“Blast,” she murmured. She did threaten his bishop, but he moved, hoping she would give chase. She picked up one of her pawns, turning its bulbous, irregularly shaped body in her hands. “Both of Girnigoe’s chess sets are odd.” She met his gaze, her gray eyes curious. “Most of the pieces are chunks of wood with basic carvings on them.”

“Aye,” he said.

“Except for the knights.” She picked up her black knight and held it out to him as if to show him the intricate carvings on it.

“In chess, if ye pick up a piece, ye must play that piece.” He had learned that rule the hard way from his father during his early years of playing, before his discipline had grown. Discipline was like a muscle. It must be worked often to bolster it, and like his strength, Cain’s discipline was unmatched. “Ye must pick it up and move it around in your mind before your fingers go near it.”

She rolled her eyes heavenward before coming back to lean slightly forward. “Only the horse heads are from the original set, aren’t they?” She ran her hand around the edge of the beautiful wooden board, which was carved with various weapons like swords, maces, and shields. “Did you become so angry at losing that you gnashed your teeth and bit the heads off all the other pieces?”

He snorted a short laugh. “Play.” He nodded to the board.

“Tell me,” she said. “What happened to all the other fine pieces?” She reached forward, catching his hand. “I would know.”

His inhale stopped at the feel of her cool fingers, and he slowly lifted his eyes to hers. It was the first time that she’d touched him voluntarily. Even in the barn, he’d been the one to reach for her hand.

She pulled her fingers back as if realizing what she’d done, but his gaze still held her. Neither of them blinked, and Cain felt as if he were falling toward her, leaning in as her soft lips moved.

“I would know the secret of the mutilated Sinclair chess pieces.”

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Cain inhaled softly as Ella sat up straight. Was she merely curious, or was she trying to gain as much knowledge about her opponent as she could? That was what he would do.

Perhaps the touch before was her way of trying to soften him into giving information away. No matter. Learning about him would not win her back her lands.

“As ye likely know, my father had an explosive temper,” Cain said, crossing his arms over his chest. “When he became angry, either from me making a poor move or one of us beating him when he was already in a fierce disposition, he would hurl pieces into the fire.”

She blinked. “Except for the horses?”