A CHRISTMAS WISH

Chapter 11: The Uncomfortable Truth

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CHAPTER 11:

THE UNCOMFORTABLE TRUTH:

Iain was surprised. In fact he was more than surprised, he was intrigued. These were emotions not generally associated with the cold, calculated warrior but tonight’s events had given rise to both.

The first surprise had come when he had spotted the Lass. Sauntering down the length of the hall, svelte and graceful, like a haughty princess. Iain had been stunned to see how bonny the lass was, he hadn’t been prepared for the impact of her physical beauty. Iain wasn’t often sidetracked by a woman’s looks but sitting there in that hall, ignoring the hateful glances of all the revelers, he had found himself mesmerized by a woman’s presence. He was a hot-blooded man after all and he wasn’t blind.

He had watched with interest the gentle, provocative sway of her hips as she walked, the shimmering red of her hair glistening under the light from the torches, the rosy color tinting her porcelain cheeks. Oh yes, he had noticed her alright. Every man there had, and Iain was no exception. She was indeed a prize worth having, worth fighting for.

Iain had assumed the lass to be unsightly, why else would the Baron lump her in with the land. But he had been wrong, dead wrong. In retrospect he shouldn’t have been too surprised; he should have known the Baron was a man who would stoop to barter his own flesh and blood.

Baron Arnoff was desperate and his latest move had proven it beyond any doubt. But unbeknownst to him he had actually strengthened Iain’s resolve, instead of weakening it. Iain was now even more determined to win the tourney.   

There was nothing more enticing than a beautiful woman, and claiming her along with the lands would make his victory that much sweeter. 'Twould humiliate the crafty old Baron so much more, to lose not only the lands he had stolen from its rightful owners but also his daughter to the enemy.

Tonight the Baron had raised the stakes considerably, but the rewards had become a lot more tempting too.

Iain’s vengeance would bear just retribution, the Baron would writhe in the agonies of defeat before Iain was through with him, and Iain was determined to make certain sure of that.

Unfortunately that still left Iain with a few uncomfortable questions, one’s that Iain himself didn’t have any answers for; why had he stared at her like a hawk all night? And why had the sight of that blonde English churl, slobbering all over her, trouble him so? Why did he care at all? She was a woman after all, an English woman, a breed they likened in the Highlands to the ugly BeanSidhe(Banshees). 'Twas all nonsense off course, silly wives tails that Iain himself had never subscribed to, much less believed in, but he was guilty of harboring his own preconceptions about English women. Every Highlander was, they considered English women to be lazy, fat and pasty-pale, with too much ceruse on their long faces and weak constitutions, yet another myth that had been shattered effectively tonight.

But that alone didn’t explain his strange preoccupation with the lass, far from it, and it was this realization which came as such a surprise to Iain. He tried to brush aside the uncomfortable questions with the assertion that he had done what any man would do in similar circumstances, his gaze had fastened on a woman because of a bonny face and a ripe, luscious body, not because there was something about her which had compelled him to look, some invisible force which had piqued his interest. That certain something, beyond physical attractiveness that has the power to draw a man’s gaze and hold it.