Page 40 of Under the Laird’s Promise

"And he watches her like she's the only person in the world."

Maighread's fingers tightened on his arm. When he glanced down, he saw color rising in her cheeks—she'd heard them too.

"They're buying it," she murmured.

"Aye." He covered her hand with his own. "They are."

But the question neither of them asked… What exactly were people buying? The performance or the truth?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The afternoon sun had shifted lower, casting golden light across the gathering grounds. Maighread watched a group attempting some variation of lawn bowling, though the rules seemed to shift with each round and the participants were more interested in wagering than actual competition.

"Come on then." Tavish's voice rumbled near her ear, close enough that his breath stirred the loose tendrils at her temple. "Let's show them how it's done."

"Ye think we can manage lawn bowling after yer archery display?" She turned her head slightly, finding him closer than expected. "They might start expecting perfection from us."

"Then we'll disappoint them magnificently." His grin was pure mischief. "Taegether."

Heat bloomed in her chest at that single word. Together. As if they were truly a unit instead of two people playing at partnership.

They joined the group, and someone handed Maighread a wooden ball worn smooth from years of use. The weight of it felt solid in her palm, grounding.

"Rules are simple," Finlay called from where he stood keeping score. "Get closest tae the white ball. Three rounds. Losers buy the winners ale."

"Sounds fair." Tavish positioned himself behind her, his presence a wall of warmth at her back. "What dae ye think, lass? Can we manage?"

"We'd better. I'm nae buying Dougal anything."

Laughter rippled through the group at that, and even Dougal cracked a reluctant smile.

Maighread lifted the ball, gauging the distance. Tavish's hand settled at her waist, fingers splayed across the fabric of her gown. The touch sent sparks racing along her spine.

"A wee bit tae the left," he murmured, his chest brushing her shoulder blades. "See how the ground slopes there?"

She did now. "Good eye."

"I'm full of surprises."

She released the ball, watching it roll true and stop a hand's width from the target. Satisfaction curled through her at the approving sounds from the watchers.

"Me turn." Tavish stepped up beside her, and she found herself unwilling tae move away. His arm brushed hers as he took aim, the casual contact setting her nerves alight.

His ball landed even closer than hers.

"Show off," she muttered.

"Ye love it."

The terrible thing was, she did.

The game continued, players taking their turns while the crowd around them ebbed and flowed. Some wandered off to watch the wrestling matches resuming nearby. Others drifted toward the ale tables. Within minutes, the immediate area around Maighread and Tavish had cleared significantly, leaving them partially shielded by a large oak and the angle of the playing field.

"Yer turn again," Tavish said, retrieving another ball. He handed it to her, his fingers lingering against hers a heartbeat longer than necessary.

Maighread stepped into position, acutely aware of how Tavish moved with her, his body angling behind hers again. His hand returned to her waist, but this time the touch felt different. More intentional. More intimate.

"Steady now," he said, voice dropping to that rough register that made her stomach flip. "Dinnae rush it."