Gift-Wrapped in a Kilt (Hot Scots #4)

Chapter Thirty-Five

Gavin realized the true depth of his love for Jamie during the arduous trials Rory put him through during the so-called games. The other MacTaggarts rallied around to watch and cheer and pipe up with sarcastic comments, but to their credit, they ribbed Rory as much as they ribbed Gavin. Maybe the whole clan didn't dislike him, but he wasn't here to please them. He endured this insane spectacle of machismo to convince Rory he deserved Jamie.

Event after event, on and on.

Whatever it takes , he kept reminding himself. And then he'd catch a glimpse of Jamie, her face alight with pride and love, and he'd dig in his heels for the next competition.

The stone put. They heaved sixteen-pound rocks using a technique similar to the shot-put. Gavin won that event. Next, the weight throw. A block of metal weighing almost thirty pounds, attached to a wooden handle by a length of chain. His shoulders ached after three rounds of that event — and Rory bested him.

Score: Gavin, two. Rory, one.

No room for pride here. Gavin sucked it up and kept going, even when Rory's wife flung herself at her husband and kissed him so wildly some of the crowd blushed.

Why didn't those two find a room? They owned a castle with more rooms in it than Gavin could count on both hands.

Next up, weight for height. They each slung a rock that must've weighed fifty pounds over a horizontal pole. After each round, the pole was raised until, finally, only one of them remained.

To his credit, Rory didn't crow about his second win. He congratulated Gavin on a good match.

Score: Gavin, two. Rory, two.

Then came the caber toss.

Rory hefted his caber from the ground to an upright position without any help, despite the fact the caber was thirty feet long. He heaved it end over end across the green until it whacked down fifty feet away. Gavin, loath to seem weaker than Rory when so much was at stake, insisted on hoisting his caber the same way Rory had done. He almost dropped it once but waved away Iain when his friend seemed determined to assist.

Gavin lifted the caber and heaved it into the air.

Fifty-two feet.

Score: Rory, two. Gavin, three.

When Rory offered Gavin his hand, Gavin accepted the firm shake. Rory seemed as spry as ever, but Gavin resisted the impulse to massage his aching muscles. He liked to think of himself as in good shape, but he'd overlooked the caber-tossing practice in his workout regimen.

"You've done well," Rory told him without inflection. "But we have one more event."

More? Gavin suppressed a groan. Doing this for Jamie, remember?

If he couldn't walk tomorrow, maybe she'd give him a full-body massage. There were perks to getting stove up.

Rory raised his arms straight up in the air and hollered, "Tug-of-war!"

Gavin's jaw slackened, and he stopped blinking. Was Rory serious? The two of them playing tug-of-war like kids on the playground?

Not quite, as it turned out.

During the lull when Lachlan and Rory went to fetch the rope for this event, Aidan explained that normally the two teams of MacTaggarts took up opposite ends of the rope, four men on each side. But with Gavin here, they would change up the rules. It would be the Three Macs versus Gavin, Iain, and Tavish the gardener. Seriously. The gray-haired guy who tended the rose bushes would fill out Gavin's team.

Rory had his two huge brothers on his side.

And Gavin had the gardener.

When they took up their positions along the rope, Gavin glanced at Tavish. The old guy was nice and all, but he looked so small compared to the Three Macs.

Iain noticed Gavin eying the gardener. He leaned in close to Gavin and whispered, "You have a bad habit of underestimating people, yourself included."

"Therapy later," Gavin hissed under his breath. "Beat Rory now."

"Beat Rory? Not worried about Lachlan or Aidan anymore, eh?"

Gavin grumbled.

Catriona moseyed to the center of the rope between the two teams. She raised an orange flag high above her head. "Ready. Set. Go!"

She slashed the flag downward.

And the battle began.

Pulling. Grunting. Feet slipping. Heels digging in. Pulling. Pulling. Muscles stretched to the limit. Teeth gritted.

The Three Macs gained a few feet in their direction.

"Harder!" Gavin shouted to his teammates.

Iain had his whole face squinted, leaning back so far he would've tumbled over if not for the tension of the rope holding him up.

And Tavish, that sly old coot who had seemed badly outmatched for this tournament, hardly broke a sweat while yanking the rope back and back and back, gaining ground with each pull.

