She was glad he’d heeded her request to stay away from her. She hadn’t thought about him more than one or twice in the four days since their confrontation on the street. Certainly not more than a handful of times. A dozen at most. Nor had she looked at the door every time a group of knights entered the Hall or held her breath every time she saw a golden-blond head across the crowd.

“Come,” Margaret said, dragging her forward. “I can’t see from back here.”

For once no one seemed to be paying attention to them as the two women moved a short distance away from the tree, stepping carefully through the still muddy field to the circle of men on the makeshift practice yard. Everyone was captivated by the two men doing battle. The two cousins wedged their way between a couple of young soldiers to watch.

Margaret was right. The view was certainly much better up here. There were no heads or arms or shoulders to get in the way of the head, arms, and shoulders—not to mention the naked chest—that she shouldn’t be so shamelessly ogling. Admiring. Devouring. But look at that stomach! She could count the bands, and his arms were much bigger than she realized, especially when they were flexed.

Alex turned slightly to deflect a blow and Joan gasped.

Margaret must have noticed the same thing. “Good gracious, I wonder what happened to his arm? It must have been a horrible injury.”

Her cousin was right. The scar covered the entire upper portion of his right arm. It was a horrible, tangled briar patch of cuts and gashes that had healed some time ago, but still seemed to be troubling him. He was struggling against the other man, and the weakened arm seemed to be the cause.

Strange, it had seemed quite strong when he’d carried her—she hadn’t sensed any pain or trouble then.

She wondered what could have caused such a horrible injury.

A sick feeling swam in her stomach as suspicion took root. Of course . . . the tattoo. The scar covered the exact place where the mark of the Highland Guard would have been on his arm. The mark that was now obliterated.

But the scar was a badge of his guilt, and a reminder that she would not forget.

Alex didn’t notice the commotion right away. After being goaded into a contest with Felton that he regretted a moment after accepting (Sutherland truly did deserve some kind of award for not killing him), Alex was doing his best to not defend himself too ably, while at the same time to not get killed.