd,” a familiar voice suddenly drawled behind her.

She spun around to find none other than Laird MacKinnon sprawled behind the hedges she had just passed by, propped up on his elbows. His shirt was off and balled up next to him, his eyes closed and his face tilted up toward the sun.

“Och!” Her hand flew up to her traitorous, racing heart.

The sight of him shook her to her core. The mountains of muscle flexed and relaxed as his body rocked from side to side, his eyes still closed and his feet tapping on the ground.

“What are ye doin’ here?”

“I wanted to soak up the last few minutes I have to meself before we get married, but here ye are, already disturbin’ me peace,” he said lazily.

“Disturbin’ yer peace?” Her tone was more accusatory than she had intended.

“Aye. Quit yer barkin’, lass. It’s just us, there is nay need to shout. I can hear ye just fine.”

“I’m sorry, am I annoyin’ ye?” she asked facetiously.

He grinned before opening one eye and then the other. Erica watched as his gray orbs trailed up the hem of her dress that was touching his leg, her torso, her collarbone, her neck, pausing on her lips for a moment before they finally landed on her blazing eyes.

“Ye ken ye are. Now, keep quiet while ye still can,” he said before closing his eyes again.

“Is that a threat?”

As if he knew she was going to ask that, Laird MacKinnon took a long, deep breath before exhaling and answering her slowly, “Nay, ye would ken it if I threatened ye.”

“Och, ye must feel proud of yerself,” she huffed indignantly, putting her hands on her hips.

He chuckled softly and looked down at her. “Proud? Nay, but ye would be wise to remember that I’m a man who keeps his promises,” he said, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Erica balled her fists—she could feel the fire rising inside her. “Promises? What promise could ye possibly make that would matter to me?”

Laird MacKinnon looked at her intently. An emotion that she couldn’t place flickered in his eyes, and for a fleeting moment, she felt as though he was looking right past her defenses.

“Think what ye wish. It makes nay difference to me. Tomorrow, ye will be me wife.”

“I willnae make it easy for ye,” Erica warned, her voice shaking but defiant.

Laird MacKinnon tilted his head, his smirk widening as if she’d just issued him a delightful challenge. “I’d be disappointed if ye did, lass.”

Letting her anger get the better of her, she blurted out, “Why do ye even want to marry me?”

“Ah, finally,” he drawled, pushing himself to his feet. “The right question.”

“Ye dinnae ken me or me family, and yet ye are so eager to tie yerself to someone ye have barely spoken to or even ken or like.”

Laird MacKinnon didn’t respond right away, and Erica felt a satisfying awkwardness hang between them. It was short-lived, though, because when he finally spoke, his voice was low and steady.

“Before ye continue on this little tirade, I’ll have ye ken that our families have ties older than even yer faither’s faither.”

What?

That revelation only interrupted Erica’s train of thought for a brief moment before she recovered. “Ye dinnae ken anythin’ about me.”

“Perhaps nae ye, but I ken yer roots just fine,” Laird MacKinnon admitted, throwing his shirt over his head and pushing his arms through the sleeves. “I will figure ye out with time, to be sure.”

Erica opened her mouth, a retort hanging on the tip of her tongue, but then she closed it.

“Ach, dinnae fash, lass. Tomorrow, ye will have plenty of things to say to me, I’m sure of it. Or maybe even tonight.”

Without waiting for her response, he turned and strode away, leaving her standing alone for the second time that morning, stewing in her anger.

Loud, raucous laughter, chatter, and the constant hum of bagpipes echoed throughout the keep. Erica wandered down the hall, overwhelmed by the guests congratulating her with empty smiles. Her mind felt as restless as the crowd; each laughing face, each casual touch reminded her that she was hours away from an irreversible union.

She had gone through the motions of dancing, toasting, and laughing when she could summon the energy, but none of it soothed the anxiety that knotted her stomach. As the night took over the day, she made her way to the Great Hall, her exhaustion threatening to rear its head.

“Let’s get ye to bed, aye? A tired bride is a useless bride,” Thomas quipped, his voice warm but tight and laced with whiskey. She hadn’t seen him since the announcement earlier.

He guided her toward the stairway with an ease that took her back to simpler days. She glanced up at him, her heart clenching with nostalgia.

“Ye are all grown up now, Thomas. Finally taller than me,” she said, her voice growing thicker.

