Page 40 of Captured By the Cruel Highlander
Slowly, Olivia crouched down before the hearth again and nodded toward the bed as she did so. “Those were just delivered for ye, M’Lady,” she said cautiously.
Emily turned to the bed to see four boxes had been placed upon it. Interested, despite her angry mood, she went over to the bed and opened the top box.
It contained a beautiful gown. She pulled it out as Olivia exclaimed loudly behind her. The fabric was such a deep blue that it was almost black, and there was exquisite beading all over it. At the base was a scattering of tiny white pearls that looked like the stars at night.
Inside the box was a note, and she pulled it out, her lips curling into a reluctant smile as she read it.
These will fit your wee legs better.
A.
Despite herself, she could not help the laugh that escaped her throat.
“Damn the man,” she muttered, laying the dress out before her and admiring it.
“Would ye like to change, M’Lady?” Olivia asked. “Och, it is so bonnie. Are they all dresses for ye?”
Emily pulled the lids of the boxes away, seeing the same fine fabric and beautiful designs. They contained golds, greens, and reds, and she loved all of them. The dresses were exactly to her taste and not too ornate.
“Aye,” she said, annoyed at how easily she had been won over. “I’d like to change now.”
“Have ye forgotten how to aim?” Doughall asked as Adam notched his bow for a second time.
The first arrow he had fired had been so wayward, it had almost hit the steward attending to them.
“Ye can shut yer mouth,” he grumbled, raising his bow and loosing the next arrow. It did hit the target this time, but only just.
“Perhaps I should arrange a tournament,” Doughall said. Despite his perpetual state of brooding melancholy, he sounded almost gleeful. His next shot hit the center of the target effortlessly. “It was never worth botherin’ when ye were the best archer in the Highlands, but ye have clearly lost yer edge. I might even win on me home turf.”
Adam sighed irritably as he reached for another arrow.
“What has ye so distracted?” Doughall asked. “Is it yer bride-to-be? If it is, I should send her some flowers.”
“Do ye want me to loose the next arrow into yer heart? Because I will.”
Doughall shrugged and aimed his next arrow. “I wouldnae care. It’d probably hit me shoulder.”
His second arrow almost splintered his first, and Adam threw down his bow in frustration. He signaled to a guard who brought over a tray of swords. Doughall, who had been about to shoot another arrow, looked at him in dismay.
“Are we finished with this already? I’m winnin’!”
“Exactly. We cannae continue, or I shall lose me reputation. Take up yer position—I shall beat ye with a sword instead.”
Doughall’s dark eyes only hardened further as he lowered his bow, but Adam wasn’t fooled. His best friend rarely laughed and was either sullen, angry, or sarcastic on most occasions when they met. But Adam knew his secret—Doughall had a soft heart and usually indulged him when he was in a cantankerous mood.
Doughall chose his weapon and took up a position opposite him, raising his eyebrows questioningly.
“She spoke out in front of the council,” Adam confessed as they squared off against one another. “Made me look like a fool.”
Doughall cocked his head. “Ye ken what I think of that.”
“What?”
“Nay one makes a man look like a fool except himself.”
Doughall raised his sword, and they sparred together, their blades clashing. Adam enjoyed the freedom of movement. It was rare that he had an opponent equal to him in strength, and it was nice not to have to hold back.
“Me maither was just the same,” Adam continued. “She had free rein when me faither was at war, and she hasnae taken her claws out of the council since.”
