Page 67 of Claimed By a Savage Scot
With a long-suffering sigh that made it a struggle to hold back her laughter, Malcolm took the ring from her. “One throw, that’s all,” he said.
She nodded. “One throw.”
He weighed the wooden ring once in his palm before tossing it carelessly. It missed the post entirely.
“Dammit,” he muttered. Catriona’s suppressed laughter burst out, helpless and impossible to stop.
“Stop lookin’ at me like that,” she begged him as he stared at her indignantly. “Ye’re only makin’ it worse.”
With difficulty, she managed to control herself, though her fragile composure almost shattered again when he scowled at the ring lying in the mud.
“That throw daesnae count,” he stated.
“Och, but it absolutely does,” Catriona insisted, enjoying herself immensely.
He shot her another of his warning looks before retrieving another ring from the ground and preparing to toss it at the post. This time, she saw his expression sharpen with concentration.
The ring spun through the air—and landed cleanly around the post.
Malcolm’s brows rose. “Och, I’ve surprised even mesel’,” he admitted, brushing off his palms.
Catriona clapped her hands together delightedly. “Well done, me laird. I’m impressed. Yer talents are truly endless.”
His mouth curved slowly into that devastating half-smile that always set her pulse cantering like a runaway horse.
“I’ll add it tae me long list of accomplishments.”
“Aye, I bet ye will.” She shook her head, laughing softly again.
Their gazes remained locked on one another as the sound faded gradually into a comfortable silence. Within the spell that fell over them, the chill breeze stirred Malcolm’s dark curls wildly about. She ached to stroke them.
Then his expression shifted slightly, growing more serious. “Cat?”
Something in his voice made her heartbeat slow. “Aye?”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice, though no one stood near enough to overhear.
“Once Duncan arrives… I want ye tae ken... I intend tae speak tae him properly and ask fer yer hand immediately.”
Catriona stilled. For a moment she simply studied him, able to detect the tension beneath his calm expression—the faint tightness in his jaw, the careful restraint in his posture.
He was worried. And somehow she knew that this time, it was not about Sinclair. It was about Duncan.
Love bloomed in her chest as she wondered at him in silence. Did he truly not understand yet how impossible it would be for her brother to reject him? Duncan trusted few men in this world, but he had trusted Malcolm Gordon with her life.
She herself had no doubt of the happy outcome. But she knew that nothing she said would change his mind on the subject. Only Duncan’s approval really mattered. And she adored Malcolm for it.
She smiled. “Well,” she said lightly, “I can only hope ye manage that conversation better than this bairns’ game.”
For one startled moment Malcolm simply stared at her. Then a low laugh escaped him. He reached out as though intending to touch her cheek, but stopped himself at the last moment, apparently remembering they were as good as standing on a stage.
His hand fell to his belt instead.
“I must go. There’s much tae dae. Be careful if ye intend tae take a walk. Remember, the castle is on alert and there’s danger abroad.” He spoke the warning with his usual sternness.
But the heated look in his eyes as he walked away towards the keep lingered in Catriona’s mind for a long time as she continued on her way.
The following morning, Catriona was abruptly shaken from sleep by the sound of raised, masculine voices echoing from the hallway outside her chamber.
