Seduced by Destiny (16 page)

He tugged her out from behind the counter.

“What are ye…” she stuttered. “Where are ye tak—I can’t leave the beer wa—”

“Davey!” he called, startling the driver, who was napping atop his perch. “Keep an eye on the wagon. Jossy will be back in
half an hour.”

Davey gave him a vague wave.

She pulled back, panicked. “But what are ye—”

“Ye’re goin’ to learn to golf.”

“But I can’t just… I’m supposed to stay at—”

“Don’t fret, love,” he said, tugging her forward again. “Ye’ll get no business at this hour.”

She went along reluctantly. She hated to leave her post, but what he said was true. ’Twould be an hour before the crowd would
even arrive. Besides, she was supposed to be forming a closer bond with the spy, wasn’t she? And what better way to bond with
him than to share his passion?

Those words hadn’t come out quite right in her mind, but ’twas too late now. The Highlander was already dragging her across
the green and lecturing her on the finer points of his silly game.

“The club’s too long for ye,” he said, sizing it up against her as he bent to scoop a handful of sand out of the first
hole to form a mound. “But ye can slide your hands down the shaft a bit.”

She clenched her fists around the club.

He laughed, rising to stand behind her. “Ye don’t want to throttle the thing, darlin’. Here.”

When he suddenly enveloped her, folding his arms over hers, she jerked reflexively.

He immediately let go. “Wait,” he said, spinning her around to face him. “Let’s get rid o’ this.” He unbuckled her belt, lowering
it—and more significantly, her dagger—to the ground. “There.”

He turned her back around and resumed his intimate position, which was so unnerving that she actually glanced about the course
to check for witnesses. Thankfully, they were alone.

“Place your hands so,” he said, guiding her hands with his own, “and hold it like ye would your dagger—not too tight, not
too loose. Aye, that’s it. Now spread your legs and bend your knees a wee bit, centerin’ yourself. Good balance is the key.”

Josselin was having a hard time listening. His body practically surrounded hers. His arms were warm and sure, his chest felt
like a wall of muscle at her back, and below that…

“Most importantly, keep your head down. There’s no need to be watchin’ where the ball goes. ’Twill take care of itself. Ye
need to focus on gettin’ your swing right, and the rest will follow. Do ye want to try then?”

She nodded.

With his hands over hers, he slowly swung the club back and up behind her head, then forward and up again in a great arc.
’Twas not unlike the exercises she did with a sword.

“That’s it. Now try again. Keep your leadin’ arm straight, and just tickle the blades o’ grass with the club.”

They swung together a second time, a third, a fourth.

She closed her eyes. Every inch of her skin felt charged, and swinging their limbs together created a pleasing sensual friction.
His voice was low and seductive against her ear, and the way he was pressed against her backside made her feel faint.

“Ye’re a bit stiff,” he said.

She had to bite her lip at that, for she wasn’t the only one who was a bit stiff.

“Keep your knees bent and your head down. Aye, better.”

She swallowed hard and tried to focus. She could learn this. If Queen Mary could do it, she could do it.

“That’s it,” he said, easing back away from her. “Now try it on your own.”

Relieved of his proximity, she relaxed and tried several more swings. Soon the movement began to feel natural.

“ ’Tis like wieldin’ a sword,” she remarked.

“Aye,” he said with a laugh, “though I’m not goin’ to ask how ye know that.”

She made a dozen more swings. “Are ye goin’ to let me hit the ball, or am I supposed to swing at empty air all day?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“Are ye plannin’ to hit it true?” he said with mock gravity. “Because I don’t have that many balls, and I can’t afford to
lose one in the firth.”

She glared at him.

He broke into a grin. “Come here then,” he said,
motioning to her. “Watch me. Ye address the ball like so.” He spread his legs slightly to form an uneven triangle with the
ball, which perched on the mound of sand. He moved aside then, inviting her to stand in his place.

She imitated his stance and placed the head of the club behind the ball.

“That’s right,” he said. “Now look down the green until ye see the hole.”

“Where?”

He placed his head beside hers and pointed it out. “Do ye see it?”

His hair was soft against her cheek, and his breath was warm and stirring. She couldn’t see the air in front of her, much
less the hole.

