The Arrow: A Highland Guard Novel (The Highland Guard) by Monica McCarty

the new piper?” (He was the best Gregor had ever heard.) “Can I get you another trencher?” (No, he and Màiri didn’t mind sharing this one.)
    Once or twice he thought she was about to lose her temper, but then she would mumble something under her breath and smile at him instead. A very demure, maidenly smile that he couldn’t recall ever seeing on her face before. That made him uneasy. The lass was up to something, and he suspected he knew what.
    Cate’s adoration for him had always made him uneasy, but now that she was older it was worse. The last thing he wanted was to be the object of a young girl’s first love. She would only get hurt, and he didn’t want that. He cared about her. As any man put in his position would, of course.
    By the end of the meal, he and his bruised ribs were looking forward to the evening, when he intended to rid himself of the edginess for good. He thought Màiri was looking forward to it as well, which was why he was surprised when he found himself walking back from the stables alone after she didn’t appear for their assignation.
    He passed through the Hall, where the trestle tables had been replaced by bedrolls for the sleeping clansmen, on the way to his room.
    “Did you have a nice walk?”
    Recognizing the voice, he stiffened. Cate was seated on a wooden bench before the fire with John, a chessboard set out between them. They looked … 
cozy
. He frowned.
    “It’s rather cold for a nighttime jaunt, isn’t it?” she added.
    Though it was an innocuous question, something about the way her eyes sparkled in the firelight made that frown deepen. Had she been aware of his foiled plans? And why the hell did her knowing about his liaisons bother him?
    “I like the cold.” Especially when he felt so damned
hot
.
    He strode toward them and glanced down at the chess pieces that had been carved by his father. His father and his eldest brother, Alasdair, had loved to play. Gregor, on the other hand, had never had the patience for the game—another mark of many against him to his father’s mind.
    Striker, Raider, and Chief played, as did Bruce. Indeed, some of their matches had been more fierce and contested than the battles with the English of late.
    He frowned at the board. From the looks of it, Cate appeared to be winning. His gaze met hers. “You play chess?”
    She smiled. “A little.”
    John snorted. “Don’t let her fool you, brother. She’ll take the shirt off your back if you aren’t careful. The lass is ruthless, with no mercy for a man’s pride. She’s been crushing mine for years. Padraig won’t play with her anymore.Last time he was home, she had him helping Ete with hanging the laundry after he lost.”
    Their youngest brother, who fought for Bruce under their uncle Malcolm, the Chief of the MacGregors, was nearly as good a chess player as their father had been.
    Cate grinned. “John exaggerates.”
    His brother grunted. “The hell I do.”
    Gregor shook his head. “You shouldn’t have taught her if you weren’t willing to lose.”
    There was an awkward pause. John shot Cate an uncomfortable glance. For some reason, the intimacy of that silent communication bothered him.
    Cate seemed to stiffen slightly, but when she responded her voice was light and breezy. Perhaps too breezy. “John has taught me many things”—Gregor didn’t like the sound of that—“but not this. I learned chess from my father.”
    Chess was a nobleman’s game. Though it wouldn’t be unheard of for a man of Kirkpatrick’s birth to learn the game, it wasn’t usual. Something about it pricked. But the subject of her father wasn’t one she wished to discuss. Ever. Gregor had broached the subject a few times over the years, but Cate shut down so completely, he’d stopped. He hated seeing her upset.
    She stood. “I think I shall retire.” She looked at John. “We can finish the game tomorrow.”
    “It shouldn’t take long,” John said wryly.
    Both men watched her cross