Page 17 of Her Highlander's Darkest Temptation
I just need to play again, but find a more subtle way to lose the game. A less obvious mistake…
“I challenge ye tae a wager.” The words made her jerk her head up, eyes wide.
“A wager? My laird, I have nothing…”
Laird Ranald smiled a wolf’s smile. “Och, I dinnae wish tae wager coin or aught so simple. Ye’re a lass o’ secrets an’ stories, Lydia, an’ unusual skills. Fer this wager, I’ll set the stakes thus—the winner has a wish tae be used, nay questions asked. Nay limits save what may harm another.”
Lydia flushed. “My laird, such a wager is improper…”
“The wish willnae include any sort o’ demands fer bedsport, if that’s what ye’re afraid o’. I’m nae that sort o’ man.” The wolf-like smile widened. “Will ye play again’ me, fer the stakes as they are?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Donall watched Lydia thinking, worrying that soft, rose-petal lip between her teeth as she considered his terms.
He wasn’t sure why he’d suggested the wager, or those terms. All he was certain of was what he’d seen in her eyes—she’d come to the table already planning to find a way to lose the game, in spite of his earlier words about his opinion on such victories.
“Well lass?”
Lydia blushed, the rose hue becoming against her pale skin, her eyes fixed on the board as though it could answer all her questions for her. Finally, she nodded. “If you insist, my laird.”
“I dae.” Donall smiled, refilled his tankard, and gestured for her to take the first move.
Lydia frowned in concentration, then moved a queen-side pawn. Donall responded in kind, and the game began in earnest.
The game was different from the beginning, and with every successive move, Donall’s interest grew. Lydia wasn’t an aggressive player - she played more defensively, only attacking when she could incur minimal losses - but shewasa confident player, and an adept one.
She moved her pieces with little hesitation, and evaded the first pincer trap he set for her with ease, taking a pawn and almost capturing one of his knights in the process. Her counter trap almost caught his king-side bishop, and a secondary gambit he didn’t see took his queen-side knight.
A dozen moves later, Donall was certain of his conclusion—Lydia was no ordinary maid, not even an ordinary lady’s maid. Her skill at chess was far beyond what he might have expected from a servant, who would have limited time to indulge in learning the game, much less polishing their skills.
At best, he would have expected her to have a similar skill to Ewan’s. Instead, she played at a level that could likely defeat Alex, and might be a close match for him. It was intriguing, and it left him debating what to do.
He could win—he was certain of that. Win, claim his wish and claim his answers, if he so desired.
Or…
Lydia shifted her queen to take a castle, and in that moment, he saw the fork in the road, as the game split down two branching paths toward the endgame.
If he moved his queen, he would stumble into the edge of a trap, and likely be checked in half-a-dozen moves.
If he shifted his king, he could build a defense that would block her, then launch a counter-attack that would put her in check in seven moves or less.
Claim a victory and a wish, or let it go and see how she might use them in turn?
For a moment, he wavered, then his hand moved, guided by some instinct and the long-banished emotions Lydia evoked in him, and moved the queen.
Lydia caught him, as he’d known she would. He responded, and she paused, her cheeks blooming the scarlet color of a rose before she hesitantly reached out to move her piece into position.
Donall responded, played through the next two moves, then surrendered to the inevitable and tipped his king over with a quick, easy gesture. To his surprise, the pang of dull anger or offended pride he’d expected to feel was absent, buried under a feeling of anticipation. “It seems, lass, tha’ the wish is yers.”
Lydia nodded, her expression a blend of confusion and trepidation. “I scarcely know what I would wish for…”
Donall raised an eyebrow in surprise. He stood and stretched. “Ye dinnae need tae use it taenight.”
He moved to the council table and located ink and a scrap of paper, and wrote in quick penstrokes‘One wish, tae redeem tae Laird Donall Ranald’. He blew on the ink to dry it, then folded the paper and handed it to the lass. “Give me this when ye want tae redeem yer wish. If I can fulfill it, an’ if it daesnae harm anyone, then I’ll grant it fer ye.”
“Thank you, my laird.” She bowed her head. “I shall consider most carefully. However, if there is nothing else… the dishes…”