“Aye, and I said the same when we were bairns. ‘I’ll make them regret hurtin’ ye.’ That applies to Laird MacKinnon as well.” The fierce protectiveness in his eyes surprised her, and pride flooded her chest.

Erica managed a small smile as she wrapped her arm around him and squeezed him tightly to her side. “I’ll nae forget, Thomas. Thank ye.”

After he left, she slipped inside her room, her heart heavy with conflicting emotions. A small fire crackled in the hearth, and she felt the silence settle around her. Kara had already packed her belongings.

How strange that I will be a stranger in me own home…

The thought roiled in her head, sickening and real. Tomorrow, she would get married to a man she barely knew and despised with all of her being.

As she paced her room, she caught sight of a small leather pouch nestled among her things. It was the pouch she had kept hidden for years—the one that only Kara knew about.

Inside were coins she had saved slowly, methodically, from odds and ends, with the dream of one day establishing a school in the village. But tonight, they represented something else entirely. The revelation made her breath hitch in her throat.

An escape!

Before she could think it through, she grabbed the pouch and pulled on her cloak, slipping quietly into the cold corridor. Her heart pounded as she hurried down the back stairway, trying to avoid the servants, her footsteps muffled by the thick rug. She crept through the dimly lit corridors until she was outside. The night air nipped her cheeks as she hastened toward the stables at the edge of the grounds.

I’ll grab a horse and disappear.

Erica took one last look at the keep.

It’s for the best, and nay one will ken until the ceremony.

Pulling her cloak tighter around her shivering body, she smiled and spun around quickly to make a run for it… only to run right into a wall. Confused, she straightened up and put her hands out in front of her tentatively, but she already knew that her fate had been sealed.

The oaky smell gave him away first, but she let her hands trail over the layers covering his hard torso before she dropped them to her sides.

“Laird MacKinnon,” she sighed, dipping her head.

“Hmm,” he hummed and moved into the dim light of the keep. “Where are ye headed at this hour, lass?” he asked knowingly.

Erica wrapped her hand around the pouch dangling at her side and steeled herself. “Anywhere but here.” She lifted her chin, her eyes flashing with defiance. “Ye won a game. It doesnae mean ye won me . I’m nae a prize.”

Hunter’s answering dark chuckle sent a shiver down her spine. “So, ye run in the dead of night like a fugitive escapin’ a sentence.”

“I am nay man’s possession to be won or owned,” she snapped, taking a step back as he stepped forward. She held his gaze, refusing to let him see the way her knees trembled. “Marryin’ ye would be a sentence.”

“Is that what ye think?” he murmured, his voice somehow dropping to a husky whisper. He was close now, too close as he continued. “That I see ye as a prize?”

“Aye,” she hissed.

“Nay, lass. I dinnae see ye as a prize. Ye dinnae understand because ye are too na?ve to the ways of the world. Stuck in yer own head.”

“I am nae! I ken well enough what the competition was for. I just dinnae agree with it. It doesnae make a good, strong match. How can it, when the two dinnae even ken each other? It is all about how strong the man is, and nothing about the bride-to-be. I’m meant to just sit there and accept me fate? Nay.” In the middle of her argument, Erica had managed to put a significant amount of space between them.

Hunter took a step toward her. “Ah, but ye also participated in the competition inside the keep, or did ye nae see that?”

“Inside the keep? What are ye on about?”

“Did ye nae think that the cèilidh, the dinners, the dresses ye wore, the conversations ye had were yer opportunity to prove that ye were a good, strong match for the men present?”

“I—”

Me? Prove that I am a good match?

Laird MacKinnon closed the distance between them, not giving her an opportunity to refute him. “And did ye nae think that the men picked up on how drawn to others ye may or may nae have been? Who ye talked to, looked at, and watched?”

Looked at? Watched? I…

Erica took another step back, unable to gather her thoughts to make a sound argument. “Well, I?—”

“Ye were in competition as well, lass. Dinnae make yerself out to be a lamb in the lion’s den. We’re all lions here,” he said with finality, closing the distance between them again.

He was inches away from her now, and she couldn’t even muster a response to what he said. The only thing swirling behind her stark green eyes were his last words. “We’re all lions here.”

Hunter raised an eyebrow when she remained silent. “Now that ye ken what this competition was truly about, that ye had a part in at as well, I feel even better about winnin’.”

“Why?”

“Two wins are always better than one.”

She scowled. “Am I supposed to be grateful?” she bit out, her words dripping with venom.

Hunter dipped his chin slightly, ready for the challenge.

