The Highlander's Lady Knight (Midsummer Knights #2) - Madeline Martin Page 0,6

feast dragged onward. Platters of food were set upon the linen table clothes among the scattered daisies and candles and salt cellars while wine and ale were poured liberally into goblets. Through it all, Brodie spoke to her as if she wished for his conversation. His diatribes were tedious in the faults he noted in others and offensive in the joy he took in such shortcomings.

Isolde pushed the food around on her fine metal plate, eager for it all to be done.

“Why’s that Sutherland cur staring at ye?” Brodie asked abruptly.

Isolde lifted her head and caught sight of the man Brodie had referenced. He was taller than those sitting around him, his shoulders square and strong. He wore his dark hair to his shoulders and studied her with a fierce intensity he didn’t bother to hide. Not even when she intentionally met his gaze to let him know that she noticed his attention.

Instead, he merely nodded once to her, as though in greeting. Unapologetic and bold and entirely unfamiliar.

She’d never seen the man in her life but didn’t bother stating such to Brodie. It was none of his concern. Nothing in her life was any of his concern. And after she challenged him tomorrow and beat him in a fight, she would be free of the betrothal.

The beat of the music became somewhat faster, and several people stood from their benches to dance to the thrumming beat. Isolde bit into a honey cake, suddenly finding her appetite rather than be subjected to a dance with Brodie.

Not that he was so easily put off.

“Dance with me, Isolde.” The tone of his voice didn’t suggest a request so much as a demand.

She arched her brow at him and swallowed the bite of cake around her dry throat. “I did not give you leave to call me by my Christian name. You may address me as Lady Isolde.”

He narrowed his eyes, then cleared away his irritated expression. “Dance with me, Lady Isolde.”

“Nay.” She turned away from him. “I won’t wed you either, so do not set your heart on our union.”

A hard grip curled around her forearm, hidden from sight by the tablecloth. “If ye keep talking with that stubborn tongue, I’ll make sure ye’re claimed thoroughly next time.”

She wanted the hilt of a sword in her palm at that very moment, while facing him on the battlefield. Her muscles knotted with energy, eager for the opportunity to swing the heft of her blade and let it connect with jarring impact.

Instead, she jerked her arm free and stood. “Excuse me. I’m feeling rather unwell.”

Matilda was at her side immediately.

A muscle worked in Brodie’s jaw. Isolde thought he might protest her departure, but his small eyes scanned the nobles around them, several of whom had stopped to gape at him. He lowered his head reverently. “I bid you good evening, Lady Isolde.”

She turned away from him and strode through the press of people with Matilda at her side.

“Will ye dance with me, Lady Isolde?”

The last thread of Isolde’s nerves snapped. Civility and decorum were not worth the level of harassment she was receiving from the Scotsman.

“Nay.” She spun on her heel to face Brodie. “And if you ask me once more, I’ll—”

It was not Brodie who stood behind her, but the man who had watched her. Being in closer proximity to the curious stranger, she could make out the green of his eyes that had been indiscernible from a distance. He had a sharp jawline beneath the dark stubble he hadn’t taken the time to shave. It was appealing, that shadow of coarse hair on his sculpted face.

He was appealing.

Far more than she liked to admit.

“Forgive me,” she stammered. “I thought you were...” She shook her head. This man didn’t need to know about her any more than Brodie did.

“I’m Cormac, Chieftain of the Sutherland Clan.” He inclined his head rather than bowing.

“I’m Lady Isolde Maxwell,” she replied.

“Well met.” Sutherland shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Would ye care to dance with me?”

She glanced toward the open space before the musicians. Brodie stood nearby with a group of men around him, some of whom were his brothers. There were five Ross lads in total, all at the Rose Citadel with their da, the Chieftain of the Ross clan. She’d heard from Matilda that Baston, the second eldest son, was set to marry a Norman count’s daughter.

Isolde hated the Norman woman’s fate as much as she hated her own. The whole lot