“Aye,” she lied.

“Your feet should line up with the hole, but after that, ye don’t want to look at it. Ye want to keep your eye on the ball.”

She nodded, and he took a large step backward for safety’s sake. Keeping her gaze locked on the elm ball, she reared back
and slashed forward with all her might, finishing the swing above her head.

The ball hadn’t budged. She frowned.

He snickered. “Well, that’s one way to make sure ye don’t lose the ball.”

“What did I do?”

“Ye tried too hard. Don’t chop at the thing. Swing through it.”

She squared up to the ball again.

“Bend your knees.”

She did.

“Find your balance.”

She did.

“Keep your eye on the target, and take a smooth, even swing.”

Josselin realized his instructions sounded very familiar. ’Twas the same advice her da’s gave her for swordfighting. Maybe
golfing wasn’t that different from dueling. Perhaps if she imagined the wooden ball was the head of an Englishman…

She hit the target this time with a crack, and she felt the shiver of the club all the way up her arm. When she looked up,
the ball was rolling gently across the green.

“Well done!” Drew said, applauding.

She shrugged, though she had to admit there
was
something satisfying about knocking a ball about with a stick. “Now what?”

“Ye go find it and hit it again.”

She did. It took her nearly twenty strokes and a few different clubs, but she finally got the ball within close range of the
hole.

“Now ye’re ready for the puttin’ cleek,” he said. “Ye just need a light tap. Some like to kneel to putt, but I prefer to stand.”

She smiled. Of course the proud Highlander preferred to stand. Then so would she. “I’ll stand.”

He nodded. With amazing dexterity, he hooked his boot under the grip of his putting cleek as it lay on the ground, flipped
the club up smartly into his hand, gave it a twirl, and handed it to her with a cocky flourish. Then he came behind her again
to guide her swing.

Perhaps ’twas the exertion of the game or the heat of the sun, which was fully above the sea now, or just her proximity to
a man who might be a dangerous spy, but
Josselin felt suddenly warm as Drew placed his arms around hers once more and whispered against her hair.

“We’ll try a few swings without the ball. Line your feet up with the hole, find your balance, and keep your head down.”

He’d pushed up his sleeves now, and the touch of his bare flesh on hers was heavenly.

“Here’s the secret,” he confided. “Take a few deep breaths.”

They breathed together.

“Now let out all your air, give one smooth swing, and push the ball into the hole.”

They practiced three more times, then Drew backed away and pronounced her ready to address the ball.

She took three breaths and let out the third, easing the club forward, and swept the ball straight into the hole.

Then she let out a whoop and turned to grin at Drew.

“I did it!”

His eyes sparkled, his teeth flashed in the morning sun, and before Josselin even knew what she was doing, she rushed forward
to give him a hug of victory.

Laughing, he picked her up and swung her around. She squealed, clinging to him, and for a moment she felt like a child again.

Then his circling slowed, and his grin faded, and she grew aware that they were
not
children, not at all. His body felt powerful and masculine against hers. His mouth looked delicious and inviting. The spice
of his damp skin was heady. And the smoldering lust in his gaze…

“MacAdam!”

Ballocks.

She staggered back, stunned, and Drew steadied her,
then scowled, nodding to acknowledge the interloper on the course, his opponent, Michael Cochrane.

“I thought that was ye!” the man shouted, trotting over to greet him. He was a burly fellow with bushy brows and a long beard,
and there was a satchel of golf clubs slung over his broad shoulder.

“Cochrane,” Drew called out. “Ye’re early.”

Cochrane shook his head. “Nae. There’s already a line at the beer wagon. So how’ve ye been, MacAdam? I hear ye beat the trews
off o’ Metz. And ye’ve been makin’ a name for…”

Josselin didn’t hear anything else. A line at the beer wagon? Faith, where had the time gone? She had to get back. What if
she missed her contact?

With her heart in her throat, she picked up her skirts and fairly flew across the green.

J
osselin decided she must be the worst spy ever. Not only had she misplaced missives, abandoned her post, drunk herself into
a stupor, and grown dangerously fond of a man who might be an enemy of the queen, but she didn’t have anything to show for
all her efforts.

