The Campbell Trilogy by Monica Mccarty

what to do about it, except try to avoid him as much as she could.
    Caitrina spent the morning busy attending to her duties as hostess, but after the midday meal she welcomed the chance to escape to the stables for a while before the games resumed for the afternoon. It was cool, and the pungent, earthy smells were oddly calming. She dragged a bench from one of the stalls to sit on and picked up the kitten that had caused so many problems yesterday.
    Caitrina sighed contentedly and stroked its soft fur while the cat purred and nuzzled against her hand, savoring the moment of peace. Usually she would sit by the loch, but with so many people about for the games, the stables were about the only place she could find some solitude.
    Or so she’d thought.
    “Here you are.”
    She stifled a groan, turning to find Torquil MacNeil, one of her more persistent suitors, beside her. If she were inclined to pick a man by the appeal of his countenance, theyoung laird would be the perfect choice. He was tall and lean, with dark blond hair and brilliant green eyes. Not much older than she, he’d already made a name for himself as a skilled warrior. She could do worse,
if
she were looking for a husband.
    Remembering her duty as hostess, she forced a smile to her face. “Did you want something, my laird?”
    His eyes slid over her. There was nothing overtly threatening in the movement, but it made her uncomfortable nonetheless. It wasn’t admiration she detected in his gaze, but possession.
    “I wished to speak with you. It was so crowded and noisy last night at the feast, I did not have the opportunity.”
    Caitrina put down the kitten, stood up, and shook out her skirts. She didn’t like the way of this conversation. She took pains to make sure private opportunities like this did not arise—it was easier that way. Half the men she rejected didn’t even realize it. But she sensed that MacNeil would not be so easily put off. There was a streak of youthful arrogance in him that promised stubbornness.
    “I intend to speak to your father,” he said as if he were dangling a meaty bone to a dog.
    Caitrina feigned obtuseness—one of her favorite ploys. “Of course. I shall take you to him.”
    He grabbed her arm and swung her back toward him. “Don’t you want to know what about?”
    One by one, she carefully pried his fingers from her arm and then smiled. “Oh, I haven’t the faintest interest in the talk of men.”
    “You’ll be interested in this,” he proclaimed, looking her over once more. “You’re beautiful, but not too small around the hips—which is good. We will make fine braw sons.” Drawing up his chest, he expounded with the confidence of a king, “I’ve decided to make you my wife.”
    Caitrina gritted her teeth and bit back a sarcastic retort.There was nothing as romantic as being compared to a beautiful brood mare. “You are too kind,” she said sweetly. “It is an honor indeed to be considered for such an illustrious position. But you speak precipitously. We barely know each other.”
    He took a step closer. “There is time enough for that when we are married.”
    Caitrina swallowed. As she’d suspected, this would not be easy. She needed to think of something … fast. “I hardly know what kind of man you are,” she said, and then hesitated, an idea forming. “And you are still
so
young.”
    He bristled. “I’m man enough for you, my sweet.” He pulled her closer. “Care for me to prove it?”
    There it was.
Her way out. “What a brilliant suggestion! Prove to me that you can protect me as a husband ought by winning the archery challenge at the end of the week and we will discuss this marriage further.”
    He had no chance. Rory MacLeod was the best archer in the Highlands. The MacLeod chief had won for ten years straight—challenged only once two years ago by Alasdair MacGregor on one of the rare occasions when the outlaw made an appearance at the games.
    MacNeil looked momentarily confused,