Seduced by Destiny by Kira Morgan

darlin’, I don’t drink while I play.”
    “Ye’re not goin’ to play. Give me your tankard.”
    “If this is about the beer ye owe me, I’ll collect it after the game.”
    “There isn’t goin’ to be a game,” she insisted. “Ye’re goin’ to hand me your tankard. I’ll fill it with beer. And then ye’re
     goin’ to take your big wood sticks and wee wood balls and go home.”
    He chuckled. “Ach, lass, what is it ye have against golf?”
    “Nothin’. But this is a very important game between the local champions. Ye have no right to be—”
    “I
am
a local champion.”
    “What?”
    “I won the game yesterday. If ye hadn’t scampered away like a frightened rabbit, ye’d know that.”
    That came as a surprise, but he
had
cheated after all. Still, it didn’t change anything. She wanted him gone—before Queen Mary showed up.
    “Ye can’t play here,” she told him, handing him his club.
    “Is that so?” He wrinkled his nose doubtfully and used the head of the club to scratch his back. “And just how are ye thinkin’
     to prevent me?”
    She bit the corner of her lip. A dozen options went through her head, most of them involving some form of hand-to-hand combat.
     But before she could suggest anything, a large group of golfers arrived on the course, and in their midst, she glimpsed Philipe.
    There was no time to battle the Highlander. She had to get rid of him now before Mary showed up.
    “Ach, very well,” she said, throwing up her arms. “Play your bloody game then. But do it over there,” she said, pointing to
     the furthest hole.
    He looked at her quizzically, laying his club across his shoulders and arching his back in a lazy stretch. “Ye really don’t
     understand golf at all, love, do ye?”
    “Nae, and one day ye can tell me all about it.” She eyed the approaching crowd. “But today ye’ve got to be on your way.”
    She leaned across the counter and pushed at his chest, which only served to amuse him.
    “If I didn’t know better, lass, I’d say ye were plannin’ some kind o’ clandestine engagement.”
    His words startled her. ’Twas precisely what she was planning. Philipe had scrawled this location and date on the note he’d
     given her, the one that the Highlander had intercepted. Was that why Drew was here at this exact time and place? He’d claimed
     he couldn’t read, but what if that weren’t true? Had Josselin’s mission been compromised?
    His next words put her fears to rest.
    “But a tryst with the queen’s secretary himself!” he said, whistling. “What high aspirations ye have. Don’t worry, lass. I
     won’t get in the way o’ your courtin’.” Leaning toward her, he confided, “Though I suspect ye’ll discover I’m a far better
     kisser than that mincin’ twit.”
    She opened her mouth to rebuke him, then heard Philipe drawing dangerously close as he extolled the virtues of the course
     at Musselburgh.
    “Aye, that’s it,” she shot back, her voice thick with sarcasm. “I’ve an impendin’ tryst with Philipe. So if ye’ll leave us
     alone…”
    He flashed her a sly grin and made a deep, submissive bow to her before turning to wave brazenly at the approaching entourage.
    At her gasp of horror, he clasped his club to his chest and silently mouthed the words, “Far better.” Then, blessedly, he
     turned away and trekked back to his ball.
    Josselin blushed at the reminder, nervously tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Thankfully, Philipe seemed to be
     engaged in conversation with a small group of noblemen and probably hadn’t spotted Drew.
    ’Twasn’t until the entourage arrived at her beer wagon that Josselin realized with disappointment that the queen was not among
     them. As usual, they were all men—some nobles, some soldiers, some servants, some commoners—and everyone was thirsty.
    She filled cup after cup until one of the youths caught her eye. He looked strangely familiar. He was short and fair of face,
     and his