Now, all that stood in their way was the final round of the so-called ‘games’ that Arran had dreamed up. She found it sickening that her clansmen had so easily agreed to trust her future to a contest. Only a group of men would be so thoughtless. When Arran put the idea to the clan, she’d openly voiced her misgivings on the proposal. With the men eager to return home and with no better solutions themselves, they all boisterously agreed to Arran’s plan, throwing aside all thought or concern for her own feelings.
The only thing that had calmed her was Tormod’s reassurance that he would win the competition for her. And she believed that he would. He was close to doing so already. Only one more person would Tormod have to best, and that was by far the most surprising revelation that came out of Arran’s idea.
Not only had Arran stood before her clansmen suggesting how to choose their leader, a move that she saw as highly inappropriate and insulting to their intelligence, but he had also asked the clansmen to grant him permission to enter the contest as well. The people of their clan had worked and lived together for decades and, in time, they would have been more than capable of solving their problem of leadership on their own.
He moved into a lengthy speech where he vowed that if he were to win, as he obviously thought he would, he would be a fair and strong leader, unlike Edana’s father. Each word was another dagger destroying any fond memories her clansmen might have had of her father. Each word stoked the fire of hatred that burned within her for Arran and all of the Conalls, each of them so self-assured in the righteousness of their actions.
To her utter dismay, her clansmen had wholeheartedly welcomed him for entrance, many boasting that they would be rooting for him to win, few even questioning the purpose of the competition. Why not just name Arran laird now?
What a fool Arran was. He thought he could trick her into liking him with his kind words and feigned concern for her wellbeing. ’Twas even more foolish still for him to have such utter confidence in his ability to win her and her territory as his prize. Tormod would never allow it, and if he did, Edana was certain she would kill herself before marrying a Conall.
With archery being the only competition left, Edana stood to go in search of her beloved. She wanted to wish him luck and perhaps steal a kiss with the man she would soon call her husband.
*
Tormod stood in the corner of his tent, hunched over as he carefully examined each of his arrows looking for any inconsistency, any warp in the wood, that would impact his shot. Archery was his strength, but he knew Arran was masterful with a bow as well. He could leave no room for error if he wanted to become laird. It was within his grasp. He would be laird by nightfall. Then in a few short weeks, his marriage to Edana would be bound with consummation. He could finally end the dreadful task of pretending to like the disgusting wretch.
The rustle of fabric to his left caused him to spin, eager to see who was entering. He’d asked to be left alone so that he could concentrate in silence before the last challenge. His sister entered, and he was not surprised that it would be she who gave no credence to his wishes.
“Fia, why are ye here?”
She ignored his question and moved over to his arrows, grabbing one as she raised it in question to him. “Do ye think ye can win?”
The question angered him, and he ripped the arrow out of her hand before continuing. “Aye. I can and I will. Do ye no think so?”
She shook her head in denial. “No, I do think that ye can. ’Tis only I doona think that ye should.”
Tormod couldn’t believe what she was saying to him. She was just as eager for their family to gain a place of leadership once again. She too had been denied her birthrights because of the sins of their parents. “Why the hell would ye say such a thing, Fia? ’Tis within our grasp now. We will finally be allowed in the castle that should have always been our home.”
“Aye and we shall be, but doona do it today, brother. The people of our clan want Arran to win today. If ye defeat him, they will only resent ye. Claim the lairdship in a way that will earn the respect of our people.”
Tormod shook his head, confused and angry at his sister’s suggestion. “Aye, and how would I claim it once Arran is named laird?”
“Ye watch him, stay close to him, and find a truth that ye can distort into a believable lie. Make the people believe that their precious laird has perpetrated whatever crime ye decide to make him guilty of. Then it will be much easier for ye to take over as laird. Ye will have earned the trust of our people, and ye may be able to get rid of Edana in the process as well. I know ye doona wish to be married to the lass.”
Tormod paced the room, shaken by the thought of giving up everything within his grasp. He tightened his jaw as he turned to send his sister away. “Ye are right. I doona wish to marry Edana, but there are other ways to dispose of the lass once I am laird. I willna give this up, and if ye wish to be moved to the castle as well once I am laird, ye willna ask it of me again. Now leave at once.”
He turned his back as he waited for his sister to leave, tightening his fists as her last words caused him to vibrate with rage.
“As ye wish, but ye will regret this Tormod, and ye will see that I was right.”
*