His arms tightened, knowing only that he had to protect her. But he also understood. “About tomorrow? The piping competition won’t start until after sundown.”
She was silent for a moment, and then he felt her shoulders shake with a sudden burst of laughter. “Can ye believe I’d forgotten about the piping competition?” She sounded disgusted with herself. “Nay, I meant…Murray.”
Ah. “I’ll no’ let him hurt ye.”
She flicked him. “’Tis no’ me I’m scared for, ye stubborn man. I’m scared for ye. And what the King will do when he finds out ye’re no’ marrying Murray’s daughter.”
“I cannae marry Murray’s daughter,” Kester said lightly, flippantly, ignoring the worry in his own stomach, “if I’m marrying ye.”
She blew out a breath, and her hand cupped his neck. “I love ye, Kester. But I’d rather ye be alive and someone else’s than mine and—“
Her voice broke at the end, and he heard her swallow thickly.
His lips dropped to her hair.
How could one woman shoulder so much burden? “Trust me, Robena. I’ll find a way for us to be together. I love ye.”
She was silent for a long while. When she did speak, she sounded close to sleep. “I used to envy Lady Elspeth, ye ken. I picture her as beautiful and talented and graceful.”
He snorted softly. “Mayhap. But there’s nae way she’s as beautiful and talented as ye are.”
She yawned. “I notice ye didnae say graceful.”
“Ye’re wearing pine sap in yer hair from all the trees ye bumped into.”
“I didnae bump into them.” She couldn’t manage to sound indignant. “They jumped out of naewhere and attacked me. The sap is a valiant scar from my battles.”
He chuckled and kissed her again. “Go to sleep, love.”
“I dinnae envy her any longer,” she confessed, before another yawn overtook her.
“Really?” He knew nothing of Murray’s family, much less the laird’s eldest daughter. “Why?”
“Because she might be beautiful and talented and everything ye’d like in a wife…but ye’re mine.”
And long after she fell asleep, Kester MacBain smiled.
Aye, he was hers, and she was his. And no matter what happened tomorrow, that would be true.
God willing.
* * *
The Games were nearingtheir end as their little party arrived late the next day. Already, some of the clans who had the farthest to travel had departed, not caring about the musical competitions to come. Kester could see the empty places in the field where the grass had been trampled and broken by the camps.
Robena sat on her own horse, her shoulders straight, her expression carefully neutral as she surveyed the field.
“See the Sutherland banner, milady?” Auld Gommy was pointing solicitously. “They’re the bastards to beat, excuse my language.”
“How do ye ken?”
The old man scoffed. “They always kick everyone’s arses, excuse my language. There’s so damn many of them! Excuse my language.”
Robena’s lips twitched. “Ye dinnae have to keep excusing yer language. I’ve heard ye say much worse.”
“Aye, and I’m hoping ye’ll forget about that, afore my laird beats me black and blue for it.”
She lifted her fingertips to her lips in a familiar gesture, as if trying to press her mustache back. Fortunately, since it had been swept away, she’d made no effort to create another one. On the one hand, he didn’t have to taste a fooking mustache every time he wanted to kiss the woman he loved….