Forged in Dreams and Magick (Highland Legends #1)(28)
“Do you know what the wall does?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I was born in the castle. The wall has always been there. I played in the room as a young child, but plannin’ and war strategizin’ is not for me. Those things doona interest a lass who runs through the grass collectin’ flowers.”
I persisted. “What about a box of the same sparkling material? Have you seen the box?”
“Aye,” she replied. “’Tis held in an outer room next to the keep.”
“But . . . do you know what it does? How it works?” I pressed. Is it tied to the wall that came alive? I didn’t want to interrogate her, but in my first chance to ask anyone, I determinedly seized the moment.
“Nay. The box is important to our clan. The wall protects us. ’Tis all I know.”
I pondered her statement. The wall protects them. How? “The ceiling above the great hall has the same kind of stone,” I mumbled to myself, working through my thoughts.
She heard and responded. “Aye. The box, the map room, the great hall, and the wall all have the same stone.”
Brigid popped up and grabbed a piece of cheese from the table. She held the white wedge between her teeth as she awkwardly dragged a chair to the tent entrance.
Spectators filed back to their tents. With the rectangular arrangement around the field, everyone had a great view from the shade of their own canopy.
“Wait, you said the map room and the wall. Aren’t they one in the same?” I’d thought she’d repeated herself.
“Nay. The map room has a wall made of the stone. Our curtain wall has the same stone in large pillars at the corner points . . .” Brigid’s voice trailed off as she turned and sat in her front row seat.
The blare of a horn sounded the start of the events, marking the end of our conversation; however, my tireless quest for the unearthing the truth had only just begun.
CHAPTER Nine
For the third time in under an hour, the piercing ring of swordplay dragged my troubled mind from pondering new secrets. I focused once again on a competition that I would’ve given a vital organ to attend a few short days ago. Our tent’s prime location afforded us an unparalleled view of the action, and I trained my gaze to Iain as I effortlessly jumped back into spectator mode.
Iain arced his enormous sword high in the air and dropped it onto his opponent’s blade, sending another clash echoing into the courtyard. The brave young warrior fighting him took a step back from the brutal force of the impact.
I’d imagined as laird Iain would’ve assumed a role as overseer, but he participated in every event. Past experience should have warned me that his well-deserved pride dictated his actions. In California, among a class of men striving to be his peers, he’d surpassed every competitor. In the Highlands, with warriors living and breathing battle readiness at their core, he stood out even among his equals.
The man’s shirtless body, coupled with his prowess on the training field, did not disappoint. Iain wielded the claymore against his opponent as if he waved off a fly. I focused on every double-handed stroke he made as the bronzed muscles of his back flexed, glistening in the sun.
It astounded me that someone who employed brute force and aggression in a fight could caress skin with a butterfly’s touch and ignite blast-furnace heat with a whisper. Iain’s many intriguing facets attracted me on a level I hadn’t expected. The girl who’d spent a life searching for mysteries buried deep in the past had found a new challenge: unraveling what made up the essence of a man.
A horn blared, ending their match. Iain strode over to the area on the side where his guard sat, but his intense stare was pinned on me. I bit my lip, unable to contain how my heart raced with every penetrating look.
No longer hell-bent on schemes to make Iain compete for my attention, my nonstop brain had thought the tournament would be a perfect distraction for exploring the castle grounds to discover more about Iain and his people. However, the excellent idea had turned impossible with Iain’s possessive glances toward me at the beginning and end of each event. Brigid’s constant company was another snooping obstacle. With a mutual interest in watching our men compete, I gained no new knowledge from her, our conversation remaining superficial and brief.
Gloaming painted the sky in muted bluish grays as my eyelids grew heavy from the long day. I nestled into an inviting, pillow-filled corner next to an already-napping Brigid.
Dimly aware, I felt soft lips brush across mine. My lids fluttered open, and I saw Iain grinning at me through my drowsy haze. I smiled, closing my eyes on a sigh.
Iain’s soothing voice whispered into my ear, “Sleep, my beauty. We’re goin’ to bathe down at the stream. Seamus’ll stay with you both.” I snuggled deeper into the pillows, his soft-spoken words floating into my dreams.
*
A dark tent startled me to full attention. I patted around for my companion, wondering why Iain had left us alone so long. Brigid squealed at my frantic prodding.
“Isobel, och! What’re you doin’?”
I laughed. “Waking you up, apparently. Where is everyone?”
Lights flickered across the courtyard and soft orange glowed from along either side of our tent. My eyes adjusted to the darkness in ours as I pulled Brigid up from our impromptu bed.
She shrugged. “Let’s go find out.”