Kat Bastion - Forged in Dreams and Magick

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.

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.”

We stepped out into a torch-lit fantasy. Seamus stood guard at the entrance, nodding once as we passed. A crowd had gathered at the base of the keep, where tables covered in food had been arranged. Iain stood among a large group of his guard on the far side of the banquet.

Brigid yanked my arm, the rest of my body jerking to follow with no other choice. “Come, sister , we need to change.”

Less than thirty minutes later, we emerged from the front of the great hall and stepped into a scene bursting with life. Bagpipes played, people danced, and ale flowed freely. Small groups sat around long tables eating. Most of the men stood, talking animatedly, many with a drumstick in one hand and drink in the other. The delicious aroma of savory meats and baked desserts made my mouth water, but after grazing on the rich buffet in Iain’s tent all afternoon, I wasn’t hungry.

The familiar faces of Robert, Duncan, and Gawain approached us right as I spotted Iain and Fingall talking with two of the newest recruits for their coveted guard. They stood a dozen yards away from us in the center of a pressing crowd of admiring women.

Gawain deposited his goblet on the table and stepped close to me, grasping my hands, pulling them wide. “Isobel, you’re the bonniest lass here tonight.” He glanced at Brigid standing right next to me and valiantly corrected himself. “Second only to the fair Brigid, of course.”

I laughed at Brigid’s eye roll. “Thank you, Gawain.”

“One need not be bonnier than the other,” Robert interjected, then took a hearty swallow from his cup. “The two are the only lasses I want to lay eyes on, this fine night.”

Duncan threw an arm around Robert, snickering. “ Only your eyes, Robert? Can you look without actually touchin’?”

A moment’s silence passed before we all burst out laughing.

My cheeks cramped as I enjoyed the drunken men harassing each other. Gawain leaned in. “You’re not wearin’ our plaid.”

I looked down at my beautiful scarlet gown, running my fingers over the plush velvet, then glanced at Brigid, who wore her clan plaid neatly draped over her gown. “No, I suppose not.” Brigid hadn’t said anything, and I hadn’t wanted to fuss with it upstairs.

“Och, no matter,” Gawain retorted. “You’ll be one of us soon enough.”

“Aye, but to which of us will she belong?” Duncan posed.

As if on cue, Robert and Duncan pressed in, countering Gawain’s closeness by asserting their interest. Surprised, I stepped back, increasing my personal space from the sudden onslaught of men.

Duncan lifted a goblet of ale to his mouth, but I swiped it from his hand and swallowed down the entire cup before taking a breath. Stone-cold sober Isobel was about to become toast.

I handed the cup back, squinting at the threesome as they gawked at my boldness. “I belong to the man of my choosing.” I gave the solid statement before I lost my filter and my inhibitions.

Robert grinned. “She’ll need a man who knows how to handle a woman.” He stared intensely at me. “Isobel, I’d have you screamin’ my name into the night.”

I glanced toward Brigid. Unfortunately, I’d lost my backup to a group of nearby women. Uncertain how to respond, I grabbed Robert’s ale and drank his very full cup.

Duncan clapped Robert so hard on the back, he stumbled forward. I took another step back. “Robert, you’ve handled every woman willin’ and able to be handled . . . again . . . and again. How could you ever be satisfied handlin’ only one?”