“Emeric!”
The spell between them broke as a rough voice bellowed across the field. Emeric saw the tall, burly figure of the castellan approaching, an uncharacteristic grin on his face.
“Time to come and receive yer trophy,” he chuckled, clasping Emeric heartily on the shoulder.
Emeric glanced at Anna. She’d crossed her arms and her expression was frosty.
He heaved a sigh, nodding at the castellan. “Aye, I’m coming.”
He walked away, feeling Anna’s gaze like fire on his back.
Chapter 15
Anna allowed herself to be swept along with the rest of the crowd streaming towards a makeshift platform that had been set up at the edge of the field.
She kept her eyes on Emeric as he walked ahead with the castellan. Actually, she glared daggers at him, furious with the way he’d spoken to her. Her anger was only worsened by the fact she knew Emeric was right. Ithadbeen stupid of her to enter that contest. Now everyone in the vicinity would be gossiping about the strange outlander up at Dun Achmore who spoke weirdly and did things no self-respecting Highland woman would.
Oh, yes, she knew he was right, but that didn’t mean he could get away with giving her a dressing down! Aargh. Damn the man.
He made her angry and unbalanced and excited and giddy all at the same time. Anna hated it.Sheshould be the one in control here. When it came to relationships, she flirted, she teased, but never got more involved than that, perhaps having the odd dalliance and moving on before she could risk getting too closely entangled.
That strategy was most definitelynotworking with Emeric. Oh, she flirted and teased him whenever she gotthe opportunity, but far from keeping him wrongfooted, it seemed to do that to her instead, and the more time she spent with him the more entangled she became..
As they’d stared at each other a moment ago, she’d thought he might kiss her. And God, how she’d wanted him to! She’d found herself leaning forward in anticipation until that bloody castellan had come along and interrupted them!
She glared daggers at him too. Dratted man.
She reached the platform and spotted the three clan lairds already up on the stage. Weaving her way through the crowd, she went to join Aislinn, Maria and Hildie standing to one side.
“What’s going on?” she whispered to Aislinn.
“The award ceremony,” Aislinn whispered back. “The lairds will present each of the champions with a gift to mark their prowess.”
A hush fell over the crowd as Laird MacDonald strode forward, his tall frame silhouetted against the bright afternoon sunlight. He held aloft a huge two-handed sword—a claymore Anna had learned they were called—its blade catching the light.
“Yer champion of the sword, Aillig Murray!”
An appreciative cheer erupted from the spectators as Brodie’s older brother strode onto the platform. He was tall and broad-shouldered, like Emeric, his red hair still damp with sweat from his bouts with the sword.
He approached Laird MacDonald, who presented him with the claymore. Anna didn’t know much about swords—well she knew exactly nothing truth be told—but even to her untrained eye, it looked like a magnificentweapon, with an ornate silver grip and finely tooled scabbard.
