Her smile remained. It was authentic, like the one he’d seen when she’d hugged her horse or nuzzled the kitten. Her gaze moved to meet his, her features still soft. His chest opened, and he took in a full breath. He’d won another smile from her, but it was a type of win that didn’t necessarily translate to giving him anything; yet it had. He felt…lighter.

How joyful would she be if she won the chess game? The thought surfaced through the layers of his determination to win at all costs. It was his armor, and he frowned as if recognizing a chink in it. Of course he couldn’t let her win or else he’d have to give up Dunrobin and the surrounding land. He cleared his throat. “Your turn, lass.”

She picked up the horse that she had returned to the board, setting it down safely, but his rook took the pawn that was protecting it. At this rate, he would win in three moves. She moved her knight out of the rook’s way, but risked it being taken by his queen. If he’d been playing his da, he would’ve taken it, but instead he moved his bishop to threaten her knight.

She swore softly and lifted the horse again, letting it hover before setting it back down. She moved a pawn instead. “I did not damage the outside of your knight.”

“If ye had, I would have had to replace it with a lump with horsehair tied to it,” he said, keeping his voice light.

“You were so…” She rubbed her lips together as if trying to find the right words. “Cold and unmoving the other day, different from helping birth the foal,” she said, her eyes down on the board. “Like how my father would care for a horse all night when it was ill and then turn around the next morning and…slap me for bringing his porridge cold.”

Cain’s hand fisted where it sat on the table. He breathed slowly. “Ella, I would never mistreat ye the way your father did. It is my responsibility to present the strength of Clan Sinclair to all. A man’s strength can come across as uncaring when actually I strategize my every move in order to protect my people.”

She lifted her eyes to him. “I think all chiefs have two sides to them. One they use before people and one controlled by their hearts.” She paused as if taking his measure. “Which man are you? The gentle man who would cradle a newborn foal or the cold killer who will take over a clan or murder thousands trying?”

“In the barn,” he said softly. “I still told ye I would take Dunrobin and yer lands. I am the same man as I was then.”