“Surely ye dunna mind being bested by a woman,” she said.
“That depends what arena we speak of,” he returned softly.
“Archery.”
“Ahh.” He seemed to be attempting to stifle a grin. “I would not mind, of course. But I do not think it can be done.”
“Really?” Every instinct in her, female and otherwise, perked up. “Then ye willna object if I try.”
“But I have already been awarded the brooch,” he said quietly. “What would I receive if I win this contest?”
Their gazes clashed. The crowd receded in her mind. “What would ye like?” she murmured.
They seemed very close suddenly, and the day very warm. His lips were full, quirked upward in that irritatingly male half smile. And his eyes were an unearthly blue that never failed to steal her breath.
“What would ye like?” she asked again, and against all her better judgment, she was pulled closer.
They almost touched. She could taste his kiss like forbidden wine as she was drawn under his spell.
“Your amulet,” he said.
She pulled back with a jerk. Her hand flew to the chain from which Dragonheart was suspended. “Ye jest.”
He shrugged, grinning again. “It seems a fair wager. Unless ye fear losing.”
“I dunna.”
“Then you agree?”
She paused. She would have to be a fool to make such a bet. Liam had warned her to keep the amulet safe. Twas special, he had said. Precious.
“Mayhap there is something else you would not mind parting with. Something more personal?”
he asked.
His meaning was clear, for in his eyes, the humor had suddenly been replaced by a more intimate emotion.
Shona gripped the chain harder. Dragonheart slipped into her hand. It felt warm, as if it pulsed with life. She should set this Dugald fellow back on his heels, she knew. She should give him a slap sound enough to echo in his empty brain—if not physically, at least verbally. But she could not come up with a single scathing remark. “The amulet against the brooch, then,” she said.
The spell was broken. He moved back a step and nodded. “Two shots,” he said. “The highest score wins, and you go first.”
She nodded as she let the dragon drop between her breasts. Hadwin’s bow felt strange in her hand, but she lifted it now, weighing it, assessing its qualities. It was somewhat heavier than her own, perhaps six feet long and well strung.
She sensed Roderic’s approach beside her, but she dared not turn toward him. Later, she would accept his scolding. Now she must concentrate.
Setting the arrow to the bow, she lifted it and tested the tension of the string. It was nicely balanced. She sited along the feathered shaft. The crowd fell quiet, and suddenly it seemed to Shona that all the world had receded. As if she was the arrow itself, as if she could fly sure as the wind to her target.
She drew back the string and loosed the missile. It arched into the air like a bird in flight then hung in the clouds for an eternity. But not for an instant did she doubt its destination.
In a heartbeat it had severed the outer rim of the bull’s eye.
The crowd erupted with applause.
She turned to accept their accolades, but when she looked at Dugald, he only nodded and gave her the briefest edge of a grin, as if he knew some secret she was not privy to. Her confidence slipped a hair’s breadth.
Dugald stepped into place. Standing sideways, he quickly bent his bow and loosed his arrow. It flew like a falling hawk to pierce the target directly adjacent to Shona’s hit.
Shona looked from the target at Dugald and found that he was already staring at her, as if he had not even bothered to see where his arrow landed.
Doubt knotted her stomach. But surely she could not turn back now.
She scowled as she fitted another arrow in her bow. She would not lose, she told herself, and carefully forced her thoughts away from Dugald’s otherworldly eyes and ungodly confidence.
The daughter of the Flame and the Rogue could not lose. She was born for this.
Her fingers moved of their own accord, setting the arrow to the string, bending the bow. There was a moment of concentrated delay, and then the arrow sped away. Dragonheart pulsed against her chest, seeming to purr as the bull’s eye dragged the arrow into its center.
Joy burst in Shona’s chest. The crowd cheered. Shona turned toward them with a smile. From the corner of her eye, she saw her father watch her. His expression was less than jovial. She turned quickly away and waved to Kelvin, who was jumping up and down in his glee. Hadwin was grinning, Stanford was staring with an open mouth, William was watching in silence. Not far away, Sara and Rachel raised their arms in unified support.
There was no way now for Dugald to win unless he was to split her arrow with his own, and that only happened in minstrels’ tales.
She turned toward Dugald, more than ready to accept his defeat, but when she saw him her grin froze on her face. Not a shadow of a doubt shone in his expression, not a breath of uncertainty. Their gazes met and fused. Time halted.
But finally he turned away, lifting his bow as he did so.
Heaven’s wrath, he was going to do it! He was going to win. Shona was suddenly certain of it.
Panic welled up in her. If the truth be known, she was a terrible loser.
She watched him site along the arrow’s shaft, watched him draw back his string, and suddenly her fingers went cold.
Hadwin’s borrowed arrow fell from her hands. Not thinking, she bent to retrieve it.
Dugald let his arrow fly just as Shona reached for hers. From the corner of his eye, Dugald saw her bend, saw Dragonheart flash in the sunlight, saw her breasts swell more fully into view. And in that moment all was forgotten but the sharp pull of her allure. His arrow could pierce the moon for all he cared.
Shona straightened. So close was she that he could see the pulse beating in her throat, could smell the fragrance of her skin, feel the thrill of her awareness of him.