Fortunately, she hadn’t missed her contact. He came midway through the afternoon, and his note was now safe with her.

But what was she going to do about the Highlander?

He’d done something to her this morn. Playing golf with him had made her feel alive, the way she did when she perfected a
new move with her sword. The two of them seemed to be kindred spirits, delighting in the same small triumphs and cursing over
the same disappointments. But kindred spirits didn’t begin to describe the closeness she felt to Drew when he wrapped his
arms about her or whispered against her cheek or pressed his warm, full staff against her backside…

She fanned herself with a rag.

This was insufferable. Drew MacAdam was an enigma. She didn’t know whether to kiss him or kill him.

She had to find out whether he was a spy, here and now. If he was, she’d know for certain that his flirtation was only a ruse
to get information from her. But if he wasn’t…

Her heart flipped over at the possibilities, but she put her head firmly in charge.

If he wasn’t a spy, she could move on to another target, knowing Drew was harmless.

Drew and Cochrane were back on the far side of the course, battling it out for the second time today after tying their first
match and taking a break for the crowd to visit the beer wagon. All their tankards were full now. They wouldn’t return for
a while. Josselin could leave Davey in charge and steal away to The Sheep Heid.

’Twould take half an hour at most. Josselin could make her way to the inn, sneak into Drew’s room, rifle through his things,
and be back at the beer wagon before the Highlander was done for the day.

Then she’d know for sure where they stood.

Aye, she decided, untying her apron and leaving it on the counter. By sunset, she’d know if Drew was friend or foe.

The tavern wench at The Sheep Heid gave her a curious perusal when she walked in, but Josselin recalled her Da Will’s advice
about hiding a weak defense with a strong offense. She gave the maid an arrogant scowl, holding her head high as she made
her way up the stairs.

Fortunately, nobody locked doors in a small village like Musselburgh. She pushed her way through the third door and closed
it quickly behind her.

The room was dim. The shutters were closed, and the fire was banked. Pausing a moment to let her eyes adjust
to the darkness, she spotted a candle. She took it to the hearth and stirred the coals just enough to light the wick.

These were definitely his quarters. An array of golf clubs leaned against one wall, and two saffron shirts were hung on a
cupboard near the fire to dry. A pitcher and basin sat on a small table in the corner, and beside them were his personal items.

She walked around the bed, giving it an anxious glance. She could too easily imagine the handsome Highlander stretched out
naked upon it.

Setting the candle down, she inspected his belongings. There was a razor, tooth powder, and a mirror case, nothing suspicious.
She picked up the chunk of wool-fat soap and sniffed it. It smelled like Drew—clean and manly, with a suble hint of clove.
There was also a wooden comb that probably didn’t get much use.

Next she searched the cupboard. The top shelf was filled with hose and linen rags, a few belts and leather gloves, and other
odds and ends of clothing.

Cutlery and tools occupied the second shelf, along with small bottles of what seemed to be either spices or medicines.

The bottom shelf held a small wooden chest, and Josselin’s heart raced at the sight. If any evidence existed to prove Drew
was a spy, ’twould probably be in that chest.

She carefully slid it from the shelf. ’Twas surprisingly heavy for its size, and she swiftly set it on the bed.

Gazing down at the simply carved box, she hesitated. Truthfully, she didn’t want to find proof that Drew was a spy. As uncomfortable
as ’twas to confess, she…

She… liked… the Highlander.

There was absolutely no good reason for it. He was
rude and crude and cocky. He teased her and smirked at her and kissed her without leave. He was everything Lowlanders despised
about Highlanders.

But there was something in his eyes and his smile that told her there was sunken treasure to be found beneath his turbulent
sea, and Josselin was curious enough to want to delve under those waves.

Still, she dared not let her heart have its way until her head was satisfied with the man’s innocence and all suspicions were
put to rest.

So, taking a deep breath, she carefully lifted the lid of the chest and brought the candle near. To her surprise, bright coins
gleamed up at her in the candlelight—a veritable fortune. She’d never seen so much silver in one place. ’Twas true what he’d
said then—one
could
make a living, knocking a ball around in the grass.