It was true that he hadn’t had to work at swaying a woman into a tryst before, but that didn’t mean he was a wet-behind-the-ears lad. “I could say the same about ye,” Cain said.

“Ah, but I am not attempting to woo a lass who would rather stab me than kiss me.” Gideon moved his rook.

Cain took another drink, moving another pawn. “I will create and employ a strategy like any other conquest.”

“Oh?” Gideon said, his brow rising. “How so?”

Cain set the tankard back down by his chair leg. “I will challenge all her reasons for finding me wanting. She will see my charm and strength. I will gentle her like an unruly mare and take her to my bed.” Cain crossed his arms over his chest. “I will win her love like I win everything else.”

The side of Gideon’s mouth turned upward into a lopsided grin. “I do not know much about women,” Gideon said, “at least the marrying type. But it seems women do not respond well to gentling. They are not horses.”

“True,” Cain said, moving his knight. “Then I will treat our interactions like battles, for we are at war.” He nodded, his mind calming with the familiar set of strategies he used in combat. “I will determine what resources I have to woo her, anticipate her defenses, circumvent them, and press forward.”

Gideon stared at him, his mouth open, his smile skewed with humor. “This will be fun to watch.”

“I will start by giving her a reason to live.” Cain was feeling better with each word he spoke. Aye, this was a battle of a different kind than he’d fought in the past, but it was a battle, nonetheless. “Have the wedding banns posted on the chapel door near Dunrobin and read each Sunday for three weeks in our own. The young pastor, John, can read them at each chapel he visits. I will convince her to wed me before he finishes reading them the third time.”

Gideon smiled. “So confident.” He raised his tankard, saluting Cain. “As usual, I am in awe.”

Cain grinned, too. “‘Wooing Ella Sutherland is just another game, and I win every game.”

…

Ella was in and out of the soaking tub within minutes, washing so quickly that water sloshed over the side. But she was now in the smock that Merida had left for her. The woman had also brought a set of stays, stockings, and a simple blue dress made of soft wool, taking away her trousers, breast bindings, and tunic to be washed.

Ella didn’t know what to make of the woman. She’d grown up hearing wild stories of the Sinclair Witch, brewing concoctions and talking to ghosts that no one saw. Could she have been acting the whole time to get Ella’s father to release her from the marriage?