Gavin shook off his astonishment and hauled on the rope.

They gained. And gained.

Rory had his teeth bared and gritted, sweat dribbling down his face and soaking his T-shirt. The Three Macs got dragged forward. Lachlan slipped and let go of the rope, rolling out of the way just in time to avoid Aidan stomping on him.

Iain fell next, though Gavin had a sneaking suspicion the guy let go on purpose. He knew this battle was ultimately between Gavin and Rory.

Aidan gave up too, seemingly for the same reasons as Iain. He flashed Gavin a grin, then nodded to Tavish.

The gardener relinquished his hold, leaving only Gavin and Rory to fight this battle.

Gavin sucked in a breath and yanked with all the strength left in his battered muscles.

Rory's knees buckled. He hit the ground on his butt, a shout exploding out of him, his chest heaving.

The sudden release of pressure sent Gavin reeling backward, but he threw his arms out for balance and stayed on his feet.

Flat on his ass, Rory peered at Gavin with an unreadable expression. After a moment, when they'd both caught their breath, Rory clambered to his feet, marched straight to Gavin, and held out his hand.

Gavin shook it, half expecting the guy to tackle him to the ground.

"Congratulations, you won," Rory said. He grasped Gavin's wrist, hoisted it high in the air, and shouted, "The champion of today's games is Gavin Douglas."

The MacTaggarts cheered.

Calli raced up to Gavin and hugged him fiercely. "I'm so proud of you."

He couldn't help puffing up his chest a little. His baby sister was proud of him.

Jamie barreled toward him, and Calli moved out of the way. Jamie leaped onto Gavin, winding her arms around his neck with her feet dangling above the ground. She kissed him on the cheek, the nose, the forehead, the cheek again, and finally the mouth.

He held her tight. Victory . But would Rory give Gavin the one thing he couldn't win in any tournament?

When Jamie at last dropped back onto the ground, Gavin kept his arm around her.

Rory approached again, his face a mask of stoicism. "We don't have a trophy for you, but I have something I think you've been wanting more than a trinket."

Gavin held his breath.

Jamie clenched her fingers in his shirt.

Rory clasped Gavin's free hand in both of his. "You have my blessing, Gavin. Welcome to the family."

Gavin grinned so big he thought his face might split open. "Thanks, man."

Slanting in, Rory murmured, "I lent you my secret weapon."

"What's that?"

Rory rolled his eyes in the direction of the gardener. "Tavish."

Gavin had no frigging idea what to say to that. "Uh, thanks."

"Not that you needed it," Rory said, "but my brothers are heavyweights in the tug-of-war competitions, and I thought to even out the odds."

Gavin waved to snag the gardener's attention. "Thanks for the assist. You rock, Tavish!"

The gray-haired man shrugged, seeming slightly embarrassed.

A sense of accomplishment like none he'd ever known before swept through Gavin. He'd won the games, but more importantly, he'd won Rory's approval. And he had Jamie at his side. This day was perfect.

Murmurs and surprised sounds rolled through the crowd. The throng parted around a figure pushing his way through the gathering.

Trevor Langley halted ten feet from Gavin, Jamie, and Rory.

Gavin stiffened. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I've come to fight you," the English Ass said. "Rory might let you win, but I'll make you work for it."

"Not interested," Gavin said with a dismissive wave.

Trevor stomped closer. "I won't leave until you fight me. Any game you like."

Would this asshole never go away? Sheesh.

"Or perhaps," Trevor said, his lip curling as he surveyed Gavin, "a man in a Santa Claus shirt is too soft in the head and the body to handle a real competition."

Jamie's fingers clinched Gavin's shirt tighter. "What are you hoping to gain here, Trevor?"

The English Ass sniggered. "To show you what a useless wanker this American is. As I said, any game you like, Douglas."

Rory exchanged a look with his brothers, who loitered several yards away with their wives and Emery. Lachlan nodded.

"I have a suggestion," Rory told Trevor, "for an appropriate contest."

"What is it?" Trevor asked, seeming a bit wary.

Good. Gavin liked the scumbag unnerved.

Rory clapped a hand on Gavin's shoulder and winked at him, then turned his attention to Trevor. "Haggis hurling."