Wager with a Warrior - Emma Prince Page 0,1
she demanded. “Anyone ye best is indebted to yer service?”
Her gaze was direct, her shoulders back, and her chin lifted as she spoke. The only sign of nervousness was the tightness in her otherwise melodic voice.
“Aye,” he said, eyeing her speculatively.
“And does it work the other way?”
He arched a brow at her. “What do ye mean?”
Her hands unconsciously gripped her skirts. “If someone bests ye instead, does that mean ye are indebted to their service?”
Amusement rippled through the gathered men, who were watching the exchange with rapt attention. They might be bitter over their own warriors’ losses, but they seemed to find the idea of Gregor being handed over to one of them rather appealing.
“It hasnae happened before,” he replied dryly, staring down at the lass.
“But if it did…”
Gregor snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. That drew the lass’s attention. Her green gaze traced over the contours of his corded forearms with fascination. It took a surprising amount of willpower to stop himself from flexing like a preening peacock before her, if only to hold her notice for another moment.
“Aye, I suppose if someone managed to best me, he could hold me in his service,” he said at last.
The crowd buzzed at that. A few of the men shouted out to their compatriots to have a go against the Black MacLeod, yet none stepped forward.
Gregor hardly noticed them. He couldn’t seem to stop staring at the mesmerizing lass before him. Despite himself, he couldn’t wait to see what she would do next.
That lush mouth flattened in resignation, then she planted her fists on her hips. “Verra well.”
“Verra well, what?”
The lass’s gaze lifted to his, and he couldn’t help marveling at the green fire burning there.
“I will fight ye, then.”
Chapter Two
Birdie forced her chin to remain level and her gaze steady as the mountain of a man in front of her absorbed her words.
His eyes narrowed. “Ye?”
Several of those surrounding her tittered or guffawed. Birdie paid them no heed. They blurred in the periphery, her vision full to brimming with the man’s towering presence.
She could see why they called him the Black MacLeod. His hair, which hung in thick waves nigh to his shoulders, was dark as pitch. She would have thought from a few feet farther back that his eyes matched the midnight hue of his hair. This close, however, she could see that they were a rich, deep brown.
Of course, her proximity also meant that she was acutely aware of just how enormous he was. He stood a head taller than all the other men in the alehouse—men who were supposed to be their clans’ most braw warriors. The breadth of his shoulders matched his impressive height, as did his heavily muscled arms, broad chest, and legs as sturdy as ancient oak trunks.
But it wasn’t just his dark features that warranted the moniker, nor his size that was so intimidating. From what little she’d witnessed of him, his temperament was black as charcoal, with a scowl to match. The full force of his cold, hard stare, which he was leveling at Birdie just now, made her knees wobble beneath her skirts and her breath catch in her lungs.
His gaze was direct, unafraid. She imagined that he could assess a great deal with a single look. That was what he was doing to her at the moment. Weighing, measuring.
And discarding.
“I dinnae fight women,” he muttered.
Was it her imagination, or had a shadow further darkened his eyes as he’d spoken? It was gone before she could decide.
Giving her one last perusal, he began to turn away.
Nay. This was the man Birdie needed. The biggest, strongest, fiercest warrior in all the Highlands. Only he could help her.
“Wait.”
He cast a glance over one massive shoulder.
Birdie drew a steeling breath. “Are ye afraid of me, then?”
That drew several snickers from the onlookers.
“Who is this cheeky wench?” a man off to Birdie’s right whispered loudly to his companion.
“The Morgan Laird’s daughter, if I’m no’ mistaken,” the other replied. “Lady Roberta.”
The Black MacLeod’s eyes flicked to the men, then back to Birdie.
“As I said, I dinnae fight women. And I certainly dinnae fight Lairds’ headstrong daughters,” he added. “Run along to yer da. This is no place for ye.”
Heat blazed on her face, but she refused to back down.
“What’s the matter,” she demanded, raising her voice over the chuckles of the crowd. “Afraid I’ll best ye in front of all these men?”
It was a gamble to poke at the man’s pride. Based on what she’d