Page 48 of The Highlander's Auctioned Wife
“I wish I had a book,” she said abruptly, lying back on the blanket, figuring it was safer to stare up at the sky than look at him.
“Am I so borin’?” he replied.
She sat up sharply. “What? Nay, of course nae. I… just imagine that it would be nice to read here.”
“I might nae have a book for ye, but there’s chess,” he said, removing a wooden board from the picnic basket.
Whoever had packed it had clearly thought of everything.
“Do ye play?” he asked, setting the board down between them. And when he pulled out a silk pouch filled with the pieces, she noticed he chose the black for himself.
She grinned, her nerves settling at the sight of the game. “Nae as often as I’d like, but aye, I play.” She took out her white queen and king and held them for a moment, an idea popping into her head. “However, I think I’d like to play a different game.”
“There’s only chess here,” he replied flatly, arching an eyebrow.
“Aye, but that doesnae mean we cannae add some rules of our own,” she teased, her confidence swelling. “How about: for every pawn of yers that I win, ye must answer—honestly and truthfully—any question that I ask, regardless of what it is?”
He had no way of knowing that she was rather good at chess, and had played on countless evenings with her brother, Jackson. In the past two years alone, Jackson had only beaten her three times and, as she liked to point out to him, those had been on evenings where she was half asleep in her chair.
“Did ye nae listen yesterday?” Gordon’s deep voice rumbled.
She frowned. “To what?”
“If ye have questions, ask ‘em. There doesnae need to be a charade.”
Understanding, she gave a shrug and smiled at him. “Maybe nae, but where’s the fun in just askin’ outright? Of course, if ye’re afraid that ye might lose, then…”
He rolled his eye. “For the sake of ‘fun,’ I’ll play yer game.” His expression darkened suddenly, the shadow of a smirk upon his lips. “But I have rules of me own.”
“Naturally,” she said, swallowing down the sudden leap of her heart into her mouth. “It wouldnae be fair if I dinnae have somethin’ to lose too.”
“Interestin’ turn of phrase.” He set his last pawn down on the board.
Hurrying to arrange her own pieces, Anna tried to read his expression, but it proved impossible, his thoughts as hidden from her perception as his eye behind his patch.
She was about to ask what she would have to give for each of her pawns, when he spoke again, that hint of a smirk returning to his lips: “For each pawn I win, ye lose a piece of what ye’re wearin’.” He met her gaze. “And nay, removin’ a hairpin doesnae count.”
The shock made her glad she wasn’t eating anymore, or she would surely have choked on the luncheon.
He willnae win enough of yer pawns for it to require much,she told herself, covering her surprise as quickly as she could with a nonchalant smile and a shrug.
“Very well,” she said, nodding down to his side of the board. “I hope ye’re ready for yer eight questions.”
“I am.” He tilted his head to one side. “And ye should hope ye’re wearin’ more than eight things.”
She was frozen for a moment, trying to remember, counting up the garments Jane had helped her into earlier. If she counted her stockings and shoes as individual items, she wore eleven things. If not, she wore nine. And she had a feeling that Gordon wouldn’t allow her to have duplicates.
Ye can do this. Ye must nae back down.
Tilting her chin up, she flashed her most courageous smile. “Well then, let us begin.”
“Where is yer maither?” Anna asked, stripped of her bodice and shoes.
Gordon nearly tutted at the clumsiness of the question, for he had warned her two questions ago that she had to be more specific if she wanted a defined answer. It appeared she hadn’t listened, though shewasmuch better at chess than he had anticipated. More creative than him as a player, certainly, but he was methodical, and hewouldtake all of her pawns soon enough.
“Wherever the dead go,” he replied.
Anna’s brow furrowed in sympathy. “What happened to her?”
