X Marks the Scot by Victoria Roberts Page B

ticked angrily in his jaw. “That English arse—”
    “Is clearly an English arse. There is nay changing him and ye will only make matters worse. Leave off, I beg ye.” He weighed her words carefully. When he finally nodded his head in consent, Liadain breathed.
    “The men line up for the tournament. Please remain where I can see ye,” he ordered.
    MacGregor did not need to tell her twice.
    ***
    Entering the royal tent, Viscount Cranborne greeted the king with a warm smile. “Majesty,” he said, giving his king a low bow.
    “Ah, if it isn’t Viscount Cranborne. Come. Have a seat,” King James said, gesturing to the chair beside him.
    He nodded. “Thank you, Your Majesty. My apologies for the delay. I thought my wife was to give birth to our child, but it turned out to be false.”
    “No need for apologies. And your wife is well?”
    “She is.”
    The king slapped Robert upon the shoulder. “I am glad to hear it. The games are about to begin. And you are certain you do not wish to partake in the tournament yourself, Cranborne?” he asked, leaning in closer.
    “I am sure. I enjoy watching just the same. The fact that you even hold such games in my honor is reward enough.”
    Robert’s palms were sweaty and his heart started beating rapidly. He needed to broach the topic delicately. He had proven adept at handling himself in Spain. He could do this. It was time to step up and play the game of men.
    “I understand the champion will receive a sufficient amount of coin.”
    The king smirked. “Are you changing your mind, Viscount Cranborne?” he asked, eyeing him quizzically.
    “I do not change my mind. I only suggest that perhaps if the stakes were raised, they may further advance Your Majesty’s objectives as well.”
    Robert became increasingly uneasy under the king’s scrutiny, and a warning voice whispered in his head to tread carefully. When something flickered deep in the king’s eyes, Robert feigned sudden interest in the tournament.
    “What did you have in mind, Cranborne?”
    ***
    Highland barbarian.
    Declan would show Dunnehl a Highland barbarian when he shoved his broadsword up the lord’s English arse…
    He watched Percy step up to shoot his first round in the archery contest and wipe the sweat from his forehead. Lifting his bow, he visibly trembled, studying the target. In fact, he examined it so long that Declan could have made another target before Percy even took the shot. Finally, the man released the arrow. With a critical eye, Declan watched it whiz through the air, missing the goal entirely by several feet.
    Percy shook his head. “The competition is not too great, MacGregor. I don’t think you’ll have a problem.”
    Declan gave him a manly slap to the shoulder. “Head high, Percy.” Declan moved into position and adjusted the arrow. Lifting the bow, he aimed and released his shot.
    Dead center.
    The crowd cheered and the king yelled, “Well done, MacGregor!”
    Declan nodded his thanks and then stole a glance at the healer. When their eyes met, her expression brightened and they shared a smile. He knew that she was proud of him, and it warmed his heart that she would be.
    The crowd was silent as the next man raised his bow and released his arrow, making the mark. Praise the saints for some competition. Declan was tired of shooting with Percy and Catesby. No one had challenged him for a long time, and it would be good to engage in some healthy sport—especially one he excelled at.
    Three men, including Declan, had made it to the final round. They waited patiently while the targets were moved back several additional yards.
    Feeling a soft tap on the shoulder, Declan turned around as the healer graced him with a smile. “I just want to wish ye luck. Although I donna think ye need it. Ye are doing verra well, MacGregor. I am truly impressed.”
    He peered down at her intently. “’Tisnae the only thing I do verra well, healer.”
    Folding her arms over her chest, she twisted