Aye. A thousand—a million—times. “There just has to be at least a dozen reasons why this willnae work.”
“I just need to take each trial as they come and make it through.” He grimaced, seemingly from the core of his being. “That sounds terribly optimistic, I know. I blame you there.”
“Me?”
“You make the thought of the future that much brighter.” He caressed Hamish’s cheek, his fingers threading into Hamish’s beard as he lowered his hand to run tingling touches along the underside of Hamish’s jaw. “My light in the dark,” he whispered. “I warned you I was a selfish man and I certainly shall not let you slip away so easily. I want you to come home with me. I want you to be mine. Is that such a terrible thing to desire of someone you love?”
Hamish wrapped his arms around Darshan’s shoulders, resting his cheek against his lover’s forehead. It all sounded terribly reasonable. “Use your magic,” he whispered.
“Mea lux,” Darshan gasped mockingly, slipping free of Hamish’s embrace. “Are you actually suggesting I cheat?” He grinned prettily, batting his lashes like when Hamish’s niece tried to charm her way out of chores. “Or was that an insinuation that I cannot win honestly?”
“You dinnae have the luxury of losing.” What guarantee did they have that Darshan wouldn’t fail the first trial without magical aid? None. Then what? Lead everyone to believe that allowing a man to compete was just some joke?
“Not the luxury now, is it?” The man’s grin fell as his lips pressed together in thought. He gathered up his clothes, swiftly discarding a few of the articles. “If they catch me cheating, they will ban me from competing faster than if they discovered I am a man. I did not lie when I said there is little magic I can utilise to assist me in this endeavour. I might not make it through the duel tomorrow.”
Something squeezed his chest. “Dar…”
“Do not mistake me for not dwelling on it,” Darshan continued, his lover’s words muffled by the undershirt currently being over his head. “There may be a few chances in my upcoming duel—” His head popped through the neck hole. “But I shall need some time to think on how to implement it and not be caught.” He shrugged, tugging the hem of his undershirt into place. “It may be entirely unnecessary.”
It had been some years since the last union contest, but Hamish recalled the brutality of the first trial well enough. Whilst it was rare for people to die, broken bones were a common outcome.
Darshan glanced up from exchanging the loose, drab trousers of a competitor’s attire for a tighter pair from one of his off-white garbs. “I did, originally, come down here to change so I may watch the competition, so to speak, incognito but…”
“They’ll be competing for some time,” Hamish said, finishing the man’s thoughts. One-on-one duels would continue all day and then tomorrow. Whilst watching the trials wasn’t required of him, people still expected him to have an interest in the calibre of those competing. Mingling without blurting out his true feelings on the contest would likely be the hardest part of the next few days.
“No one knows we are here.” Darshan stood, his trousers secured and his hand hovering over the sherwani he had laid out on the chest. “We could linger for a time, if you wish? No expectations, just conversing with a loved one.”
“I’d like that.” He had rather missed the velvety tone of Darshan’s voice. Hamish settled on the pile of blankets that would’ve served as the man’s bed if his lover had actually slept down here. They’d certainly given their all to the deception that Darshan was just another faceless competitor. “How about you start with what me brother’s been teaching you?”
Hamish lay still, content to stare up at the canvas tent whilst Darshan regaled him with the sword fighting techniques Gordon had drilled into him over the past week. He remembered his brother’s training methods from their youth quite well. They’d been brutal, hands-on and often went for hours at a time. His muscles still ached with the memory of Gordon driving him around the training grounds with each attack and counter.
Apparently, his brother hadn’t changed his tactics there.
Whilst his lover had chosen to lie next to him, Darshan seemed to prefer the simple comfort that came from using Hamish’s stomach as a pillow. The man had also captured Hamish’s arm sometime during their conversing and kept it in his possession by running his fingertips up and down Hamish’s wrist. The sensation hovered on the edge of tickling. Coupled with his lover’s voice as Darshan ran through the upcoming days, it was close to lulling him to sleep.
“In all honesty,” Darshan concluded. “I imagine the last trial will be the hardest, given that I shall be shooting practically blind.”
Hamish grunted. The final trial wasn’t a customarily set task like the other two, for the very reason that it required the competitors draw even or best the person whose hand they were competing for in a skill they excelled at. “If I’d been warned beforehand…” He had chosen archery purely because few would be able to draw even with him. He had been hoping that number would be zero.
“Then what? You would have chosen something different? What could you have possibly picked that would have been in my skill set that the others would not excel at? Magic?”
“I…” That was a good point. He could’ve chosen a hunt like Gordon but, unlike the faith his brother had in Muireall’s skills, there was no guarantee that another competitor wouldn’t beat Darshan. “I dinnae ken.” He could’ve taken his sister’s route and demanded the final trial be a battle of languages. Like Darshan, Nora’s seafaring husband had spoken a wide range. But that would’ve also run the risk