“Nay,” he said simply.

He ran a hand through his hair lazily, as if he already knew where the conversation was headed.

“Why did ye even come?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest in protest.

Silence fell over them for a moment, before he finally said, “I have come to win a bride. It didnae have to be ye.”

It didnae have to be me? Then why is he here?

Erica could feel him watching the heat creeping up her neck, and it infuriated her. “Why did ye come here and go through the games when ye didnae even want to marry me?”

“Ye werenae the prize, lass. I’m here because it was an easy, quick, and convenient solution to me problem. Surely, ye can see that I’m nae the only competitor who’s nae lookin’ for a love match. Nae even yer valiant James Morris can say he is here for that. Can he?”

“James Morris is a good man. He may nae be lookin’ for a love match, but at least he kens who I am and he was interested in marryin’ me.”

“Ye think highly of yerself. That’s good. But thinkin’ so highly of James Morris isnae good.”

Erica bristled and fixed him with a glare. “James would have made a good, strong match. Anyone can see that.” She smiled inwardly at her use of his words.

I’ll have ye eatin’ all yer words soon enough, just ye wait…

“Ye see…” Hunter chuckled, clearly unfazed. “I was talkin’ with yer faither tonight, and he seems to think that ours will be a strong union—though he did say ‘Once me daughter starts to care about anyone else but herself.’”

Erica flinched at her father’s words. “He didnae say that about me.”

“I didnae make it up, lass.”

She waved her arms, putting distance between them again. “I just dinnae wish to marry and leave when me faither is so ill. Is that so hard to believe?”

A fire burned behind Hunter’s eyes as he stepped closer to her again. “Is that why ye are leavin’ now?”

“Nay!” she cried.

A wave of guilt washed over her, cooling her temper and leaving her in a flustered state. She needed to recover quickly and get the upper hand again before he did?—

Wait a minute…

“What are ye doin’ out here?”

Hunter gave her a slow, wicked smile that made heat bloom in the pit of her stomach. “Perhaps I dinnae care for the idea of me bride wanderin’ off before I’ve had the chance to show her exactly what she’s runnin’ from.”

His fingers found her chin, tilting her face up like he did the night before. She shivered, every nerve tingling as his thumb traced the line of her jaw.

His words from earlier echoed in her mind.

“Tomorrow, ye will have plenty of things to say to me, I’m sure of it. Or maybe even tonight…”

She held her ground, but his words only added to the heat that had now coursed to her core. The tugging sensation was so raw and so intense that she couldn’t ignore it.

His thumb continued to trace her jaw and cheek—a slow, deliberate touch that left her nearly breathless.

“Ye are far too sure of yerself,” she managed to say through clenched teeth.

“Ye are far too sure of yer opinion of me.”

Her heart hammered against her ribs as he lingered there, inches away, his eyes falling to her lips before meeting her furious stare, daring her to pull back first. She should have, she knew that. Instead, she found herself rooted to the spot, her breath caught in her throat, unable to resist his pull. Every word left unsaid, every defiance in her heart seemed to dissolve in that small space between them.

“Ye can run if ye wish, lass,” he murmured, his voice rough. “But ye will find that ye cannae easily escape me.”

With a final lingering look, he released her chin and stepped back, giving her just enough space to breathe again. She held her breath, though, willing herself to look unaffected, to suppress the fire he’d kindled within her.

“Tomorrow, ye will be me wife. Whether here at McFair Keep or out there,” he added firmly as he pointed behind him, “we will settle this properly as husband and wife.”

“Ye’re an animal, a brute!” Erica spat. “A monster!”

Hunter took a small step forward, the heat of his body coaxing the slightest heat into her cheeks. He dipped his chin, his voice dangerously low. “Monster I may be, lass, but—” His eyes flicked to her lips and then back to her eyes. “Ye still flush so beautifully when ye look at me. Yer breath hitches when I’m near. And even now, I can only imagine how yer traitorous body reacts when ye think of me. So, say what ye wish—I will always ken the truth.” He looked just past her and ordered, “Take her back inside.”

“Aye, Laird MacKinnon. Right away,” said the small, familiar voice of Kara, who had appeared behind her.

How long had she been standin’ behind me? How much did she hear?

Laird MacKinnon silently walked around Erica and disappeared into the castle.

She remained rooted to the spot. Her hands were clenched, and her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She stared off into the night, letting her breathing slow to the beat of the leather pouch swinging uselessly at her hip.