Regardless of whether she loved him or hated him, she was drawn to him with that same rabid longing he felt.
“Lady Shona wins by an auburn hair!” Bullock called.
Dugald snapped his attention back to the business at hand. Their arrows were touching, coupled like fervent lovers, lying side by side and— Mother of God! What was wrong with him? It was not a good sign that he was imbuing the arrows with sexual attributes.
Pulling his thoughts together, he realized the crowd was chattering, extolling Shona’s abilities.
He turned toward her and extended his hand, ready to concede his loss, but the soft swell of her breasts was still visible and between them, resting like a smug lizard, the dragon winked at him. His breath stopped in his throat.
“Twas a good match,” she said and slipped her hand into his. The physical contact nearly knocked him off his feet, so powerful was the attraction that sizzled between them.
He fought her allure, but there was no hope. “I would have another bout,” he murmured, stepping closer, pulled near by invisible strings.
Memories flashed between them—a moon-kissed night, smooth skin, hot kisses, pulsing…
She ripped her hand from his. Their melded thoughts were torn asunder. She wiped her palms against the skirt of her gown.
“Are ye saying twas not a fair match?” she asked, her tone panicked, fear bright in her eyes.
He found his equilibrium with some difficulty, forced himself to relax a mite, and smiled. God in heaven, she was hypnotic. And if he had the brains of a water beetle he would leave before it was too late. But he couldn’t. In fact, everything in him scrambled for some way to keep her close.
“It seems rather strange that you felt the need to bend down just as I loosed my arrow,” he said.
She took a deep breath as if trying to steady her own thoughts. “Is Dugald the Dread so easily distracted, then?” she asked, her tone husky.
Every nerve in him thrummed wi
th desire. There was something about her blatant sense of self and her lust for life that stirred him.
“Damsel Shona,” he said, softly caressing her with the words. “You could distract a field stone, and you well know it.”
She offered him the corner of a smile, and even with that meager expression the sun was dimmed by comparison. “Mayhap I could,” she murmured, then glanced at the crowd that rushed forward to congratulate her. “But I would not have to try,” she added, and was swallowed up by a mob of swains.
Chapter 14
The hall was crowded and noisy at the evening meal. Someone called for a song. Hadwin yelled for Shona to sing, but Lachlan, one of her five brothers, laughed out loud. If they wanted stag for dinner they could call on his sister, he said. But if they wanted a musician, they would be wise to ask a maid who was not born with an arrow clamped between her teeth.
The hall burst into laughter, and Shona did not bother to hide her smile. Far be it from her to be insulted by her own abilities.
Finally Sara was begged forward. Her voice, sweet and melodious as that of a song thrush’s, lifted in a Scottish ballad as ancient as time. It filled the space, shushing the noises, soothing the nerves, binding the assemblage in blissful harmony, if only for a short span of time.
So powerful was her song that it took several moments for the crowd to realize the music was ended. But finally the company shook itself from its trance, cheered, and called for more.
“Still she sings like an angel,” Shona murmured.
“Aye. She is sweet,” Roderic said.
Shona turned to her father who sat to her right. Twas no great difficulty to tell when he was truly angry and when he only thought he should be. When he was angry, she wanted nothing more than to hide behind the tapestries. When he merely felt it was his fatherly duty to be upset she was wont to tease him until he laughed.
Bethia had once said there was a special pit in the hereafter set aside for lasses who tormented their fathers so. Shona sincerely hoped she was wrong, since she doubted it was anywhere she’d care to visit, much less spend eternity.
“Father,” she said softly, “I hope the archery tournament didna worry ye.”
He raised a brow at her. “Worry me? Why should it?”
She smiled with all the brilliance she could muster, which, she knew, was just short of the sun’s.
“Just because I bested the best of the men, does not necessarily mean I could best ye also.”
He was silent for a moment, his gaze steady on hers. “So ye think ye have surpassed your sire’s skill?”
“Nay. I just said I have not… Not on your good days.”
“My good days?” He reared back.
“Well, there was that contest at Sara’s wedding. But ye were not at your best. What was your excuse? Ye were distracted, I think.”
“I’ve a question for ye, Daughter,” he said, leaning slightly closer.
“Aye?”
“Might ye think ye be too old for me to take ye over my knee.”
She managed to hold back her laughter, though if the truth be told, he had never yet, in more than two score years of mishaps, taken her over his knee. “Why, Father, I was just trying to make ye feel better. I probably could not best ye if ye were at your prime.”
He snorted, but his eyes were gleaming with laughter. “Tell me, Daughter mine, is there a reason for your baiting? Or have ye merely run out of swains to torment?”
She dabbed daintily at her mouth with a napkin. “I am running a bit low just now.”
“No flies whose wings ye could pull off?”
Despite her act, she laughed, then glanced at her trencher and fiddled with her knife. “I wanted to beg your forgiveness, Father.”
He stared at her. “In truth, ye’ve always had a strange way of going about things, lass.”
“I did not mean to enter the contest. Twas just—”
“What?”
“That Dugald!”
“The Dragon?”
“The Difficult.”
“Your mother seems to think him quite a bonny lad.”
“So does he.”
“But not ye?”
She remained silent for a moment, then, “I just couldna bear to let him win so easily. Are ye angry with me?”
He sighed. “Aye. I may never forgive ye.”
She smiled at his long-suffering tone. “Truly, I am sorry if I embarrassed ye.”
He watched her in silence, and for just a moment his eyes seemed unusually bright. “Ye are what we have made ye, lass,” he said softly. “Part of your mother and part of myself. Hardly am I embarrassed by that.”
“Even though I am a better archer?”
He lowered his brows. “Ye’d best behave, daughter mine, afore I tell your mother ye are baiting an old man.”
She laughed aloud then leaned sideways to respond, but just then her thoughts were interrupted.
“Lady Shona.”
She caught her breath and turned toward the speaker, but it was not Dugald who stood at her elbow. “William,” she greeted him.
“I have come to ask if ye might walk with me for a short spell.”
She glanced toward Roderic on her right. “Father?” she asked sweetly. “What say ye?”
“So now ye act all sweetness?” he said, his tone wry.
She gave him a glance to keep him quiet. It was one thing to embarrass each other in private; in public was quite another.
He laughed, having recouped a bit of his own dignity. “Go with him. Get wed, have a dozen bairns,” he murmured. “And may each of them torment ye as ye do me.”
She rose quickly to her feet, eager to lead William away, lest her father shed any more light on her true temperament.
Outside, the gloaming was soft and lingering as they walked to the mill. Swans glided on the water just beyond the paddle wheels, their graceful necks delicately arched and reflected in the dark water.
“Tis a bonny spot ye have here at Dun Ard,” William said.
“Aye.” Shona absently picked a sprig of lavender that grew beside the pond. “I miss it greatly when I am away.”
There was silence for a spell. “Is that why ye have waited to marry, because ye would miss this place?”
She smiled as she watched two cygnets fight over an aquatic weed. “Father says I am still here because he is not so cruel as to wish me on another man.”
William laughed. Despite the size of his nose, he had a nice smile. “I think, instead, your father cannot bear to let ye go.”
She said nothing, but turned away to wander toward the stable. William followed.
“That is how I would feel.”
She glanced at him. Silence followed.
“But if I were your husband, I would not keep you from your father’s house if ever ye wished to return.”
“Are ye saying ye wish to marry me?” she asked.
He laughed again. The sound was pleasant. “I believe I said that long ago. But ye were wild and undisciplined then, so I have been careful not to rush ye.”
He probably wouldn’t be happy to learn she had left her breeches at the burn only a few days before, Shona thought.
“But now…seeing you thus…” He shrugged. “Ye’ve grown into a bonny young woman. Mayhap I should speak to your sire again, but strangely it seems as if the decision is yours.”
“Mayhap we are odd here at Dun Ard,” Shona said, still wandering past the stable toward the front gate. “Mayhap too strange for someone of your standing.”
“Of my standing.” He looked surprised. “I am just a man like any other.”
“Nay,” she said. “Ye are the king’s own cousin.”
“A man just the same, with a humble title and modest holdings.”
“I have not heard Atberry House called modest before.”
“Mayhap ye have not compared it to Stirling Castle.” He broke off a twig from the elm they passed under. The noise sounded abrupt in the evening air, but when sh
e glanced up, he smiled at her.
She watched him. This marriage business was a tricky thing. William seemed a good man, but sometimes when she was with him she felt as if he were slightly disapproving of her but too polite to say so.
“Is that what ye want?” she asked. “To call Stirling Castle home?”
He chuckled. “Are ye asking if I wish to become king?”
“Ye are closer to the throne than most,” she said. “I suspect a case could be made for your suit, if ye wished to press the issue.”
“Me, as king?” he asked, sounding startled. “I think ye have an even wilder imagination than I suspected.”
“Ye’ve never considered it?” she asked.
“I am but the thirdborn son of the brother of James IV. There is a great chasm of difference between myself and the kingship.”
They walked on in silence toward the bailey.
“Is that what you wish for, Lady Shona?” He stopped beside the well. In the bailey, some distance away, she heard the sound of steel against steel as two men sparred. “Do ye wish for a man with great ambitions?” he asked.
The light slowly faded as she watched him. “Indeed, I dunna know what I want,” she said finally, and sighed as she turned toward the keep.
“And what if I said ye could be queen?”
“What?” she asked, turning back in surprise.
He was silent, but in a moment he chuckled. “I was but dreaming,” he said. “Ye would make a bonny queen. Yet even though I cannot give ye a crown, I would have ye for my wife.”
His voice was so earnest, and twould make her parents happy, she thought.
“I know I am not the most exciting man in Scotland, but I could help you in your struggle for maturity.”
She almost scowled at him. “I…” She shrugged, feeling guilty and at a loss. “I am not ready for such a decision,” she said.
Some emotion sparked in his eye, and she welcomed it, almost hoping he would rail at her rather than remain stoic.
But in a moment the light was gone. “Might I carry some hope that you will decide in my favor?” he asked. “Would you consider giving me some small token of your esteem?”
Highland Scoundrel (Highland Brides) Page 18